“It appears you have a visitor,” Isabella said just as Anthony was preparing to hand her up into the carriage. He and Mr. Chilcott had agreed to escort the ladies home before heading over to Mr. Roberts’s. Turning his head, he followed Isabella’s line of vision until he was filled with tremendous irritation at the sight of Lady Harriett riding up the driveway. What the devil does she want now?
He quickly ushered Isabella into the carriage and out of Lady Harriett’s assessing sight before stepping away from the landau just as Lady Harriett’s horse came trotting up to him. “Your Grace,” she said with a pretty smile that belied her true nature. “I came to call on you so we can discuss the upcoming Season.”
Surely she must be cracked in the head.
“I thought I made it clear to you when last we met that I have no desire to keep your company.”
He watched her bristle, but she quickly recovered, though her smile did strain a little around the edges as she said, “My apologies, Your Grace. I was only hoping to make amends, but since you appear to be otherwise engaged, I shall bid you a good day.” She then swung her horse about and cantered off, allowing Anthony to breathe a sigh of relief. It was about time she realized that her backhanded efforts to win him would only incur his wrath. He could only hope she finally realized that she wouldn’t stand a chance against the woman presently ensconced in the privacy of his carriage.
Climbing inside, Anthony offered Isabella an apologetic smile as he settled down on the vacant seat across from her and next to her father. He could tell from the wary expression about her eyes that Lady Harriett had managed to unsettle her yet again but she was trying her best to appear unaffected.
“How’s your sister faring?” he asked, hoping to draw Isabella’s attention to a lighter topic than that of her nemesis.
She grinned openly at him. “As mischievous as usual, I suppose.”
“She switched the salt and the sugar on Sunday when Mr. Roberts came for tea,” Mr. Chilcott muttered at Anthony’s side. “I daresay he didn’t find the apple pie as tasty as usual.”
It was difficult for Anthony to hide his smile. Young Jamie was certainly doing her part to aid Anthony by trying to discourage Mr. Roberts’s suit.
Lady Margaret, however, did not look amused, and no matter how happy Anthony was that Mr. Roberts had suffered an ill-tasting piece of pie, he understood her sentiment all too well, for Jamie’s mischief reflected poorly upon her. “Needless to say, her actions have been punished with another day of confinement, as well as helping Marjorie in the kitchen.”
“I only wish I’d been there to see Mr. Roberts’s expression,” Isabella grinned, eyes twinkling with devilish delight.
“You were not?” Anthony asked, a wave of relief washing over him at this revelation. It had irked him to think of the two of them sitting down to tea together.
Isabella shifted a little uneasily in her seat and eventually glanced stubbornly out the window, apparently reluctant to answer.
“Isabella wasn’t feeling well that day and remained in her room for the duration of Mr. Roberts’s visit,” Lady Margaret explained, eyeing her daughter with a touch of suspicion.
Recalling the way in which Isabella had fled from him outside the bookshop, Anthony felt a surge of warmth course through him. Eyes fixed on Isabella, whose cheeks had colored more deeply now, he simply said, “How fortunate it is that she recovered so quickly.” He’d unsettled her that day—he was sure of it, for she’d had much the same effect on him—and there was immense happiness in knowing that she hadn’t simply gone home to entertain Mr. Roberts as if nothing had happened between her and Anthony.
With each word they spoke to each other and every touch, the connection between them strengthened. It was just as well that the Chilcotts had finally begun to warm to him, for he preferred not to entertain the thought of whisking their daughter off to Gretna Green—an idea that had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. No, it was simpler if everyone accepted his suit, and as far as he could tell, this was thankfully no longer an issue.
Anthony awoke the following morning to a blue sky overhead and rays of sunshine beaming through his bedroom window. His conversation with Mr. Roberts the previous day had gone better than expected, leaving Anthony in an exceedingly good mood. In fact, he’d been pleasantly surprised by how willingly Mr. Roberts had relinquished his attachment to Isabella once Anthony had told him of his own interest in her. Given Mr. Roberts’s character, he likely wished to avoid the complication that fighting over a woman would be bound to entail. He’d actually been most hospitable and gracious toward both Anthony and Mr. Chilcott, going so far as to offer them his best cigars and cognac.
With the help of his valet Anthony dressed in a light brown jacket, beige breeches and dark brown Hessians with a waistcoat to match. Placing his fob watch in his pocket, he then headed downstairs, where he met his mother for breakfast.
“You’re looking very handsome today,” she said, abandoning her newspaper and taking a sip of her tea. “I’m certain Miss Chilcott will be very impressed.”
Her secretive smile made him smile in return. “I dearly hope so, Mama, for I’ve no idea what I’ll do if she refuses me now.”
“She won’t refuse you, my love,” his mother promised. “Why it’s obvious for all to see that she’s positively smitten with you.”
“Well, I will be sure to send you a letter straightaway as soon as I have my answer,” he said. “You’ll probably be halfway to London as I make my proposal.”
Once his mother departed with Goodard at ten, Anthony told Phelps to inform the grooms that he would be needing his favorite horse saddled and ready to leave within half an hour. He then finished his tea, met briefly with his secretary and finally departed for Moxley at a pleasant trot. Today he would not rush but take his time, consider the words he would say to her wisely and savor every moment so he’d always be able to recall it in exact detail.
So, as he rode into town envisioning his future with Isabella at his side and their children tumbling about all around them, Anthony failed to notice the quiet looks of disapproval that trailed after him as he went. Nor did he think overly much about the shopkeeper’s unwillingness to help him purchase the dark blue gloves Isabella had fawned over when Mr. Roberts had insisted upon the green, or the florist’s sour expression as he picked out a large bouquet of daffodils. If these women were determined to have a bad day, then that was their prerogative—his mood, however, would not be ruined by anyone.
But when half the town stood whispering behind him as he opened the garden gate at Isabella’s cottage and started up the path that would take him to the front door, an overwhelming sense of uneasiness settled upon his shoulders like a cloak. He tried to shrug it off, telling himself that news of his impending proposal had probably spread and that the inhabitants of Moxley were only eager to discover Miss Chilcott’s answer. He might even have succeeded in his attempt if it hadn’t been for the sudden shout that rose through the air. “Whore!” someone yelled, and another quickly repeated the insult until Anthony felt his blood boil in his veins. There could be only one explanation for this, and her name was Lady Harriett.
Instinct told him to turn back and face Isabella’s accusers, but rationality stopped him in his tracks. Nothing good would come of him beating them all to within an inch of their lives as he wished to do, except that he would feel vindicated. Isabella, on the other hand, would have to suffer further embarrassment. There had to be another way.
Knocking on the door, he waited only a moment before it was opened just enough by the maid to allow him entry. “Thank goodness you’re here, Your Grace,” she said, her voice shaking as she took his hat and gloves. “The Mister and Missus are in a right state, and poor Miss Chilcott has locked herself away in her room. She refuses to come out!”
“Hopefully I can help,” he said in the calmest tone he could muster. “If you’ll be so kind as to put these flowers in water, I’ll go on through to the parlor and have a word with the Chilcotts.”
Taking the large bouquet from Anthony’s outstretched hand, the maid nodded, bobbed a curtsy and scurried off. Once out of sight, Anthony took a deep breath, straightened his jacket and stepped toward the parlor door. After a quick rap, he was admitted entrance by Mr. Chilcott, whom he found nursing a large glass of brandy, while Lady Margaret was pacing frantically back and forth. Jamie sat on a chair in a corner, eyes averted and looking miserable.
When Anthony entered the room, Lady Margaret turned toward him, her whole body sagging with relief as she let out a heavy sigh. “Thank God! You’ve no idea how happy we are to see you, Your Grace. The situation is completely out of control, as you can see. Why, there is the most outrageous rumor circulating about Isabella—people claiming that she’s a . . . a harlot!”
Setting Isabella’s gift on a corner table, Anthony eyed Mr. Chilcott, who was presently taking another sip of his drink. Christ, this was bad. Rumors could break a person’s reputation forever, even if there was no basis for truth behind them. The fact that everyone chose to believe it would be enough for them to forever shake their heads at Isabella every time she stepped outside her front door. Something had to be done.
“Do you have any idea why they’re saying this? What has led them to make such a serious accusation?” he asked.
“Our maid, Marjorie, went into town a short while ago to purchase some items for me. She overheard a group of women talking, and from what she could make out, one of them was saying that Isabella had been seen cavorting with a man assumed to be one of your groomsmen or fieldworkers, since the tryst had reportedly taken place on Kingsborough land—in one of your barns to be exact.” Sniffling, Lady Margaret quickly dabbed at her eyes with a bunched-up handkerchief. “Everyone in town knows of her attachment to Mr. Roberts, so this is part of it, but what makes it all so much worse is the claim that Isabella accepted money from this man in exchange for whatever favors she allegedly provided. The insult to her name is beyond compare, not to mention the men we’ve had to turn away in the last hour, all hoping to strike a deal with her. It’s disgusting!”
Anthony could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears as the story poured from Lady Margaret’s mouth. He wanted to break something or hurt someone—preferably with his fists—but he forced himself to remain calm for the sake of Isabella, Jamie and their parents. A monumental task to say the least. “It’s the last Friday of the month today, is it not?” he asked, turning to Mr. Chilcott for confirmation.
Isabella’s father nodded grimly. “Yes,” he said, his features bleak with despair.
“Then there will be a town meeting tonight—at the assembly hall if I’m not mistaken?” He’d attended a few of these meetings before, since he thought it important to know if there were issues he ought to be aware of. Commerce was often discussed, so if he chose to stay away, he would have no idea of whether or not the people of Moxley were thriving.
Lady Margaret nodded. “Yes, yes of course there will—it’s the highlight of the month for most, and with all the baked goods that the wives provide it’s turned into something of a social event.”
“Right,” Anthony muttered, his mind whirling with options. There was only one he could think of that would save Isabella’s reputation, though he would in all likelihood find himself hunted down and killed by Mr. Chilcott. That thought alone was enough to stop him from voicing his idea. Instead he asked, “Would you be kind enough to pass a note to your daughter?”
Isabella was furious. She had a good idea of how the rumor had come about, but there was no consolation to be found in that, for it was hardly enough to make it go away. Rumors had a tendency to spread like wildfire, and once they did, they were usually impossible to put to rest. Her thoughts went to Anthony, of what he had to be thinking, and she grew angrier still. Lord help her, how she loved him. She knew he was presently in the parlor with her parents and Jamie, for she had heard him arrive, but she would have to calm down before joining them, since she presently feared she might take out her frustration on the first person she came into contact with, and that would be unfair.
Hands on her hips, she took a steadying breath. The last time she’d seen Anthony, he’d looked at her with adoration in his eyes. She dared not think of how he might look at her now, not because she thought he might believe the slander—no, he was smarter than that—but because he couldn’t possibly marry her now without courting scandal of the worst possible kind; the Duke of Kingsborough marrying a common whore.
No, it was impossible, and to make matters worse, she could no longer count on Mr. Roberts either, for he had called on her earlier to free her of any obligation she might feel toward him since he was well aware that her affection lay elsewhere. At the time she’d been overjoyed—no more than an hour later, she’d been filled with concern for her family’s future. One thing was for certain in all of this—if vengeance was what Lady Harriett was seeking, she’d struck her target dead center.
Footsteps sounded beyond her door, and Isabella prepared herself to turn whoever it was away, but nobody knocked. Instead, there was a scuffling sound followed by rustling as a white piece of paper folded neatly in two was passed under the door. For a long moment, Isabella didn’t move as she just sat there on her bed, staring down at the note that lay upon the floor. She knew who it was from, of course, and feared opening it, wary of what it might say.
Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she knelt down to pick it up, climbing back onto her bed and settling herself against her pillow as she unfolded the missive and read:
My dear Isabella,
No matter how dire this situation may seem to you, I believe I can solve it with ease, if you’ll only trust me.
I shall await your response patiently in the parlor.
Yours always,
Anthony
With a sigh of relief, she clutched the letter to her chest and allowed herself to relax. He was not about to let this come between them, and she felt suddenly chagrined that she’d ever imagined he might—he, who’d proven himself willing to do anything to make her his. A cautious smile teased the corners of her lips as she slipped her feet inside her slippers, strode toward her door and turned the key. If he still believed they had a chance in the face of all this, then so would she.
Anthony was a nervous wreck by the time he entered the assembly room with Isabella on his arm (her hands elegantly dressed in the blue gloves he’d given her) and her parents following closely behind them. They were the last to arrive, and as they did, everyone else present turned to them with gawking eyes. As Isabella and Anthony sank down onto a bench that stood close to the door, Anthony felt his hands grow clammy while his heart beat erratically in his chest. Dear God, he felt on the verge of a seizure.
“Are you all right?” Isabella asked in a low whisper as she leaned a bit closer.
“I’m fine,” he managed, barely getting the words past the knot that was forming in his throat. She obviously didn’t believe him, for she immediately responded with a skeptical frown.
He tried to think of something other than what he was about to do in an attempt to calm his nerves, his mind going to Isabella and the trouble she faced. Even now, as they sat there to one side in the hope of keeping a low profile, Anthony could hear the whispers circulating as everyone’s eyes continuously sought Isabella. It was enough to send the most confident person running for the nearest exit, which, incidentally, happened to be right next to where Isabella was sitting—it was a miracle that she was still here.
“Shall we begin?” Father Green, the local rector, asked as he stepped up in front of the assembled crowd as moderator. “I understand the Flemmings would like to suggest—”
“If you ask me, we ought not continue this meeting until that fallen woman over there has left—there are children present!” The words were spoken by a man Anthony did not recognize and followed by cheers of approval, as well as clapping by others.
“She’s a disgrace to this community!” a woman added, encouraging the crowd to grow louder still. “One can only thank the Lord that Mr. Roberts discovered her true nature before it was too late.”
“How can you say so, Millie?”
Anthony’s head snapped around at the sound of Isabella’s voice, so full of outrage as she jutted her chin forward, daring the Millie woman to do her worst. Devil take it if she wasn’t lovelier than ever as she stood there defending herself before all the townspeople, though there was no mistaking the hurt that shone in her eyes.
“You’ve known me your entire life,” Isabella continued, “and yet you’re eager to think the worst of me without a shred of evidence.”
Millie looked momentarily uneasy, but then another woman said, “The account of your disgraceful actions has come from a reliable source, Miss Chilcott, and as far as lacking evidence, you’re wrong about that, for there was a witness who saw you accepting money for favors.”
“Who?” Isabella asked, not budging at all, though her hands were balled in tight fists at her sides. “Who witnessed the incident, Mrs. Garrison? I should like to have a very firm word with that individual.”
A hush settled over the room as the townspeople whispered amongst themselves. There were a few shrugs before Mrs. Garrison spoke up again, saying, “That is irrelevant. The point is that you’ve been ruined—who witnessed the incident is neither here nor there.”
“I’ve nursed your children through bouts of influenza, Mrs. Garrison, when work kept you from doing so yourself,” Isabella whispered. “How can you be so cruel?” Her voice rose. “How can any of you?”
To their credit, the townspeople looked well and truly ashamed now.
Anthony clenched and unclenched his fists. He didn’t have to look at Isabella to know that she was trembling, for he could feel her whole body shaking at his side, and yet her courage did not fail her. She remained exactly where she was. Turning his head in search of her parents, he saw that they had both gone pale. He offered them a smile, hoping to ease their concerns, but it didn’t look as though it had any effect. Someone else added a comment as Anthony studied those present. He found Mr. Roberts, whose mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes dark with anger, and then, just beyond him, Lady Harriett’s smug face. As Anthony saw her eyes sparkle with delight, he shot to his feet and stormed forward. He’d had enough.
Still shaking in the face of her accusers, Isabella watched as Anthony strode toward the spot where Father Green was standing, approaching the rector with the fury of a man about to commit murder. He’d looked terribly nervous when they’d arrived and taken their seats, which was why she’d decided to save him from having to address those present by doing so herself. Watching Anthony now was like watching a man about to slay a dragon to save her, and it spoke to something so primitive inside her that she felt her heart might burst with love for him. Whatever qualms he’d had about coming here appeared to have been replaced by an anger so tangible that it ought to have terrified even the bravest of men.
Sure enough, the loud voices of accusation died as the townspeople watched his progress. One by one, they all shrank away from him, sinking onto their seats and averting their gazes for fear of incurring his wrath. And yet, in spite of how cowed they all were, Isabella feared that no matter how afraid the people of Moxley might have been of their duke, their opinion of her would remain unaltered. Truthfully, Isabella felt fortunate that a stake was not present, for she was confident that many of those present would have taken savage joy in seeing her go up in a blaze.
Nothing Anthony could say or do would change that. The rumor had taken its natural course, and Lady Harriett had won. Heaven help her, Isabella had even heard a woman claim that Isabella had lured her husband away from her and that he couldn’t put food on the table because he was spending all his money on buying favors from Isabella. The lies were rampant, and she in turn was ruined.
Eyes trained on Anthony, Isabella held her breath, unable to determine what he planned to do or say. He was standing perfectly still now as his dark gaze swept across the room, meeting hers across the distance between them. Outwardly, he looked frightening in his apparent ducal confidence, but Isabella knew better, for the way in which he rocked ever so slightly between his feet gave him away. He was as nervous as he’d been when they’d first arrived, perhaps even more so now that he was standing up there with everyone’s attention pinned directly on him. This was his Achilles’ heel—the one thing that unnerved him more than anything else, and the reason why he’d postponed taking his seat in Parliament: public speaking.
Isabella’s heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to leap to her feet and run to him, offer her support as he bravely stood up to do the very thing he always avoided. And he was doing it for her. She’d never thought it possible to love him more than she already did, but she was wrong—this selfless act on his part was enough to melt her heart. Nevertheless, as she moved to do what instinct demanded, he gave her a slight shake of his head, staying her act of kindness.
“It is remarkable how quickly a rumor can spread,” Anthony said as he looked at all the people gathered before him. “Especially when it is negative, born of nothing but hatred and jealousy. Did any of you even bother to consider the truth of it? I know that many of you have met Miss Chilcott personally. Did you not wonder how a woman of such decent and honorable character could turn to a life of depravity?
“Yes, it is true that her family is struggling and that she was hoping to marry Mr. Roberts in order to better their position, but I daresay that Miss Chilcott would rather starve than lower herself to the degree that all of you are suggesting.” There was a fire blazing in his eyes, and Isabella couldn’t help but notice that he was standing perfectly still now. “You may ask yourselves how I know this; how I can possibly be so sure that she did not do what the rumor suggests . . .”
Oh dear God!
Surely he wouldn’t. Gripping her seat with her hands, Isabella waited with bated breath for him to continue. She was powerless to stop him.
“I know,” he went on with steel in his voice, “because I was the man whom she was with at the barn. It wasn’t one of my stable boys or fieldworkers as some would like to believe, but me, the Duke of Kingsborough.”
A cumulative gasp went up from the crowd and Isabella just sat there, stunned and unwilling to turn and look at her parents for fear of the shame she’d undoubtedly see in their eyes.
“But,” he was now saying, “contrary to what you may think, nothing untoward occurred between us while we were there. I merely wished to speak with her privately so we could discuss the matter of her becoming my wife.”
Another gasp and Isabella’s heart was galloping away with her. Some of the people present started to speak, to ask questions, but Anthony raised a staying hand. Good God, it looked as if he had more to say.
“Now, I know that Mr. Roberts has had designs on Miss Chilcott for some time, but he is not in love with her, whereas I am.” Were some of the women who’d only moments earlier been willing to toss Isabella to the dogs actually sighing? Isabella blinked, and his words began to sink in. He loved her. Heaven above if he hadn’t just said as much to everyone present. Isabella sat in a daze while her heart thumped with delight and her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Anthony loved her, and nothing had ever felt more wonderful. “Now that Mr. Roberts has retracted his interest in Miss Chilcott, she is free from all responsibility toward him, and I am finally able to ask her the one question that I’ve been so desperate to ask.” Meeting her gaze, he finally allowed a smile as he extended his hand toward her, beckoning for her to join him.
Isabella couldn’t move. Her mouth had grown dry, and she just sat there staring at him as if he’d just dropped from the sky. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She no longer had an obligation toward Mr. Roberts, not just because he’d cried off but also because her parents had accepted her right to choose the man she wished to spend her life with herself.
Her mother had realized how wrong it was to keep Isabella from Anthony on the basis of her own terrible experience. Since then, Lady Margaret had warmed toward the duke, going so far as to tell Isabella how kind she thought him to be. And then of course there were Isabella’s own feelings to consider. She loved Anthony and had longed for them to find a way to be together since she’d first seen him striding across the ballroom toward her that evening they’d first met.
It all seemed so long ago now, with everything that had happened in between. The fairy tale she’d always wished for was about to be hers, so although this wasn’t the private, romantic moment she’d been hoping for, with every gossipmonger in Moxley staring wide-eyed upon her instead, she felt a surge of happiness bubbling inside her. It spread rapidly to every inch of her body until she felt herself growing warm and giddy from it. And when her mother gave her a gentle nudge, reminding her that Anthony was still standing there waiting for her to join him, she knew she must have looked a fool with the loopy grin that captured her lips.
Somehow, he’d done it—he’d discredited the rumor, saving her reputation and offering her his name and protection in one clean sweep. Of course, if anyone ever discovered the truth, his honor would take a severe blow indeed. She knew that Lady Harriett was sitting diagonally to her right, and she fought the urge to look at her, keeping her gaze trained on Anthony instead. Lady Harriett deserved nothing from her, not even the acknowledgement of her presence, but the fact that she had witnessed enough of Isabella’s rendezvous with Anthony to base a rumor upon it was most disturbing, to say the least.
Pushing the vile thought aside, Isabella smiled up at Anthony as he took her hand in his and dropped to one knee. Silence filled the air as everyone present trained their ears and listened.
“Isabella, you know that I love you, and I believe I have proven myself willing to do almost anything to secure your hand in marriage. Would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife, my duchess, and in so doing, of making me the happiest man in the entire world?”
As she stood there, gazing down at that handsome face of his, so full of hope and happiness, her eyes misted, and her throat closed against the yes she so desperately wanted to give him, so she nodded her enthusiasm instead as the first tear trickled down her cheek. It was kissed away a moment later by Anthony, who’d leapt to his feet and was presently hugging her against him while the whole room erupted with applause.
Finding her voice, she quietly whispered against his ear, “I love you too, Anthony, so terribly much.”