Tempted to punch the duke for his impertinent words, Norwick simply held his fists at his sides and glared at Octavius. “I know you think I merely married Clare because I had to. Because we’ve been betrothed since she was in the schoolroom. But I do love her,” he stated emphatically. “Within the first ten months of our marriage, I felt as much affection for her as I did for Isabella’s mother,” he added in a whisper. “And now I love her even more.”
Octavius turned around to find the earl’s eyes bright with unshed tears. For that brief moment, he actually felt sorry for Norwick. But when he remembered the man would soon be his father-in-law, he straightened in an attempt to match the man’s height. “Then let us hope you prove it to her every day you are blessed to have her in your life.”
The Earl of Norwick nodded. “I do,” he replied with a nod. “At least, I try very hard to.” He paused a moment and finally allowed a sigh. “Thank you for the scotch. Do let me know how it goes.”
With that, the earl took his leave of the duke’s townhouse and made his way as quickly as he could to Norwick House.
He had a wife he loved, and he needed to get a child on her.
Chapter 30
News of a Late Earl from Another Earl
The following afternoon
The arrival of the Duke of Huntington at Huntinghurst had been entirely unexpected. Usually Peters was apprised of his impending arrival through the Royal Mail, but with the Earl of Norwick’s news and knowing it wouldn’t be long before the London newspapers printed an obituary, Octavius thought it best to deliver the news of Craythorne’s death in person. Given the circumstances and the time of day, he made his way directly to the stables, expecting to find Isabella there.
Mr. Reeves gave a shake of his head when asked about Isabella. “She was here all morning. Exercised several horses and then said she had some correspondence to write,” the groom explained.
Hearing Isabella was writing letters had him rather surprised. “Anything I need to know? Is the new groom working out?” Octavius wondered, his attention on a group of horses in a nearby pasture.
For the next few minutes, Mr. Reeves apprised the duke of what had happened in the stables since his last visit, including the hiring of a groom from Cocking and the death of the oldest horse in the stables.
Saddened at hearing of the loss of Apollo, a horse he had ridden on hunts during his college years, Octavius gave the groom a nod before he made his way back to the front of the house.
There was no one to greet him when he made his way into the main hall. A deep growl emanated from the top of the stairs, though, and when Octavius glanced up, he was stunned to see a rather large black and white dog with long hair staring down at him.
“Nelson?” he wondered, bewildered. “Is that you?” The last time he had seen the beastie, the pup didn’t reach the top of his boots. Now the dog looked as if its head would reach his hips.
His tale suddenly wagging, Nelson bounded down the stairs and came to a rather unsteady stop before the duke, his shaggy tail wagging in giant circles. Octavius bent over, curious as to how the beast could see anything given how much hair covered its eyes. “Are you even in there?” he asked as he reached out to pet the dog on its head.
“Nelson! Where are you?”
The sound of Isabella’s voice came from somewhere upstairs, and the thumps of running feet had Octavius allowing a bit of a grin as he imagined her racing about in search of her pet.
Nelson gave a soft ‘woof’ as he continued to wag his tail.
When she suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, Octavius was forced to straighten and stare. Dressed in an elegant carriage gown, her hair done up in a smooth chignon, she looked as if she was the mistress of Huntinghurst.
Well, she was, he supposed.
“Hunt!” Isabella said with a good deal of awe. Making her way down the steps as fast as her half-booted feet would allow, she flung her arms around him. “We didn’t expect you,” she whispered before she kissed him on the cheek. She made the move to step backwards, intending to curtsy, but Octavius had wrapped an arm around her waist and held her a moment.
“You look as if you’re going somewhere,” he murmured, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
She shook her head. “I’ve only just returned from Fair Downs, in fact. And a bit of shopping in Chichester,” she added when the duke didn’t immediately release his hold on her. “You look well.”
Octavius stared at her a moment, tempted to kiss her rather than explain his reason for being there. “I am,” he replied finally, his arms dropping away. “It appears Nelson is as well. I would not have expected him to grow quite so large, though, given how tiny he was when I found him.”
Isabella allowed a brilliant smile. “Nor I. Mrs. Cooper used to complain about him, but he does such a good job cleaning up the kitchen floor, she gives him all the scraps she used to leave for the scavengers,” she explained. “Peters still doesn’t approve, of course, but Nelson knows to stay out of his sight.” She paused a moment. “May I escort you to your apartments? I had the linens in your bedchamber changed out last week. You must be tired from your travels.”
Rather surprised at how much older she seemed than when he had last seen her, Octavius gave his head a shake. “Have you had a luncheon... or tea yet?”
She shook her head. “No, but Mrs. Cooper is seeing to one right now. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived...”
“I’ll come with you,” he interrupted, offering an arm.
Isabella blinked, rather surprised by his odd manner. She placed a hand on his arm and gave him another glance. “May I ask as to the reason for your visit? I do hope it’s not because you’ve received bad news.” The bad news certainly couldn’t be about her. She and Peters had been getting along quite well these past few months, as if the butler had finally come to terms with her presence in the household, perhaps because the duke had mentioned her station as châtelaine to the servant.
Or else Nelson had simply taken her place as something about which to complain.
Octavius wondered how to respond just then. “Let’s talk about it over luncheon, shall we?”
Well aware of how he paused in his response, Isabella struggled to keep up a happy demeanor despite the ominous response. “Of course.”
“How is Miss Fitzwilliam?” Octavius asked as they entered the kitchens. “Norwick informs me she is keeping Fair Downs in good order.”
“She is well. One of her favorite mares is due to foal sometime in the next few weeks.” She didn’t add that the mare was Amasia and the sire had been Poseidon.
Mrs. Cooper’s jaw dropped at seeing the duke in her kitchen, but she remembered to drop a curtsy as well. “Yer Grace,” she managed as she moved a pan of baked bread from the oven onto a counter.
“Mrs. Cooper, I’ve come seeking sustenance,” Octavius said in a teasing voice. “And some water in which to wash my hands.”
“Well, I’m not too sure about sustenance, Yer Grace, but I’ll have a right proper luncheon ready for ye in a few minutes.” She motioned to the water pump. “I’ll get you a clean linen,” she added as she opened a cupboard door and withdrew a cloth. She handed it to him.
“Much obliged.” He finished drying his hands and offered his arm to Isabella again. “Shall we?”
More and more perplexed by the duke’s behavior, Isabella simply responded with a nod. They made their way into the dining room. A footman was already seeing to a second place setting while another poured wine.
Once the two were seated, Isabella regarded Octavius for a moment. She was about to prompt him for his news when a footman entered with plates of lamb cutlets, carrots, and the newly baked loaf of bread. When the servants finally disappeared, she allowed a sigh. “I was about to write you a letter.”
Octavius regarded her a moment. “You have news?”
Isabella suddenly looked as if she might cry. “Apollo died,” she said. “He’d been missing for a couple of days,
and Master George finally found him this morning. At the edge of the farthest pasture.”
The duke’s attention seemed to settle on his plate for a time before he finally said, “As has Craythorne. Norwick brought word from Southampton yesterday, which is why I made the trip here today. I wanted you to know as soon as possible.”
He hadn’t meant to tell her over luncheon. He had thought to spend some time in her company first. Learn what she might wish to do once she was no longer required to live at Huntinghurst. Provide her a list of options for whatever she might do now that she no longer had to fear for her own life. But the topic of death had already been brought up. The opening had been perfect for him to simply say the words he had spent the entire morning rehearsing in his head.
He figured she would excuse herself from the table and request some time to weep. Surely she would give a moment to mourn the man she had known as her father, even if she believed he had killed her mother.
So he was entirely unprepared for her response.
“Thank the gods!” she whispered as one of her hands went to her chest. Her eyes suddenly widened when she realized she had said the words aloud. “Oh, forgive me, Your Grace. I just feel such... such relief,” she murmured, her attention returning to the duke. “Southampton?” she whispered before she gave her head a shake. “Oh, the cottage, of course,” she added then. “We used to go there for a few weeks during the summer.” She took a breath and let it out. “My brother? Where is John?”
Octavius blinked, rather stunned by her comment. Of all the reactions he had imagined, relief was not one of them. She had asked about her brother before—many times, in fact—and he’d only had minimal news of him.
Now John was the Earl of Craythorne. At least, he would be once he petitioned the Lord Chancellor for a writ of summons to the House of Lords.
“He’s been summoned from Cambridge,” Octavius stated. “To London. He’ll live at the Craythorne townhouse, of course, until the transfer is complete.”
“May I see him?”
Now there was a question he was prepared to answer. “Eventually,” he hedged. “I think it’s best to wait until after the funeral and the writ of summons is complete.” He watched as Isabella’s shoulders slumped. “Lord John believes you are dead. Craythorne gave up looking for you over a year ago. Perhaps it would be best to...” He paused, knowing his suggestion would seem heartless. “Write a letter to him.”
Isabella was about to put voice to a protest, but knew the duke was right. What would John think if she simply showed up on his doorstep? It had been a few years since they had seen one another.
Would he even recognize her?
Will I recognize him?
“That’s an excellent idea,” she said, returning her attention to her meal.
Octavius blinked. “It is?” He couldn’t help the hint of incredulity that sounded in his voice.
“Isn’t it?” she countered, her fork pausing in mid-air.
Resisting the urge to laugh, Octavius merely nodded. “I expected you would argue,” he murmured.
Isabella sighed. “I almost did,” she admitted, giving him a rather sheepish expression.
The duke allowed a wan grin and was about to resume eating when he remembered the box Norwick had given him. “I have something for you from Norwick,” he started to say.
“Oh?” she responded, her curiosity evident. The duke rarely mentioned the Earl of Norwick, but he was the only other aristocrat who knew of her predicament.
Octavius pulled a small box from his coat pocket and held it out to her. “He asked that I give this to you.”
Isabella regarded the white pasteboard box for a moment. “What is it?”
The duke shrugged. “I’ve no idea. He gave it to me when we spoke yesterday.”
Taking the box from Octavius, Isabella angled her head before finally lifting the lid. A folded paper nearly popped out of the box as it attempted to unfold on its own. Isabella captured it in one hand before it could fall to the floor. Beneath it, a gold band topped with a single diamond lay in the velvet-lined box.
Isabella nearly dropped the box. She recognized the ring. Her mother had worn the ring every day of Isabella’s life.
“What is it?” Octavius asked, his own curiosity forcing him to lean over the table so he could see into the box.
“My mother’s ring. But... but how would Lord Norwick have possession of it?” she asked as she regarded the half-unfolded missive as if it might bite her. She finally set the box on the table and gave the duke a glance.
Octavius closed his eyes, realizing what must have happened when Norwick finally called on Craythorne. To confront him about the day Arabella died. “I’m sure he has explained it in his letter,” he murmured, now wishing he had opened the box. He had no idea how much the earl would admit in writing. But Octavius would be furious if the man admitted to being her father without doing so in person. Norwick owed her that much.
“May I read it now?” she asked. At his hesitant nod, she opened the note.
After a few moments, Octavius wondered if she was having difficulty reading the earl’s writing. Rolling his eyes, he realized she probably couldn’t make out half of Norwick’s scrawl. “I may be able to help if you’re unable to read it. His penmanship is abysmal,” he said gently.
Isabella shook her head but finally passed the letter to Octavius. “I... I think he’s trying to claim Craythorne didn’t kill my mother,” she whispered.
Octavius sighed. “That’s because...” He stopped and instead began to read the letter out loud.
“Dear Lady Isabella,
From the moment I learned of your reason for showing up at my place of business two years ago, I never doubted your claim about having paid witness to your mother’s murder. I wanted to believe it, you see, because I have carried a special hatred for Craythorne simply because he had claim to the woman I wanted to marry.
You see, I loved your mother.
I knew if I went to Basingstoke to find your father that very day, I could be found guilty of murder, for I was well prepared to kill the man for what he did to your mother. Hunt knew it as well, and prevented me from going. His cooler head reminded me others would learn the truth of your mother’s death soon enough.
It has taken some time, but reports from Basingstoke, and finally, from your father directly, have me convinced your mother’s death was not by his hands at all, but from a terrible accident—”
“No!” Isabella interrupted. She stood up from the dining table and whirled around, her eyes blazing. “I know what I saw!”
Ignoring her outburst, Octavius remained seated and continued to read.
“According to Craythorne, the horrible scene you described did indeed occur. However, he wasn’t strangling your mother, but rather attempting to revive her. His shouts and curses were because she had slipped and hit her head, rendering her dead before she fell to the carpet. He was frightened and saddened. Broken, really.
I know this account will seem unbelievable to you. It did to me, as well, although the injury to your mother was finally corroborated by the coroner who saw to her body. There was no evidence of strangulation, but there was a large gash on the side of her head.”
Despite Isabella’s whispers of, “No, no, no,” Octavius continued.
“Craythorne remembers seeing you that day when you watched what appeared to be him strangling her. He claims he was too bereft to go after you, to explain to you what happened. He remained in a fugue state for several hours, refusing to speak with anyone. When you didn’t return from your ride that afternoon, he was convinced he was cursed by the devil himself. He lost much that day, and has finally died of consumption, although to hear him tell it, he wishes he had died that day as well.
He was ever so relieved to learn that you were alive, and of course, he cursed me for having kept you from him these past few years. He loved you very much despite your headstrong manner. He knows you inherited that particular trait fr
om your mother, and he claims he rather liked the challenge of two women who sometimes knew better than him. Women who were worthy of their place in the aristocracy despite his attempt to keep you from the temptations of London.”
Aware of Isabella suddenly cringing at hearing her described as ‘headstrong’, Octavius paused and arched an eyebrow. “You are that,” he murmured. When Isabella didn’t respond, but merely settled back into her chair, he continued.
“He is of the opinion you will have a horse in the Ascot before the decade is done. If that is the case, you must have others set for all the other races as well. Since I have a contender or two, we shall see you at the finish line.
As for the bauble you find in this box, you will no doubt recognize the ring as your mother’s wedding ring. Craythorne couldn’t bear to bury it with her and thought to give it to your brother for when he takes a wife. Once he learned you were alive, however, he insisted you have it.”
The duke placed a hand over Isabella’s, giving it a gentle squeeze when he heard her quiet sob.
“I have more to tell, but wish to do so when I can meet you in person. I trust Hunt will continue to provide protection until we can sort what to do next.”
“I will, of course,” Octavius murmured before continuing.
“On a happier note, when I married your cousin, Clarinda, a couple of years ago. I will admit I did not expect to love another woman in my lifetime. Certainly not as I loved your mother. I had believed others who claimed there is only one love for any man in his life. However, I am betw...”
Octavius stopped and sighed, unable to make out the strange word.
“Betwaddled?” Isabella offered, tears already dripping from her eyes.
“Must be,” he agreed with a smirk. He continued reading.
The Dream of a Duchess Page 22
