by Tamara Gill
A familiar voice caught his attention, and he spotted Wardoor in discussion with Lord Barkley on the terrace beyond. Merrick frowned, not aware that the two gentlemen were good enough acquaintances to have such a private tête-à-tête. He stood there, debating whether to walk toward the partially open window and listen in on the conversation.
Lord Barkley shook his head, condescension masking his features. “Enough with the benign talk, we have more serious matters to discuss,” his lordship said, cutting off Wardoor’s verbal estimation of the picnic.
Merrick stepped through the doors and joined them. Looking at Wardoor’s all but pulsating tension, he was sure something disastrous was about to take place.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
Wardoor’s eyes flared at his intrusion. “We were just discussing the congenial weather and lovely company.”
“Your friend lies, Your Grace. There are many things I wish to discuss, not that Wardoor is interested in doing so.”
Merrick noted Wardoor’s fisted hand, and his interest was piqued. His once friend had never been one to condone violence, but if Barkley didn’t take a care, a bloody nose certainly could come his way.
“Such as?” Wardoor took a sip of his drink, his brow glowing with a sheen of sweat.
Lord Barkley leaned against the balustrade, all cool aloofness, and yet cold calculation swam in his gaze. “Such as, how your finances are coming. My pockets are overflowing with all the IOUs you’ve placed there.”
Merrick noted Wardoor’s ashen face. His lordship’s family was flush with coin, so to owe Barkley money, a lecherous cur on Society, was not a welcome realization. “Why do you owe Barkley anything?”
“I never tolerate vulgarity at garden parties, and your talk of money is surely that, hence—” Wardoor said, taking a step toward the guests on the lawn. “I shall leave you now.”
Lord Barkley wrenched Wardoor to a halt. “I need that money, Wardoor. And I need it today…with interest, you understand.”
Wardoor faced them, his eyes wide with humiliation. “What do you mean with interest? That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“There are always variables with gambling, and you played with the wrong type of people, my lord.” Barkley tsk-tsked Wardoor. “It is time to pay the piper.”
“I cannot pay today.” Wardoor looked at Moore as if the duke could save him from himself. “At least give me to the end of next week. I’ll have it by then.”
Barkley smiled. “Very good, my lord, for I’d hate for the lovely, delectable, and let’s not forget, innocent, Lady Isolde Worthingham to find out where you laid your head last night.”
“Do not involve Lady Isolde in this,” Merrick warned, pinning Barkley with a hard stare.
Wardoor pointed his finger at Barkley. “You cannot prove anything. Nor do I believe you even know. You’re not one to remember your own whereabouts on any given night, never mind any others around you.”
“Oh, I know.” Barkley paused. “And does anyone in this Society have to prove anything? Just saying the words to a select few can create a beast that not even a marquess could tame. I would hate to ruin your reputation and your chances of marriage over a pitiful amount of coin.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Wardoor glared.
Barkley laughed “Aye, I would. And if you do not pay, you can kiss a marriage to the rich wallflower good-bye.”
Moore ground his teeth at the reference to Isolde as a wallflower and that she’d be willing to marry Wardoor. Over his dead body. From the first moment he’d known her, she had been a beacon of purity, of kindness, that he’d always strived to replicate. He’d failed miserably, but she had not. Even after all that had happened between them, she was courteous, cool, and amiable around him. It was more than he deserved.
“If you’re so sure of what I do, please enlighten me,” Wardoor demanded, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Barkley snarled with triumph, and Merrick knew he wouldn’t like what the chap had to say.
“That you’re adventurous behind closed doors. That your taste isn’t limited to the fairer sex. Do you understand me now?”
“I have never…” Wardoor blustered, turning a deep shade of red.
Barkley winked at him, and Merrick’s gut twisted in disgust. Was Barkley right in his assumptions? Wardoor was wild and had a tendency to overindulge in sex and alcohol, but this, his sexuality being brought into question, was not what he’d expected.
“Women, my friend, are not to be trusted, and when blunt is offered, will spread more than their legs when paid handsomely.” Barkley shrugged. “Who knows what story I shall spread about Town if you do not pay up? But know I will ruin you, should you continue to fob me off. I will call in your debts and destroy you both financially and emotionally. No one will want you after I’ve finished with you, my lord.”
Wardoor studied the gardens, silent for a moment. “You’ll get your money and soon,” he said, pushing past Merrick and the laughing Barkley.
Merrick pinned Barkley with a hard stare. “How much does he owe?”
“What, are you going to save him, yet again? Even your pockets are not that deep. Wardoor needs a dowry, and he has his hopes set on your past fiancée. After he pays me, he’ll need to marry someone of immense fortune.”
“How much?” he ground out, sick of Barkley’s games.
“A thousand pounds, give or take a few pence.”
Hell, Merrick swore to himself. He hadn’t thought it would be so much. He searched for Wardoor in the crowd and spotted him talking to Isolde. Anger thrummed through him that his friend would use her in such a way, after all Merrick had put her through. Damn it, she deserved so much better than this. “You’ll have the money by tomorrow eve. My man of business will meet you at my London home, where you’ll produce and hand over every IOU you have of his lordship’s. Do you understand?”
Barkley nodded. “We have an agreement.”
Merrick watched him leave and was glad of the reprieve. Should Wardoor continue down this road he would ruin himself and his family. As for the assumption that his friend liked more than women to warm his bed, he’d leave that be for now. What the man did in his own time was his own concern, but should it impact on Isolde, he’d make it his, and that was not acceptable.
He walked toward the lawns and fetched a glass of champagne from a passing footman, needing the alcoholic beverage more than ever, before he had it out with Wardoor and got to the bottom of just what the hell the man was about.
He cornered him standing beside the rose garden, small pink blooms still bursting with color. It should’ve been a serene place, yet Wardoor paced along the garden beds, not seeing any of the beauty before him.
“Wardoor,” Merrick said as he came to stand beside him. “What have you got yourself into? What is going on with Barkley?”
Wardoor shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s none of your business, and you should have buggered off the moment you knew the conversation was private.”
“Damn it, man. What are you about losing a thousand pounds to such a fellow? He’s as bad as they come, and you must have known he would threaten you when you could not pay.”
“I was drunk.” He sighed. “I made a mistake.”
Merrick turned toward the gathered guests and spotted Isolde picking out her lunch at the tables decorated with white linens and colorful fruit. “You will not marry Isolde for her money. She deserves better than that.”
Wardoor met his gaze. “And you’re the judge as to what’s best for her? I’m sorry, but when did you become her protector? Was it before you fucked her best friend or after?”
Hot rage flared through him, and Merrick fought not to knock Wardoor on his ass. “This isn’t about me. This is about you courting a woman I care for, to secure your future.” Merrick shook his head, at a loss as to what to say. “And what was Barkley insinuating about your sexuality? Is what he says true?”
&nb
sp; “I’m selling Benner House and all the land surrounding the small estate. You do not need to bail me out, so forget about buying those IOUs.”
“Your mother resides there. Where are you going to place her? With you?” Merrick didn’t think any wife would welcome Wardoor’s mother as a permanent houseguest. Cold and with a severing tongue, the woman was a known harridan. “That will not work for a new wife.”
“The property is not entailed, and Mama will have to be content with the dowager house on the family’s main estate or the London townhouse. There is nothing for it. The sale will be finalized by Wednesday next.” Wardoor swallowed. “As to what else you ask, it’s none of your business.”
Merrick narrowed his eyes. “If you do not desire a woman to warm your bed, I would advise you to never marry and allow the estate to go into your cousin’s hand. Although I do not understand the troubles you live with, I do not wish your lifestyle to impact on an innocent woman.” The thought of Isolde being unhappy in her marriage, of sickening with disease because Wardoor couldn’t keep his cock out of whatever took his fancy, made him ill.
“If Isolde agrees to my terms of marriage, there is nothing you can do. Although her money will be welcome, once I sell Benner, her dowry will not be so desperate.”
“You’re right. If Isolde chooses you then there is nothing to be done, but if you’ve told her only half-truths, I will ensure she knows full well who she’s agreed to marry and what type of man you are.”
“Some friend.”
Merrick cringed. He was being no friend at all, but he could not allow Isolde to be unhappy in her future. He’d caused her so much pain, he couldn’t permit any more to trample on her fragile soul. “Yes, I’m married and cannot fight for her as I would wish, and therefore I must step aside. But I will not see her hurt. Not even by the man whom I once viewed as close as a brother.”
He left and headed toward a footman, in need of sustenance of the liquid kind. He caught sight of Isolde laughing at something her sister Lady Alice was saying, her long locks falling out of their style and curling about her lovely neck, her cheeks rosy from the consumption of too much champagne. He took in her beauty, feeling pleasure and loss at the same time. If only he could stroll up to her, take her in his arms, and kiss her senseless. Lose himself in the feel of her warmth, her welcoming embrace, and kisses that used to send his pulse racing.
Shaking his head, he wondered how it was that their lives had turned out the way they had. How, by a series of events not of their doing, a future had been destroyed that should’ve been happy and full of love. Instead, he was stuck in a bad marriage to a woman who loathed him as much as he loathed her, and now, to top it off, he would have to watch the woman he loved marry another. Possibly his best friend.
It wasn’t to be borne.
Chapter Eleven
Isolde looked up at the sky and shut her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face. Her friend Anne lay on the chair next to her. She, too, enjoying the beautiful weather the London Season had gifted them. They had opted to seat themselves on the terrace of Lord Kinruth’s townhouse, where the sunlight dappled through the wisteria hanging above them.
“Did you receive your invitation to Lord Wardoor’s estate? I understand he’s just recently returned from the country, some business transaction he had to take care of last week. I shouldn’t think he’d leave the capital for any other reason.” Anne threw her a pointed stare, grinning.
Isolde ignored her goading. “We received ours with the morning post. I have not decided if I should go. The Season has only just started to be fun. I’m not sure if I want to leave to attend a fortnight-long party in the country.”
“You’re not accepting his hand in marriage, if you decide to go, if that is your concern.” Anne rubbed her swelling belly, and a pang of envy shot through Isolde at the thought of her friend soon becoming a mother. “Please tell me why you’re so unsure of him.”
Isolde sighed, biting into another lavender tea cake to give her more time to answer. Why was she so unsure of Wardoor? Or, was she sure of him, but just didn’t really want him and was coming up with all the excuses in the world? “I’m sure I’ll end up going. Mama wouldn’t allow me to stay in Town, in any case. And do not forget, Anne, Wardoor is yet to even ask for my hand, and he may not, when all is told.”
“Oh, he’ll ask you. Of that I’m sure. But will you say yes, I’m less likely to give an opinion on.”
Isolde nodded. How well her friend knew her, but then, a closeness was only natural after so much time in Scotland together. “You will be attending, I hope?”
“Indeed. It’ll be nice to have some rest away from the capital. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to attend the parties in Town with my stomach being so unsettled and growing at such a rate.”
Isolde laughed. “But what a beautiful stomach it is. I’m so happy for you.”
Anne rubbed it anew. “When your time comes, you’ll be a wonderful mother, as well. And you will have your turn. I promise you this, as your friend.”
Tears pricked Isolde’s eyes. “I almost kissed him.” The words blurted from her lips, and she couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes, which just by her peripheral vision were as wide as tea plates. The following silence sounded as loud as a death knell.
“Wardoor?” Anne asked, sitting up. “Tell me everything.”
If only it was Wardoor, the guilt spiraling through Isolde would be nonexistent. “No, not Wardoor. Moore.”
Again silence ensued, and she finally looked at Anne who was now gaping at her like a fish. “Please say something. Anything. Even if it is only to say what a fool I almost was. How I’m an awful person who should be banished from England.”
“I wondered seeing you both reappear at Vauxhall, but as you said nothing, I didn’t want to venture as to what you spoke about.” Anne sat up, turning to face her. “What happened?”
If only Isolde could answer such a question. Why had she followed him, trying to talk sense into a man who refused to let her go? “I confronted him about his conduct toward me, and we argued. Somewhere along the way he told me his version of the night before our wedding. He still loves me, Anne, and it was just after his declaration that I almost allowed him favors he should never have.”
Anne stood, pacing before her. “I must declare that I’m relieved you did not kiss the duke. That is one complication you do not need. Not that the Duchess of Moore would be too vexed if her husband did stray. Her Grace has no shame when it comes to men she takes to her bed.” Anne stopped, turning to look at her. “That Moore tried to kiss you does not shock me. He’s so indifferent to his wife. Why, I’ve never known a man so emotionally removed from his spouse. What a sorry state of a marriage to be in.”
Isolde agreed Moore’s relationship with the duchess was a disaster. But that did not give her the right to come between them. Society expected her to make a suitable, if not grand, match, and she would. No scandal would shadow her again. “I need to keep away from him. Even though I believe that he did not know it was Leonora in his bed that night, he is married. No matter how much I may want him, I cannot change his circumstances to suit my feelings.”
“It does not excuse what happened, Isolde. They still slept together and had a child, need I remind you.”
“I know that,” she bit out more severely than she’d meant. “I’m sorry, Anne. I didn’t mean to be short with you. I’m just so confused.” And she was. Terribly so.
Anne sat on Isolde’s chair. “You’re not conflicted. You still love him.”
She looked out over the lawns, the roses and wisteria above them. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful and without the complications of Town life when they relaxed in such a way. “A part of me always will, I fear.”
“Oh, Isolde…” Her friend threw her a consoling look. “He’s not for you, my dear.”
She sighed, knowing only too well how true that declaration was. “Should I have my time again, I would’ve fought for him, at l
east listened to his excuse for what had happened that night. My father never gave him the chance, and I think that was a mistake. Leonora’s treatment of me is proof enough it was her scheming that gained her a ducal coronet. I was such a fool.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked them away, hating the fact that after all these years Merrick could still bring her to tears. But this time, not tears of pain, but regret.
“And if a gentleman asks you to be his bride, will you accept, knowing you still have these strong feelings for Moore?”
Anne’s bulging stomach caught her attention, the perfect, plump little lump that housed life. A little baby, a son or daughter that she herself longed to have most in the world. To finally have a child, a family, a home of her own was what a husband could give her. Moore, on the other hand, could not.
He was lost to her, and she must accept it; no matter how hard such a realization was, she must move on with her life and start living it, before it was too late. “Yes, I will accept a proposal, if one arises, and be forever faithful to my vows.”
Anne took her hand, squeezing it slightly. “I know this choice is not easy, and I wish I could turn back the hands of time for you so you could have all that your heart desires.”
Isolde let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I wish you could, too, dearest, but we must endure as best we can, and make the most of what is offered to us. I will find a kind, trustworthy husband, free of scandal and suitable for a duke’s daughter. I may never love him, but we will have children and a future. That is all I wish, for now.”
…
The fortnight before the house party at Lord Wardoor’s country estate was filled with balls and parties, shopping trips, and nights at the theater. Lord Wardoor accompanied her at most outings. He was attentive and kind, and as much as Isolde tried to like him more than she did already, she could not see him as anything other than a friend.
