When the boy went to one knee in order to retrieve it, Isabel felt an anger erupt in her as Juliet reached out and petted him on the top of his head! Poor Daniel said nothing; although, his face turned a bright crimson and his eyes grew as large as saucers.
“Very good,” Juliet praised.
Isabel had seen enough, and she stalked out into the open, doing her best to keep her rage in a tight rein. As she drew nearer, she realized how difficult it would be. “What are you doing here?” she demanded of her youngest sister.
“I am showing Annabel the stables,” Juliet said without hesitation, as if lying was second nature to her. She reached out and patted the head of the still kneeling stable boy again. “Daniel was kind enough to retrieve…”
No, Isabel would not be able to keep her anger controlled. “Enough!” she said, her voice loud enough to startle the horses nearby. “Annabel, we will meet you in the sitting room. Juliet, wait outside.”
Juliet raised her chin in clear defiance. “I believe…”
“Now!” Isabel said, this time her tone a low threat that she reserved only for the most heinous of offenses.
Juliet spun around with her typical dramatics, her skirts swishing around her ankles, and the two girls walked away. That is, Annabel walked away; Juliet stalked.
Isabel walked over to the stable boy, who rose from his kneeling position, his eyes still on the stable floor. “I am sorry she has treated you so horribly,” Isabel said kindly. “Our mother is not bedridden as Juliet said, and I assure you there is no issue with your work.”
“Thank you,” Daniel replied, his eyes still cast to the ground. “I’ll be sure to keep the standards high.”
Isabel took a step forward and placed a calming hand on the boy’s arm. “I am sorry for Juliet’s actions,” she said.
Daniel looked up at her. “I appreciate your saying so, Miss…that is, My Lady.”
“Now, off you go.”
The boy gave an awkward bow and rushed away.
Now it was time to deal with Juliet, something Isabel looked forward to even less than speaking to Daniel. She hoped her sister had heeded her command and remained waiting outside rather than returning to the house with Annabel. She would not put it past the girl to do just that, if only to defy Isabel’s authority.
However, Juliet was waiting just as Isabel had asked. Thank goodness. “Now, I will ask you a question, and you will answer it truthfully.”
“I always do,” Juliet said with a sniff; although her eyes twinkled. Juliet was beautiful, a fact of which she was well aware, and she used that knowledge to get her way. Coupled with the sweet words she expertly contrived, it typically achieved the effect she wanted.
Isabel, however, knew her sister all too well and, therefore, did not fall for her lies. “Have you allowed that boy to kiss you?”
Juliet gaped. “I would never,” she whispered in a hurt tone. “How could you think such a thing of me?”
“For the simple fact that you told Annabel you committed such acts,” Isabel replied firmly. When Juliet shot a glare at Hannah, Isabel added, “And if you share even one secret from this household to anyone, especially one belonging to Hannah, so help me, you will be sorry.” She despised using threats to make a point, but if that was what it took to get her sister to keep silent, it had to be done. The time for games had long passed. Juliet was mean-spirited and spoiled, and her disrespectful attitude needed to be put to rest once and for all. Where had the sweet child she once had been gone?
“Fine, then,” the younger sister replied. “I shall leave Hannah alone as well as the stable boy. He is just a servant, anyway. No one over which to be upset.”
“He is a person with feelings,” Isabel retorted. “Do not think yourself better than he.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “You sound like Mother,” she said. “But you are not her. If anyone is to correct me, it should be she.”
“Mother has been…”
“Hiding,” Juliet snapped. “Yes, I know. As much as you do. You believe that because your husband died, it has placed you in charge of us all. But you are not!”
The words stung Isabel’s heart, and Juliet looked down at the ground. “I am sorry. I did not mean it.”
“Go inside,” Isabel whispered.
Her sister turned and hurried away, and Isabel walked over to a large tree and leaned against it. Many years ago, she had stood in this same spot and thought about her wedding that was approaching. How happy she had been! Now, a few years later, she wondered what the future would hold. Not only for her, but for her mother and siblings, as well. Thus far, it did not hold much promise.
The sound of a carriage coming up the lane made her stand and looked toward the tall columns that flanked the drive. A beautifully crafted white carriage ambled toward the house and came to a stop in front of the front door.
That was strange, for Isabel had not heard they would be expecting guests. Curious, she walked toward the circular drive, and the door of the carriage opened to a man Isabel recognized immediately, one Laurence Redbrook, Duke of Ludlow. He lived several miles from Scarlett Hall, and Isabel did not know him well, at least not recently.
The Duke walked—or rather limped, for he had been injured in his younger years—toward the front door of the house.
Although she did not know why the duke was at their home, she could not help but wonder why her mother had not informed them the man would be calling.
Chapter Two
Laurence Redbrook, Duke of Ludlow, studied the invitation in his hand. Lord Rayment had invited him to a party that was to take place in just a week’s time, and although Laurence found the gesture kind, he would not go. One week was not enough time to make a place in his busy schedule, for one reason. However, that was more an excuse than a true reason. What kept him from accepting this invitation, and others like it, was the fact that the ton took it upon themselves to stare and whisper behind fans and hands whenever he entered a room. Or rather, when he stumbled into a room.
He had grown accustomed to his limp, but those of the peerage felt sorry for him. Either that or they gave him looks of disgust. And who could blame them? He was but half a man, destined with the curse of lameness for the remainder of his life.
Not only was it a curse, but it was also a reminder of how he had failed.
Reaching across his desk, he grabbed the glass of brandy and gulped it, the fiery liquid burning his throat. It was not that he wished to drink, but as he rarely left his home, he often found himself doing what dukes were wont to do: to drink and at times engage in a game of cards with his butler, Weber. However, more important matters had come to light, one of which was to find a wife in order to produce an heir.
He laughed at the notion before taking another drink, a sip this time, of his brandy. No woman, especially one of the ton, would wish to be seen with the likes of him. Duke or not, his limp would bring ridicule to a lady, and no woman should be forced to bear such shame. It was his burden alone to carry, the secret of the cause of his limp belonging only to him.
That did not mean he did not dream of having a woman at his side. She would be a woman of beauty and intelligence, one who could see past his shortcomings and see that he was a decent man underneath. Someone with whom such a woman might enjoy laughter and conversation.
He sighed as he placed the now empty glass on the table. No such woman could be found, and he had to resign himself to that fate. Yes, there were plenty of eligible women who would jump at the chance at marrying a duke; however, marrying a young lady who saw only what she would gain from him financially was not appealing at all. Furthermore, spending the remainder of his years listening to the droll conversations of those women held even less appeal.
He glanced down at the invitation once more. A part of him dared him to accept and make a rare appearance. It would be good for his business to meet other men in a casual setting; men with whom he could converse and perhaps with whom he could arrange meetings.
The truth of the matter was he knew himself all too well. In the end he would be left in shambles. It was the reason he no longer accepted invitations to gatherings.
There was always a woman who piqued his interest, but the same thing occurred whenever he approached her. Any conversation halted and, oftentimes, the woman to whom he wished to speak would pretend interest in anything except him. As if he were of no more importance than the servants serving the drinks.
Once they realized he was a duke, however, they would applaud his every word with false smiles and cloying words, for a duke had title and wealth, something any young woman coveted. Yet, when he walked away, the whispers would follow. And he knew what they were whispering, even if he could not hear the words. They had to be speaking of the duke who was not a full man. The duke who was lacking. The cripple who was not worthy of the love of a woman.
The door opened, and Weber entered. The butler had seemed to age much in the last few years. His once dark hair was now gray, and he had lines around his eyes that were much less pronounced than they had been in the past. Suddenly, it occurred to Laurence that he, too, was growing old, and one day he would be like Weber. Alone. The thought brought terror to his heart for a moment before passing as Weber approached with a silver tray that held a letter.
“Your Grace,” Weber said with a bow to his head as he extended the tray to Laurence. “This arrived a moment ago. The messenger said the matter was urgent.”
“Thank you.” Laurence took the letter, broke the seal, and read it silently to himself.
My Lord Duke,
Although it has been some time since we last met, I am afraid I must appeal to your goodwill concerning the matter of which we last spoke. Your presence is needed at Scarlett Hall, and although I do not hazard to impress a time on you, I do ask—no, I beg—that you come quickly.
Sincerely,
Eleanor Lambert
Laurence read over the short letter once more. About what matter could Lady Lambert possibly wish to speak to him? It had been a year since the passing of Mr. Barnet, and he had not seen Lady Lambert since. He had no recollection of any previous conversation beyond those typical at a wake. He had been present at the funeral of both the woman’s husband as well as her son-in-law, which had taken place within a year of one another. Had he said something out of the ordinary at the latter?
Yet, no. He could not recall anything specific beyond the usual words of condolences and the offer of aid if either she or her daughter were in need of it. Perhaps that was the reason for the letter; she was in need of his aid. As it was, he had not spoken those words lightly; he never did.
“Your Grace?” Weber, who had not yet left the room, asked. “Is everything all right?”
“I am uncertain,” Laurence said as he rose from the chair. “Tell the messenger that I will go to Scarlett Hall at once. Have my carriage ready immediately.”
The butler bowed and then hurried from the room as Laurence tidied his desk. Many years before, Lady Lambert had consoled Laurence after the loss of his parents. Her words of kindness and wisdom had always remained with him, and he hoped that, somehow, he could return the favor. It appeared that time had come.
Weber was waiting at the door with his coat and hat. Outside, the sun shone, the birds sang, and the grounds on which he resided were meticulous. Although everything appeared perfect on the surface, it was all an illusion, for he felt as if it were all crumbling down around him.
He had no time to worry about such things, however, for the carriage trumbled around the corner of the house and came to a stop before him. As he rode away, Laurence knew that, although he would not attend parties, he would leave the house to honor a promise. And whatever Lady Lambert asked of him, he would comply.
***
The carriage came to a stop before the front doors of Scarlett Hall, and Laurence found himself filled with curiosity as he alighted from the vehicle. The house was renowned for its grand architecture with its dark gray bricks and large windows peeking through ivy that covered its facade. Built several generations earlier, Scarlett Hall was easily double that of Camellia Estates, the large home Laurence had inherited upon his father’s death. Yet, even if his home was considered stately, it lacked the large fountain that was encircled by the drive and the grand torrents of the corner towers of the house. The gardens had always been immaculate with carefully trimmed hedges and a variety of flowerbeds that rivaled those of the Royal Palace.
A movement to his right made him turn his head, and his eyes fell upon Mrs. Isabel Barnet as she emerged from a gate flanked by large hedges.
Mrs. Barnet was beautiful, far more so than that about which poets could write. Golden curls framed her face and blue eyes expressed the strength she carried. The woman had endured much in her one and twenty years, and although he had only seen her a few times over the years, he had always admired her for that strength.
His smile faded as the woman slowed her steps, seeming surprised to see him. Had she expected someone else? He felt foolish that he had believed for a moment that her steady gait had been for him, and he sighed as he looked down at the ground. Well, he had business to conduct; time could not be wasted on what he could not have.
When he looked up again, the woman was leaning against a large tree, and she seemed to be studying him. It was on rare occasions when anyone gazed at him openly without a grimace upon his or her face.
Well, he was not here to speak with Mrs. Barnet, even if he wished it were the case. Lady Lambert would be awaiting his arrival inside. Therefore, he made his way up the steps, and although making such a trek could oftentimes be a burden, today it caused him no pain.
The door opened before he was able to knock, the butler giving him a deep bow.
“Your Grace. It is an honor to see you again. Please, come in.”
Laurence gave the man a smile. “And it is good to see you again, Forbes.” He looked around the foyer. Above him hung a massive chandelier, and a wide oak staircase with crimson carpeting led up to a landing that branched out in either direction to another set of stairs that led to the next floor. “I received a message from Lady Lambert to call.”
Forbes swallowed visibly. “She is in the sitting room, Your Grace. If you will follow me.”
Something was definitely amiss. It was not like the man to show any indication of concern. Politeness, yes. Gladness, indeed. Concern? Not unless what was causing such apprehension was of the gravest importance.
“Thank you,” Laurence said. He followed Forbes past the staircase and down a short hallway with various paintings of former Barons Lambert hanging from the walls, a vase placed between each, although they stood empty of any flowers.
A few doors down, they stopped, and Forbes knocked before opening the door. “Lady Lambert,” he said with a diffident bow, “His Grace the Duke of Ludlow.”
Laurence stepped into the room decorated with furniture covered in gold fabric and the walls displaying large tapestries of garden settings. Lady Lambert stood beside the window in a yellow dress, and when she turned, Laurence felt a pang in his heart. The woman he had known always wore a smile, but today she bore a look of sadness, and he worried something terrible had happened.
“Your Grace,” she said with a deep curtsy. “I appreciate you responding so quickly on such short notice. I apologize for the urgency.”
“I was happy to come. It is good to see you.”
“Please, have a seat. Would you like a brandy? Wine? Tea?”
He took the chair she offered. “No, thank you.”
She sat on the sofa across from him and wrung her fingers in her lap. “I am unsure where to begin. I have come to a place where I must ask a very big favor of you.”
“Are you and your children in good health?” he asked, uneasiness filling him.
“Oh, yes, we are all well.” She glanced toward the large window that looked out to the gardens. “We are well enough.”
Laurence sighed with relief. “Then how is it
I can aid you?” When she did not answer right away, he added, “Lady Lambert, when I was a child, you consoled me in my hour of grief. You are a friend, and there is nothing you can ask of me that can change that. Nor will anything you request offend me. Therefore, speak freely.”
“I appreciate you saying so,” she said, and she relaxed somewhat. “When Charles died, everything changed. Responsibilities that I had never known were now mine. I say this not in complaint but rather in order to make you understand the position in which I find myself at the moment. One day, Nathanial will inherit Scarlett Hall and all of the business holdings once owned by his father. However, that day is far off, for the boy is but thirteen years of age.”
“Did you need advice on your holdings?” Laurence asked in an attempt to understand her request to speak with him. “I have the finest accountants who can also be of service.”
She shook her head. “No, it is nothing like that.” She looked down at her hands once more. When she spoke again, she did not look up at him. “I seek your aid in saving Scarlett Hall.”
Laurence leaned back in his chair in shock. Scarlett Hall was in trouble? How could that be? From what he understood, the house, the lands, all of it had been dutifully maintained. As far as he knew, none of Lord Lambert’s holdings had fallen into ruin, or at least he had not heard any rumors of such hardships. None of this made sense.
“We, that is I, am in debt. In two months, if I do not pay a particular sum, I will lose our home.”
“This sum,” he asked with caution, “how much is it?” To ask such a question was outright rude, but he had to know if he was to help her. His coffers were hefty, but if the amount owed was too much, he worried he could be of little help.
“Seventeen thousand pounds.” Her whispered reply was choked. “Although I am not asking to borrow money from you.”
Whispers of Light: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 1 Page 2
