“You have a visitor, miss,” Marjorie announced the following morning as Isabella sat with her mother, each of them working on their embroidery.
Isabella’s heart jumped. Surely it wasn’t Anthony. He’d said he’d call, but would he come so early in the day? She wasn’t prepared. “Who is it?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded calmer than it did to her own ears.
“A lady.”
Isabella sensed the tension in her mother’s posture. “Does she have a name?” she asked.
Marjorie shook her head. “She did not give me one but asked specifically to speak with Miss Chilcott.”
“Well, by all means then, show her in,” Isabella said, putting her needlework back in its basket as she wondered who this lady might possibly be. Lady Louise, perhaps?
“She asked that you come outside,” Marjorie said, looking somewhat uncomfortable, “so you can speak in private.”
Isabella stilled and glanced hesitantly at her mother, whose brow was furrowed in a deep frown. “It seems we’ve been quite overrun with nobility these past few days,” she said tightly, making her disapproval known.
Isabella rose and went to the door. It had to be Lady Louise, for she doubted the duchess herself would venture into this part of town, requesting a private conversation with her. “I’ll just see who it is,” she told her mother as she stepped into the hallway and opened the front door.
The woman she found waiting for her, however, was not Lady Louise. In fact, Isabella had no idea who she might have been, for she had never seen her before in her life. She was pretty, with light brown curls framing her face. Her figure was fashionably slim, and Isabella couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy at her natural elegance. “May I help you?” Isabella asked.
The woman gave Isabella a head to toe inspection, then stared down her nose at her with the same amount of disgust and arrogance that she probably reserved for toads. “Frankly, I don’t know what he sees in you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Who was this woman, and what on earth made her think she had the right to speak to Isabella that way?
“The duke may have taken a momentary interest in you, Miss Chilcott, but you know as well as I that it is only a matter of time before he tires of you.” Her lips curled upward and her eyes flickered with disdain. “Why, you’re not even worthy of being his mistress, so why don’t you stop your . . . whoring and save us all further embarrassment by staying away from him?”
Isabella could scarcely believe her ears, but she recognized the rage that swept through her at the other woman’s insult. “I don’t believe I care for your tone, Lady . . .” She deliberately allowed her words to trail off, hoping this shrew would fill in the blank.
“Harriett,” the lady said, and then, “the Duke of Kingsborough’s fiancée.”
Isabella could feel the blood draining from her face. “His fiancée?” she squeaked, hating how panicked she sounded.
Lady Harriett nodded as though she’d just conquered France. “It hasn’t been formally announced yet, so I thought I’d use what little time I have before it becomes public knowledge to do a little housekeeping. It’s one thing for the duke to have a few indiscretions—indeed, I expect nothing less—but what I won’t stand for is when those indiscretions stop being discreet.” She stepped toward Isabella with a sneer. “I saw you leaving his barn with your clothes and hair in disarray as I was on my way to Kingsborough Hall myself the other day, and I am well aware of his . . . appreciation of you.”
Isabella felt sick.
“However,” Lady Harriett continued in a brighter tone than before, “he knows his duty and will eventually accept that he must end his acquaintance with you. I merely thought to speed things along.”
“If that is all,” Isabella said, her voice clipped with anger, “then I would like to ask you to leave.”
Lady Harriett gave her a hard stare. “Don’t do anything foolish, Miss Chilcott, or I will see what little reputation you have ruined.”
“Is that a threat, my lady?”
Lady Harriett shrugged as she moved toward the gate. “I only mean to caution you,” she said, “unless of course you wish for the whole town to know what a harlot you really are. Good day!”
If only Isabella had had a rock in her hand, she would have happily tossed it at Lady Harriett’s head, she was so enraged. The nerve of her to come to her home and . . . and accuse her of being a whore! She watched, her whole body shaking, as Lady Harriett climbed inside her awaiting carriage and drove away.
It couldn’t be true, could it? Anthony would have said something, surely he would. He’d asked her father for permission to court her, for heaven’s sake. Was it possible he’d changed his mind and offered for Lady Harriett instead? The woman had said that their betrothal was recent. Perhaps it had happened yesterday after she’d walked away from him on Main Street. He hadn’t looked pleased, but he had promised he’d call on her. She took a deep, steadying breath and decided that the only reasonable thing to do at this point was to ask him herself. She certainly wasn’t about to take that snooty Lady Harriett at her word.
“A letter, Your Grace.”
Anthony watched from his side of the table as his mother plucked a letter from the silver tray that Phelps was holding toward her. His mood was somber at best after having told Winston about his meeting with Miss Chilcott in the barn. As he’d expected, his brother had looked at him as if he was unworthy of being a duke, and then he’d told him precisely how disappointed he was in his behavior. It had been nothing less than what he deserved.
“Thank you,” his mother said, breaking the seal and pulling a neatly folded piece of paper from the envelope. She read, her lips parted and when she looked up, Anthony immediately knew that something was amiss. “It’s my sister,” she explained, looking to each of her children in turn.
“Is she all right?” Louise asked, while Huntley, Winston and Sarah broke off their conversation to offer the duchess their undivided attention.
“She took a fall and . . .” Her voice broke. “From what I gather, she is not herself. I must go to her at once.”
“I will escort you,” Anthony said, placing his napkin next to his plate and rising. He signaled Phelps, who’d removed himself to the doorway. “Please tell the stable master to ready the landau.”
The butler nodded and disappeared into the hallway beyond.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Winston asked.
“No,” Anthony said. It was a kind offer, but he knew that his brother was eager to return home and pick up the reins of his business. Things never ran quite as smoothly as they did when Winston was there, and besides, Anthony didn’t want to suffer his brother’s glower for the entire duration of the carriage ride. There was no denying that he was still angry with him. “You have plenty to see to as it is.”
“Huntley and I can join you if you like,” Louise offered.
Anthony gave her an appreciative smile. “Thank you, but I know that you were planning to return home and close up the estate before removing yourselves to London for the Season. Don’t worry—Mama and I will be fine.” He turned to his mother, who was looking worried and pale. “If you can be ready to leave in an hour, we should be able to make it by nightfall.”
She nodded quietly, acknowledging his words, and rose slowly to her feet. Louise was beside her in an instant. “Let me escort you upstairs,” she said. “I’ll call for your maid, and the two of us can help you pack.”
Anthony watched them go before turning his attention back to Winston, Sarah and Huntley. “I’m sorry to leave you all in such a rush, but knowing Mama, she’ll worry herself sick until she sees Aunt Cordelia.”
“You mustn’t concern yourself about us,” Sarah said, her voice as soft as always. “Your mother needs you, and we completely understand. We just hope that your aunt will be all right, and like Winston said—if there is anything at all that we can do to help, by all means, let us know.”
“Thank you, Sarah, that’s very kind of you, but right now I just . . . I need to pack. If you’ll excuse me.” He left them then, heading to his study to collect enough money to sustain them on their journey. After that, he called for his valet, who accompanied him upstairs to help him pack. Half an hour later, he and his mother said their good-byes to Louise, Sarah, Winston and Huntley, climbed into the carriage and headed north.
“I’m sorry to burden you like this,” his mother said as she turned away from the window to face him. They had left Moxley behind a while ago and were now galloping at full speed across the English countryside.
Anthony stared at her. “Your apology is completely unnecessary,” he said, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I am only happy to help, surely you know that.”
She attempted a smile and nodded. “Yes, but I feel as though you’ve been doing little else for the past five years.”
“I don’t mind it,” he said, hoping to ease her concern. “It’s my duty to take care of you, and even if it weren’t, I’d still do it. You’re my mother and you need me, that’s all that matters.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t help but think that it has kept you from making a family of your own. You put your life on hold for all of us—for your father when he was sick, for Winston and Louise so they could be free of the burdens you chose to carry on your own, and for me. We’ve all been like rocks around your ankles, weighing you down and keeping you in one place.”
Anthony shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’m the oldest and I was here—managing the estate and taking care of you and Papa was my responsibility. Granted, it wasn’t easy seeing Papa in such a state of decline, but I never considered any of it a burden.”
She wiped the tears away with her hand and leaned back against her seat. “I’m glad you’ve finally met a woman whom you care about. Miss Chilcott—”
“Oh no,” Anthony muttered, staring back at his mother with wide eyes. “I told her I’d call on her this afternoon, but I completely forgot with our haste to get on our way.” Her expression was once again pained, so he hastily said, “Not to worry—I’ll send her a letter as soon as we reach our destination. I’m sure she’ll understand, given the circumstances.”
His mother nodded. “You should invite her for tea one day, Anthony. I’d like to meet her when she’s not masquerading as Miss Smith.” Her smile was good-natured, and Anthony couldn’t help but return it. What other mother would be willing to accept that her son had fallen for a woman who wasn’t who she’d said she was? None, he wagered.
He contemplated her words and said, “Perhaps that’s not a bad idea. One thing is for certain—I can use all the help I can get in convincing her to marry me instead of that wet towel Mr. Roberts.”
“That’s a bit possessive of you, don’t you think? From what you’ve told me, Mr. Roberts has been courting Miss Chilcott for almost a year. You can’t possibly expect her to just toss him aside from one day to the next just because you’ve suddenly come into her life.”
Anthony glowered. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. “I know she feels the same way as I,” he grumbled.
“Even more reason for her to be backing away from you.” She gave him a stare so frank that Anthony felt certain she saw the situation with far more clarity than he did. “I’m not familiar with Mr. Roberts, but if your description of him is accurate, then I very much doubt he’s managed to elicit as much as a blush from Miss Chilcott, which would mean that if she’s responding to you in the same manner that you’re responding to her, well heavens! The poor girl must be terribly confused, perhaps even frightened by such an onslaught of emotion.”
Anthony closed his eyes against the truth that shone in his mother’s eyes. Her meaning wasn’t much different from what Winston’s had been the previous evening, but her words were kinder. God help him, he felt like an ass. Not only had he burst into Miss Chilcott’s life with his sudden need to claim her as his own, seeking out her house, investigating her identity and meeting with her parents, but in the space of one week he’d kissed her three times and had fondled and pleasured her in a barn, for heaven’s sake. He had single-handedly turned her life upside down, had acted on his baser instincts and had felt affronted when she’d asked him to walk away and leave her alone. “I’ve selfishly pursued her with no thought for what she might be going through,” he muttered.
“Well, I suppose the need for haste has been a factor for you, considering it really will be too late once she marries Mr. Roberts, and since he’s already been courting her for a year, I daresay he’ll propose soon—especially if he and the Chilcotts feel a need to act quickly.”
“I’ve made a complete mess of it,” Anthony said, looking at his mother as if she could somehow give him the answer he needed to make Miss Chilcott his. “I can’t let her marry him, Mama—not with this . . . this bond that’s between us. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel it inside me, drawing me toward her. If she marries him, I’ll . . .” He expelled a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“There’s nothing strange about the way you feel, Anthony, though I must admit that I’m a bit surprised by just how quickly you fell for her. It was the same for me and your papa, you know—we saw each other for the very first time across a crowded room and there was this inexplicable pull.
“We both denied it at first—after all, love at first sight is a fantasy—but then we were introduced, and the more time we spent in each other’s company, the more impossible it became for us to ignore the way we felt about each other.” She paused, tilting her head a little as she regarded her son. “You love her, Anthony, and the sooner you admit that to yourself, the better.”
Anthony shook his head. “No, I . . . what I feel is the promise of love, Mama. I don’t actually . . . I mean I—”
“Is she constantly in your thoughts? Do you ache to be near her? Do you worry for her and what will become of her if she marries Mr. Roberts instead of you? Have you pondered what life will be like with her at your side? What your children will be like? Would you risk your life to save hers? Would you sacrifice your own happiness for hers? And what if something terrible were to happen to her, would you recover from it and go on with your life, or would it cripple you?”
Anthony couldn’t speak, so he just sat there staring back at his mother, who, in turn, offered him a knowing smile and nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she said.
He felt as if his chest was constricting—as if he couldn’t breathe. This feeling that suddenly swamped him was not in the least bit pleasant. In fact, it terrified him to death knowing that what his mother said was true, because this was far worse than the promise of love. He’d actually gone and quite unwittingly fallen in love with a woman who, he doubted, felt the same way about him. Hell, he knew she was drawn to him, but love? What the devil was he going to do now? Damn!
By the time they arrived at his aunt and uncle’s estate, it was dark. Two footmen came to greet them, each carrying torches to light the way. Anthony helped his mother alight, and together they climbed the steps to the front door, where the butler waited. “Good evening, Your Graces,” he said, taking their hats and gloves and handing them to an awaiting maid. “The earl is in the library—right this way.”
As they followed the butler down a dimly lit corridor, Anthony couldn’t help but reflect upon the note of relief that had tinged the butler’s voice as he’d greeted them. He understood, however, the minute they entered the library. Sitting in a deep armchair was his uncle, the Earl of Chester, staring off at some faraway place, concern and fatigue apparent in the dark patches beneath his eyes. He looked as if he’d aged a dozen years since Anthony had seen him last, only four months earlier, and he recognized in that instant the severity of the situation.
“Gerald,” the duchess whispered as she stepped away from Anthony’s side and approached her brother-in-law with tentative steps.
The earl didn’t flinch—did not as much as acknowledge her presence as he spoke to the space beyond. “She fell . . . she just fell . . .”
“How did it happen, Gerald?” the duchess prodded, crouching next to his seat.
The earl turned to gaze at her then, the stricken look in his eyes so familiar to Anthony, for it was a look he’d seen in his mother’s eyes three times before—when her husband’s ailment had been announced, when he had given up the fight, and when he had drawn his final breath. It was a look of complete and utter hopelessness and loss of control.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mama,” Anthony said. “I shall just have a word with the butler.”
They exchanged a knowing glance, upon which she nodded and he left the room. Though he had yet to see the state his aunt was in, one thing was clear—his uncle needed help, and Anthony knew precisely what to do. He’d done it all before, after all.
“Marsham,” he addressed the butler who’d positioned himself close enough to the library door should they need him, yet far enough away to offer privacy. “A word if you will.”
Marsham nodded and Anthony followed him back to the foyer.
“Have my cousins been informed about their mother’s condition?” Anthony asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. Our first missives were addressed to them, but as you are probably aware, Lord Hillcrest and his sisters meant to continue on to London after attending your house party. It will take longer for them to arrive than it did you.”
“Quite right, and since they left my estate three days ago, they will have arrived in London already. I doubt they’ll make it all the way back until the day after tomorrow at the earliest.” He considered the butler’s stark expression. Marsham hid it well, but Anthony could tell that he was hoping for assistance. “Needless to say, my mother and I shall remain here until Lord Hillcrest arrives.”
Marsham gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said in his familiar, affected voice that betrayed not a single emotion.
“They are family,” Anthony added. “And nothing is more important than that. Now, I assume a physician has been to visit the countess.”
“Yes, Your Grace. He was here this morning and again this evening—he left shortly before your arrival.”
“Very good, Marsham. I’ll need to know exactly what he said, as well as what treatment he has prescribed.” He stopped to think. “Has my uncle eaten his evening meal?”
“No, Your Grace—he has not moved from that chair since yesterday.”
“Good God,” Anthony exclaimed. “And you didn’t think to serve him his food in the library? The man needs to eat, Marsham—he’ll never get through this otherwise.”
“We did try,” the butler said, sounding not the least bit moved by Anthony’s suggestion that he and his staff had shirked their duties.
Anthony raked his fingers through his hair as he paced the space. “Have Cook prepare something cold for all of us—some ham and some cheese with a few slices of bread. The duchess and I are hungry as well—perhaps if he sees us eat, he’ll find himself tempted.”
“A splendid idea, Your Grace.”
Anthony eyed him and frowned. “Only if it works, Marsham.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Will that be all?”
“Bring the food so we can eat, then you and I will discuss the doctor’s visit, and when that has been completed I should like to take the duchess to see her sister. Does that sound reasonable?”
Only the slightest twitch of his lips betrayed Marsham’s surprise at being asked rather than ordered, and by a duke no less. He nodded briefly, and with an “I believe so,” he took his leave of Anthony and headed for the kitchens.