“My father,” Lady Margaret said, her words sounding measured, “is the reason behind all of this. If he wouldn’t have . . .” Her words trailed off as a shadow crossed her face. It was obvious that she was wrestling with the decision of how much to divulge.
Reflex pressed Anthony to encourage her with words, but he thought better of it and decided to hold silent instead. He was desperate for answers now, but he sensed that he would be more likely to get them if he gave Lady Margaret the time and space she required. So he leaned back in his chair and waited.
When she finally spoke, it was in such a soft whisper that Anthony had to strain to hear her. “When I turned eighteen and had my coming out, my parents did all in their power to ensure a good match for me. I have no siblings, Your Grace, so my dowry was astronomical. Naturally, every bachelor in England came to call on me, expressing a keen desire to court me, or my money, to be more precise. To put it in perspective, I received no fewer than ten proposals that first week. My parents were ecstatic, of course, but I . . .” She paused momentarily as she fidgeted with her gown. With an almost shy smile about her lips she looked to her husband. “I had already made my choice. I’d fallen in love with Walter and knew that he loved me in return.”
“Except he wasn’t a man your parents could accept,” Anthony muttered.
“No,” she said, reaching for her teacup and taking a small sip. “But I knew I had to try and fight for what I wanted, so I told them about my feelings for Walter—that I loved him desperately and wanted to marry him. My dowry would have allowed us to live a comfortable life, but my father refused to listen. He was furious, in fact. First, he told me that I was insane to think that he would allow me to marry his stable master, then he gave me a seething speech about how love was for children and about how I had a duty to adhere to, and then he sacked Walter. I was devastated and refused to leave my room for a whole week.
“My father eventually came to make amends with me. He told me how sorry he was for his outburst but that I must realize what a shock I’d given both him and my mother. Of course I could, so when he begged forgiveness for his rash response and told me he would let me marry Walter after all if that was what would make me happy, I believed him.” Anthony tensed at the sound of her ominous tone. “The Shrewsburry Ball was to take place that evening, and my father suggested we go together as a family. In the morning, he would send for Walter and give him his blessing.
“As was to be expected, given my successful debut, the gentlemen lined up to claim a dance with me the moment we arrived. One of these gentlemen was Lord Jouve. He was terribly charming with that crooked smile of his, and when he spoke to me he didn’t seem to have that same eagerness about him that all the other gentlemen had. He asked me to accompany him in a reel, and I accepted, thinking nothing of it.
“Once the dance was over, we toured the periphery of the ballroom together, during which he engaged me in the most interesting conversation about the stars. I was so enthralled by what he was telling me that it didn’t occur to me to say no when he offered to take me outside and show me some of the many constellations. It was terribly naïve of me of course, for he spared not a moment before taking advantage, and who do you suppose arrived on the scene just in time to witness my ruin?”
Anthony knew, and yet it was far too horrid to contemplate.
“As it turned out, Lord Jouve was in dire financial straits. He needed my dowry, so when my father went to him and suggested he compromise me, the two forged a plan that would see me married to an aristocrat just as my father wanted, while Lord Jouve would reap the benefits.” Lady Margaret expelled a deep breath as her eyes met Anthony’s. “I left home that same evening, still dressed in my ball gown.”
Silence filled the room. What Lord Deerford had put his daughter through was unpardonable—the ultimate betrayal. And to mask the disgrace, he’d concocted the kidnapping story. It didn’t surprise Anthony in the least that she’d stayed away all these years, though it must have taken great resilience for her not to have contacted her mother. Surely she must have suspected how deeply her absence had wounded Lady Deerford.
But, however regrettable Lady Margaret’s past was, it didn’t change the fact that Anthony wanted to marry her daughter. Society was still likely to frown—perhaps even more so with her blood ties to the infamous lady who’d taken up with the stable master so long ago. The scandal would probably rock the Kingsborough name, but there were also those who would stand by him, and besides, Anthony mused, it was worth the risk. “You have to tell Isabella,” he said.
“What?” the Chilcotts said in unison.
“As sorry as I am for everything that has happened to you, my lady, you have no right to impose yourself on your daughter’s future like this. Don’t you see that in doing so you’re doing to her precisely what your father did to you?” He saw the look of indignation on her face, but he pressed on before she had a chance to speak. “I love your daughter and have every intention of making her my wife, so if you don’t tell her the truth, then I will. Hell, she thinks herself unsuitable to be duchess when nothing could be further from the truth. She’s the granddaughter of a marquess, for heaven’s sake!”
“I . . . I cannot bear the thought of seeing him again,” Lady Margaret said. There was no doubt about whom she was referring to. “And I worry about what Isabella will say—what she will think of us when she learns the truth.”
“The sooner you tell her the better,” Anthony said. “And once that’s done, I hope you’ll give me your blessing. I’d like to propose to her before Mr. Roberts does.”
“You know, I’m still not clear on why you disapprove of him so vehemently,” Lady Margaret said. “Is there something we ought to know, or is your dislike for the man based purely on the fact that he’s competing for her hand?”
Anthony looked to Mr. Chilcott. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
“I must admit that I found your claim hard to believe and decided to confront Mr. Roberts directly. He assured me that he has every intention of seeing to Isabella’s comfort.”
Of course he did. What Mr. Chilcott had apparently chosen to ignore was that once Mr. Roberts married Isabella there would be nothing to stop him from doing as he pleased with her.
“Would one of you please enlighten me,” Lady Margaret insisted.
Since Mr. Chilcott looked unlikely to do so, it fell on Anthony’s shoulders to inform Isabella’s mother that Mr. Roberts’s definition of comfort was likely different from their own and that Isabella would in fact become his maid.
“I can’t believe you knew this and failed to tell me,” Lady Margaret said, addressing her husband.
“I know how fond you are of Mr. Roberts and didn’t want to place him in a negative light unless I knew that what His Grace had told me was true. But when Mr. Roberts denied the accusation I . . . well, I believed him.”
Lady Margaret closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them again she looked at Anthony. “Are you telling us the truth, Your Grace, or is this a trick to have your way?”
“On my father’s grave, I swear to you that I am telling you exactly what Mr. Roberts told me.” He paused, regarding them both in turn. “As I’ve said, I love Isabella with all my heart and know that she feels the same about me. Please don’t get between us the way Lord Deerford got between the two of you, but give us your blessing and let us be happy—I beg you.”
“We cannot let her marry Mr. Roberts,” Mr. Chilcott murmured. He turned to his wife with distress. “I know that we have an agreement with him and that he won’t be the least bit pleased if we go back on our word, but I cannot in good conscience allow Isabella to marry him when there’s a chance he will demean her in such a way. If he’s really looking to treat her like a servant, then it’s no wonder that he was so adamant about her being the judicious and trustworthy sort when I initially suggested he court her. I’m sorry, my love, but I will not sacrifice her happiness like this—not even for you.”
; Lady Margaret held silent for a moment as she gazed back at her husband with misty eyes. Composing herself, she eventually said, “I haven’t made your life easy, Walter. In fact, I’ve many a time wondered if you wouldn’t have been better off with someone else . . . someone less spoiled.” He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a staying hand. “You’ve gone to great lengths to make my life as comfortable as possible, providing me with a maid when there were times when we could barely afford to put food on the table. And now, with Isabella, when you suggested we seek out my parents and ask them to aid us in finding her a good match and I refused . . . you gave in to my selfish demands—demands that should have no bearing on the lives of our children.
“What happened, happened to me, not to her. She deserves to know of her heritage, as does Jamie—they both deserve to marry whoever they want, the same way I did.” She met Anthony’s gaze then and, reaching out her hand, clasped Anthony’s with her own. “We will tell her everything, and once that is done, you may make your offer.”
The sigh of relief that Anthony expelled in response to those words was immense. “Thank you, both of you. I know how difficult it was for you to make this decision, and I am also aware that there are a few things that concern you. Rest assured that you will never want for anything, and neither will your daughters. We will be family, and as such, we will take care of each other.” A thought struck him and he anxiously said, “Speaking of which, my mother asked me to extend an invitation for tea to Isabella on her behalf. Perhaps I can persuade you to join us?”
There was a wariness about Lady Margaret’s eyes, telling Anthony that she wasn’t quite ready to venture back into the upper crests of society. The lady within her, however, must have found it difficult to refuse without appearing rude, for she answered in the affirmative. “We would love to—thank you.”
“And tomorrow afternoon I shall have a word with Mr. Roberts and explain the lay of the land,” Mr. Chilcott said.
“I’ll be happy to join you for that discussion if you like.” Anthony rose to his feet, eager to get home and tell his mother the good news. Offering Lady Margaret a perfectly executed bow followed by a handshake for Mr. Chilcott, Anthony headed for the door.
Pausing, he turned and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather you don’t speak of this to Isabella just yet—I’d like to ensure that everything regarding Mr. Roberts is aboveboard before we start celebrating her engagement to someone else. A courtesy, if you will.” The Chilcotts both agreed and were complimenting his thoughtfulness when the parlor door opened and Isabella popped her head inside. Her eyes widened when she registered Anthony’s presence. “Your Grace,” she said as she entered the parlor and dropped a curtsy. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
Is that annoyance in her voice?
Yes, Anthony decided. Yes, it is. He offered her his most dazzling smile in return. “There was actually something which I wished to talk to you about,” he said. “But since you weren’t at home when I called, your parents were kind enough to offer me tea while I waited for your return. But now that you’re here, perhaps you’d like to join me outside for a moment? The weather is beautiful, and I would love an opportunity to admire your garden a little closer.”
Isabella’s eyes flittered first to her father and then to her mother. Finding no help from either, her mouth opened in a gape.
Amused by her astonishment, Anthony stepped toward her and offered his arm. “Shall we?”
It took a second or two for her to react. Without a word, she gave a slight nod, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and allowed him to escort her from the room while he thanked the Chilcotts for their hospitality.
Outside, the late afternoon sun was casting everything in a dreamy glow, including Isabella, whose hair shone with streaks of gold, while her face radiated a vitality reminiscent of the outdoors. Anthony’s heart thudded in his chest as he stopped their progress toward a low stone bench and turned to face her instead, deciding that it was too chilly to sit. “You were very distressed at the modiste’s earlier today,” he said. “Would you like to tell me why?”
“Not particularly,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. Taking a deep breath, she expelled it with a loud sigh. “Why can’t you just do as I ask and leave me in peace?”
“Because I believe you’re worth fighting for,” he murmured.
Her head shot up at that pronouncement and she stared back at him for a long moment, searching for an answer to some determining question.
“You resent me for leaving without a word of warning, I think. And I believe Lady Harriett also plays a part.” She looked away again, cheeks flushed and jaw clenched. “First of all, the reason for my sudden departure was a family emergency. My aunt suffered a stroke, so my mother and I hastily went to see how she was faring. Since my cousins had not yet arrived, I took it upon myself to see to all the necessities until they were in a position to take over. I meant to write and offer an explanation, but I’m afraid I forgot, with everything else that was happening around me.”
She was looking up at him now with quivering lips and watery eyes, and Anthony knew that she did not fault him for his actions. She was just as kind, selfless and loving as he knew she was. “I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze of sympathy. “You’re a good man, and I . . . I’m afraid I thought the worst of you.”
A wisp of hair had come loose and was fluttering gently against her cheek. Anthony brushed it aside with his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. “You thought I’d abandoned you, is that it?”
She nodded wistfully.
“And I’m guessing Lady Harriett was there to reinforce this doubt?”
“She told me that the two of you are to be married and that you’d left for London in order to make the necessary preparations.”
Bloody hell!
The anger that gripped him was unlike any he’d ever experienced before. It curled itself around him, tugging at his very core and demanding him to seek satisfaction for the wrong this wonderful woman before him had been subjected to at the hands of that harpy.
“When I asked her to leave you alone after your hasty departure from the modiste, I did not know the extent of her untruths. Had I done, she would not have gotten off as lightly as she did.” He made a mental note to pay a call on the Croonings. It was one thing to have a jealous streak, but to spread lies in which he and Isabella figured was unforgivable and without pale. “Needless to say, I have no intention of marrying her, since there is only one woman for whom I hold an interest. Unfortunately, she is quite determined to marry someone else.”
There was a pause as she gazed back at him with endless amounts of regret. Her lips parted slightly and he held his breath, wondering what she might say—if she would refute his statement and tell him what she so obviously wanted to say, that the only man she planned on marrying was him.
“Lord Kingsborough,” came a voice from directly behind him. Whatever Isabella might have thought to say would have to wait. Turning, Anthony was surprised to be met by the very curious gaze of a girl who shared Isabella’s coloring. Her attire was scruffier, however, and it looked as though there were leaves in her hair. “Miss Jamie Chilcott at your service,” she said. “How do you do?”
Anthony stifled a grin and offered her a gallant bow. “I trust you must be Miss Chilcott’s . . . sister?”
“I certainly am,” Jamie confirmed with a cheeky smile. “And since I’ve heard so much about you lately, I thought it time I made your acquaintance—see what sort of man has captured my sister’s interest.”
“Jamie!” Isabella cried, sounding both embarrassed and horrified.
Anthony’s grin turned to a heartfelt laugh. “And do you approve?” he asked, his attention still on Jamie.
The girl frowned, as if giving the matter a great deal of thought. “That depends,” she drawled with a casualness belying her age. Heaven above, this girl would be trouble when
she grew older—Anthony just knew it.
“On what, exactly?” he asked.
Jamie shrugged. “You’ll see.”
“Jamie,” Isabella warned as she drew out her name for emphasis. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, you know, Izzie—the usual.” And with that, Jamie folded her arms across her chest and marched over to the stone bench, where she took a seat, not in the least bit bothered by the cold, it would seem, and looking much too smug for someone who wasn’t up to mischief.
Anthony felt an eerie sense of uneasiness wash over him—as if he was about to be made the butt of a joke. There was no doubt the girl was up to no good, and rather than be annoyed by it, Anthony felt rather humbled. She was testing his mettle the only way she knew how, to ensure that her sister made the right choice. It was endearing, really, in a way, though Anthony sincerely hoped he wouldn’t end up covered in mud as a result. His valet would have a fit.
Recognizing that there was no point in worrying about what was surely to come, Anthony decided to tell Isabella about his plans for the following day.
“And my mother agreed to this?” she asked as she stared back at him in wonder.
“I don’t believe she felt as though she had much choice, given that the invitation was issued by my mother.” He decided that it was time to go. She and her parents had a lot to discuss—far more than Isabella could possibly imagine. With a bow, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Until tomorrow, Bella.” Turning to Jamie he added, “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”
Jamie nodded with an impish gleam to her eyes. What on earth was she up to?
And then Anthony felt it—a movement in his jacket pocket, as if something was squirming about in there. His own boyish instincts took over, and, acting as nonchalant as possible, he said, “Perhaps I ought to check the time first.”
Eyes on Jamie, he stuck his hand inside his pocket until he felt something soft and slippery and very much alive. “What the . . . ,” he gasped, feigning surprise.
Sophie Barnes Page 23