Isabelle gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. She thought he might reconsider his offer, but his next statement caught her off guard.
“I’m partial to the seven deadly sins, especially sloth,” John told her, his expression solemn. “I would like to name our sons after them.”
Isabelle stared at him in disbelief. “Sloth Saint-Germain?”
“It has a nice sound to it.” He smiled, ruining the effect. “I’m teasing you, Belle. Is there anything else?”
Isabelle shook her head. “I have no experience with this marriage business so I don’t really know what to ask.”
“I understand,” John said. “Have you prepared your list of guests?”
“I left it here,” Isabelle leaned across the desk to retrieve the paper she’d placed there that afternoon. She passed the list to him.
John opened the folded paper and then lifted his gaze to hers. “You’ve written only three names here. Miles, Pebbles, and Juniper.”
“They are the only people in the world I consider family and friends.”
“What about your stepfamily?”
“I’ve never considered them family.”
“Why?”
Isabelle dropped her gaze to her lap, certain she’d see pity in his eyes. “They never considered me their family.”
“Nevertheless, Delphinia and her daughters need to be invited,” John said.
“Well, I suppose so,” she acquiesced. “Let them sit on your side of the church.”
John burst out laughing. Isabelle smiled, realizing how foolish she sounded.
“Miles may not have returned by then,” John said, looking at her list. “Pebbles is your majordomo. Who is Juniper?”
“Juniper was my nanny until the day my father died,” Isabelle said. “I consider her family.”
“How old were you when your father died?”
“Ten years.”
John snapped his eyebrows together. “Why did Juniper leave your service? You needed her more than ever in that sad hour.”
Delphinia fired Juniper because she drank cold tea. Cold tea or hot tea, what is the difference?” Isabelle said. “The reason is Juniper loved me and disliked my stepsisters.”
John appeared to be struggling against a smile, but then lost, “Darling, cold tea is a euphemism for brandy. Apparently, Juniper liked her spirits.”
“Could Juniper help us with our children?” Isabelle asked. “I know she’d love to live with us.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Since Miles will be away, I would like Pebbles to give the bride away,” Isabelle said, knowing he would veto her idea.
“I cannot allow that,” John said, scowling. “Pebbles is a servant and his presence at the altar will make us the laughingstock of society.”
“Pebbles is family to me.”
“You’ll walk down the aisle alone if need be,” John told her. “I do grant Pebbles permission to sit with Juniper in the front of the church.”
“And what about my guardian angel? Where will she sit?”
“Angels can sit wherever they want,” John said. “Is there anything else?”
“No.”
John stood, but instead of walking to the door, he knelt on one bended knee in front of her. He gazed into the violet pools of her eyes and took her hands in his. “Isabelle Montgomery, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and duchess?”
Touched by his tenderness, Isabelle smiled and nodded. “Yes, John, I will marry you.”
John reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet-covered box. He opened its lid and lifted a ring.
“I scoured London until I saw this,” he said, slipping the ring onto her finger.
Isabelle looked down at her betrothal ring, the likes of which she’d never seen. Amethyst petals, surrounded by leaves of emeralds, lay on a diamond snow-bed.
“The jeweler called it ‘violets in the snow.’ Which is what you remind me of—a lovely violet in the snow,” John said, his voice husky.
Isabelle raised her gaze to his, and her heart soared with happiness. Her angel’s long-ago prophecy was coming true. John Saint-Germain was the dark prince.
Chapter 10
Was marrying Isabelle Montgomery a mistake?
That question crashed into John’s consciousness for the hundredth time since becoming betrothed to her five days earlier. He’d already married one woman who had hurt him in the end, but, at least, Lenore Grimsby had feigned love at the beginning; Isabelle Montgomery was reluctant.
Why did he desire a woman who didn’t want him? Did her plucky spirit appeal to him? Or did her exquisite loveliness attract him? Was he destined always to be undone by women?
John stood in his office at Saint-Germain Court and stared out the window at the enormous garden. He preferred his office in the back of the town house overlooking the garden because there were fewer distractions caused by street traffic. When he tired of his business ledgers and contracts and reports, he could stretch his legs and gaze outside without being bothered by the unwelcome sight of carriages and people. The privacy was no friend today. It gave him the opportunity to ponder his latest mistake—namely, his engagement to Isabelle Montgomery.
Giving himself a mental shake, John concentrated on the new life emerging in the garden. Yellow daffodils nodded gaily at the forsythia. The ground near the house was a mass of purple violets, reminding him of Isabelle.
“Excuse me, Your Grace.”
John turned away from the window. “Yes, Dobbs?”
“Barron Barrows has arrived, Your Grace.”
“Please send him to me.” John sat behind the mahogany desk.
A moment later, Dobbs returned with the baron. At a glance from his employer, Dobbs closed the study door to ensure that the two men enjoyed privacy.
“Have a seat, Spewing,” John said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Stephen Spewing sat down and stole a quick peek at the study. “I admire your taste in furnishings, Your Grace.”
“I find my office comfortable.” John reached for the crystal decanter and two crystal glasses perched on a sterling-silver tray that had been set on his desk. “Care for a whiskey?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
John made a show of pouring two drams of whiskey and passed one to the baron. Then he held his glass up in a salute. “To your prosperity and happiness.”
“And to yours, Your Grace,” the younger man returned the good wishes.
Both men drank their whiskey.
“Congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials, Your Grace.”
“So you’ve heard the good news?” John asked, leveling his dark gaze on the man.
“Indeed, all of London is talking about it,” the younger man began. Then, as if fearing the duke would be angered by his listening to gossip, he added, “The Times printed the announcement.”
“Yes, I know.” John poured them another round of whiskey. “However, I haven’t invited you here to discuss my marriage. I’m interested in your marriage.”
“My marriage?” Spewing echoed in surprise. “I don’t understand, Your Grace.”
“As you know, I am temporary guardian for the Montgomery girls,” John said, stretching the truth a bit. “What are your intentions toward Lobelia?”
“Strictly honorable, I assure you,” Spewing answered, fidgeting in his chair. “I harbor a deep fondness for Lobelia.”
“I thought you did,” John said, relaxing in his chair. “The man who offers for Lobelia will gain a very generous dowry, and as my brother-by-marriage, he will receive an interest—albeit small—in a few of my businesses.” John paused to let that bit of information seep into the other man’s brain. “I have always held you in the highest esteem and would like very much if you were the gentleman who profited by marriage to Lobelia. I grant you she’s not much to look at, but—”
“I find Lobelia to be utterly delightful,” Spewing interrupted h
im. “As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
John nodded. “You are considering offering for her?”
“I would like to offer for her right now if I have your permission,” Spewing told him.
“You have my approval,” John said. “I prefer you propose to her after my betrothal party, which will be held at my mother’s residence on the twenty-third of April. Isabelle will be miffed if her sister’s good news diverts attention from her. You know how women are.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
John rose from his chair in a silent signal that their interview was finished. Taking his cue, Spewing also stood.
John walked around his desk and shook the younger man’s hand. “To our prosperous future as brothers-in-law.” Then he escorted him to the mahogany double doors that led to the corridor.
“I’ll name our first daughter Fortuna in honor of the ancient goddess of luck,” Spewing rambled in obvious excitement. “I am the most fortunate of men in winning your approval, Your Grace.”
John nodded like a prince accepting his due from a loyal subject. “We’ll discuss business after your betrothal is announced.”
John opened the door to the younger man. Walking down the corridor to his study was his brother Ross.
“Thank you again, Your Grace,” Spewing said before taking his leave. “I do appreciate your confidence in me.”
With that, Baron Barrows started down the corridor. He nodded to Ross as they passed each other.
Ross walked into this brother’s study and sat in the chair vacated by the baron. He poured himself a dram of whiskey and sat back in the chair.
“Your Grace, I do appreciate your confidence in me,” Ross said in a perfect imitation of the baron’s eagerness. “May I kiss the ground upon which you walk? Would you like me to lick the dirt off your boots?”
John sat down behind his desk, poured himself a whiskey, and raised it in salute to his brother. “I’ve just trapped my first victim. Spewing will offer for Lobelia directly after my betrothal party.”
“What about the other intended victim?”
“I’ll wait until I’m married to ensnare Hancock,” John told him. “I wouldn’t want to appear too obvious in paying for Delphinia’s silence. Two such quick offers of marriage for two of the plainest girls I’ve ever seen will be suspect to society, and I cannot make a laughingstock out of them. If I wait until autumn, Hancock’s proposal will seem more of his own doing.”
“That’s very devious of you,” Ross said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“My words were intended as high praise.”
John smiled. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here to do something for you.”
“What a strange change in your behavior. Are you ill?”
“Very funny,” Ross said, smiling. “I’ve just left White’s, where I saw the most amazing sight . . . A meeting of the Vanquished Club.”
John cocked a dark eyebrow at his brother.
“William Grimsby and Nicholas deJewell sat together and seemed involved in an important conversation,” Ross told him. “Their heads were bent close and their voices were low. In short, Grimsby and deJewell appear to have joined forces against a common enemy—namely, you.”
“Thank you for the warning,” John said, rising from his chair, “but I’m certain I can handle them. If you will excuse me? I intend to pay a visit to my sweet betrothed.”
“Want some company?”
“No, thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, John walked into the main foyer at Montgomery House. The faint sound of flute playing wafted through the air.
“Lady Isabelle is in the drawing room, Your Grace,” the majordomo said, escorting him to the stairs.
“Don’t bother, Pebbles. I know the way.”
The music of her flute playing grew louder as he neared the drawing room. Her melody held a jaunty air, like a bird call in summer or sparkling sunbeams dancing across the top of a crystal blue lake. Yes, his fiancée was definitely in high spirits that day.
John paused in the doorway and watched her. She appeared almost angelic with her hair of spun gold, her delicate profile, and her gown of pale pink.
As if sensing his intense stare, Isabelle turned her head and saw him standing there. She stopped playing and gave him a smile that rivaled her hair for brightness.
“Good morning, John.”
“I do not understand how you make your flute sound as if two people were playing.” John crossed the drawing room to sit beside her on the couch.
Isabelle’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “My guardian angel accompanies me. I do admit that she plays better than I.”
“Very well, keep your musical secrets to yourself.”
“You don’t believe in guardian angels?” Isabelle cast him an unconsciously flirtatious look. “How about drawing-room acoustics?”
John burst out laughing. She was the most charming, impertinent minx he’d ever met.
“I see you are blessedly alone.”
“Delphinia and her daughters are making a round of social calls,” she told him.
“And that sort of activity holds no appeal for you?” John asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Not in the least.”
“I’ve sent Juniper her invitation to our wedding and enough money to purchase a suitable gown to wear.”
“I would have done that,” Isabelle said. “Couldn’t we wait for Miles to return? I am his only sister.”
John hesitated before answering. Friction between England and the United States was growing with each passing day. Hostilities seemed imminent. If their brothers were still in New York when war erupted, they could be delayed for its duration, but that wasn’t something he wanted to worry his fiancée about.
“Waiting for our brothers to return is impossible,” John said, his tone brooking no argument. He leaned close and inhaled her violet scent. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Isabelle blushed. She changed the subject by telling him, “My guardian angel told me a long, long time ago that you would enter my life.”
“He knew of my existence before we met?”
“My angel is a she, named Giselle, who knows many things that we humans do not,” she informed him. “Giselle told me that I would marry a dark prince.”
“Giselle, is it?” John echoed. “I’m a duke but thank you for the elevation in rank.”
“Princes don’t always wear crowns,” Isabelle said. “Or so Giselle says.”
“The old girl has common sense,” he said. “Would you like to ride with me tomorrow in Hyde Park?”
“I’d love a morning outing.”
John leaned close, so close her violet scent teased his senses. He gave her his devastating smile as he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a sweetly sensual kiss.
“Mistress Montgomery, you are a temptation,” John murmured, rising from the couch. “Until tomorrow at nine.”
“I’ll be ready.” Isabelle walked with him to the drawing-room door. “I do hope the weather cooperates.”
“Damsel, I shall order us a day of brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, and a gentle breeze,” John said.
“Could you manage a few fluffy white clouds for decoration?” she asked.
“That could prove difficult, but I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Isabelle drew the draperies aside to peer out the window early the next morning. Bright tentacles of orange light streaked the mauve-colored eastern horizon, promising a perfect morning with radiant sunshine and clear blue skies. The bud-laden branches of the trees in the garden area remained motionless, which meant no biting spring wind with which to contend.
“His Grace must have the ear of God,” Isabelle said over her shoulder. “He’s managed to conjure the perfect morning for a ride in the park.”
“I fixed it for him.” Giselle stared into the hearth.
; “Why are you looking so glum?” Isabelle crossed the chamber to sit on the edge of the opposite chair.
“Saint-Germain has seen and heard me,” the old woman complained, “but he refuses to believe I exist.”
“Convincing skeptics can be a frustrating and impossible task,” Isabelle said.
“I thought seeing was believing.”
“Give John time,” Isabelle said. “We will bolster his faith in the celestial.”
“Child, you are beginning to love him,” Giselle said, turning to look at her.
That comment surprised Isabelle. “Why do you say that?”
“You’ve just defended him to me by insisting he is not beyond redemption.”
Uncomfortable with the topic of her growing fondness for the duke, Isabelle rose from her chair. “It’s early yet. I think I’ll go back to bed.”
“Would you like me to play for you until you fall asleep?” Giselle asked. “I always did when you were a child. Remember?”
“I’d like that very much.”
Isabelle climbed into bed and pulled the coverlet up. The old woman sat on the edge of the bed to play a lullaby until her charge fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Three hours later, Isabelle had washed and dressed in preparation for her outing in Hyde Park. She wore a peacock-blue silk and wool gown that was as light as sarcenet but warmer. Over this she donned the Wellington mantel and the Wellington boots that were all the rage in fashionable London. She’d left her head bare. After brushing her blond hair off her face, she’d woven it into one thick braid and knotted the braid at the nape of her neck.
Isabelle took one last peek at herself in the framed mirror and looked toward the hearth for her angel’s approval, but Giselle had vanished. “I’m leaving, Giselle. Wherever you are.”
She started for the door, but paused when she heard the voice say, “Enjoy yourself, child.”
Isabelle whirled around, but the chamber was empty. She left the chamber in a good mood.
With her spirits high, Isabelle walked down the main staircase to the foyer. John was already waiting. His smile of greeting made her feel warm.
“Your punctuality heartens me,” John said, when she stood before him. “I detest tardiness in anyone.”
Enchanting the Duke Page 14
