Lowery smiled easily. “It is not as grand as Thorn Hall, but Lady Lowery and I enjoy it. It is perfect for entertaining small parties and for raising a family. I am quite content.” Lowery’s words brought a twinge of jealousy to John’s chest. Would he ever wear the smile of satisfaction each of his friends sported?
Lowery reached for a petite blonde, and the lady came readily to his side. “My Dear,” he said as he brought the woman’s knuckles to his lips. “You recall Baron Swenton, do you not?”
“Of course, I do. Welcome, Lord Swenton.” The baronet’s wife glowed with confidence.
Lady Lowery’s gaze fell upon Satiné, and John made the introductions. “I am pleased you could join us, Baroness.” She presented Satiné a curtsy of respect, but John noted how Lowery’s lady shot a glance to her husband–one of confirmation. Confirmation, of what, he could not say, but John suspected the Lowerys had had an intimate discussion regarding his hasty marriage.
He turned to the lady behind him. “Sir Carter. Lady Lowery. May I present my wife’s companion, Miss Neville.”
Isolde Neville dropped a perfect curtsy. “Thank you, Sir Carter, for including me among your guests this evening.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Lowery declared with open acceptance. “Sir Carter’s associates will be pleased for the acquaintance of another female. Come along, and I will introduce you.” She smiled at her husband. “I assumed, Sir, you would wish to claim the introduction of the new baroness.”
Sir Carter chuckled softly. “I understand your orders, my Dear. The Swentons and I will keep our guests entertained while we await Thornhill’s arrival.”
“My sister and the duke shall not be long.” Satiné defended the Fowlers’ tardiness.
John and Carter exchanged a knowing look before the baronet said, “The duke and duchess prefer to make a pointed entrance, but I will not wait supper much longer. It would look poorly upon my wife’s hospitality, and I will not have Lady Lowery’s efforts disparaged by those in attendance.”
*
He had stood with his back to the empty hearth; his eyes fixed upon his wife’s smiling countenance. Since Sir Carter had introduced them to his guests, Satiné had smiled upon everyone, except him. He had spent the meal on Lady Lowery’s left, while Satiné had been placed across from the duchess on Sir Carter’s left. She and her sister had monopolized the conversation at their end of the table, the gentlemen in attendance mesmerized by two beautiful women.
At his end of the table, Lady Lowery and Miss Neville had engaged the vicar’s wife and Mr. Stombock, a member of Lord Sidmouth’s personal staff, on the merits of opening England’s shores to other nationalities. In truth, if his wife’s flirtations had not irritated him beyond reason, John would have enjoyed the lively conversation. As both Lady Lowery and Miss Neville had traveled extensively, they spoke eloquently of the advantages and disadvantages of the British policy. John suspected Miss Neville had been recruited to support her hostess’s words, while Sir Carter’s lady brilliantly manipulated Stombock, Thornhill, and several others within hearing. Lowery had obviously made an exemplary match.
At present, Satiné and the duchess spoke to the younger brother of the Duke of Falkenberry. Lord Randolph Morse often dropped his eyes to partake of Satiné’s and the duchess’s décolletages. Each time he did so, John’s stomach had twisted tighter. It should be his eyes–and only his–which should enjoy his wife’s charms. Satiné’s smile had remained upon her lips, and she had laughed easily at Morse’s weak attempt at humor.
When Thornhill reclaimed his duchess, Satiné had remained steadfastly by Morse’s side, and John had swallowed the bile choking his throat. He glanced to where Sir Carter watched his every move, and John nodded his acknowledgement of his friend’s concern.
John placed his empty glass of champagne upon a nearby table before accepting another from a passing footman. Since his proposal to Satiné Aldridge, he had been at sixes and sevens. He rarely imbibed, for he did not like the person he became when he drank too freely. Downing the liquid with one gulp, he strode toward where his wife kept company with Morse.
“Yet, you are Lady Swenton,” Morse said with a raised eyebrow.
John wondered what his wife had said to prompt such a response from Falkenberry’s heir. He certainly did not approve of Morse’s familiar tone. “Pardon me, Lord Morse, but I must reclaim the baroness’s attentions. I fear we must depart, my Dear.” Cynicism ran rampant through his tone.
Satiné experienced difficulty in recovering her composure, and John took perverse enjoyment in her embarrassment. “Must we?” she said with false sweetness. “This is my first foray into English Society in some two years.” Her bottom lip took on a familiar pleading pout, which John ignored.
“You forget, Baroness,” John said as he caught her elbow in a firm grasp, “we are to depart for York on the morrow.”
Morse ventured, “You mean to remove Society’s Black Rose to the depths of York?” His Lordship smiled with the confidence of those who knew their position in the world.
“I mean to escort my bride to her new home,” John warned. Morse’s “affectionate” name for Satiné rubbed John’s patience raw.
Before Morse could respond, his wife divulged John’s secret. “The baron escorts his mother’s remains to Marwood Manor.” John’s insides cringed, but his Realm training had kept his expression blank.
Morse smirked. “I thought the rumors of the former baroness’s abandonment simply that: rumors.”
John’s teeth clinched tighter, but he said, “What abandonment? It is not uncommon among the aristocracy for a husband and wife to live separately after the lady delivers an heir. The former baroness and I have remained on congenial terms.”
Morse countered, “Yet, the wife customarily resides on one of her husband’s minor estates.”
With difficulty, John made himself remain immobile. For the man’s impudence, he wished to pummel Randolph Morse soundly. “Who is to say the previous Lady Swenton did not reside in one of my father’s homes? Are you so familiar with my family business, Morse?”
“Certainly not,” Morse declared autocratically. “It is not of my concern.”
John said smugly, “In that we do agree, Your Lordship.”
Satiné asked quietly, “May I not return to Thorn Hall with the duke?”
John obstinately said, “We should call in at the nursery. I am certain Mrs. Tailor would appreciate a few moments to herself.”
Morse’s tone spoke of curiosity. “Nursery?”
“Yes. Our son Rupert…” John said with satisfaction. Not permitting his wife or Falkenberry’s brother the opportunity to respond, with a bow of respect, he guided Satiné toward where Sir Carter spoke to several gentlemen from the Home Office. “Pardon me, Lowery. Lady Swenton and I must depart. We are to York in the morning.”
“Know care, Swenton.” Lowery’s gaze fell upon the baroness, and John recognized the baronet’s disapproval. Likely, Sir Carter had noted Satiné’s flirtations.
“What of Miss Neville?” his wife asked as she tugged on her arm to free his grip.
John glanced to where Isolde sat beside Lady Lowery. The women were enjoying their animated conversation. “Permit your companion a bit more company. Thornhill will see to Miss Neville’s return.” He recognized his declaration would bring Satiné’s ire, but he could not keep the words from his lips. In his opinion, Miss Neville had acted the role of the perfect guest whereas his baroness had taken on the countenance of a jade.
Retrieving her cloak from Lowery’s footman, his wife remained stiffly silent. John knew he should be ashamed of his boorish behavior, but when he searched his conscience, he could not label his actions outside the realm of a polite response to an awkward display. He also recognized how his baroness’s seething anger would exclude him from her bed this evening. It would be nothing unusual, he thought in irony.
“How dare you?” his wife seethed through tight lips, as he escorted her to his waiting
carriage.
John feigned his nonchalance. “How dare I what? Reclaim my bride’s allegiance? Oh, wait. I cannot reclaim what I never possessed.” He was not certain whether he was angrier with her for seeking the attentions of other men or at himself for approaching the brink of irrationality.
As if she had placed it in a beehive, Satiné jerked her hand from his when he assisted her to the let coach. “How dare you embarrass me before Lord Morse!”
He followed her into the dark coach. “Tell me, Baroness. What bothers you more about me: my dark countenance or my lesser title?”
“Both,” she hissed. John flinched internally. A faint memory of angry voices, which announced his mother’s departure, tugged at his heart. “You spoke of Rupert before His Lordship,” she accused.
“Are you discomfited by your child?” John countered.
Satiné said with a snit, “You claimed Rupert.”
John had the grace to disguise his disapproval. “We agreed I would name the boy.”
“But…”
“What? Tell me, Satiné. I am not your enemy,” he coaxed. “Surely the speed with which I acted to save your reputation should speak of my regard.”
His wife sucked in a sharp breath. “You loosely guard my character, Sir. Only a few minutes prior, you confirmed the need for our marriage by your reference to Rupert. I had earlier explained to Lord Morse the brevity of our joining. What His Lordship must think of me!”
John growled, “Lord Morse realizes you married for convenience; I am certain Morse relished the idea of another conquest. You spoke of your admiration with your eyes.”
“You think quite poorly of me.” Her mouth twisted in wry mockery.
John swallowed his earlier anger. “You err, Baroness. I knew an innocent girl who thoroughly bewitched me. I would delight in her return.”
“That Satiné Aldridge died along with her hopes,” she said bitterly. “Even the uncle she had adored all of her life abandoned her without a second look.”
*
Lucinda Lowery glanced up with a frown. “It appears the Swentons have taken an early departure.”
Isolde’s eyes had already noted the baron’s earlier misery. “Lord Swenton means to set out for York shortly after dawn.”
Lady Lowery whispered, “Sir Carter spoke of Lord Swenton’s mother. I think it admirable the baron means to return the woman’s remains to his family cemetery.”
Isolde admitted, “As do I. Family is very important to me, and the baron’s actions speak of the man he has become. Anyone with eyes for seeing and a heart for caring can recognize the pain Baron Swenton experienced at Lady Fiona’s hands.” Lady Lowery’s eyebrow rose in curiosity, but the woman made no comment. Isolde quickly changed the subject. “Do you spend much time in London?”
The woman looked lovingly upon her husband. “As Sir Carter’s position in the Home Office requires his presence in the Capital, we are often away from Huntingborne Abbey.”
“And you would have it no other way,” Isolde said conspiratorially. It was wonderful to spend an evening with a female who did not judge Isolde’s social position.
Lady Lowery’s smile spoke of the woman’s besotted state. “The baronet is quite remarkable.”
“Would you not prefer the country? You said earlier your ward enjoys the duke’s daughter as a companion. Would it not be better for the boy to know a country home?”
Lady Lowery revealed, “Simon resides with my Uncle Gerhard in Lancashire. My uncle is the Earl of Charleton, and he adores the boy. The baronet and I are expecting them in a little over a fortnight. I have seen neither since my wedding day.”
“That will be excellent for you to reunite with your loved ones. I have missed my family desperately of late. In fact, I have told the baron I mean to leave his employment once he and Baroness Swenton are settled. I shall return to Dublin.”
Lady Lowery looked upon Isolde with open curiosity. “I noted Sir Carter’s grimace at having to entertain the duchess during supper. My husband says Lady Yardley is superior to Thornhill’s wife.”
Dark amusement laced Isolde’s tone. “I hold little knowledge of the countess. Only the occasional remark from Lady Swenton. I suspect they did not part on the best of terms.”
“It was quite the scandal,” Lady Lowery confided after a quick glance about the room. “The Aldridge twins switched roles so each girl could claim the man of her heart, but Lady Yardley’s former suitor kidnapped your mistress by mistake. The baron assisted in his wife’s rescue.” Isolde nodded her head in encouragement. Lady Lowery’s explanation clarified the missing details of the baron and baroness’s previous connection. “I believe the earl and countess prefer the wilds of Northumberland rather than the ‘wilds’ of the haut ton.”
Isolde looked to where the duchess clung to her husband’s arm. “It is probably best,” she said cautiously, “that Lady Satiné was not successful in bringing Lord Yardley to snuff. I doubt my mistress would be happy so far from Society. She is very much of her eldest sister’s ilk.”
Lady Lowery followed Isolde’s gaze. “Lord Yardley escaped a poor match. From what I know of the Earl of Berwick, he is a very private man. Not one to flaunt his shortcomings or his successes. And as to spending time in London, he comes only to the Capital when responsibilities deem it necessary. He has an older brother who is childlike in his thinking and for whom Yardley serves as the regent for the title. Sir Carter believes his friend still thinks himself counterfeit. A woman whose thoughts dwell heavy on fashion and frills would never have suited the earl’s pastoral lifestyle.”
A quiver of insecurity spoke of Isolde’s liability. “I realize we know each other not, Lady Lowery, but I am grateful you have chosen to speak to me with honesty. In truth, I cannot recall a more pleasant evening.”
“Neither can I,” Lady Lowery admitted. “You remind me of my sister in marriage. Lady Hellsman speaks openly, without any form of artifice. I assure you, I regularly guard my tongue more closely than I have in your company.” She chuckled. “After all, my husband is a political advocate.”
Isolde breathed easier, having readily come to a decision. “Would you speak your opinion of the duchess?”
She looked on as Lady Lowery carefully chose her words. “My late husband and Thornhill knew each other at university and again, under Wellington, on the Continental front. The duke offered his assistance when Simon appeared in my life.”
Isolde understood immediately. “The duchess did not approve of her husband looking kindly on another woman.”
Self-mockery gleamed in Lady Lowery’s eyes. “The duke complicated the matter by personally inviting me to his sister’s and cousin’s Come Out ball.” She leaned closer to assure privacy. “The Duchess of Thornhill is the said cousin.”
Isolde stifled her girlish giggle. “And you must reside as neighbors. Oh, my.”
“And our husbands served together during the war years and within the same unit.”
“Double, oh, my.” Isolde grinned widely.
Lady Lowery nodded her agreement. “The duchess is still quite young, and my uncle’s lady friend, Viscountess Gibbons, believes once the girl has known a bit more of life’s tribulations, the duchess shall become more tolerant of others and be more empathetic.”
“Lady Swenton has known her share of evils, but I do not observe her as possessing a benevolent bone in her body, especially when it comes to Baron Swenton’s kindness.”
“Explain,” Lady Lowery insisted.
Isolde’s weary eyes closed; she summoned an image of the stark countenance of the baron. “If Lady Satiné was not an appropriate match for the very private Earl of Berwick, how will she ever be satisfied with an equally private Baron Swenton? Is my mistress likely to destroy the one man who affects her?”
Chapter Seven
John looked up at the sound of a soft tread on the steps and had hoped it was his wife, but he knew after the row they had had once they reached their suite of rooms, Satiné
would attempt to punish him by refusing to travel to York. Of course, he could physically force her to accompany him. By law, once they had spoken their vows, his wife was his property; yet, it was not in John’s nature to compel any woman to follow his orders. Besides, what marital felicity could he hope to achieve if he carried Satiné off in the manner of Lachlan Charters.
“Miss Neville,” he said softly as she approached. “I suppose your presence announces my wife’s illness has returned.”
The lady’s lips twitched in mild bemusement. “De reir a cheile a thogtar na caisleain.”
His arms folded across his chest, and John’s smile widened. “What if I have not the inclination to take up construction?”
The lady gave a pleased chuckle. “You speak my tongue, Baron.”
A gentleman could spend a lifetime lost in the woman’s mesmerizing eyes. “Speak is a bit of an exaggeration. I have heard many of my neighbors warning me it takes time to build castles.”
“The baroness has expressed a desire to remain under her sister’s roof.”
John knew in York he remained a source of speculation, and this new situation would only add to the rumors. How could he explain he had returned his mother to the estate she had despised, as well as to speak of the woman he had chosen to replace Lady Fiona refusing to step one foot within his home? “I wish I could say I expected otherwise,” he admitted. “Is minic a gheibhean beal oscailt diog dunta.”
“An open mouth often catches a closed fist. It is an appropriate saying based on what I observed last evening, but is folamh fuar e teach gan bean.”
John led her into a shadowy sitting room for privacy. “If your words are true, Miss Neville, my house will remain cold: My wife means to deal severely with me.” A sudden, not wholly unpleasant sensation raced down John’s spine. He could smell the trace of an exotic spice on the woman’s skin, and his composure was immediately thrown off guard. “What should I do to convince Lady Swenton of the sincerity of my affections?” And convince me also, he thought.
Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor Page 9
