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

by Patricia Haverton

  Eventually people would find out, Eric first of all. Sooner or later word would spread, York and Portsmouth would make sure of that.

  Faith, it would break her brother’s heart, she was certain of it. Miles and years could not break their lifelong friendship, but this betrayal just might.

  Isolde forced the dark thoughts to the back of her mind and got out of bed. Molly assisted her in getting ready for church and soon enough, she made her way downstairs where she found most of their party gathered in the drawing room, waiting for her and her father.

  A breakfast spread had been laid out for their guests, in preparation for the long Christmas sermon. As Isolde entered the room, Lady Conner approached her with a concerned expression on her face.

  “My dear! I am so pleased you could join us. How do you feel? Do you think you shall be able to walk to church with us?”

  Isolde nodded and scanned the room. “I am somewhat recovered, thank you for asking Lady Conner. I shall be able to walk, I believe. Although I might be forced to retire early tonight as I have not slept well.”

  “Certainly, everybody would understand. Would you care for a hot chocolate?”

  She indicated toward the breakfast table and Isolde agreed, for Etta and Olivia were both seated near the table indulging in the drink and delicacies. Christmas Day was one of the few days of the year when Lady Conner allowed Olivia to indulge to her heart’s desire, and her friend always took advantage of it.

  “Izzy!” her cousin rose and gave her a hug. “How are you?”

  Isolde shrugged and allowed Molly to pour her a cup of hot chocolate. Olivia stood and stepped near her.

  “The Duke is seated behind you, by the window with Thomas and your brother. He is staring at you with some intensity.”

  She acknowledged Olivia with a nod, but refused to look directly at Jonathan. She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head as she took a sip of her hot chocolate. Isolde made it a point to only address her friends and not turn to face Jonathan even once.

  It wasn’t until her father joined the party that she was forced to look in Jonathan’s direction, for her father was standing near him. She saw Jonathan dab at the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief and then place it back on the table. He glanced at her, his face stoic. He looked not unlike her; the lack of sleep evident on his face.

  What does he have to be sleepless about? It is not he who has been wronged and ridiculed and made a fool out of. Is it perhaps that his charade has been found out sooner than he would have liked? I wonder what his plan was. For me to decline Mister Downey’s proposal before revealing his true colors?

  Isolde scowled at him when her father cleared his throat.

  “My dear friends and family, let us all start this lovely Christmas Day with our annual walk to church. After the service, we shall all reconvene here to indulge in one of the best, most festive meals Roselawn has ever seen!”

  Isolde watched as the entire party readied themselves to depart. To her dismay, Jonathan appeared to hang behind, in order to speak to her, no doubt. Her father left the drawing room, followed by his brother and sister-in-law. In short order, the Conner’s party, accompanied by Lady Buxby, Eric and Thomas, also departed. Jonathan remained in the room as she had expected. She positioned herself between her friends and watched as he slowly approached her.

  “My dear Miss Gordon,” He started, his voice thick as though he had to force the words out of his throat. “I do not know what I have done to upset you so…”

  “Do you not?” she interrupted him, no longer caring about manners. “Perhaps you should ask your good friends, York and Portsmouth. They may fill you in on exactly what you’ve done. I do believe that you know very well. You do not need to pretend any longer, as I have said yesterday. Now if you could leave me in peace, I would like to enjoy the morning service without being bothered further.”

  She pushed ahead, Olivia and Henrietta on either side of her. Jonathan stood as if struck by lightning. Isolde did not care. She made her way forward and out of the house, leaving him to follow behind as they all made their way to church.

  * * *

  That afternoon, after they had returned from church, Isolde came to several decisions. She could not stand to be near Jonathan. Or rather, the Duke. She’d decided she could no longer think or speak of him in any other form of address. Jonathan had not been real. He’d been a made-up character, created by the Duke of Ekhard in order to win a wager.

  No, henceforth he would be His Grace whenever she thought or spoke of him.

  She managed to avoid him for the duration of their attendance at church and for most of the afternoon. As was customary, she spent the time before dinner with the other ladies in the drawing room, playing cards and other games while the men were busy playing card games and billiards.

  By the time dinner came around, Isolde was but a bundle of nerves for more reasons than one. The more immediate reason was the fact that she had to be seated at the foot of the table.

  It was with great dread that she made her way toward the table at dinnertime and took her seat. The previous night, she had been able to avoid sitting beside the Duke, for she’d declared herself too weak to be a table mate to someone as important as the Duke of Ekhard. Thus, her aunt had taken her place. Tonight, however, she could make no excuse.

  She felt his presence before she even saw him. He was dressed handsomely and she had to admit he still looked as dashing as ever. Still, she could not muster up any kind of positive feeling for the Duke. He had hurt her too deeply.

  The entire party took their seats, with Lord Conner on her right and the Duke on her left. Her brother was on the other side of the Duke. She was hopeful that this would mean he would not attempt to speak to her as her coldness toward him, which she intended to maintain for all eternity, would raise her brother’s suspicions.

  Unfortunately, the moment they’d sat down, the Duke cleared his throat and turned to address her. Acting as though she had not noticed, Isolde immediately cut him off and addressed her brother.

  “Eric, how did you enjoy the Vicar’s sermon this morning?”

  Eric looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face, for they did not ever discuss the Vicar’s sermon. They were not a religious family and only attended church because it was considered proper to do so.

  Her brother shrugged. “It was as jolly good as ever. Why, did you find it unusual?”

  She shrugged. “It was inspiring. Truly, one should attend church more often than just on Sundays, should one not? What do you say, Lord Conner?”

  The Viscount was in the process of devouring a rather large spoon full of soup. With the spoon midway in the air, he nodded.

  “Certainly. It is always a good idea to attend church. I find it good for the soul. Makes me feel as though I might find some forgiveness for my various misdeeds that I inadvertently stumble into during the week,” he chuckled and slurped the soup from the spoon.

  “I do not believe that is the intent behind attending church, Papa,” Thomas laughed at his father’s comment.

  “Ah, but so it should be, eh wot?” Lord Conner and Thomas both broke into a roaring laugh which led Eric to join in as well.

  “You are right, son,” Lord Conner said once he had contained his laughter. “Forgiveness is earned, would you not agree, Miss Gordon?”

  “Of course it is, my Lord. Not all sins can be forgiven.” She glanced at the Duke who instantly placed his napkin beside his plate.

  “I do not agree with you, Miss Gordon. I believe anything can be forgiven, if one works hard enough to achieve it. As long as one is aware what transgression one has committed that might warrant forgiveness.”

  Isolde did not look at him and instead proceeded to hand her plate to the servant who was about to place the next course, goose, down before her.

  “I do not believe that anyone can be so pig-headed as to pretend they do not know what they have done for…”

  She could not f
inish her sentence for her father rose and clanged his spoon against the cup of wine, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Before we indulge in this delicious goose the cook has prepared for us, my daughter, Miss Isolde Gordon, has an announcement she’d like to make. Isolde?”

  He nodded toward her and took his seat once more.

  Isolde stood, her legs shaking. This moment had been the second reason she’d dreaded dinner. She had asked her father for the time to make the announcement during Christmas Day dinner, and thus she had to now follow through. She felt her hands shaking and noticed to her embarrassment that the Duke had seen it as well.

  In order to stop them from shaking she took a napkin and twisted it between her fingers, to keep them occupied.

  She stood and raised her chin, facing everyone at the table. The only one who did not look at her in a surprised manner was Olivia and Henrietta who both knew what she was about to say.

  “I wanted to take this opportunity to inform you all of a decision I have made regarding my future. Several weeks ago, my Father had the pleasure of receiving an offer of marriage for me from the esteemed merchant Mister Horace Downey. I have decided to accept the offer.”

  She paused and looked around the room at the surprised expressions of her family. Her cousin and best friend sat stoically, for they had both known ahead of time. Her father was pleased, as the beaming smile on his face let anyone nearby know. The rest of the party, her brother included, could not hide their surprise at the announcement.

  Isolde found herself turning to the one person whose reaction she truly wanted to see, for she was certain he would feel crushed as his plan had utterly fallen apart.

  When she looked at His Grace, she found him sitting pale faced with his lips slightly parted. His eyes fixed at the cup of ale in front of him as if his eyes were glued right to it. He did not look up. He did not move.

  Isolde turned away and addressed the crowd once more.

  “I hope you will all join me in welcoming my betrothed here when he and his children join us for New Year’s Eve in one week’s time.”

  With that, she sat back down while her friends and relatives banged their cutlery on the wooden table in cheer.

  Beside her, the Duke finally moved and turned to her. His face was unreadable, his lips pressed together and his eyes dark.

  “Excuse me,” he quietly said and rose, departing the table. Isolde remained at her seat. She’d been right. He had been outplayed. He’d have to find some other hapless lady he could place a wager on.

  She picked her knife up and focused on her meal. In the very pit of her stomach, there was a feeling she was all too familiar with. One utterly unexpected, given the recent events. Doubt. She felt doubt about her decision.

  She shook her head and put a brave smile on. It was nothing. Simply apprehension. Yes. She’d made the right decision. She was sure of it. Wasn’t she?

  Chapter 26

  Jonathan rushed toward the stables as fast as he could. He had to leave, there was not the possibility to even make an excuse, for he had not the clarity of mind to think of one.

  He retrieved Jora from the stable boy and galloped back to Chesterton Court as fast as his horse could carry him.

  She had agreed to wed Downey. Why? How? What had happened to make her change her mind? Jonathan wondered if he had not been clear enough about his own affections for her, had somehow offended her, or made her feel he was not true. But no. He’d done all he knew to do to show her his love.

  And now she agreed to marry the old man? Jonathan did not understand. Tree branches whipped into his face as he rode, but he did not care nor feel it at all. He was so consumed by despair, nothing mattered.

  When he arrived at Chesterton Court, he rushed inside, momentarily taken aback by the sudden changes within the castle. The parlor and drawing room were decorated similarly to Roselawn and the scent of a Christmas Day feast lingered in the air. Then he remembered. He had asked Mister Hastings to arrange a Christmas Day feast for the servants and their families, given that Jonathan had planned to stay at Roselawn. He’d thought it might be a nice gift to his staff, who had been forced to deal with uncertainty after his father’s passing and before his own return from India.

  “Your Grace! We were not expecting you home until tomorrow. Has something happened?” Hastings appeared, summoned no doubt by the butler.

  “It is quite all right, Hastings. Enjoy your Christmas Dinner with everyone. I shall retire to my chambers. Please, do not alert the staff to my presence. I would like them to enjoy their evening.”

  Jonathan felt his voice shake as he spoke, the feelings of despair and confusion beginning to surface. He heard the cheerful voices of the people who spent their lives making his life more comfortable sound out from the dining room.

  “Your Grace, you look unwell… Shall I…?”

  Jonathan raised his hand to stop Hastings.

  “I am well. Do not fret. Please. I shall…” He felt hot tears spring into his eyes. He quickly turned and walked in large steps toward the staircase. “Goodnight Hastings, I shall see you in the morning.” He forced the words out and made his way upstairs to his chamber where he sat on his bed, his face buried in his hands.

  * * *

  Jonathan spent the night drifting in and out of a fitful sleep. He was haunted even in his dreams by the sudden turn of events. How had they gone from secretly in love and planning a future to her not speaking to him? To her agreeing to wed the man they both fought to keep out of her life?

  When Jonathan rose, the sun had just begun to rise itself, bathing his bedchamber in a cheerful light that was contrary to his mood. He dressed and then made his way downstairs where he was met by Hastings. The man looked at him with worry in his old, sunken eyes.

  “Your Grace, I hope you have recovered your spirits.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I have not, Hastings, but I do not wish to talk about the occurrences of last night. To tell the truth, I would much rather not conduct this procedure today. I suspect there is no way out of it.”

  He was to accompany Hastings to hand St. Stephan’s Day gifts to his tenants. Then, later on, he was to do the same for his servants. It was the opposite of what he wanted to do. He’d much rather have kept his own company.

  “If Your Grace is unwell, we can certainly find a way to make an excuse. Given this is His Grace’s first year as Duke…”

  Jonathan nodded. “I understand. I had better let them see my face. Let us go, Hastings. The sooner we get this over with the sooner I can return to my chambers.”

  The old man followed him as they boarded a carriage which was loaded down with assorted gifts for the tenants.

  Jonathan sat and watched as the landscape passed them by on their way to the first tenant. Hastings shifted back and forth in his seat and Jonathan could feel the tension in the old man.

  “What is it, Hastings?” he turned to face his steward.

  “Your Grace seems upset. I wish Your Grace would feel comfortable enough to confide in me as your Father did. Perhaps I could be of assistance.” He paused and wetted his lips. “Has something occurred at Roselawn?”

  Jonathan sighed. He truly did not have anyone else he could talk to, and the events of the past few days weighed heavily upon his soul.

  “Miss Gordon has decided to wed Mister Downey. She announced it at the dinner last night, thus my premature return.”

  Hastings eyes widened and his mouth opened. “I must say, I am rather surprised. Has your Mother’s letter to the Viscount had no affect? I was certain it would.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I am not sure if the Viscount even received it yet. If so, I was not told. I do not believe it was the Viscount’s doing. Miss Gordon has suddenly grown cold toward me, but refuses to tell me her reasons. I simply am at my wits end, Hastings.”

  The old man rubbed his hands together as he thought.

  “That sounds rather curious. I do not know Miss Gordon well, but her reputa
tion is of one very thoughtful young woman. There is nothing willful or reckless about her. Which makes her sudden change of heart all the more curious.”

  “Indeed, Hastings. I do not know what else I can do for she refuses to speak to me.”

  They had arrived at the house of one of his tenants, Forrester. Jonathan left the carriage, followed by Hastings, and presented the farmer and his family with the box of gifts Isolde had helped him pick out. The joy and gratitude he received from his tenants briefly lifted his spirits. However, his despair once again deepened when he remembered the afternoon he’d spent with Isolde, selecting the candies the Forrester children were presently devouring.