Enchanting the Duke
Page 27
Isabelle felt her heart breaking for her husband. He’d carried this secret burden around with him for years in order to spare others the pain and the shame.
“Did you try to have me run over?” John asked.
“Yes, of course,” Grimsby said. “I also paid Lisette Dupre to create that scene at the wedding reception.”
“And the shots fired at Isabelle and me on the evening of our betrothal?”
Grimsby inclined his head in the affirmative.
“Why are you doing this?” Isabelle cried, turning in her husband’s arms to look at her stepmother, her hand sliding to her stomach to protect her baby.
“Dear Isabelle, you have nothing to fear,” Delphinia told her. “You will die an old woman. Unfortunately, your main residence will be Bedlam.”
Isabelle stared at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“Do I need to draw you a map?” Delphinia snapped at her. “Once His Grace is dead, you will elope with Nicky, then we will control the Montgomery fortune and, if lucky, the Saint-Germain fortune as well.”
“If my husband dies, I’ll need my brother’s permission to remarry,” Isabelle reminded her stepmother.
“You came of age on your last birthday,” Delphinia said. “You need no one’s permission to marry.”
Isabelle felt the fight drain out of her. There had to be a way to dissuade them from doing this.
“Miles won’t be around to complain,” deJewell said, smirking. “We’ll arrange an untimely accident for Miles when he reaches London.”
“Giselle, where are you?”
“We’re on our way.”
“Who is we?”
“The dowager and her sister.”
“Oh, dear God.”
“I told you she was crazy,” Delphinia said, turning to Grimsby.
Surprising everyone, the drawing room door flew open and crashed against the wall. With pistols drawn, the two elderly aristocrats walked inside. Pebbles, holding a pistol, walked behind them.
Isabelle smiled at the Montgomery majordomo. “You’ve been eavesdropping again, Pebbles.”
He inclined his head like a king granting a favor. “I cannot protect my charges unless I eavesdrop.”
“Drop your pistol,” Aunt Hester ordered.
Nobody moved.
Hester pulled the trigger and a bullet whizzed close to Grimsby’s head. She grabbed the majordomo’s pistol and cocked the trigger.
“There’s no need to kill them,” the dowager said, her own gun trained on the villains.
“They deserve to die.”
The dowager rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. If you must shoot, aim for the testicles.”
“I’ll handle this.” Constable Black stepped into the drawing room. His runners followed behind him and took the three villains into custody.
“You can’t arrest me,” Grimsby shouted, as the runners dragged him out of the room. “I’m an earl.”
Constable Black turned a cold gaze on him. “I don’t care if you’re the king.”
“I would speak to you before you take them away,” John said, leading the constable to the other side of the room.
The dowager and Aunt Hester rushed to Isabelle’s side and helped her down on the settee. “You were wonderful,” Isabelle said. “How did you know—?”
“Giselle told us,” Aunt Hester said. “She’s a lovely woman and appreciates my talent for stating the obvious. Doesn’t she, Tess?”
“Yes, Giselle said that and I agree with her.”
“Thank you, sister, but I was so looking forward to shooting someone. We always threaten but never shoot.”
The dowager patted her sister’s hand. “You never know what tomorrow will bring.”
Meanwhile, across the room, John and Constable Black discussed what to do with the criminals. “I don’t want a trial or a scandal,” John said.
“You cannot mean to free them.”
“Lock Grimsby up and contact his brothers,” John said, “The man is deranged. His brothers will keep him under lock and key and may even dispatch him so the second oldest becomes earl.”
“I didn’t hear that last part,” the constable said.
“Hold deJewell in custody until one of my ships docks,” John said. “He can rusticate in Australia. If he returns to England, you will arrest him.”
“I can do that,” Constable Black said. “What about the woman?”
“Give Delphinia a choice of Newgate or house arrest,” John said. “I’d lock her up permanently, but her daughters would be ruined. Pebbles will keep her locked in her chamber until her daughters marry. After that, Delphinia can live six months a year with each.”
Constable Black left the drawing room, and John crossed the chamber to the settee. He held his hand out to Isabelle and helped her stand. Then he stared at his mother and aunt and, after a long moment, burst into laughter.
“Where did you learn to shoot pistols?” he asked, once his laughter subsided.
“Your father believed that women should know how to handle danger,” the dowager said. “I taught Hester everything I learned.”
“Too bad we never shoot anyone,” Hester complained.
“If you shot someone, you would need to live in Newgate,” John said. “How did you know Isabelle and I were in danger?”
“Giselle told us,” the dowager said, her look telling him not to contradict her.
“What a wonderful woman,” Aunt Hester said. “I hope you meet her sometime.”
“And now, Your Grace.” John yanked Isabelle into his arms and crushed her against his body as if he would never let her go. He lowered his head, and his mouth captured hers in a demanding, earth-shattering kiss.
“I love you,” he told her.
“I love you, too.”
“Thank you, darling, for not giving up on me.”
Isabelle gave her dark prince an enchanting smile. “And thank you, my lord, for putting up with me.”
She rested her head against the solidness of his chest, and John rested his chin on the crown of her blond head. They stood as one for a long, long time . . .
Epilogue
The wheel of the year turned. Michaelmas daisies faded into autumn’s misty mornings and golden afternoons, then winter’s barren and frost-feathered trees, and finally, early spring’s crocuses and forsythia.
On the twenty-third day of April, the feast of Saint George, snowflakes coated the grounds of Avon Park. The whiteness of those snowflakes accentuated the purple violets adorning the ducal garden while it awaited the blossoming of summer’s flowers.
The Saint-Germain heir arrived early that morning. John decided to name him Adam, in honor of his wife’s father.
Ten minutes later Adam’s sister made her debut into the world. Isabelle decided to name her Elizabeth Giselle, in honor of her mother and her guardian angel.
That afternoon, when the excitement over Avon Park’s newest residents had eased, the new parents rested in the ducal bedchamber. Leaning against the bed’s headboard, Isabelle cradled her son in her arms, while John sat beside her and nestled his daughter against his chest.
Glancing sidelong at her husband, Isabelle watched him unwrap their daughter’s swaddling and lift her tiny buttocks up. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Ignoring her question, John inspected their daughter’s buttocks. “I’ll be a rat’s arse,” he said. “Mother was correct.”
Isabelle giggled. “Correct about what?”
“Elizabeth carries the same heart-shaped birthmark that Lily does.”
“Don’t forget about your mother and Aunt Hester.”
“I’ve been trying for months to erase that particular image from my mind.” John turned at the knock on the door “Are you ready for company?”
Isabelle nodded. “Let her come in.”
“Enter.”
The door swung open. Ross and Jamie Saint-Germain, accompanied by Miles Montgomery, filed into the ducal bedchamber to inspect the
ir new nephew and niece. All three men smiled at the heartwarming sight of the Duke and Duchess of Avon cradling their firstborns.
“Where’s Lily?” Isabelle asked.
“She’s napping,” Ross answered, stepping closer to inspect the babies. “Juniper will bring her down as soon as she awakens.”
“Adam is as handsome as his father,” Jamie said.
“And Elizabeth Giselle is as beautiful as her mother,” Miles agreed.
Pleased and proud, Isabelle gifted them with a smile. Her husband wasn’t fooled, though.
“Your compliments positively scream another business proposition,” John said. “Wasn’t one foolish misadventure enough?”
“We didn’t lose a shilling,” Jamie countered.
“Traveling to and from America during wartime cost you almost a year of your lives,” John said, and then shifted his gaze away from his youngest brother’s disappointed expression.
“Our newest business prospect is in England,” Miles said.
John slid his gaze to his brother. “We’ll discuss this later when I come downstairs.”
“Apparently, I want nothing,” Ross drawled. “I think the babies’ faces are terribly wizened. Will those unsightly wrinkles smooth out?”
”Don’t tease me,” Isabelle said. “All newborns look like this.”
“The Grimsby family wrote to me,” John said, becoming serious. “William suffered an untimely death but the letter didn’t mention what caused it.”
“We needn’t worry about him again,” Ross said.
“Nicholas deJewell should have reached Australia,” Miles told them.
“I cannot help feeling sorry for Lobelia and Rue,” Isabelle said, surprising them.
“Why is that, darling? Both are enjoying happy marriages,” John said. “We did manage to avert a scandal by settling this matter without a trial.”
“Yes, but they share responsibility for Delphinia’s house arrest,” Isabelle said. “Imagine what their lives are like with Delphinia as a houseguest for six months each year.”
“Living with Delphinia is a fitting punishment for all the years they tormented you.” John leaned close to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“It’s time for us to start celebrating the arrival of the newest Saint-Germains,” Ross said.
“I’m ready for that,” Jamie said.
“Me too,” Miles agreed.
“I’ll join you later,” John said. “Try to stay sober until I come downstairs.”
The three uncles left the chamber, leaving the new parents alone—but not for long. Ten minutes later, they heard another knock on the door.
John glanced at his wife.
“Let her come in,” Isabelle said.
At John’s call, the door swung open.
Lily raced across the chamber toward the bed. “I see two babies,” Lily exclaimed.
“Your father and I couldn’t decide if you needed a brother or a sister,” Isabelle told her.
“So we made you one of each,” John finished.
Lily giggled and clapped her hands together.
“Do you like your brother and sister?” Isabelle asked her.
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you like them more than riding Harmony around the garden?” John asked.
Lily nodded. “I like them even more than rolling down the sides of hills.” The little girl turned to her nanny. “Nanny Juniper, I need to talk to God. Will you take me to the chapel?”
“Are you asking or thanking?” John asked, smiling at his oldest daughter.
“Thanking Him, of course.”
Juniper held out her hand, and the little girl accepted it. They left the bedchamber.
“Are you certain you don’t want to name her Prudence or Fortitude?” John teased his wife. “She looks more like a Temperance than an Elizabeth.”
Isabelle squelched the urge to laugh. “I’m prepared to sacrifice my first three choices as long as you don’t name our son Sloth.”
When her husband made no reply, Isabelle tore her gaze away from her son to look at him. Wearing a shocked expression, her husband stared at something across the chamber. Isabelle followed his gaze and smiled when she spied the wizened old crone advancing on them.
“I’ve missed you,” Isabelle said. “Where have you been?”
“Here, there, and everywhere,” Giselle answered. “I was always within shouting distance if you needed me.” The old woman smiled at the sleeping infants and, reaching out with her gnarled hand, touched each in turn. “May God bless Adam and Elizabeth Giselle with health, prosperity, and everlasting love.”
“You aren’t leaving me, are you?” Isabelle asked.
“I will be standing in the shadows, but dwelling within your heart,” Giselle answered. “I love you, child.” She looked at John. “Do you believe in me now?”
A mist enveloped the old woman, swirling around and around her. The shrouding mist evaporated within mere moments and Giselle disappeared. A beautiful blond-haired woman stood in her place.
“Mother?” Isabelle whispered.
“Death has no power to separate us,” the woman said, her smile filled with love and heavenly grace. “Love lives for all eternity.” She leaned close and pressed a kiss on Isabelle’s forehead, then vanished in an instant as if she’d never existed.
“I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” John said, his voice mirroring his surprise.
Isabelle looked at him through violet eyes glistening with unshed tears. Without saying a word, she used her free hand to open her locket. For the first time, she allowed him to see the miniature it contained—the image of the woman who had stood in their bedchamber, Isabelle’s long-dead mother.
“Darling, I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” John apologized. “I adore you, wife, and will never doubt your word again.”
“Giselle was correct. Princes don’t always wear crowns,” Isabelle said, an aching catch in her voice. “Some princes disguise themselves as dukes.”
“Thank you, darling.” Nestling his daughter against his chest, John leaned close and planted a kiss on her temple, whispering in a voice hoarse with emotion, “Joy sans fyn, my love. Joy without end.”
About the Author
Patricia Grasso is the author of 18 historical romances that have won various awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award and the New England Readers’ Choice Award. A dog person who lives with too many spoiled cats, Patricia has worked a variety of jobs, including telephone operator and kimono-wearing waitress in a Japanese restaurant. She earned both Bachelor and Master degrees at a state college and, for too many years, used her “leisure” time to teach in a public high school.
Table of Contents
Title page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Reviews and Awards
Also Available
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
About the Author