Lady Iona's Rebellion (30 page)

“I hope your family will also find it in their hearts to welcome Nathan back into the family.”

A deep flush crawled up Maryanne’s neck. “I do not wish to impose on you any longer,” she said as she rose from the bench. “Irregardless of how this upcoming wedding came about, I am pleased. I was my parents’ only daughter. It will be nice to finally have a sister. Good afternoon, Iona.” She dipped her head. “Lady Evers.”

“Thank you,” Iona said. “And a good afternoon to you too.”

“Oh, before I go…” Maryanne’s gaze trailed off to the deep purple flowers blooming on the clematis climbing the brick wall that enclosed the rose arbor. Her voice tightened. “Nathan is planning to invite you to a family dinner tomorrow night. He’s got some fool idea that if you…” She hesitated. Chewing on her bottom lip, she seemed to change her mind about what she was going say. “For my brother-in-law’s sake, I-I rather think it a good idea for you to try and be there.”

C
hapter Twenty

All of Iona’s very proper, very organized thoughts spilled out of her head when Nathan drew her fingers toward his and began tracing small circles on the back of her gloved hand. In that timeless moment, she forgot she was standing in the doorway of the Portfrys’ parlor or that Nathan’s family was waiting in the other room to greet her. There was only the memory of the rough whiskers that had scraped against her cheek when Nathan had last kissed her and the skillful movement of his body against hers. The way he was touching her now was so filled with promise that she completely forgot how to breathe.

“I am honored you have accepted our invitation for dinner,” he said, his deep voice traveled down her body, giving the butterflies in her stomach yet another reason to flutter.

“My pleasure,” she choked out, her thoughts still straying.

Nathan’s mind didn’t appear to be operating too well either. What was he doing, practically seducing her in front of the high-sticklers that populated his family?

Before she’d been able to follow Rogers, the Portfrys’ stiff-collared butler, into the townhouse’s ground-floor cream-and-red-striped parlor to be announced, Nathan had bounded across the room and pounced on her. Taking possession of her hand and her mind.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said while still tracing those tantalizing circles against her silk-covered skin, warming her blood.

She dipped her head, not quite sure why she was blushing. “Thank you.”

His broad chest and powerful legs were completely blocking her entrance to the parlor and he seemed set on not budging. Someone behind him cleared his throat.

“Don’t you think I should greet your family?” she whispered. “It would be rude not to.”

Nathan squared his shoulders. “I suppose I cannot keep you to myself all evening. A damned pity,” he grumbled as he relinquished her hand. “You do look beautiful.”

His family greeted Iona warmly and treated her with exceedingly well-groomed manners. And although there was no mention of the upcoming wedding—this dinner was supposed to be a family celebration of it—Iona got the definite impression that they heartily welcomed the addition of one of the Duke of Newbury’s daughters into their ranks.

Only Nathan’s father was fairly tight-lipped in his greeting though she could hardly hold it against him. The dear man still hadn’t fully recovered from his long illness. And the stress of the past few weeks had taken a visible toll. He looked pale and tired as he heaved himself out of the brocade chair in which he’d been lounging. The movement triggered a violent coughing fit. In alarm, Iona grabbed hold of his arm until he was able to catch his breath. Gulping uneven breaths, he dipped Iona a bow and managed to wheeze a raspy, “it is indeed a pleasure to see you again, my dear.”

The Marchioness of Portfry, a lovely woman with a kindly smile softened by a series of delicate wrinkles wreathing her dimples, had been the first to embrace Iona. She’d moved in quickly and, taking possession of Iona’s arm, maneuvered her away from Nathan. “Come, child.” She patted Iona’s hand and led her to a creamy sofa where Maryanne, dressed in a flattering buttercup yellow dress, was seated.

“My two children bring me such joy.” The Marchioness reached over Iona and took Maryanne’s hand. “You will have to indulge me. Though Maryanne is my child only by marriage, I do include her as mine. I hope you will see it in your heart to allow me to do the same…giving me a third child to love.”

Third child to love?
Iona looked around, wondering whether anyone else in the room thought it odd that the Marchioness had miscounted. With her two sons and her daughter-in-law, the Marchioness could already claim three offspring.

Since no one showed any sign that they even noticed her gaffe, Iona tucked her hands onto her lap and gave the Marchioness a compassionate smile. “It cheers me to know that I am so welcome here,” she said and then cleared her throat. “I’d been worried, considering the circumstances—”

“Shouldn’t dinner be just about ready to be served?” Edward interrupted her to ask the room in general. His wondering about dinner was not only a tad odd, it was wholly unnecessary. Rogers, their butler, would announce the meal when it was ready. “I believe we should adjourn to the dining room. Don’t you agree, Father?”

The Marquess tried to clear his throat several times before giving up and simply nodding his approval.

While the Marchioness clung to Iona’s arm, Maryanne moved to help her father-in-law from his seat. Edward’s tight and awkward manner eased as he approached Iona and offered to escort her. She noticed that Nathan had tried to reach her first but he’d been sidetracked by his father, who had purposefully stumbled into his path and shook his head violently.

“You look lovely tonight,” Edward said, his voice deepening and his whole face lighting up, giving Iona the impression that he thought the world existed just for her.

“Thank you, Lord Snaddon,” she said, her brows knitting. She’d heard stories of Edward’s charms but had never actually seen them in action. Unlike most men, his weren’t in the flowery language he used, which as they walked across the hall into the dining room amounted to nothing but drivel, but in the way his navy blue eyes tried to coax her attention.

Though it was probably an affecting ploy for some women, thanks to her wealth of experience with the games men played, Iona found herself quite immune.

Once they were seated at a finely carved round table in the tidy dining room, decorated with a fantastic sage and lavender wallpaper where cranes were flying over exotic bridges toward snowcapped mountains, two footmen carried in the first course, pigeon bisque with a heavy cream and garnished with beetroot.

After taking a taste of the soup, Lady Portfry began recounting stories from Edward’s childhood. She spoke in glowing terms about how Edward had been the ideal son. Several times the Marquess nodded his head in agreement.

Iona’s confusion over Nathan’s family deepened. It was usual and expected for a devoted mama to embellish a son’s qualities to a perspective wife. But the marriage date had been set. And Nathan, not Edward, was Iona’s intended.

So why hadn’t the Marchioness even recognized Nathan’s presence in the room, much less try and promote his positive qualities?

Although Iona had never heard an unkind word spoken against the Marchioness, as she listened to the endless stories of how quickly Edward had learned to ride a horse, she couldn’t help but wonder whether the poor lady was a little wrong in the upper story.

“I simply know you will enjoy living at Callaway Abbey,” the Marchioness said after the servants served the main dish, an aromatic potted beef and potatoes dish that was heavily seasoned with savory. “The Nottinghamshire weather in early fall is lovely. We can take picnics to the Vale of the Trent. And shopping excursions into Nottingham.”

Live at Callaway Abbey?

Iona felt the blood rush from her head.

Riverside picnics and shopping excursions? She hadn’t yet thought about where she was going to live once she was married. It was distressing to think that she’d be away from London and her family. “I-I rather thought Lord Nathan and I might make use of his London—”

“Do not even think such a thing,” Edward scoffed. “We will never abandon you to the whims of my brother. Besides you’ll be happier at Callaway than in the crowded city.”

“But I—”

“There is no need to feel shy about this, Iona. No matter what, you should always consider Callaway your home,” Edward insisted.

Iona shot Nathan a questioning look.

He gave her a helpless shrug, which did nothing to soothe her growing alarm. Her concerns about marrying Nathan and having him wrest away her independence were beginning to appear misdirected. It wasn’t Nathan she needed to be worried about but his family. Apparently they’d already planned her future.

One that didn’t include her husband.

After realizing this much, one thing became crystal-clear in her mind. The long-suffering, obedient lady who would quietly accept such a fate no longer existed—if she ever had. She’d lived too much in this short span of weeks, thanks to Nathan’s tutelage, to willingly hand over control of her life again.

She dabbed the napkin to her lips and drew a steadying breath. “With all due respect, Nathan, I will not be foisted onto your family like some unwanted bride, no matter how welcoming the home.”

“She will be living with me,” Nathan said gruffly.

“Well,” the Marchioness huffed, “we will certainly have to discuss this with the Duke. I doubt he’ll be pleased to hear about any of this.”

“I assure you that you’ll be happy at Callaway,” Edward said, his eyes trying their devil’s best to win her over.

The Marquess grunted.

Only Maryanne, wearing a curious frown, kept silent.

Amidst the confusion, Iona knitted her brows and peered closely at Nathan. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him look so discomposed. Chink by chink, his family was tearing him down—and not with a blatant, defendable attack. No, their assault was more insidious than that. Every time one of them ignored his very existence, the crooked, devil-may-care smirk she’d fallen in love with had slipped and was slowly being replaced by an unquestionably broody glower.

“She will be my wife, not yours,” Nathan said to Edward, looking downright miserable. “And I believe it’s up to me to decide where she will live.”

With the handle of his spoon, the Marquess tapped on his glass filled with Madeira, nearly drowning out Nathan’s voice. “This is a celebration,” he said once he’d won everyone’s attention. “We can work out the details of the marriage at a later time.”

He lifted his glass and offered Iona a warm smile. “To my future daughter-in-law.” He coughed. “Damned shame about the how, my dear. Rest assured, we don’t hold it against you.” He coughed again, harder this time. “Can’t say I’m surprised…after my boy ruined the miller’s daughter and drove her to her grave, I feared he’d one day repeat his mistake. I am truly sorry.”

Not quite the kind of toast Iona was willing to drink to. She lowered her glass while everyone else took a tentative sip.

The Marchioness’s glass was still raised in the air. “By Jove and he picked the most respected lady in all England to ruin,” she said. “You should have never trusted that he would reform his ways. You should have sent him out of the country after that first incident.”

Iona had had quite enough. As if ignoring Nathan wasn’t enough, his own family saw nothing wrong with vilifying him in front of the woman he intended to marry as if he were the very devil.

What she couldn’t figure out was why in blazes he chose to passively sit there and take such abuse. She certainly wouldn’t—not anymore.

Tossing down her napkin, she pushed back from the table and sprang to her feet. “I beg your pardon but what you are saying about Nathan is a lie. He would never dishonor a lady in such an unthinkable manner. I don’t understand why the lot of you chooses to believe such lies about one of your own. Shouldn’t a family be loyal to each other?”

“He is no longer part of this family!” the Marchioness shouted, stunning the room into an uncomfortable silence. Tears suddenly flooded her eyes. Her hands were shaking miserably.

“He eventually offered for Miss Hartfield,” Maryanne said quietly.

“Not without letting the poor ruined girl first worry about her future for three horrid months, alone and heartbroken over his cold dismissal. She left a letter,” the Marchioness said. Her fork dropped onto her plate with a clatter. “I never told anyone about this but the distraught girl wrote a letter before she took her life. Her mother brought it to me.”

“This isn’t the time,” Edward said. “As Father has already said, we are supposed to be enjoying a celebration dinner. Let us talk about something more pleasant.”

“There was a letter?” Nathan asked. His face had turned white as a sheet.

“She wrote pages about her pain and the unrequited love she felt for you and of promises made only to be broken,” the Marchioness said. “She loved without question, believing that love was being returned. Once she learned that you didn’t love her, she felt her life was no longer worth living.”

Edward shifted nervously in his seat. He took a bite of his beef and chewed noisily.

“That was the reason?” Nathan whispered. “When I left her that night, I was convinced she and I had come to an understanding. When I learned what she’d done to herself, I couldn’t believe it…couldn’t understand why she’d choose death over me. I offered her everything…yet she chose death.” He drew an unsteady breath.

“It is true?” Iona’s head grew cold and the room willowy white. “Tell me different, Nathan.”

He kept confoundingly silent.

“Please, tell me this is a jest.”

“Perhaps it is for the best that you know the full truth about Nathan’s part in the tragedy before the wedding, dear,” the Marchioness said. She took a sip from her glass of Madeira. “It was a terrible trial for us all. The night before Edward’s wedding day, the miller’s daughter showed up on our front stoop soaked through and through from the drenching rains. She was shivering and in tears. What was I to do, turn her away?

“At first I thought it was some nightmarish joke. It sounded as if the distraught girl was saying that Edward had-had—” She gulped for a breath. “But how could that be? Edward would never do anything like that. He’d never displayed any of the rakish behaviors Nathan proudly flaunted all around the village and in London. Edward is a good boy. A son a mother could truly feel pride toward.”

A sickly dread set Iona’s fingers trembling. She clung to her belief in Nathan’s innocence as tightly as she gripped the back of her chair. “Once you were able to calm Miss Hartfield, she told you what?” she asked.

“Oh no, the girl was hysterical. Out of her head with grief. She just kept weeping. It was a terrible thing to behold…and with a house filled with wedding guests.”

“If she wouldn’t tell you, how did you manage to find out that it wasn’t Edward she was seeking?”

“Why, from Edward of course,” the Marchioness said. “He came down and found us in the parlor. He took one look at the poor girl and told us he’d never before laid eyes on her and couldn’t imagine what she could want from him.”

Something about that tragic night didn’t ring true. Why would Miss Hartfield ask for Edward when, in truth, she was seeking out Nathan? “So what did you do? How did you get her to ever make any sense?”

“I didn’t. I bundled the girl in several blankets and was about to send her home when Nathan came along. He took one long look at her and drew her into his arms.”

“I told Mother,” Nathan said, his voice impossibly hard, “and Father. In his study. That I was responsible.” He blinked up at Iona. “I am sorry. But it is true. I took responsibility for her unfortunate condition.”

“That was when he offered to marry Miss Hartfield,” Maryanne added. “I overheard the conversation. I couldn’t sleep that night, too nervous about my wedding to even stay in bed. I took a walk in the conservatory, thinking I’d be alone. But I wasn’t. Nathan was in there, talking with Miss Hartfield. Pleading with her.”

“
You heard
?” Nathan said.

“Maryanne!” Edward roared. He was suddenly on his feet and reaching over the table, looking like he might pluck his wife up by her neck. “You vowed you wouldn’t ever speak a word about that night!”

The room grew uncomfortably silent again.

“You knew?” Nathan whispered to Maryanne, who was cowering in her chair.

Iona watched as the fear faded from Maryanne’s sharp features. The woman straightened her spine, folded her linen napkin into a neat square and smoothed its seams before nodding slowly. “I hated you for it, Nathan,” she said. “I hated you for showing me that my future husband had ice for a heart. Imagine the shock. He’d put on quite a show for my family and me. We all thought he was besotted with me. Such a young fool I was. Besotted.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Nathan said.

“Yes, I do. For Iona’s sake and my own. For more than eight years, I’ve let a lie rule my life…and I have been miserable for it. I’ve kept quiet, believing it to be my duty. Believing that my happiness and self-respect weren’t important.” She touched her hand to Iona’s. “That chilly night in the conservatory, my heart broke. How could it not? I heard Miss Hartfield confess to Nathan that while Edward was courting me, he was telling her—using the same flowery words he’d used on me—that he loved
her
and longed to marry
her
.”

Maryanne’s bitterness rippled through the room. “And no, Edward, I will not keep silent about this a moment longer. Nor will I let you act like a tyrant anymore. Be warned, I am taking back control of my marriage, my life…and tending to my heart.