CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next day began unforgiving, in the same manner that the previous day had begun, and when a loud rapping at the door roused Lady Duskwood from her sleep she thought for a moment that the previous night - of realizations, of tender love; of lust and of freedom, had all been only a particularly imaginative dream. Startled from sleep by the loud banging, Isobel stirred beneath the sheets, finding Lord Brighton already awake, an elegant robe atop his body. Groggy, Isobel nevertheless recognized the delicate, rhythmic patter against the door - Lilian had come to awake them. Terror surged through Isobel's body - she shouldn't be here, she knew, and she watched Lord Brighton scramble for a solution.
"M... m'lord, it's Lilian," a quaint voice squeaked, "there's a man here..." Isobel scrambled to find the gown she had worn the day before, throwing it over her head and wriggling in to it as Lord Brighton shuffled through his expansive closet for a proper garment. "It's the Duke, the man who visited prior - the Duke of Thrushmore, and he says he's here to speak to... to Lady Duskwood," Lilian added hesitantly. Isobel froze, watching the door, processing the words she'd just heard. He knew... what, and how? What did he know? Her body shook in silent terror, quietly trying to rationalize her presence here - in the lord's bedchamber. It had been a long meeting. He had let her sleep in his room, and had taken another room. Some excuse - any excuse, a lie to sate the old, blustering nuisance, who Isobel had hoped she would never have to see again. "M... m'lady? Are you in there?" Lilian added hesitantly.
"What is he requesting, Lilian?" Lord Brighton barked before Isobel could answer; she clasped her mouth shut with her palm, smoothing her dress down with her other palm. Lady Duskwood could sense the hesitation in Lilian's words, a startled silence falling before she worked up the courage to speak again.
"He... he's here to see Lady Duskwood," Lilian added.
"Where's Werner? He knows how to handle the old man," Lord Brighton responded, throwing on a jacket as he buttoned up a clean white shirt.
"Werner, well... he's argued quite... vocally, with the duke, but he's quite insistent, and... well, a few of the maidservants and I are worried," Lilian added. "We don't want him calling down any trouble on the staff." Ellery sighed.
"I'll have him gone," Lord Brighton grunted, "the old, poor bastard's probably here to—"
"No," Isobel announced, her voice solid. "There's no need for you to speak to him on my behalf, Ellery. I'll handle the Duke of Thrushmore myself." Stunned, Lord Brighton shook his head.
"...No, that'd be an awful idea, love," Ellery chuckled quietly. "He's—"
"An awful idea? That's rather rude of you," Isobel stated confidently.
"Isobel, dearest, you'll certainly only exacerbate troubles for us in this situation. He'll be off smiling and doddering along, only to return and plague us again next fortnight," Lord Brighton said.
"No. Not this time. I need to confront him - myself," she said, all the inhibitions that would've hamstrung her falling away. Isobel had been freed last night, by his love - and her own love. She wouldn't let those chains shackle her any longer - and when she shared a long look with Lord Brighton, he began to understand. She wanted to be free. He offered her a shallow smile.
"...Okay, then, love," Ellery nodded. As Isobel spun towards the door in her messy nightgown with her messy hair, ready to face this messy situation with aplomb, Ellery grasped her; she whimpered in pleasure as he kissed her deeply, and she could feel how sated, how pleased he was to see her absorbed into the same freedom that he savored... and perhaps, with that, he hoped she could free him from his own shackles. She held on to the kiss for as long as she could, letting her thoughts fall back into them, together - and away from the stresses that had brought them together, away from the world outside. She fell hard back into reality when she heard a bellowing shout, which she knew to be old Eugenius's voice, echo in a muffle through the halls of the estate. She collected herself as best she could - though she still looked a beastly mess, it mattered little to the new woman who now emerged from Lord Brighton's bedchambers, head high as she moved gracefully and with purpose past quiet and stunned Lilian, who waited in the hall for a response.
"M'lady, I didn't—did you—" Lilian gulped, eyes wide. Isobel gave her a simple glance, and a smile; that's all it took. She passed the shocked maidservant, descending the stairwell, into a chaotic clash between gangly old Werner and gangly old Eugenius, who barked unceremoniously at the aged butler.
"I'll not request again that you vacate our premises, before fetching the constable," Werner rumbled.
"How dare you threaten me! You—ah, so she is here after all," Lord Eugenius Miller crowed; he came into Isobel's view wearing one of his oversized suits, with shoes lifting him tall, his bald head glistening as fire burned in his deeply sunken eyes. "I had a feeling I'd find you here, Lady Duskwood, and perhaps also had a mind that you might be clad in such peculiar evening dress," the Duke of Thrushmore growled, insinuation thick in his boastful and arrogant words. "I'd call it a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but now is not quite the time for pleasantries, but for haste."
"Haste? M'lord, perhaps you're right - as from what I hear Werner say, he's quite ready to fetch the constable. So perhaps you should listen to him with haste, yes?" Lady Duskwood said, her woods dripping with sarcastic confidence. At first shocked by her impetuousness, Lord Miller's ire rose, and she could see his old, wizened face begin to scrunch and burn red.
"Perhaps all this time you've spent 'negotiating' business with Lord Brighton has made you as impudent as he. Your father would be ashamed," the duke said with derision in his tone.
"Ashamed, would he? Perhaps as ashamed as he was to be associated with you, m'lord? Or tell me, was there another reason he refused to take on debts from you, you impious, perverted, lying toad?" Lady Duskwood spoke coldly, and with each word Lord Miller grew angrier.
"If you hope at all to salvage what little remains of your family name in northern England, m'lady, you'll accompany me away from this estate - right now," Eugenius seethed through gritted teeth. "I'll not offer my hand in solving this problem again, and so I'd suggest if you listen to me, now."
"Problem? What problem is that?" Isobel asked, full of derisive fax-innocence.
"The problem hanging over your head - and not just debt, young lady," the duke growled, smiling full of evil, as if he felt confident he now had the upper hand. Isobel's confidence sunk, her heart beat hard.
"What do you think you have over me, Eugenius?" Isobel asked, her voice quavering.
"It's not what I think, it's what I know," Lord Miller's evil grin grew wider. The door behind him creaked open, drawing Isobel's surprised eyes; through the beams of sun pouring in she was nearly blinded by the flash of light; Lady Maryweather, accompanied by her chauffeur Arthur, the ghastly man in the black suit and hat, with hair like soiled straw. Isobel's heart pounded hard; she heard Werner behind her begin to rave at the woman and her driver, but she couldn't make out the words; the whole world fell painfully silent around her, just as it had been on that terrifying night alone. She watched Lady Maryweather, eyes wide in concern; the lady's empty eyes met Isobel's for a moment, and like Ellery, she felt that if she looked deep enough she'd fine hell itself.
"Lady Duskwood, a pleasant surprise to see you," Lady Maryweather's light and icy voice rang across the manor hall. "Is Lord Brighton about, by chance? We've unfinished business I felt we needed to discuss. Have you spoken with him of late, m'lady?" The polite lilt of her voice betrayed the wicked pleasure Lady Maryweather took in Isobel's quiet suffering. Her chauffeur grinning his ghoulish grin, flanking his lady like a hired thug, Isobel stepped back, overwhelmed and feeling faint.
"I'll find him, m'lady," Arthur grunted, arms crossed.
"The Lord Brighton has no interest in speaking with any of you at this moment, now dismiss yourselves," Werner rumbled. Arthur stood unflinchingly toe-to-toe with the authoritarian butler, squaring up to him.
"And what if I just cracked yer old gullet open and let the screams call him down to the foyer, old man?" Arthur threatened. Isobel had never heard so bold a threat in a setting like this, and stepped back, her legs feeling rubbery, the world spinning around her. So much for freedom, she thought.
"You're looking for me, then?" Lord Brighton's voice echoed down the stairs as he emerged confident; Isobel smiled, hoping perhaps he could save her from whatever madness had begun to unfold down the stairs. "Cheers, Emily," he nodded to Lady Maryweather, who seemed rather nonplussed that he refer to her by her first name. "No run-ins with any bandits on the way here, I hope?"
"It was quite the pleasant trip, Ellery. I was having quite a giggle, reviewing all the information my little bird brought back to me," Lady Maryweather chirped. Lord Brighton's expression twisted, gripped with conflicted confusion.
"Little... bird," Isobel repeated, confounded. Her eyes shifted to Ellery, who stood defiant, but stammered for his words, something she had never seen from him.
"You hear any good stories? I might have a few to tell," he retorted brashly, though this only deepened Isobel's flustered bafflement.
"Quite a few, in fact. I think, perhaps, we ought to discuss them - don't you agree, Ellery?" Lady Maryweather's voice felt like sleet against a pane of glass, each word plunking harshly. "It would certainly give the Lady Duskwood a moment to speak with the Duke of Thrushmore... which might behoove the both of them. Wouldn't you agree, m'lord?" Isobel's stomach churned at the thought of a moment alone with the duke, who approached her with unperturbed, stomping steps.
"What have you done, you snake?" Lady Duskwood hissed at the duke as he approached. He responded with a hearty guffaw.
"What have I done, young lady? Did you think on perhaps the question is what have you done? It seems only fitting, though, that you'd blame your troubles on me," the duke snarled. "When I told you I'd have you... I mean what I say, and what I need, I get," he snarled churlishly.
"You... you, and her, you've simply come to cause trouble," Isobel replied. She looked up at Ellery, hopeful he could save her - but he stood firm at the top of the stairs, regret vexing his brow.
"What-what do you think you can do to us?" Isobel shouted. Lady Maryweather regarded the fiery lady with cool indifference.
"You've done it all yourself, m'lady. I'm simply the woman caught in the middle of your plots," she shrugged.
"My... my plots?" Isobel said in exasperation.
"Of course. To seduce the Lord Brighton, escape obligation to your debts, and plunder his fortune - all after attempting to do the same to the Duke of Thrushmore. What a wicked woman you are," Lady Maryweather quietly tapped her tongue against her lips, waggling her finger. "So wicked."
"I seduced—what? Ellery!" she glanced up, only to find him gone; the Lady Maryweather followed him up the stairs, as the gleefully sadistic Duke of Thrushmore grasped Isobel's wrist, pulling her to the privacy of the dining hall.
"And now, I'll need to explain to you the severity of your situation, and why I'm very quite generous in offering to you my hand," he snarled, slamming the door shut behind them over Isobel's screams of protest.