A Mistletoe Match For The White Duchess (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  Isolde looked from her cousin, who was distraught over the end of a courtship, to Olivia, who was equally distraught–because she was fretting over the beginning of a new one. As much as Isolde wished for a kind Lord to take an interest in her, sometimes she felt that being without prospects could have its advantages.

  * * *

  Their carriage arrived in front of Roselawn Manor a few minutes later. To her surprise, she saw their landau outside.

  “Has Cousin Gordon arrived home early?” Henrietta wondered as the three jumped out of the carriage.

  “It appears so,” Isolde strutted forward, excited at the prospect of seeing her brother. As she came around the carriage, her brother rushed out of the house, still in his traveling clothes.

  “Sister!” He was by her side in two strides and lifted her up. He twirled her once and set her back down, both of them smiling. “What are you doing here? I was about to come fetch you and Cousin Henrietta.”

  Oh,” he stopped when he spotted his cousin, “there you are! You look glum. What’s the matter? Is the Marquess dragging his feet with an offer? Shall I go see if I can speed things up a bit?” He playfully lifted his fists in the air, mocking a punch. This instantly set Henrietta off once more and she burst into tears. Leaving her cousin behind with a puzzled expression on his face, she rushed into the house.

  “What has happened?”

  Isolde sighed and shook her head. “The Marquess has run off to Gretna Green with another woman.”

  “By Jove! That’s unfortunate. No wonder she was upset. I shall go apologize.”

  “It will be best to let her be. It’s been nothing but tears and tantrums the entire week. Some alone time might do her good,” Olivia had stepped out from the shadow of the carriage, her hands buried deep in her silver muff.

  “Miss Brown, a pleasure to see you,” Eric said and bowed. “And I am not surprised to hear it. My Cousin has a love for the dramatic. This, however, is most unfortunate.”

  Isolde nodded, “Yes, and especially as it turned out that the Marquess had planned the whole thing. He’d intended to only carry on the courtship until he had secured enough funds to take the merchant’s daughter to Scotland to wed.”

  Eric squinted and pursed his lips. “A weasel, this Marquess. I should have a right mind to put a facer on him, and I do not speak in jest this time.”

  Isolde smiled at her brother’s declaration. One of the things she liked best about him was his ferocious desire to protect his family.

  “We shall have to keep an eye on her. She’s taken it awfully hard. She would not even come to the ball yesterday.”

  “Cousin Henrietta turning down a ball? She must be in agony. We shall look after her until she goes home, don’t fret. She will be all right. Surely Lord Balwick will find another suitor soon.” He paused and glanced at Olivia who stood quietly, not wishing to interrupt the conversation.

  “Miss Brown, would you care to come inside and warm yourself with a cup of hot chocolate? It is utterly freezing here.”

  Olivia shook her head, “Thank you for the offer, Mister Gordon. But I do not have the time. I must return home at once.”

  “Another time, then” Eric said and bowed again. Isolde detected a hint of disappointment in her brother’s voice, but said nothing.

  “I shall see you soon, Izzy,” her friend said. The two girls kissed each other on the cheek before Olivia returned to her carriage and departed.

  * * *

  The siblings entered the house and relieved themselves of their outer layers. The house was cold, although it was not a surprise as they had not been home for some time. The servants would only keep the fire going in the servant areas to preserve firewood.

  “Mister Gordon, the fire is going in the drawing room, if you please.” North said as he collected their coats, muffs, and hats.

  “Thank you, North. Would you have the cook prepare a few refreshments? Hot chocolate, Sister?”

  Isolde nodded, a smile on her face. She loved hot chocolate. “And some dry cake if there is any?” After the butler departed, they walked to the drawing room and sat by the fire.

  “I cannot wait for Christmastide. Can you believe it is that time again already?” Isolde loved Christmastide with a passion. She would decorate the house with greenery and wait for the first snowfall year after year. It reminded her of her childhood, when her mother was still alive. Suddenly, the thought of her mother brought back the conversation she’d overheard between Lady Conner and Lady Buxby.

  “Do you remember Mother well?” Her eyes focused on the dancing embers in the fireplace.

  “Of course, I do. I remember her well. Don’t you?”

  She glanced at him, “I have some memories of her, though not many. I remember I used to hide between her legs all the time when we went anywhere because strangers frightened me. I remember walking in the snow, throwing snowballs. One year she helped me build a snowman.”

  Her brother broke into laughter, “Yes! I do recall. She tasked me with sneaking into the kitchen to retrieve a carrot for the nose. I was not to ask the cook for it; I was to procure it in a sneaky manner. She wanted to make it a game for me.” The smile faded away and his eyes darkened. “That was the year she died. I remember she was close to her time of confinement.”

  “Yes, that is right. That is the last true memory I have of her. I wish I remembered her more.”

  Her brother sighed, “I know you do, Sister. But you were much younger than I when she passed. I was already fourteen, you only six. It is no wonder you have such little memories. Say, what brings on this sudden conversation about Mother?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, “I did not have a good experience at the ball last night.” She locked eyes with her brother. “Promise me, Brother, that I shall not have to attend any more balls for a while. If Father attempts to make me and I refuse, will you please support me?”

  Eric frowned, “I promise I will do all I can, Sister. But what has upset you so?”

  Isolde sighed. “I overheard Lady Conner telling the Countess of Buxby about my lack of maternal influence, in order to explain my plain appearance and lack of a suitor. And then…” Eric inhaled sharply, already enraged.

  “That woman. I do not know why Father is so fond of using her as a chaperone for you. You might as well have spent the week we were away with Lord Balwick at this rate.”

  “Faith, no! I would much rather put up with the kneeling from Lady Conner than the endless tedium of Lady Balwick.”

  Their aunt, Henrietta’s mother, was the very definition of an upper-class noblewoman. Refined, accomplished in her music, as well as needlework–and utterly boring. She would go on monologues about her latest needlework that could drag on for hours, putting to sleep even the most energetic of persons. Between her tedious nature, and Lord Balwick’s menacing one, it was no wonder Henrietta enjoyed spending time at Roselawn as much as she did.

  Eric looked in the fire, shaking his head. Isolde decided not to continue the tale of last night for he would grow ever more infuriated and likely seek out Hester York and Frances Portsmouth’s families. She did not wish to draw more attention. Eric would find out eventually anyhow, but she decided that for today, she’d rather enjoy the quiet without talking about the matter further.

  “All I ask is that you promise to support my refusal to go to another ball.”

  “I shall, Isolde.” He paused when suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Zooks. I nearly forgot. You will not believe who I saw!”

  Isolde, her hands now thoroughly warm, sat on the settee, her legs tucked under her.

  “Who?” They lived in the country, and the nearest town, Hascombe, was scarcely populated so whoever it was he had met had to be someone rather unusual.

  “Take a guess! I’ll say this much! Riding lessons!”

  Isolde’s mouth dropped open. “No! It can’t be? Lord Rotham?”

  He nodded with conviction, “Indeed. Well, he’s Lord Ekhard now as he’s inherited the Du
kedom from his father. Our good old friend, he’s returned. He was at the ball last night, but you must have missed one another.”

  “Missed whom, Cousin?” The siblings both turned when Henrietta entered. She’d freshened up and there was not a trace of tears left upon her fair face. She’d also undone her hair so that it was open and loose, the red in stark contrast to the white muslin dress she wore.

  “He was just telling me about our neighbor, the Duke of Ekhard. He was at last night’s ball, but I did not have occasion to meet him. In any case, he is quite the adventurer. He’s been away, traveling the world since I was a child. Oh, the stories he must have to tell.”

  Just then, one of the footmen entered with the requested hot chocolate and plates of refreshments. Isolde was delighted to see that marzipan was available, her favorite next to dry cake. To her surprise, she watched as Henrietta took not only one piece of cake but two, as well as several pieces of marzipan.

  Across from her, her brother raised an eyebrow. It was unusual to see Henrietta indulge.

  “What is it? I have had quite the shock this week. Don’t I deserve to make myself feel better, even if I shall regret it later?”

  Eric waved an arm, “By all means, do not let me stop you.”

  Isolde placed her plate next to her and wrapped her hands around the mug of hot chocolate, which steamed. The scent of the hot chocolate and spices tickled her nose.

  “I thought I heard the Duke of Ekhard died not long ago,” Henrietta said as she took a bite out of the cake.

  “He did, six months ago it was. The Duke, the new one, just returned from India last week.” Eric drank his chocolate slowly with his eyes closed. He’d done this since they were children.

  Henrietta swallowed a lump of cake. “But did you not call him Earl Rotham? How did he go from Earl to Duke? Should there not have been a Marquess in between to assume the title?”

  Isolde and Eric exchanged a glance and she shrugged. She knew the story somewhat, but since her brother was close to the Duke, she felt he was in a better position to explain the circumstances to their curious cousin.

  “There was a Marquess. Rotham, I mean Lord Ekhard, was the second son. He had a brother, older by ten years, who was in line to be the next Duke. But, he died perhaps a year or so ago. Rather tragic. It was a boating accident that killed both him and his wife. They had no sons, only daughters, and so the title passed to the next in line.”

  Isolde felt a sudden wave of sadness for the Duke. To lose his brother and his father in just a year was dreadful. And he’d been so far away he had not been able to go to the funeral. Of course, being a woman, Isolde had not either. She recalled the solemn countenance her father and brother had carried upon their faces when they returned from the burials.

  She hated to think of how the poor young Duke must have felt, receiving the news. She remembered him well, for he had been the one to teach her to ride a horse properly. She’d always been afraid of riding, although she’d loved horses all her life. She remembered watching her brother, Olivia’s older brother, Mr. Thomas Brown, and the Duke riding out and wishing she could have done so as well.

  She had been perhaps eight years old when he’d seen her lurking in the stables as the three boys got ready to ride out. Even then, she’d been scared of talking to people. The timid nature that had taunted her all her life had made it nearly impossible to speak to anyone she did not know well. However, her desire to learn to ride had won over her fear and she’d asked him to teach her. Which he had.

  She still thought of the lessons he’d taught her when she rode out now.

  I wonder what he is like now, how the years have changed him. It is hard to imagine as it was fourteen years ago that he taught me to ride. Time has moved so quickly.

  “That is rather sad. What a pity to come into such a grand title by way of such tragedy,” Henrietta said as she finished her cake. “I think I would like to take the air; I’ve indulged far too much and the Duke’s story has made me rather melancholy, on top of my own sorrows.” She rose.

  “I shall join you, Etta. I’d rather like to put the past week behind me as well.”

  The two young ladies left the drawing room to retrieve their outer wear when North walked past them, a tray with the day’s mail in hand. Isolde saw him hand the envelopes to Eric who opened them at once and began to read. He was rather diligent about correspondence.

  Molly had already retrieved Isolde’s muff and pelisse when Henrietta rushed back down the stairs, dressed for the cold. She took Isolde’s hand in hers.

  “Shall we, Cousin?”

  “We shall!” Isolde replied with a grin. She was rather looking forward to a stroll outside.

  They had almost reached the door when Eric called out from behind them.

  “Isolde! Wait.” There was something uneasy in his voice. Isolde walked back toward the drawing room and saw her brother standing by the settee, an opened letter in hand. She recognized the handwriting as that of her father. Her brother’s countenance was one of regret and dread.

  “We have had a letter from Father. Isolde, I must speak to you at once. Please join me in the drawing room. Alone.”

  Isolde’s heart beat out of her chest as she took off the pelisse and handed it back to Molly. Slowly, she walked toward her brother, certain something dreadful had to have been written in the letter. With shaking legs, she sat across from him and braced herself.

  Chapter 4

  That evening, Jonathan sat by the window in the parlor, overlooking the path leading up to Chesterton Court and kept an eye out for his friend. When he showed up, Jonathan couldn’t help but be highly impressed. He was driving a dashing curricle; unlike any he’d seen. He made his way outside, putting on his great coat as he went.

  “Gordon! This is magnificent!” He climbed into the passenger seat with some difficulty, owing to the fact that his body ached from the fall earlier in the day. He’d been most fortunate as he’d fallen in such a way to avoid mortal injury. He was certain his body would be bruised in a multitude of colors in the coming days, but save for some aches, he was fine.

  “You are walking like Hastings, old chum. Do you require a cane?” Eric joked. Jonathan grimaced at him as he took his seat.

  “I took a fall off my horse, shortly after seeing you. Do not fret, I am quite well. I ache but nothing a few cups of ale won’t remedy!”

  “You? Taking a fall? That is unheard of. Did something startle Jora?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “It was my own error. I became distracted and we nearly collided with a curricle that came our way. I was fortunate to land on a bush rather than the road for it would have ended much worse for me. Now, let us not continue to speak of my misfortune. I am rather enamored by your vehicle! It is brand new you say?”

  “It is indeed, old chum! I have taken up racing. My Father is not pleased, for he fears I shall stick my spoon to the wall before I ever have the chance to become Viscount. It vexes him but I adore it!”

  Jonathan laughed at his friend’s enthusiasm.

  “I must say, I have missed it. I have not been in a curricle since my stay in Scotland. It was with you, Gordon. Do you recall?”

  “Indeed, it was when I called on you in Aberdeen, four years past.”

  “It was then, yes. Can you believe how quickly time has passed? I’ve been gone almost ten years.”

  “It has been that long? I am surprised at the passage of time. It must have felt rather strange to return after everything that has happened.”

  Jonathan fell silent and wetted his lips before replying.

  “It has been. I never expected to be Duke, as you know. And then to find myself in the position of being the heir. Even after Charles passed, I felt I had years to become accustomed to the idea. I would have returned from India much faster, had I known my Father was so unwell. I blame myself, Gordon. I do. I should have returned sooner.”

  His friend shook his head as he moved the curricle around so they were headed out
onto the road.

  “You could not know. No one knew how ill the Duke was. In fact, I saw him just at church the Sunday before he passed. He appeared pale, but not terribly ill. I was shocked to hear of his passing, mere days later.”

  “I should have returned as soon as I heard my brother had passed.”

  Jonathan fell silent. He remembered receiving the message, informing him that his brother had died. Because of the delay in receiving mail, the news had by then been three months old. He’d been Marquess, heir to the Dukedom, for three months without knowing it.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He does not mean to judge, I know this. Eric Gordon is my closest friend, and he never would judge. Still, his questions stings. Why didn’t I?