Nevertheless, the thought of Nathaniel’s touch and how he made her feel alive washed over her and settled deep within her soul. There was no point in denying the magic he held over her. Wanted. Sensual. A woman. Since that ill-fated night at Lord and Lady Broxton’s ball, the way he held her hand, escorting to the ballroom, he had opened the floodgates that once kept her memories locked away.
Perhaps in another lifetime, she had told herself nightly. He had vowed they would be together again, renewing their love for each other. And in that other lifetime, she would cherish him and be the woman he wanted.
About to pour a cup of tea, Isabel heard heavy footsteps entering her chambers. “What in God’s name is going on here? Whoever it is, your manners are—” Isabel spun on her heels and found Nathaniel standing only a few feet away.
“I apologize for the early call, Your Grace, but this simply could not wait.” His stance was rigid, his jaw set, and his lips formed a thin line. The man looks positively grim.
He passed her the daily, and she read the headline. Good Lord! And so it begins. Who? How? Why? Downsbury!
“I will be heading into London for damage control. I think it would be best if Your Grace continued your stay in Bath. I will write to you as soon as things have been resolved.”
Her eyes welled up with tears, and her hands shook. The room suddenly did not feel large enough for both of them. “Nathaniel, you cannot mean to handle this situation yourself? You are ruined as it stands. This…The House of Lords will have your access declined!”
They were surrounded by madness. Downsbury’s determination to tarnish their reputation, all in the name of getting money—or whatever he was owed—would cost them everything. Her husband’s gambling had been a wretched waste of time, bringing nothing but heartache and grief into their lives.
More footsteps entered, alerting them that they were no longer alone.
He tipped her chin up. “I promise, Isabel, I will fix this.”
Before she could respond, he kissed her hard, passionately, and with the promise of his return. He stormed out the door, not glancing back. The voices of Cecily and Robert Turner pulled her back into reality.
“Isabel?”
“Your Grace.”
“What in the world is with the chaos outside? Is the marquess really leaving?
“He is.” Without disclosing much more, she handed her friend the daily, observing her pale at reading the headline.
“Is it true? Oh, wait, please do not answer that. This is rather all too shocking and exciting all at once.”
“Would you be quiet, Cecily, and give me that.” Even Robert winced. “Cecily, how could you say such a thing? Can you not tell how grievous this situation is?” His quizzical gaze returned to Isabel. “Your Grace, how may I be of service? While I am new as a solicitor and have not had the opportunity to develop meaningful contacts, my employer might be able to assist in some damage control, or at least offer some advice on how to proceed.”
Though hiring her own solicitor would be perfect, the last thing she desired to do was create a larger problem for Nathaniel to fix. Instead, Isabel sat on the dais, defeated.
“Your offer is too kind, Robert, but I must regretfully decline. The Marquess of Stoughton has offered to investigate. I think it would be best to allow him to continue in his efforts.” She heaved a sigh, knowing her next statement would take even more willpower. “I think the best thing I can do is stay here for a few days and then return to London. I completely understand if you remove yourselves from my company during this time of speculation.”
“Absolutely not!” Cecily cried and childishly stomped her foot. “After what we have all been through, I will not leave you like this.”
Robert’s offer had been generous, but if too many people outside of the scandal involved themselves, the likelihood grew for the situation to get further out of control. Robert desperately needed to get Cecily as far away as possible. “Think about it, Robert. If you let her stay here, this could potentially ruin any chance for her to marry well. Then what will you do? Support a sister who is a spinster as a result from being associated with the likes of me?”
The sadness in his eyes was her acknowledgement that he understood and agreed. There was no use in ruining two innocent lives over this foolish behavior by the duke.
“Cecily, her grace is correct. If we stay here, what do you think will become of your season? We simply cannot afford any scandals.” He returned his attention to Isabel. “Your Grace, I’d like to request a private audience with you.”
“Robert, whatever you wish to say, you may do so now. The longer you tarry, the more people will speculate.”
“As you wish.” He cast a wary glance to his sister then began. “We have known each other a long time now, and while I do not have much to offer, if you came back to London with me, I would make a decent husband. I earn an honest living, and while I do not live extravagantly, I think I could make you happy.”
Isabel’s heart broke, knowing that she had to reject his offer. She would only give up her independence for one person, and right now, that person was knee deep in this scandal.
“Robert, please. Not another word. I will not have you waste your life on a mistake I have made on a whim. Besides, you deserve someone who is sincere and loving and respectable. I have no doubt you will find that lady one of these days.”
“Very well, Your Grace, I will leave you for now, but my offer will stand. I will stop by the townhouse in a couple of days to check in. We will discuss this more once you have had a moment to recover from your travels.”
He bowed then led Cecily out of the room. Isabel’s stomach flipped with unease, and she wished for her company to stay along with her. But sometimes the proper thing to do was to let things go. And she would have to do just that when she left London permanently. The coming days would be challenging, and once she set foot in London, life would become even more difficult.
* * * *
Nathaniel rode hard, not stopping once. By the time he reached his estate, his man of affairs was already there, deep in discussion with an unfamiliar gent and his old university friend Lord Avonlea. Why would he be here?
“So nice of you to join us, My Lord. This will be Marcus Williamson, a runner from Bow Street, and Lord Avonlea you already know.”
“To what do I owe this visit?” Nathaniel reached out to shake the Mr. Williamson’s hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lord. It would seem we have a bit of a problem. There are rumors of the unsavory kind that the Duke of Downsbury is heavily in gambling debt. There are also whispers that there is a bounty on him, should he not pay by week’s end.
“Then, in the middle of my investigation, your man here found me and wanted me to look into a potential extortion case. Lo and behold, it is about the same gent I am working for. I will not lie. I find the accusations of extortion entirely false, yet given the dire straits in which the duke finds himself, we are going to have to find a way to resolve this quickly. Preferably before we find a body floating along the Thames.”
Nathaniel’s felt his lips twitch at the image. Hmm…so now Bow Street is involved. And yet, not one word is mentioned about the gossip rags.
Surprisingly, Avonlea spoke up, and not so unexpectedly, out of turn. “Or my thought is this—protect the Duchess of Brimley and let the cad fight his own battles. If the duke perishes, then it is of his own negligence and irresponsibility.”
Avonlea did raise a good point, but he could not publicly agree without sounding unsympathetic. Well, not until this debacle was resolved. If Bow Street runners were already investigating death threats against the duke, then maybe there was an alternative way to rein him in and leave Isabel out of this.
“Mr. Williamson, I dare say, the gambling hells are usually the first place where gossip of who owes who becomes public knowledge. Just how much in debt is the duke?”
“My Lord, you know very well that I am not in the position to divulge that in
formation so freely. I can, however, be persuaded…”
Brilliant. On top of a sticky situation, he was dealing with a crooked runner. “I mean no offense, Mr. Williamson, but I think I can use my own resources to get the information. I imagine Downsbury is already paying handsomely, not including your existing wages with the office.”
“Do not think for a moment about interfering in my investigation, Lord Thompson. If you so much as stick your nose where it does not belong, I will beat that bloody smirk from your face, and have you incarcerated and declared an accessory to the threats. And for a gent in your position—after the gossip column—that would be considered suspicious and damaging to what remains of your reputation.”
Avonlea snorted behind them. He knew all too well that Nathaniel of all people did not respond to intimidations. Not even the Bow Street office would be able to hold him back if he decided to set the record straight with this crooked little bastard.
Cowardly, Mr. Williamson decided to leave and backed away. “This is not over, gentlemen!”
No, it is not. Not by a long shot.
“My Lord, forgive my impertinence, but that did not go very well at all,” Bartholomew mumbled.
“I suppose it did not,” Nathaniel quipped. “Gentlemen, why don’t we go indoors and discuss this further? I could use a drink and a moment to sit down.”
The three men walked in the front doors, and there stood his butler, completely unhinged. “Master Thompson, the dowager countess is waiting for you in the parlor. She was adamant that she would not leave until she saw you. She has not stopped barking orders, nor has she ceased in expressing her displeasure with the décor. She keeps going on about an engagement party.”
His man of affairs and Avonlea chuckled loudly and offered to wait for him in the library.
“Do not fret, old friend. I happen to like the décor, and I will see to setting her in her place.” Nathaniel quipped with a smile.
Good Lord, what could the woman want? He had only been in town for a few minutes, and he had already managed to chase off a Bow Street Runner and now, he must do the same with his meddling mother. Such luck he had. And if he knew her right, she had already read the daily.
Entering the parlor, Nathaniel found his mother pacing to and fro, by the window. He slowly crossed the hall and poured himself some port at the sideboard. “Would you care for some, ma’am?”
“Hurumph! You know very well, Nathaniel, I will not drink that. ’Twas what ruined your father, and I will not have the same thing happen to you.”
“What are you going on about now, Mother? Father drank in the evening when he played cards with his chums.”
“Or when he was with his mistress. You know, with each day that passes, I see more of him in you. For instance,”—she tossed the paper at him and continued her rant—“is that what really happened, or did she convince you to do worse?”
She had heard all right—the most scandalous and butchered version of events.
“No, it did not happen like this. And for the record, I love her. Were it not for her parents passing her off to the Duke of Brimley, she would have been my wife the moment I returned to London.” He wandered the room, ignoring the dowager still sitting in his favorite chair, looking regal but possessed. “Yes, we had an indiscretion, and it was completely my fault. Had I just waited until we were married, none of this would have happened.”
“Married?” the middle-aged woman croaked.
“Yes, Mother. Married.”
“That trollop’s husband has not even been dead cold in the ground for a year, and you are going to marry her? I will not stand for it. Your sister’s reputation depends on you doing the honorable thing now. Discard any notion of marrying her this instant. Find yourself a respectable bride, or I will.”
“No.” Nathaniel clenched his fists to keep himself from throwing a nearby object.
“No? You are mad, Nathaniel!” the crone shrieked.
“I am not, and I will not tolerate you throwing more insults my way. If you are quite done, please see yourself out. Do not make any attempt to create more havoc than what already exists, or you can be sure I will make you pay.”
“You would make your only sister pay for your sins? You tread on dangerous ground, Nathaniel. You may be the Marquess of Stoughton and can flaunt your power and prowess around, but I assure you, this is not the last of this conversation.”
He dragged his hands through his hair and held his breath for a few moments. Just what is it with everyone today, wanting to have the last word with me? He crossed the room before glancing back. “I trust you can see yourself out.”
Storming down the hall, he entered the library, slamming the door behind him. He took a seat across from both men by the fireplace and stared into the flames. “Well, gentlemen, it would appear that we will have to take things into our own hands. Though, I am surprised by your presence here, Avonlea. What is amiss?”
“Life has been dreadfully boring abroad, not to mention a certain widow keeps following me around. I have no desire to get wrapped up with money-grubbing widows. If I wanted a fancy lady who would cost me a pretty penny, I would much rather find the most extravagant courtesan to spend my money on and still leave with my cock attached.”
Ah! There is that randy sense of humor that I knew of back in Oxford. “You don’t say. Well now that you are back, you should check out Madame Martine’s establishment. I hear they are quite reputable, and if I am not mistaken, you will probably see an old chap or two from school. All hiding from the doting mothers at the season’s balls.”
“No doubt.”
“So, what is first on the agenda?” Avonlea asked, his fingers tapping the arm of his chair.
“Finding out how much the duke owes, and whatever else we can find out. Bartholomew, I would like you to dig into the family’s history, and the comings and goings of him and his wife. There could be more trouble at the home front. Something we could use against him. Avonlea and I will visit White’s and Barnaby’s this evening. I would not mind finding out just how much in trouble the cad is in.”
He grinned. Maybe even torment the bastard a bit….
Chapter Five
Nathaniel walked into White’s expecting a full house, but found only every other table filled. None of the men were recognizable, until one called out to him from a side room.
“Lord Thompson! We were just discussing you,” Lord Ashbrooke announced. “Come and have a drink with us, so you may settle a slight disagreement.”
Nathaniel winced yet accepted the man’s invitation, coming to the instantaneous realization that other members from the House of Lords would be present and would no doubt question the column in the post.
Of all the times for them to call me over. He filled with trepidation, but the quicker he finished with them, the faster he could inquire into the books and bets previously made against Brimley and Downsbury. He did not doubt the bets were vastly amusing, though he remained troubled by what he might find in there about his dowager duchess.
He entered the private area with skepticism and sat next to Ashbrooke. “So what kind of clash of opinions are you gents having this evening?”
The Earl of Sheffield coughed hoarsely, pausing to take a swig of his port. “If you would be kind enough to declare what the daily has posted is nothing more than an idle rumor, then you are free to carry about your evening.”
“Gentlemen, while I do not feel the need to justify everything I do, what I will say is what the daily posted is not entirely true. But it is not false either. Yes, I was with her grace that afternoon. Nevertheless, I fail to understand how it is anyone’s business.”
“Do you mean to say the two of you were caught alone, in a compromising situation? Or was this a planned outing blown out of proportion by a jealous suitor or female competition?”
Nathaniel shook his head in disbelief. “The outing was planned, and I hardly see what business that is of Parliament’s.”
Ashbrooke slam
med his fist down. “There you have it, men! The dowager duchess did not wait a full year. Fifty guineas say, before the year is out, she will be a mistress.”
What in damnation… “Just hold on a moment there, Ashbrooke.” Nathaniel vibrated and strained against the natural instinct to lunge at the Earl and beat him senseless. He had expected this behavior and nothing more, yet the mention of Isabel reducing herself to someone’s mistress boiled his blood.
He gripped the table and rose. “I’ll not sit here and be a party to such nonsense. Her grace will serve as no one’s mistress, and she deserves far more respect than you are granting her. If there is more talk of anyone expressing an interest in pursuing her, consider this a warning. I will call out anyone who dares touch what is mine. Her Grace will be my marchioness. Mine. Am I understood?”
“Settle down, Thompson. I speak on behalf of everyone here when I say that no one will pursue her. Nevertheless, she is marred by her husband’s scandal. He owed a great deal to the Duke of Downsbury, especially the deed to his country estate.
“The greater issue is that Brimley is rumored to have fathered the child that the Duchess of Downsbury now carries. The books are betting how long before Downsbury sends his wife into the country and puts the child up in an orphanage. Others say it is only a matter of time before she is shipped off to the continent.”
Christ. There has to be more to this story than what Ashbrooke is saying. “Is there anything else I should know about Downsbury’s troubles, gentlemen?”
“Well, other than your mother confiding in my wife that you and Lady Eloise Morton will be married by year’s end? I should tell you, several hundred pounds have already been placed in favor of the match. She is quite fetching, too, do you not think?”
Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course my mother would feed such nonsense to the wolves… No offense, Ashbrooke.”
The Earl raised his hands and chuckled heartily. “I’ll be the first to admit my wife is dedicated to the pursuit of gossip. More often than not, finding herself in more trouble than necessary.”
Scandal at Vauxhall (Pleasure Garden Follies) Page 6