Why Dukes Say I Do (6 page)

It was true enough that the dowager would like for him to attend her birthday celebration. The fact that she would wish him to do so after being presented at court as the new Duke of Ormonde and taking up his seat in the House of Lords was beside the point. At least that’s what Isabella told herself.

Despite Isabella’s wish to protect the girl, however, Eleanor was intrigued by Isabella’s prevarication. “I should very much like to visit London to celebrate my grandmother’s birthday,” the girl said, her eyes alight. “We have yet to meet her, you know. And I feel sure that she notices the slight. I know I should if I were a grandmother who had never met my grandchildren.”

Before Isabella could address that misguided notion of the dowager’s sentimentality, a male voice sounded from the doorway. “As you well know, Eleanor,” Ormonde said, “we are not on speaking terms with our grandmother. And the dukedom does not change the matter.”

He stepped into the room, looking virile and masculine and completely foreign in the room of ladies and tea and biscuits. Isabella was quite sure that every woman in the room—even the elderly ones—sat up straighter and mentally smoothed her hair as he gave a slight bow. “Ladies,” Ormonde said, his voice deep and with just a thread of humor in it. “I trust you have been keeping our guest entertained.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Palmer said with a fatuous smile. “We could not allow her to think us complete savages here in Yorkshire. A lady of such status is such an infrequent sight in these parts. We are quite honored by her presence.”

“I feel sure Lady Wharton appreciates your condescension,” Ormonde said with a quirked brow at Isabella. “She doubtless was starving for civilized company after her ordeal on the road yesterday.”

“You are right, of course, Your Grace,” Isabella said with an answering raised brow. “I vow I cannot go above four hours without some sort of socialization. Otherwise I grow intensely bored. So much so that it is quite difficult to pass an evening alone.”

At her provocative words the duke’s mouth thinned. “Indeed, Lady Wharton? I hope that you will not find us to be too tame here. Perhaps it would be best if you returned to London sooner rather than later. We would not wish you to expire from dullness. Or lack of … companionship.”

The word hung in the air between them.

Mrs. Green, missing the subtext of their words, tittered. “Lady Wharton has just arrived, Your Grace. I pray you, do not send her back to London before we’ve had a chance to winkle the latest styles from her. I fear that the village dressmaker is sadly behind the times, and I for one am in desperate need of a new frock.”

“You are lovely, as always, Mrs. Green,” Ormonde said, though his eyes never left Isabella’s. “I feel sure, however, that Lady Wharton would be happy enough to offer you her fashion advice. She is nothing if not full of opinions.”

Beastly man, Isabella fumed. How dare he ruin her pleasant visit?

“I should be happy to tell you about all the latest styles, Mrs. Green,” Isabella said, deliberately turning her attention away from the duke, who was soon descended upon by one of the other village ladies.

The assembled company passed the rest of the half hour discussing fashion. And before the visitors left, each of them had extended invitations to Isabella and Eleanor to come to tea later in the week.

When the last guest had gone and Eleanor had excused herself to find out what Belinda was up to, Isabella and Ormonde were left alone together. The silence between them might have been awkward, but oddly it was not. Indeed it felt strangely companionable. Which was not a restful thought at all. Wishing to escape the sensation, Isabella made her way to the doorway and tried to excuse herself.

Before she could get the words out, however, Ormonde touched her on the arm. The connection sent a jolt of awareness through her body.

“Stay a moment, please,” the duke said, snatching his hand back as if touching her had affected him as much as it had her. A ludicrous notion, Isabella told herself. “I wish to discuss something with you,” he continued.

With a nod she stepped back into the chamber, stopping before the fireplace. “How may I assist you, Your Grace?” she asked politely. Why was it so difficult to have anything like a normal conversation with the man? she wondered. Though he was hardly her biggest fan, given that she was here to try to convince him to do something he did not wish to do, his quarrel was with his grandmother, not with her. In fairness, though, she admitted that he might have made the situation much more uncomfortable than it already was. He would have been well within his rights to send her packing instead of welcoming her into his home.

Clasping his hands behind his back, the duke paced a little before the windows overlooking the front drive of the country house. He was dressed for riding, which Isabella assumed meant that he’d spent the morning on horseback. She wondered briefly if he had a suitable mount for her. She did not often get the chance to ride, but being in the country would allow her to get in a good gallop.

Ralph had not liked for her to ride as a general rule. He considered it unladylike for a woman to ride as Isabella did—with her whole being. And so he’d forbidden it. Since his death, she hadn’t purchased a mount to replace her beloved Sookey, whom Ralph had sold without Isabella’s knowledge. While she was in the country, though, perhaps she could become accustomed to the saddle again. She may as well make the most of the visit, since Ormonde was proving to be resistant to her wiles.

There was no question of failure in her quest to bring him back to London, of course. She refused to allow her sister’s match with Coniston to be jeopardized. Perdita had already been through hell with Gervase. She deserved some happiness and Isabella was going to ensure that she got it.

“There are actually two matters I wish to discuss,” the duke said, interrupting Isabella’s thoughts. His russet hair glinted in the morning sun, giving him the appearance of an angel in a halo. Isabella didn’t find the illusion at all amusing.

“First of all,” Ormonde said, “it looks as if it will take upwards of a week to repair the duchess’s carriage. The local blacksmith is away in York visiting his ailing mother and will not be back before a sennight at least.”

Before she could protest he continued, his eyes serious, “Both of our coachmen have looked at the damage and have concluded that the damage was deliberate.”

Isabella felt her chest constrict.

“Deliberate?” she asked, feeling like an echo. “You mean someone damaged it on purpose?”

Ormonde nodded. Isabella did not like the gravity in his expression. It smacked too much of concern, which she most assuredly did not want.

“Can you think of a reason someone might wish to harm you?”

I know what you did last season.

The words of the note echoed in Isabella’s consciousness. But surely the carriage breaking had nothing to do with the silly message. If she were a betting woman she’d lay odds that the dowager herself had sabotaged the carriage in order to give Isabella a better chance at persuading the duke to come back to London with her.

With a nod she said as much to the duke. “So you see, Your Grace, it was likely just your grandmother’s ploy to see to it that I am here long enough to convince you to return to London with me.”

Ormonde frowned. “Lady Wharton, I think you misunderstand me. The damage to the carriage wasn’t a bit of tampering to make the vehicle unable to continue on. This was the sort of damage that if it had occurred on any other stretch of road could have killed you or one of the servants riding with you.”

Her hard-won poise fading, Isabella’s hand rose to her throat.

His gaze concerned, the duke stepped forward and touched her lightly on the arm. “I do not mean to frighten you,” he said, “but it is apparent to me that whoever did this wanted to do you or someone else in your party grievous harm.”

Gone was the frisson of awareness that came whenever they touched and in its place was cold, hard fear. Isabella fought back a shiver.

“If you think of anyone with a reason to wish you harm,” he said firmly, “let me know at once. You were lucky we’ve had so much rain of late, because the mud cushioned what might have otherwise been a more dangerous fall.”

Isabella nodded. With some difficulty she managed to impose some calm upon herself. Wishing more than anything to change the subject so that she would not seem so vulnerable, she asked, “There was something else you wished to speak of?”

His brow still furrowed, the duke took a moment to realize what she was asking. At the reminder he flushed. “Oh yes. It has been pointed out to me that it is perhaps unwise for me to allow Eleanor and Belinda to continue to carry on left to their own devices without some kind of female guidance.”

Surprise made Isabella’s eyes widen. Of all the things she might have expected him to say, it wasn’t this. “I am in agreement with this assessment,” she said carefully. She could tell just from her brief acquaintance with his sisters that they desperately needed some kind of guidance. “Surely you are not asking me to act as your sisters’ governess, Your Grace? For I can assure you that I have no such qualifications. I am quite abysmal at the pianoforte and I have no gift at all for recitations.”

He laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him do so and she was charmed in spite of herself.

“No!” he said, running a nervous hand over his mussed hair. He was clearly out of his element talking about such things. But the fact that he cared enough to approach someone he had no reason to trust said much for his affection for his sisters. “I would not presume upon your good nature in such a way. I would, however, presume upon you to help me find a suitable governess. If that is at all agreeable to you.”

She was strangely flattered that he trusted her opinion. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter, she thought, remembering the way the neighborhood ladies had fawned over him that morning.

“Of course I will assist you,” she said more warmly than she’d intended. But, she thought, better to seem more eager than not eager enough. “You do know, however, that Eleanor is nearly ready to make her come-out.”

His good humor fled at her words. “Not yet, surely,” he said. “I believe many young ladies do not make their debuts until they are a bit older.”

“Only if some event prevents them from doing so,” Isabella said firmly. “Unless there is a death in the family, or some sort of financial difficulty that prevents it, forcing a young lady to make her debut at an advanced age merely serves to put her behind the rest of her peers. I realize that you do not wish to take up your role as the duke, but if your reticence prevents your sisters from taking their own rightful positions in society, Your Grace, you are being unfair to them.”

He looked as if he would argue, but she held up a staying hand. “I have no wish to be unkind, or to use your sisters as a means of luring you to London. But surely you can see that your actions affect them.”

“But Eleanor is only seventeen. That is far too young for her to be on the town.”

“But not too young for her to begin attending neighborhood parties and the like,” Isabella said. “Like it or not, Your Grace, she is almost grown and by preventing her from leaving the nest you will only hamper her chances at happiness.”

“What a coil,” he muttered, looking as if he’d like to tug on his hair in frustration. If he didn’t care about his sisters one way or the other he’d have told Isabella to go hang, so his obvious dismay was a point in both their favors. His because it meant he was a kind guardian and hers because it meant that he might be persuaded to go up to London on his sisters’ behalf.

She said she did not wish to use his sisters to lure him up to London. That did not mean she would not do so if she must. Besides, she truly did believe that having their brother accept his rightful position would be good for Eleanor and Belinda.

“In any event,” Isabella went on, “I will write to my sister in London and ask her if she will put the word out that you are seeking a governess. I imagine that any governess in need of a position would leap at the chance to work for the Duke of Ormonde.”

“Thank you,” he said, still looking somewhat hunted.

“And, Lady Wharton,” he continued, “I do realize that my decisions affect them. It simply had not occurred to me that by refusing to go to London I was hampering their social welfare. I still think of them as children, I suppose.”

It would take a bit of time, Isabella supposed, for him to begin thinking of his sisters as young ladies. Perhaps she could do him some good while she while she was here, in addition to doing the dowager’s bidding.

“I understand, Your Grace,” she said, smiling at him. “I have a younger sister, too.”

*   *   *

Trevor found himself reluctant to ruin their unusual amity by broaching the topic of the bargain, but he knew that he would be doing Lady Isabella a great disservice were he to let her continue on with the idea that they were now at some kind of peace. Far from it.

“There is one further item I wish to discuss with you, my lady,” he said just as she was rising from her chair. “It will take but a moment.” Feeling like the veriest clod, he took out the sheet of foolscap on which he’d jotted down his list of items for her to accomplish before he’d agree to come to London.

Looking surprised, Lady Isabella nonetheless remained seated and inclined her head to indicate that she was listening.

Trevor cleared his throat. “I realize that you came here not at your own whim,” he said, “but because my grandmother has for whatever reason chosen you to be her emissary.”

“Yes.” Her dark hair shone in the light from the windows, and Trevor found himself wondering what it would look like when loosed from its elegant chignon.

Realizing the direction of his thoughts, he mentally shook himself and returned to the subject at hand. “Lady Wharton,” he said firmly, “I have decided that I will go with you to London.”

Her eyes widened, and to his discomfort she smiled. It was the first real show of genuine warmth he’d seen from her since her arrival last evening. “Your Grace,” she said with relief, “that is wonderful news!”