“Charles,” said Isobel, taking his hands in hers. “I thought you had abandoned me.”
“Of course not, Isobel. I have been to Hidenwood.”
“Indeed?” asked Isobel in surprise. “How did you find it?”
“It is well enough in its own way. The house is smallish, nothing on the scale of Warwick Park. There is a lot of land, but only a minor portion of it has been cultivated. Reginald was not in need of the money, so he kept the estate on a small scale. There are a handful of tenants who seem to be prosperous enough, but it would be years before Hidenwood could produce a decent income.”
Isobel’s surprise grew. “And this is your learned assessment? Have you been hiding your agrarian talents behind the façade of a dandy?”
Lord Charles laughed and peeked under the lapels of his dark blue superfine frockcoat. “Alas, there is no farmer lurking here. I brought Trevelyan with me. He inherited five years ago and has almost doubled his income on two of his three estates; the third he has nearly tripled. The man is a genius and was kind enough to advise me.”
“Well, Charles, I must say I am all agog at this news. I also freely admit that I am proud of you for accepting the sad turn of events and making the most of your predicament.”
“Isobel, I fear you are being too hasty with your lavish praise or you did not hear me aright. It would take years to realize anything close to the kind of income I would have had as Reginald’s heir.”
“What are you saying?” asked Isobel, suddenly wary.
“I am saying that I don’t have years to waste playing at gentleman farmer. The truth of it is, I am pockets to let and now that it is known that I am not Reginald’s heir, the moneylenders are swooping down like birds of prey.” He waved his bandaged hand at Isobel. Gone was the joviality that usually defined Lord Charles Aiken. He was deadly serious.
“Oh, dear. I hope you have not come to ask me for money. I am hardly in a position to help you.”
“I am well aware of your relative penury. That is not why I am here,” Lord Charles assured her as he reached inside his frock coat pocket and extracted a piece of folded parchment.
Renfrew arrived with tea and Lord Charles eyed the teapot with disdain. “Renfrew, please bring the brandy and a glass for his lordship,” ordered Isobel and Charles grinned his gratitude. They spoke of trifling matters until Renfrew returned and then left again. Charles took a deep draught of the brandy.
“Have you approached the new Duchess about this coil of yours?” Isobel asked.
“I have. She turned me down flat.” Isobel seemed surprised by this and Lord Charles continued. “It seems she promised Reginald on his deathbed that she would not pull me out of the River Tick. Not so much as a sou,” grumbled Lord Charles.
“I see,” Isobel said, though she did not truly understand why Charles had come.It was obvious that he had not simply come to call.
“But I have found a solution!” he told her eagerly.
“You will marry an heiress? Tell me, does she have protruding teeth and ears like butterfly wings?” joked Isobel.
“I have little hope of marrying an heiress. My lack of prospects is well known by all, and any wise parent would keep their virginal daughter well away from me. And, frankly I would prefer to marry a more mature woman, not a whey faced chit fresh from the schoolroom.”
“Beggars cannot be choosers, as I well know,” bemoaned Isobel.
“I have a much better plan that would help us both to reclaim what is rightfully ours.” Charles stood and walked the few steps to stand before Isobel. He handed her the parchment. Isobel placed her teacup on the table at her side and took the paper from him. It took but a moment for her to realize that it was Reginald’s and Adriana’s marriage lines. Charles sat next to her on the couch.
Isobel looked at the document with a puzzled expression. “I thought we were already convinced of the legality of their marriage.”
“Oh, yes,” Lord Charles offered cryptically. “It is very legal.”
“Are you thinking to destroy it, for Mr. Pickens has already seen it and documented it.” Isobel remained wary and confused.
“You are correct. I have considered that and discarded it.”
Isobel suddenly became impatient. “Must I continue guessing or will you tell me?”
Lord Charles’ face alit with amusement and excitement. “You know I have not led a blameless life. I have within my acquaintance a number of unsavory types.”
“Charles!” barked Isobel her impatience growing.
“Patience!” he said with a grin. “If I am to explain you must allow me to do it properly.”
Isobel handed the paper back to Lord Charles and reclaimed her teacup. “I am listening.”
“I had very briefly considered murder…”
“Charles!”
“After Adriana had refused to help me, I was livid and I tried to harden my heart. But, I had met the boy that day and of course, I could not do it. The next day I returned to Wren House through the kitchen.” Isobel smiled, knowing Charles’ habit and Mrs. Bromfield’s preference for the youngest Aiken. “I went to the library searching for this paper. At that time, as I told you, it was my intention to disprove the marriage. But, slow top though I may be, I realized it would not fly. It was then that it came to me. One need simply change the dates!” Lord Charles said this with a flourish.
Isobel looked at him, perplexed. “Charles, are you quite all right? What would changing the date accomplish?”
“What if our beloved Reginald and his Spanish senorita were married, not in July of 1810, but 1811?”
“They would still be married, Charles…”Isobel began, but stopped when the idea struck and looked at Charles with comprehension.
“Yes, they would be married, but poor Reggie would be a bastard and ineligible to inherit,” added Lord Charles unnecessarily.
“But how? You cannot simply cross out the date and add a new one.”
“I cannot, true. This is where my disreputable acquaintances come in. It is not a simple plan, I admit it, but I believe it is possible, and right now my only chance to outrun the Gullgropers. I rather like living in England and don’t care to be forced to flee to the continent.” Lord Charles said with feeling.
“I still cannot understand how it is to be done.”
“I know of a forger who can copy the document perfectly, but with the later date,” Lord Charles explained.
Isobel made and effort not to show her shock. “And what of the records at the church where they were married?”
“You forget, I was just in Derbyshire. Quaint little church near Hidenwood. Not a soul about, but the register was quite easy to put my hands on. Sadly, the register is now missing a page.” He pulled out another sheet of paper, one side with a jagged edge. Isobel saw Reginald’s and Adriana’s names and the date “the tenth day of July, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eleven” among various births deaths and other nuptials of the parish.
“But you were in Derbyshire long before you concocted this outrageous plan,” countered Isobel.
“I admit I was mulling around some ideas before going to Derbyshire. When I met the cleric, who is ancient and has a hard time remembering his own name, I realized that if I simply removed the pertinent leaf from the book, he would be none the wiser. ”
Isobel looked at her former brother-in-law, torn between admiration and distress. “And so you will have a sudden urge to read the family Bible and produce the forged marriage certificate. And become Duke. How nice for you. And what of me? It does not change my intolerable situation.”
“You, of course, shall be the Duchess of Warwick.” Lord Charles beamed at her. She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“Charles, they were legally married…” Charles cut her off.
“My duchess. We shall be married, Isobel, and we can resume our lives as they were before, only better. I will be Duke and you will have a much nicer husband. We rub along well, do we not?
We shan’t get in each other’s way, but we can be friends.” Lord Charles seemed quite pleased with himself. “Hell, you can even take Westcott as a lover if you like.”
“I do not like,” said Isobel shortly. “This is all so bizarre, Charles. This deviousness is unlike you.”
“Fiend seize it Isobel, I am at wit’s end,” his voice clearly desperate. “First my hand and next my face. Who knows what is after that. I am doing this is for you as well. You are clearly miserable.” Isobel raised her eyebrows, but decided not to offer a rebuke since it was decidedly true.
“And what of Lady Warwick and the boy?” she asked instead.
“I felt badly about that at first. She’s not a bad sort, and the boy is quite charming really, but then I realized that this would be better for them as well.”
“And how have you come to that unlikely conclusion?” Isobel was clearly unconvinced.
“When I was at Wren House, she seemed so unhappy and lonely,” Lord Charles explained.
“She has just lost her husband, Charles. It is common for widows to feel such emotions,” Isobel retorted.
“Hear me out, Isobel,” Lord Charles demanded. “When she spoke of this house and of Hidenwood, she spoke with longing. She was happy here and in Derbyshire, Isobel. I will give her both places and a healthy jointure. I am convinced that she dislikes being the Duchess of Warwick as much as you dislike being plain Miss Kennilworth.”
“Unfortunately, that will make her son a bastard,” added Isobel.
“That is unfortunate. But, he will have his own estate and a house in town, not to mention a doting mama. And I will make sure the boy has an education. Really, Isobel, I have thought about this and it is best for everyone. You will be able to take your place in society again. Once you are duchess, the old tabbies will be kissing your feet again.”
“As long as I marry you,” Isobel amended.
“Is that so bad? I have always been fond of you, Isobel,” pleaded Lord Charles.
“Very little could be worse than being married to Reginald.”
“High praise indeed,” Lord Charles said with a wry smile. “We need not post the bans today, my dear, but please do think about it. ”Lord Charles rose, preparatory to taking his leave. “Tomorrow I will venture into the bowels of the Rookery to find my forger,” said Charles with enthusiasm.
“You act as if you are going to a horse race at Richmond.” Isobel’s eyes were etched with worry.
“Never fear, my dear Isobel, I am a canny fellow, though I know I don’t look it.” He looked at Isobel with pleading eyes. “Please say you will consider my proposal.” Isobel observed the pleasant young man and allowed a smile to erase her concerned expression. After all, his proposal was much more appealing than the last. At least this one was for marriage.
“I will consider your proposal.”
“And you promise you will not accept another offer from your many beaux until this has been settled?” Lord Charles teased.
This was one promise she could keep, thought Isobel. There were no beaux and there would be no proposals, thanks to Reginald and Lord Westcott. “Though they are lined up at the door offering for me, I promise.”
Lord Charles smiled, kissed Isobel’s hand, and took his leave. Isobel watched him go with an overwhelming sense of dread.
Chapter 12
Despite Lord Charles’ optimism and her own desire to have her old life restored to her, Isobel passed a sleepless night. She battled with her conscience, with her fears and with her desires. At dawn, she succumbed to a fitful sleep, only to be awakened by Manning a few hours later carrying a vase filled with purple and white irises.
“These flowers came for you quite early, Miss.” She placed the flowers on Isobel’s bedside table, removing the attached card and handing it to Isobel. “Do you want to breakfast in your room, Miss?”
“Is Lady Whitcomb about?” asked a preoccupied Isobel as she stared at the envelope. It was written in Saybrooke’s hand.
“No, Miss, she is breakfasting in her room and does not want to be disturbed,” Manning informed her.
“Then I will have some chocolate and a muffin in here.”
“Will you be riding as usual, Miss?” asked Manning as she reached for the riding habit.
“Not this morning, Manning. I did not sleep well. I shall dress after I break my fast.”
“Very good, Miss.” As soon as Manning left, Isobel ripped open the envelope without the benefit of a letter opener.
My Dear Izzy,
“And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?” The Gospel according to St. Matthew, chapter 7, verse 3
I will call this afternoon. Please do not bar the door to me.
Ever Yours,
Drew
*****
Isobel heard the knocker and Renfrew’s greeting, the voice of the visitor however was muffled. It would be Saybrooke. She still had not decided whether to admit him. His presence did strange things to her, robbed her of her hard won self-possession.
She sat on the couch, hands in her lap, as Renfrew entered and announced, “Lady Doncaster to see you, Miss.”
Lady Doncaster? Good heavens, thought Isobel. This was certainly not expected, nor welcomed. She must have found out about Lady Joanna’s visit and has come to ring a peal over my head, Isobel conjectured to herself. She took a deep breath and said, “Send her in, Renfrew.”
Isobel stood as Lady Doncaster entered, and it was difficult to say which lady was more discomfited.
“Lady Doncaster, you are very welcome,” Isobel said politely.
“I thank you, Miss Kennilworth. I hope I have not disturbed you unduly,” returned Lady Doncaster equally politely.
“Not at all. Please have a seat, My Lady. I shall send for tea.” She looked at Renfrew, who bowed and exited in a most dignified manner. Would wonders never cease!
Lady Doncaster sat rigidly in the old, but lovely Chippendale chair and fidgeted with her reticule. She was a very introverted lady, the complete opposite of her daughter. Isobel decided to put her out of her misery.
“I can surmise why you have come. My only defense is that I did not invite Lady Joanna to come, but was quite taken aback by her call. Nonetheless, I fully realize that I should have sent her away the minute she and Miss Parrish entered. And apart from that, I should have written to inform you of their visit. I can only apologize to you, Lady Doncaster, and assure you that I will do so if they call again.”
Lady Doncaster stared in surprise at Isobel, her mouth open, for a full ten seconds before she reclaimed her poise. “You mistake my purpose in coming, Miss Kennilworth. I am here to thank you for befriending the hoyden, dear to me though she is, and am coming to beg you to continue the acquaintance.”
A sparrow’s feather could have knocked Isobel over after Lady Doncaster’s startling admission. It was Isobel’s turn to gape at Lady Doncaster in disbelief. She stumbled into speech.
“But surely, my reputation…” began Isobel feebly.
“I am not saying that we shall announce to the ton that these visits take place, you understand,” Lady Doncaster said with a slight smile. She paused for a moment, considering what to say. “Miss Kennilworth, I am not a brave woman and I have not the fortitude, or perhaps foolhardiness, that Joanna has for flinging society’s strictures out the window when it suits her. But, you have been unfairly treated and I have no objection to her associating with you.”
“But if she is found out she will be ruined,” protested Isobel.
“My daughter is fair on the way to ruining herself, Miss Kennilworth. And as to being found out, I have no fears on that score.”
“But you have found her out,” Isobel said, still puzzled by this woman.
Lady Doncaster gave Isobel a startlingly crafty grin. “What Joanna does not know is that the brandy that John Coachman allegedly steals is in reality a bribe from me to keep me appraised of her movements. I have
found that I need to be quite cunning to keep up with my minx of a daughter.”
Isobel could not hold back a laugh. “I commend you, Lady Doncaster. I did not think any mother capable of outfoxing such a clever little baggage.”
“Oh, I do not deceive myself that I have outfoxed her yet. I will not be able to relax until she is safely wed.” Lady Doncaster’s amusement faded and she looked every bit of the forty years she had to her credit.
A quiet knock sounded at the door and Renfrew entered with the tea, his bearing almost regal. Evidently today he had chosen to play the role of the stodgy, faithful old retainer, though he was barely thirty. Tea was dispensed in comfortable silence. A fragile rapport had been established and the two women no longer looked poised to bolt.
“I still do not understand why you promote my friendship with your daughter, Lady Doncaster.” Isobel had relaxed for a moment in their shared mirth, but she sobered as she pondered this peculiar visit.
Again Lady Doncaster did not rush into speech, but looked thoughtfully at her full teacup before she answered. “Lord Pelton has asked to pay his addresses. I am convinced he loves Joanna, but she will have none of him. She babbles on about him treating her like an amusing child and not respecting her as a woman or some such nonsense.” Lady Doncaster paused again and took a sip of lukewarm tea. “She is in a fair way of making every other eligible bachelor hold her in disgust. If Lord Pelton finds her antics amusing, I cannot but hold out hope for the match.” Lady Doncaster took quick breath and hastened to add, “I would not force her to marry, Miss Kennilworth, but he is a kindly man and he truly seems to care for her. I only want to see her happily settled.”
“So you would have me promote Lord Pelton’s suit to Lady Joanna.” Lady Doncaster nodded and remained silent, a faint rosy color staining her cheeks. Isobel smiled at the discomfited woman. “You underestimate your bravery, Lady Doncaster. Your daughter is far more like you than you care to admit,” Isobel commented, taking any offense out of the words with a sweet smile and twinkling eyes. “But I fear you overestimate my influence on Lady Joanna. I could laud Lord Pelton’s praises to the skies and Lady Joanna would not change her mind.”
Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) Page 14
