When the Duke Returns (17 page)

The Dower House
March 3, 1784

I
t was still raining. Isidore sat at her window, watching rain slide off the thorns of the rose briar circling her window. She could live without being a duchess. It would prickle, if she were honest. True, she had thought of herself as a duchess for years, whether she called herself Lady Del'Fino or no.

But what was a duchess, after all?

Just a title. Simeon was merely the only man for whom she'd allowed herself to feel desire. There were likely hundreds of desirable men waiting for her to discover them. She could direct the solicitor to unravel the weave of their marriage lines, go to London, and begin flirting with every man she met.

She felt as sad as the raindrops.

When Lucille appeared, full of excitement about the dismantling of the house, she put on her clothes without saying more than a word. Why should she seduce Simeon as she had planned? Surely that would be the worst possible footing on which to start a marriage. Likely he would blame her thereafter, thinking her a Jezebel who lured him into a marriage he didn't want.

She rejected the delicious gown her maid suggested and pointed to a blue-black one, sprigged with blackberry vines. It was sedate; it was proper. She wore it to go to church.

By the time she emerged from the bedchamber, Cosway was already seated at the desk in the sitting room, a stack of papers before him. Isidore felt a flash of irritation at him, for being so beautiful, so restrained, so not in love with her.

Not that it was his fault.

“If you will forgive me for my intrusion,” he said, rising, “I thought we might break our fast together. The Dead Watch apparently have entered the pit and cleaning has commenced. Honeydew asked that we serve ourselves, as he has the entire household staff guarding the silver, at least those who are not consigned to guard parts of the house.”

“Goodness,” Isidore said, seating herself at the table before he could help her. “Are we giving hardship pay to those assigned to the fumes?”

“An excellent suggestion.”

She picked up a muffin and buttered it, very precisely. They could be friends. There was no reason for her to feel melancholic. A whole world of men lay before her. “What work need you do today?”

“I have left the most difficult letters for the end,” Simeon said.

“Difficult in what sense? Are their requests unlikely?”

“No. I took your advice and paid all those about which I had doubts.”

She put down her muffin and felt her smile growing. “That was very generous of you, given your fear of being swindled.”

“I didn't do it out of generosity,” Simeon said. “In fact, I don't think I am particularly kind.”

She couldn't think what to say to that, so she took a bite of her muffin.

“I like to keep what is mine,” he continued.

I was yours, she thought, somewhat bitterly.

“These are letters that hint at other transgressions,” Simeon stated.

“Of what kind?” Isidore asked interestedly.

Simeon rose, extracted a sheet of tinted note paper, and handed it to her. It was written in a sloping, elegant hand and still smelled faintly of roses. It wasn't long, though bitterness made the phrases pungent.

Isidore looked up. “Your father's mistress, I presume?”

“One of them.”

“One? How many are there?”

“There are four such letters. Then there are five or six of a less imploring nature.”

“Five or six! That's—”

“At least ten women,” Simeon said flatly.

Isidore bit her lip. “As I understand it, it is a common practice. Ten may seem a great many, but your father was a man of many years, and he—”

“The ten letters are all dated within the last six years of his life.”

“Well,” Isidore said, thinking frantically, “he certainly was a
virile
man.”

Simeon's jaw tightened. Clearly he did not appreciate his father's virility.

“At least your mother doesn't know,” Isidore said, looking for a bright side.

“Actually, she does.”

“How do you know?”

In answer, he got up and fetched another piece of paper, handing it to her. This letter wasn't quite so bitter: it mournfully requested that the duke fulfill at least some of the promises he had made, for a small cottage, the writer noted, and a pension. At the very bottom, written in the duchess's spidery handwriting was a note indicating a payment of four hundred pounds.

“Four hundred pounds!” Isidore said. “At least
she
got her cottage.”

“Yes.” His voice was so uncompromising and rage-filled that Isidore fell silent again. “Did your father have a mistress?” he asked, finally.

“I don't believe so. My mother…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“Would have killed him,” she said. “You said that I was uncomfortably emotional, Simeon. I got it from my mother. She had a terrible temper, and occasionally she would erupt into rages and scream.” She smiled, thinking of it.

Simeon looked appalled.

“My father would argue at first,” Isidore said, “and finally he would start laughing. Then she would laugh too, and it would be over.”

“I feel as if I returned home to a family I never knew,” Simeon said. “I had no idea that my father swam in a sea of deceit, cheating everyone from the tradespeople to his intimates. I fear that debts of honor will be called in at any moment.”

“Was he a gamester?”

“I have no idea. To this point, no one has approached me about gaming debts left unpaid. I didn't know him.”

“It could be that no one really understands another person,” Isidore offered.

Simeon put down his knife and fork with sharp little clicks. “I am a man of restraint and habit, Isidore. I do not like chaos.”

“I know,” Isidore said, feeling her melancholy almost like a friend at this point.

“I dislike—I truly dislike—this feeling that at any moment, unpleasant truths about my family may appear. I wasn't observant as a child and I noticed little beyond my parents' arguments. Even those I paid scant attention to. I was utterly riveted by my dreams of travel.”

She had to smile at the idea of that. “Ever since you were little?”

“I left the country at the earliest possible age. My father thought I would be travelling for a year. I knew it would be far longer, though I didn't emphasize the point. Yet I would have come back if I'd known the family was unraveling at the seams.”

“How you've changed,” Isidore said. “You used to long for adventure, and now you seem to want the quiet life you once despised.”

“There's such a thing as too much adventure,” he said dryly. “Near-Death-by-Privy is a good example of what adventure often looks like, up close.”

“Once you pay the outstanding bills, you won't be buffeted by chaos.” It had to be said, so she said it. “I have been thinking about your reluctance to marry me, Simeon, and I think your initial instinct was right. I am not the proper wife for you. The solicitor made it clear that we could end the marriage, and I think we should.”

He had picked up his knife but he put it down again,
very precisely. He didn't seem inclined to speak, so she continued. “You will be much happier with someone like yourself, someone restrained and organized. I am not very restrained, Simeon. And you haven't even seen my worst side. I would make you uncomfortable in the long run.”

“I begin to question my concept of marriage,” he said, but his voice was wooden.

“I know I would,” Isidore said, pushing away her plate. “We've turned into friends, don't you think? Perhaps because we are both people without experience. But you called lust a transitory emotion, and I'm certain that you're right. Previously, I never allowed myself to feel anything of that nature.”

“I should hope not.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Wouldn't you rather that I
had
felt lust and had restrained myself? Not that it matters,” she answered herself. “I think you will be much more comfortable with someone as composed as yourself.”

“She sounds like a personal secretary,” Simeon observed.

“No, not at all,” Isidore said, warming to the task. “We'll find you someone sweet.”

“Docile?”

“Well, that's such an unattractive word. Perhaps not docile, but you would be more comfortable perhaps with someone more biddable. I am not biddable, Simeon. Not in the least. I have made my own way for too many years. I never really realized it before, but I fear I have become a virago.”

He gasped, but she saw the amusement in his eyes. “No!”

“Laugh as you like,” she told him. “You're grateful I'm saying this, and don't pretend that you're not. As I
said, we'll find you a charming English girl to whom restraint and prudence are second nature.”

“Like my mother?”

“Your mother?” she repeated, losing track of the conversation.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “My mother learned my father's lessons so well that she maintained his deranged method of paying bills for years after his death. The only hint of rebellion I can find is that she paid his mistress so generously. He would have hated that. But that in itself indicates a certain lack of passion, don't you think? I find it hard to believe that she was not aware of the existence of all these women.”

Isidore really didn't know what to think of Simeon's mother. “You don't like passion,” she pointed out. “It is uncomfortable. Your mother likely feels the same way. After all, if one's husband is determined to stray, what can one do?”

“What would you do? If I took a mistress?”

Isidore didn't even need to think about that. “I'd kill you,” she told him, smiling to soften it a little. “So you see, Simeon, I would be a very uncomfortable wife.”

“I don't intend to have a mistress, or mistresses,” Simeon said.

“That's very admirable of you. I'm sure your wife will be much happier.”

“I feel queasy at the idea of you choosing my bride.”

“Of course,” Isidore said brightly. “I didn't mean to intrude in any fashion.”

There was a beat of silence, so she added, “I shall naturally be looking for my own spouse so I wouldn't have to time to search out the proper damsel for you. We both must manage the task on our own.”

“Won't you mind not being a duchess?”

“Oh, no,” she said airily. “Titles are not very important to me.”

“You might not feel that way after more reflection.”

“If that proves to be the case, I shall simply set my cap at a duke,” Isidore pointed out. “The Duke of Villiers is surprisingly attractive. He and I accompanied my friend Harriet to Lord Strange's house party. I had no idea that Villiers was so witty.”

“The problem is not you, Isidore, but myself.”

“You said that before,” Isidore pointed out, feeling irritated. “I entirely understand that you find me unrestful. I accept it; in fact, as I've just said, I've come to agree with you. After all, what if I wanted a husband who would show passionate interest in
me
?”

His eyes were impenetrable. “Yes, what then?”

“I do not want a spouse who will be always calm and ordered,” she told him. “My father cared deeply about my mother.”

“I'm sure he did.”

“He never would have taken a mistress, not because he was afraid that she would scream at him, but because they were a pair. They faced the world together. Even—” her throat was tight a moment, but she said it anyway—“even though I couldn't bear it, I was glad they died together. I simply couldn't imagine one without the other.”

“They were fortunate.”

“You wouldn't have thought so,” she said. “They did fight. Sometimes my mother won, and sometimes my father won. On balance, I think my mother won more often. I remember finding them kissing. And I remember my mother sending me to the nursery, and pulling father off for a nap as well.”

Simeon's mouth curled in a smile.

“I thought for years after that that all grown-ups slept
in the afternoon. Unlike myself, my father didn't protest.”

“I expect not.”

“I want what my parents had. In a queer way I'm grateful that you didn't come home promptly when I was sixteen. I'd been telling myself that I just wanted an acceptable marriage. But now I understand that I was settling for whomever emerged from the desert because I didn't really have a choice.”

She stood up and walked a quick step to the mantelpiece, turned and looked at him. “I have to thank you, Simeon. I never thought I had any choice, so I didn't allow myself to think about what
I
wanted in a marriage.”

“And what do you want?” He had stood as soon as she had. His voice sounded a bit queer, rather stifled, so she peered at him. But he looked exactly the same: passionless, calm Simeon. At least he was polite enough not to break into celebration at her announcement.

“I want to be liked,” she told him, feeling more cheerful by the moment. “I think I'd like to fall in love. Oh, and I want to be courted. Many men have tried, you know.”

“I have no doubt.” His face did look a bit cross.

“Flowers and such,” Isidore told him. “Even jewels, sometimes, if they didn't yet realize what sort of person I am. I'd like a marriage in which—” She stopped. “Do you suppose it's too much to hope that my husband will listen to my opinion all of the time?”

“Yes.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Then most of the time. And I'd like all the passion that you don't want. I don't wish for a calm and contained life. I'd rather have some adventure.” In fact, Isidiore felt quite cheerful even thinking about it.

Suddenly he was standing just before her. He moved like some sort of predator, but then he didn't seem to know what he wanted to say.