“You’d told me that no matter the circumstance, I could follow my dreams,” she complained, clutching a well-loved sketchbook to her chest. “That I could be happy. But I despair that with Byron, I will never be happy. Whenever I mention my art to him, he waves it away. He refuses to listen to my dream to become a sculptress, my dream to make from stone and metal the beautiful images that fill my thoughts.”
“May I?” Nathan asked. He too had dismissed her dreams. Ladies were taught art. But he knew very few who took their studies seriously.
She handed over the book and said, “Be honest.”
He looked over her sketches. He’d expected to see the typical schoolroom drawings. Simple landscapes and the typical bowls of fruit. That wasn’t what he found though.
He flipped through the first few pages. The lines were bold. The technique daring. And the subject matter, though everyday people and objects, depicted something deeper. She saw through the glitter of the ballrooms and soirées. A sketch of a teapot held by a debutante, for example, displayed the anxiety and uncertainty the young lady most certainly was experiencing. Those emotions were laid out on the page, not on the girl’s carefully schooled expression but in the wavering gleam of the teapot! Nathan had never seen anything more amazing.
These were no girlish schoolroom drawings. These were the works of an artist who took her craft seriously.
“You drew these?” he asked, turning another page and finding a startling image of himself. His laughing eyes and self-depreciating smile rang false on the page. “All of these?”
Iona nodded.
“I didn’t realize…”
He saw that she was holding her breath.
“They’re good,” he said. “Better than many of the works for sale in London’s Fitzroy Square. I’m impressed. Truly impressed. While I can barely draw a straight line, you seem to be able to capture an emotion with the stroke of a piece of charcoal or pastel.”
He handed her back the sketchbook still open at the page with the rather accurate sketch of his face. “You’re a little too perceptive perhaps.”
She chuckled softly.
The sound warmed his heart. He’d risk life and limb time and again to be rewarded by the delightful song of her laughter. If only there was a way to untangle the fix they’d gotten themselves into. And then he remembered something.
“Thomas Barker is an acquaintance of mine.” The wealthy landscape painter who lived on Sion Hill had agreed to mentor and feed a few of the starving artists Nathan had befriended while living on the outskirts of London society. “May I take your sketches to him? I’d be interested in his opinion.”
“You would do that for me?”
“It is no less than I’d do for any other budding talent.”
All of a sudden, Iona appeared to understand. “The rich paintings covering your apartment’s walls—” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “And the rather shocking ones in your bedchamber, they are by artists you’ve discovered and helped?”
“Not really discovered,” he said. “But the horrible secret is out. I’m not a complete rake. When I have the funds, I’ve been known to help a talented soul here and there.”
She eyed him carefully. He had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being all too perceptive again. “I suspect you’re being modest,” she said with a wry smile that made his heart beat faster. Unlike the other artists he’d worked with, he was willing to give Iona everything. The sun, the moon and every beautiful star in the sky.
He clasped her hands in his. “Let me act as your patron. And as your protector.”
“I don’t know…” She tried to pull her hands away but he refused to let her go.
“Let me do this for you.”
“You do have more experience in dealing with these things.”
He could see that she was beginning to soften toward the idea. “Yes, I have more experience in dealing with scandals…unfortunately.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek for more than a minute while he held his tongue, waiting for her to come to the only decision available to her.
“Only if you let me help you,” she implored.
“Very well.”
He knew what needed to be done and he also knew she wouldn’t be happy about it. Not when she was still set against marriage in any form. Unwilling to risk her rejection, he kept his plan silent. Instead he cupped her face in his hands. “If I do something that will salvage both our reputations, do you promise not to hate me for it?”
Tears pooled again in her eyes but she bravely held her chin strong and stiff.
“I promise,” she said.
He kissed her.
“I love you, Iona.”
He kissed her again.
“Never forget that. I love you and I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
He’d move mountains if need be in order to chase away the distress he saw in her eyes. He hoped moving mountains would be enough.
* * * * *
“He’s gone,” the Duke announced. Iona had returned to the drawing room to find her family waiting for her. “Portfry came to inform me personally that,” he cleared his throat, “that rogue, Lord Nathan, has slipped away.”
Her mother, Lillian and her cousin Byron all turned to Iona as if she could tell them where Nathan could be found. And, she supposed, there was no reason to keep silent about anything…not anymore.
“I know,” she said, drawing her chin up. “He was in the garden with me just now.”
Her cousin ran to the window.
“Dash it all, Iona,” her father said as he stiffened his spine. “I don’t understand your behavior lately. After last night, why would you let that bounder come anywhere near you again?”
“He was simply inquiring after my wellbeing, Papa. He was worried about me.”
“He has seduced her,” her cousin muttered under his breath, along with something else Iona couldn’t hear.
Her father sent him a sidelong glance and, nodding, drawled, “Quite.”
“What will we do?” her mother asked.
“I know what I plan to do,” her cousin said as he headed toward the door where he met the family butler who was just about to knock. Like before, Myers plodded into the room and straight to her father.
“Lord Nathan Wynter is asking to speak with you,” he announced.
“He’s here! In my house!”
“Yes, your grace, he is,” Myers said and bowed deeply. He turned and started for the door when something seemed to change his mind. He returned to her father. “With all due respect, I think you should hear what the lad has to say.”
The Duke glared at Myers for a few breathless moments. In all her life, Iona had never seen Myers stand up to her father. She wondered if he was about to have his head bitten off.
Though her father’s temper was still sparking, he forced a breath out sharply through his nose and asked Myers to show him into his study.
“What does he want with you?” the Duchess asked as she began to sniffle again. The Duke merely shook his head and tightened his jaw.
After a few tense moments, Myers returned. Iona leaned forward so she could peer out the open drawing room door.
“Nathan?” she breathed. Pressing her suddenly trembling fingers to her lips, she rose. Though he’d changed out of his battered clothes, he was holding his right arm against his chest as if it pained him and was walking with a pronounced limp. “What are you doing here? Have you lost your blooming—”
Lillian grabbed Iona’s wrist and just barely kept her from dashing through the doors and into his arms.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” the Duke said. His study was a few steps down the hall. He slanted Iona a warning look as he followed Myers from the room, taking extra care to close the drawing room door behind him.
In the silence that followed, Iona stopped breathing. Lillian served as a surprising source of strength by keeping a comforting hold on her hand.
“Well,” her mother huffed. With a light step, she stole across the room and swung wide the parlor door. “I can’t say I’m surprised the Marquess wasn’t able to keep that brute under control. Did you see him?”
How could she not see him? What was he doing? He’d promised her that he would salvage both their reputations—not get himself killed.
Good Lord, he was in her home—with her rather overprotective and quite enraged father.
And the townhouse was entirely too silent.
The only sign that time hadn’t stopped altogether was the regular ticking coming from the chinoiserie-style clock stationed on the small black lacquered table at the top of the stairs.
The creak of the study door as it opened stirred everyone in the drawing room. They moved as if they were being roused from a deep dream.
The Duchess stood and so did Iona. The house suddenly felt unsettled, like when the maids rolled up all the carpets to beat the dust from them.
Her father paused in front of the drawing room door and clasped Nathan’s shoulder. The two men shook hands. “I will send word to you as soon as it’s completed,” he said.
Nathan gave a deep nod. “I’ll be at my father’s. I’m sure he’s most anxious for my return. You see, I left in somewhat of a hurry.” He hugged the arm he’d been holding to his chest and smiled woefully. “And not without damage to my person.”
“In that case, I’ll be sure your father receives word of our agreement without delay.”
Nathan gave a nod, turned on his heel and, without sparing Iona a passing glance, a raised brow, or anything that might help clue her in on what he’d just done, disappeared down the hall.
“Well then,” her father said clapping his large hands together. “I take it, by your gaping mouths, that you are anxiously waiting to hear what that was all about.”
“I don’t understand why you let him into your home,” her cousin said rather bitterly. “You should have let me challenge him to a duel. I can’t think of anyone who deserves to taste the sting of a bullet more than him.”
Her mother gave a cry and fell back into her chair.
“Lovington, that is a most inappropriate thing to say in mixed company,” the Duke warned.
“My pardon, Aunt,” her cousin said. His cheeks brightened.
Her mother only cried harder.
The Duke turned his back on her dramatics. “Lovington, I am deeply sorry but you won’t be marrying my daughter.”
Iona breathed a deep sigh of relief. Nathan had come through with his promise. She wondered what he must have said to get her father to come to his senses. She wasn’t left wondering for long.
“Iona, Lord Nathan has pled a convincing argument to me. He wishes to regain his honor.”
“That is my wish as well,” she said, her faith in her father returning. “Those rumors about him had simply gotten out of hand. I know in my heart he is a good man. I cannot understand why others don’t see it as well.”
“I’m glad we are in accord about this, poppet. Lord Nathan has filled me in on the circumstances of his past. And all morning you have been doing a fairly good job at describing some of the…um…interesting activities that you, my dear, have been undertaking with him lately.”
So he had been listening to her…
“In light of that,” he continued, “I don’t think he should be asked to bear the full brunt of responsibility for this scandal. Don’t you agree?”
Iona’s cheeks blazed. She nodded slowly.
“Good. Good. He has told me he came to Bath with a mind to find a respectable wife. Thanks to you, he has only found ruin. I see that you have no choice but to let him repair his name in the only manner society will accept.”
“What do you propose, Papa?” she asked, fearing once again she knew the direction her father’s thoughts were flowing.
“Oh, poppet, my dear, dear poppet.” He blinked back tears. “I have given him permission to marry you.”
“You did what?” both Lillian and her cousin cried.
Her mother screamed.
Iona froze.
Nathan had warned her that he’d do just that. She shouldn’t have been surprised but she was truly stunned by the announcement. He’d promised to fight for her happiness. Had he forgotten everything she’d shared with him? She didn’t wish to be married, not when marriage meant she would be giving up her passion, her art. She thought Nathan understood that. He’d looked at her drawings and had seemed genuinely impressed. He’d even said he would talk to a well-known artist on her behalf. Had that been a lie? Why was he doing this to her? There had to be another way he could salvage his own reputation. There simply had to be another way for him to save his name without having to lock the door on her gilded cage once and for all.
For the first time in her life, the very calm, very pragmatic Iona fainted.
Chapter Nineteen
It was early yet at the Royal Crescent. The morning sun was peeking over the medieval city and bathing the Royal Victoria Park in a fresh golden glow. Nathan’s family was still abed. His father’s healthy snores echoed through the empty halls.
Alone in the drawing room, Nathan prowled in front of the windows with a tiger’s restlessness, wanting nothing more than to pounce on the frilly little pink cap hurrying past his father’s townhouse on the sidewalk below.
Every morning for the past week and a half, at this precise hour, she came down the street, her arms weighted down by a pair of tattered old baskets filled with an assortment of goods. Fabrics one day, pastries another, tapestries still another. Today her baskets were near to bursting with embroidery threads and supplies.
Again, no sign of her sketchbook.
She never ventured out alone or else he would have abandoned his good senses and pounced on her days ago. This morning Miss Harlow accompanied Iona with a basket of her own.
Although he’d never seen her face from this elevated vantage point, only the tops of her wide-rimmed bonnets, there wasn’t any question that the bonneted lady making these early morning outings was indeed his Iona.
He could feel her presence in every drop of blood in his body. And it was driving him mad.
Her simple cotton gown with a pink bodice, swished with every step, enticing him to follow her. To demand why she’d retreated back into the role of the Duke’s perfect daughter, the untouchable priggish miss.
It was like lusting after a nun. He longed for one of her demanding notes. At least then he would have an excuse to whisk her away from her irritatingly protective family and steal a few moments alone with her to find out what was going on behind that frozen smile of hers.
A week and a half had passed since he’d made an ass of himself and insisted her father give his consent to a hasty marriage. He should have been open with her and sought her permission first.
Now, as a punishment, she was torturing him with her silence. Ever since their engagement, Nathan had attended two teas, one luncheon, five morning outings to the Pump Room and two church services where Iona had been present. Each time she’d made a point to speak with him. Briefly. Her demure voice, hardly ever above a whisper, droned as she discussed the weather and other such nonsense. Any mention of their upcoming nuptials, any mention of her art or what the landscape artist Thomas Barker thought about her work and any attempt to discover her true feelings was deflected by her deft skill for directing the conversation back to the safe and mundane, often without Nathan even realizing how she’d managed to do it.
If their marriage was going to be a success, some things needed to be settled between them. He needed to assure her that he wasn’t going to ride roughshod over her dreams. He needed to explain that he’d insisted on the marriage in order to shield both their reputations from the worst sorts of gossip.
If only she would give him a sliver of emotion to work with, a delightful rage to let him know that she still cared for him. That she’d somehow be able to find it in her heart to forgive him.
“Oh, pardon me!�
�� Maryanne, wearing a frilly yellow morning dress that covered her from neck to toe and a ruffled starched white mobcap that covered her brown locks, drew to a quick halt at the drawing room door. Her wary gaze jumped all over the fading purplish-green bruises on his face. “I hadn’t realized anyone else was awake this early.”
“With the upcoming wedding, I haven’t been sleeping too well,” Nathan confessed.
Her lips twisted with distaste. She jutted her chin out. “If you weren’t interested in marriage, you should have considered the consequences before doing what you did to that poor girl.”
“You mistake my meaning, my lady,” he said firmly. Now that he was going to become Iona’s husband, he knew things would have to change. Not allowing his reputation to be battered about as if it had no value topped the list of improvements that needed to be made. “I have wished for this match, dreamed of it in fact for many years. I hold Lady Iona in the greatest regard and have long considered her a loyal friend.” He couldn’t help but let his gaze stray back out the window and upon the pretty pink figure making haste down the street.
Maryanne crossed the room and peered out the same window. Her frown deepened. She pulled a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her nose with it while regarding him closely. “You are speaking the truth?”
Nathan shrugged.
“You are…” her voice trailed off. A queer smile relaxed her lips. She set her hands into motion as she fiddled with her handkerchief. “I didn’t think it possible. But you are unquestionably besotted. Hopelessly in love. I see it in the way your eyes light up at the sight of her.”
“Now see here—” he started to say. He didn’t need to be handing Maryanne any information she might later use against him.
She fluttered her hands. “Do not worry. No one would believe it anyhow. They are all saying you are only marrying the deflowered Duke’s daughter to keep the Marquess from beggaring and banishing you to the Continent.”
“And I’m sure that my viper’s nest of a family is doing nothing to disabuse Bath society from believing this mercenary reason for taking Lady Iona as my wife. Lawks, I should have my head examined!”
Lady Iona's Rebellion Page 24
