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

by Patricia Haverton

  “I have, and it appears you are quite ready to share your news as well. What has happened, Etta?” Olivia asked.

  It occurred to Isolde that Olivia still had not told her whether Eric was aware that Oliva’s courtship with Lord Canterbury had fallen by the wayside. If he did not know, Isolde would be sure to tell him. Perhaps her brother and best friend would find a way to one another yet.

  “The matchmaker has at last found a match! An Earl, no less! The Earl of Dorington. Can you imagine?”

  Isolde’s eyebrows rose. It had been a mere fortnight since her father had agreed to provide a dowry for Henrietta.

  “She appears rather skilled, your matchmaker,” Olivia chimed in.

  The three girls made a turn and walked along a graveled walkway that led them past the small lake. Ducks frolicked on the water which had been frozen only a week before. The weather had warmed somewhat, although it was still cold.

  Etta sneered, “I believe she had the match planned from the start but the lack of a proper dowry held it up. In any case, I shall see the young Earl in the New Year. Can you imagine? I may become a Countess yet!”

  “What do you know of the Earl? Is he kind? Well respected? What is his family like?”

  Henrietta frowned and tilted her head as she looked at Isolde.

  “I know nothing of his family nor his standing in society. He is an Earl; thus he must be well respected. I do know that he is supposed to be rather dashing and makes eight thousand a year! And he has a townhouse in Mayfair, as well as an estate in Oxfordshire, and a castle in Aberdeenshire!”

  “And that is really all that matters when seeking a husband,” Olivia said. Etta, of course, did not pick up on the sarcasm in her friend’s voice, for clearly, she was already dreaming of a future as the Countess of Dorington.

  “We shall have so much fun! You shall come visit me in Scotland in the summers and we will walk the glen. Faith! We may find a couple of dashing young Lairds there and perhaps we can all have summer homes in Aberdeen. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

  Isolde and Olivia exchanged a glance and grinned at one another. Henrietta caught the way they looked at each other and pursed her lips. Then, her eyes brightened.

  “Faith! Olivia! I forgot. You shan’t be wanting a Laird. Unless Mister Eric Gordon acquires a Lairdship in some fashion, la?”

  “Etta, do not jest. You must not make cruel remarks simply because your fortunes have turned,” Isolde scolded her cousin, for she could see the pain on Olivia’s face when Eric’s name was mentioned.

  “I was not cruel!” Etta protested and stopped, her hands on her hips. “I do not see why, now that Lord Canterbury is out of the picture, Mister Gordon can’t simply ask for permission to court Olivia. We all know you are enamored with one another. Surely, my Uncle is aware and would speak to Lord Conner.”

  Olivia crossed her hands in front of her chest.

  “Nothing has changed. My Mother still wishes for me to wed a lord with great wealth and titles, and I am sad to say that Mister Gordon has neither.”

  Henrietta shook her head; her red hair flew around her pale face.

  “It is not true. Lord Lincester is about to expand the coffee house business and thus increase his wealth considerably. I am certain Lady Conner would be pleased enough to overlook the lack of a title.”

  Isolde swallowed hard when she saw the sudden light that crossed her best friend’s face.

  Etta is right, the increase in wealth may well swing Lady Conner’s view on a courtship and marriage between Eric and Olivia. It is what they both want. What they both have dreamt of all of their lives. Yet, if I refuse to wed Mister Downey then it is my fault not only that father will lose his business, but that Eric cannot wed the woman he loves.

  “Do not fret, Izzy! I shall find you a handsome Laird! Unless of course, you’d rather wed your Duke after all!”

  Isolde felt her eyes water at the mention, for the responsibility of it all was tearing at her.

  “What is it? What have I said to upset you, Cousin?” Henrietta slung an arm around Isolde’s waist in an effort to comfort her.

  “Oh Etta, you are a gabbler indeed,” Olivia said with a shake of the head. “You know well that she cares for the Duke, but you do not know that Lord Lincester wishes for her to wed Mister Downey.”

  Henrietta gasped. “You? I was in fear that it was I who was to wed the old man, but you? Why would my Uncle ever…” she paused and glanced at Isolde. “Why have you not told me?”

  Isolde shook her head. “I had hopes that Jonathan would find a way to undo the whole affair before it became public knowledge.”

  The three girls continued to walk, albeit slower than before. Isolde filled Henrietta in on the entirety of her encounters with Jonathan, for it no longer mattered who knew and who did not. Besides, she felt badly for excluding Henrietta from some of the details. She was after all her cousin and close friend.

  Henrietta took in the information and looked at them with her mouth open. Isolde was surprised her cousin was not more upset at being left in the dark. Indeed, she appeared rather keen to advise and comfort her cousin.

  “If the Duke is willing to undo the match with Mister Downey, then there is no reason to be so downcast Isolde! It will all work out for the best. Indeed, within the year we shall all be wed to the Lords that we love, I declare!”

  “The Lords we love? You have yet to meet this mysterious Lord the matchmaker is setting you up with, Etta. He might be a frightful bore.”

  Etta shrugged. “I shan’t think so. Even if he is, I am certain I shall love him.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes at Isolde, both of them aware of what Henrietta would love. It would be the Earl’s wealth and position, something neither Olivia nor Isolde cared about.

  Truly, Jonathan was all Isolde had ever wanted in a man. All she had ever secretly hoped for.

  “I hope for you that is true, that this Earl is all you had hoped for,” Isolde linked her arm to her cousin’s as they went. Etta placed her hand over Isolde’s.

  “I believe he will be as perfect for me as the Duke is for you, for Lord Ekhard is truly perfection. If only it were not for the complication with Mister Downey.”

  “I am certain the Duke will resolve the problem, Isolde,” Olivia chimed in. “If he is only half as enamored with you as you are with him, he will certainly move heaven and earth to make it so.”

  Isolde chewed her lip. “If he does, yes. I hope it to be true.”

  “Of course he does!” Olivia exclaimed. “I have seen the way he looks at you the day we went to town. Do not let it vex you, dear Isolde. All shall be well.”

  The three girls made their way around the lake and through the flower garden, which in the summer bloomed with the most beautiful roses, daisies, and lilies. Now that it was winter, the plants were covered with frost and snow, though still beautiful nonetheless.

  They had been walking for the better part of an hour when the wind picked up. Isolde pulled her gloved fingers back into the sleeves of her pelisse while beside her, Olivia wrapped her arms around her body.

  “It is frightfully cold. Perhaps we ought to return to Roselawn and warm ourselves by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate and then decorate!” Henrietta said as they completed another loop around the park. “Oh la, I hope the men have found a lovely Yule log. I cannot wait for this evening.”

  Isolde nodded, “I agree, let us return before we turn into icicles!” She’d felt some of the Christmastide cheer return, now that she had left behind the dreary events of last night and was reunited with her friends.

  They made their way to the entrance where their carriages awaited them. As they got to the large iron gate, a couple of young lords approached them. Isolde knew their faces. She’d seen them at social functions but could not think of their names.

  She thought nothing more of it for they were certainly not the only people in the park. To her surprise, Henrietta appeared startled at the sight of the men. She slowed down an
d eyed them, then quickly averted her gaze and walked faster than before.

  “Perhaps we had better cut across the lawn. It is so cold; I cannot wait to reach the carriage!”

  Olivia turned to look at her. “Cut across the lawn? Whatever for? It will save no time and our shoes will be utterly covered in mud.”

  Henrietta opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but she did not get any words out. For as soon as they were at the same length as the men, they were stopped.

  “Miss Gordon, Miss Henrietta, Miss Brown, a pleasure to see you,” the first of the two lords, a tall, lanky young man with shoulder-length shaggy brown hair, addressed them. His friend, half a head shorter and rather pudgy, glanced at each of them with a smirk upon his face.

  “Mr. York, Mr. Portsmouth, good to see you on this pleasant day,” Henrietta replied. Isolde could feel how stiff her cousin’s body was, a clear sign of her discomfort. Her voice was hesitant as she spoke.

  Then suddenly it came to Isolde. York and Portsmouth. These were the older brothers of her nemesis Frances and Hester! No wonder Etta had reacted in such a strange fashion. She knew all too well of the torment these boys’ sisters had put Isolde through.

  “Yes, it is rather a beautiful day, is it not?” The tall lanky man said. He looked from one girl to the next, with his gaze lingering on Isolde. She shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable at the way he was studying her face.

  “Miss Gordon, how is His Grace, the Duke of Ekhard?” The tall one asked.

  Why is he asking me about Jonathan? Are they friends of his? Surely not. Jonathan would not be friends with these rogues. He would certainly not keep company with men such as these. Not after seeing what their sisters did to me at the ball.

  “We must really go, I am freezing as we speak,” Henrietta urged and attempted to push forward, but the two young men stood in their way, blocking the path.

  “We have heard that the good Duke is rather fond of you, Miss Gordon.”

  Isolde looked up at the man who smirked in an evil fashion. She could see the stark resemblance in him to his sister, Frances. She knew from her experiences with her that it was best not to indulge in conversation. She would simply let whatever taunting he wished to do be over with and move along with her life. But then she remembered Jonathan’s words, and the promise she’d made him to stand up for herself.

  Gathering her strength, she lifted her head and looked him square in the eyes.

  “Where have you heard such a thing?”

  She noticed how his nose flared when she spoke, he had evidently not expected her to speak at all.

  “Around. As you know, the ton knows everything. Now, I do wonder. Why would a man such as the Duke of Ekhard pay attention to someone as plain, colorless, and timid as yourself? Have you not wondered that, Miss Gordon?”

  He looked at his friend, Hester York’s brother. He was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Why, Portsmouth, I have certainly wondered. I know none of my friends would take a second look at one as plain as Miss Gordon. So why would the highest-ranking nobleman, the richest nobleman in the entire region, pay such close mind to you?”

  Both of the young men placed their hands on their chins and rubbed, as though deep in thought. Beside her, Henrietta yanked on Isolde’s arm, wanting to move forward. On her other side, Olivia stemmed her hands onto her hips.

  “Why do you not get out of our way and let us get on with our day?”

  “Are we keeping you, fair maidens?” York mocked them. “Are you due to meet with the charming Duke again, Miss Gordon?”

  His friend snickered. “Do you believe she suspects? Surely, she does.”

  “Suspect what? Say what it is you wish to say or let us be on our way.” Isolde had had quite enough of these rogues ruining her day.

  “By Jove, she is not quite as timid as Ekhard made her out to be!”

  “Feisty indeed, I might say!” The two men jested back and forth while inside, Isolde began to crumble. What had Jonathan said to these men, if anything? Did he indeed know them?

  “Get out of our way or I shall scream!” Olivia said and pushed York out of her way. He grabbed her by the shoulder.

  “Now, now, Miss Brown that is not proper behavior for a lady. We are just doing a good deed, as one should at Christmastide, and warning your friend about her paramour,” York said, with clear menace in his voice.

  “Let us go!” Henrietta said, her voice panicked.

  “She is trying to protect her cousin from the ugly truth, it is rather cute. Someone as smart as Miss Henrietta Gordon would have figured out the truth long ago.”

  “What truth? Stop speaking in riddles.” Isolde was utterly tired of this display. If there was something she needed to hear, she would much rather get it over with.

  “Dearest Miss Gordon, you are utterly in the dark, are you not?” Portsmouth said.

  Isolde had had enough. She no longer wished to partake in this charade.

  “We are leaving,” She declared and took a step forward, but found herself blocked by York. Hot rage rose up inside Isolde as she’d had enough of this. She swung her leg backward and, with as much force as she could muster, kicked York squarely in the shin.

  He yelped and hopped on one foot backward and out of their way.

  “You wench! You miserable little wench!” He hollered while the girls broke into a run and made their way toward the gate.

  “It’s no wonder Ekhard is playing games with you. By Jove, no wager can be worth putting up with someone as miserable and ugly as you are, inside as well as out!” York screamed after them, stopping Isolde in her tracks.

  “No! Izzy, let us press on. Please!” Etta begged and pulled on Isolde’s arm to make her move forward, but Isolde stood as if struck by thunder. A wager?

  She broke free of Etta’s grasp and turned around.

  “What are you talking about?”

  The man stood on both legs once more, though slightly bent from the pains she’d inflicted upon him. Slowly he stumbled toward her, bracing himself against his shorter friend.

  “Why, dearest Miss…your precious prince, the Duke of Ekhard, has made a wager that he can get the most plain, least desirable, most boring girl in all of Sussex to fall in love with him by Twelfth Night. I hear it was quite the profitable wager, for no one believed he could do it. You see, you have a reputation as a bit of a future ape-leader.”

  “An old maid in the making, so to speak,” Portsmouth chimed in. “Everyone knows if there’s anyone destined to end up as a governess for some Baronet in the country, it’s you. I know it. York knows it. Our Sisters do and if they are honest, your two friends here do as well. And most of all, the Duke. Thus, the bet.”

  “It is not true, Jonathan would never!” Isolde balled her hands into fists and stomped her foot.

  “Jonathan? You hear that, York? She calls him Jonathan. He has had much more success than we would have thought. My, my.”

  “Ask any respectable lord in the area. They’ve all heard it. He made it at Rover’s right after arriving back.”

  Olivia stepped forward. “It is not true, he would never. Isolde’s brother is his best friend after all.”

  Henrietta also stepped in. “There is no way it is true. You lie!”

  The two men looked at one another and then back at Isolde.

  “Do we lie? Or do we tell you something you already knew in your heart to be true?” York tilted his head to one side and smiled at her with a wicked, cruel smile.

  Isolde had no words, for she had known. She’d always known deep inside her heart that there was no way Jonathan truly loved her, truly cared for her. She was all the things these men said she was. Timid, ugly, a bore…hot tears welled up in her eyes as she turned slowly and began to walk away, shoulders slumped.

  “See, she knew. She only needed someone to tell her the truth,” Portsmouth said as Isolde walked away.

  Yes, someone had to tell her the truth, for she’d convinced herself that th
e illusion of love, the illusion of his feelings, had been a reality.

  The tears spilled over and began to run down her face as she heard her friend’s footsteps rushing toward her from behind.

  “Izzy!” Henrietta called.

  “Isolde! Wait!” Olivia begged. Instead of waiting, instead of allowing her friends to console her, Isolde broke into a sprint. She rushed out of the gate and toward her carriage, the tears now falling and falling as though a dam had broken. With her friends close behind her, she made it to her carriage where the coachman, a shocked expression on his face, waited for her. He opened the door for her and she rushed inside.

  “Do not let anyone inside,” she instructed as she threw herself onto the velvet cushions in the carriage and let the tears and sobs reign free.