It took no small amount of organization for Anthony to pull off his plan of reuniting Isabella with her grandparents. He’d sent word to his mother and Louise first, but as eager as they’d both been to jump to his assistance, they’d had social functions that had been difficult for them to back out of without coming across as rude.
Eventually, it was decided that as long as the Deerfords were in agreement, they would come to Kingsborough Hall the following week so they could return to London in time for the Darwich Ball. Anthony’s mother had written to him, suggesting that if Lady Margaret and her parents were to reconcile as well, then the ball presented not only a good opportunity for Anthony and Isabella to announce their upcoming nuptials, but to welcome Lady Margaret back into Society with her husband by her side.
His mother signed off by saying that with the limited time available to them, she would place all responsibility of finding appropriate gowns for both Isabella and her mother on his shoulders.
Setting the missive aside, Anthony rolled his eyes and groaned. He detested anything to do with modiste shops, fashion plates, fittings and the like—hell, he himself was barely reasonably dressed at any given time, and his mother wanted him to help Isabella select a ball gown. Eyeing the side table, he decided that there wasn’t enough brandy in the world to make this task any more appealing.
Blast!
He loved Isabella, of course, and would do anything for her, but fabric selection at a modiste’s? Gah, but it was a most unpleasant thought. Still, it was important that she look her absolute best when she made her first appearance before the ton. With this in mind, Anthony found himself escorting both Isabella and her mother to Madame Bertrand’s, where he took a stand against a green silk—not that it wouldn’t have suited Isabella immensely, but the frost blue he’d seen the last time he’d been there would suit her better. Her mother, thankfully, agreed, and together they convinced Isabella to acquiesce.
For Lady Margaret, Isabella suggested a burgundy satin, and when her mother protested, it was Anthony to whom Isabella turned for support, which he happily gave, since it was a lovely fabric. “A bold color for a bold woman,” he said to his soon-to-be mother-in-law with a wink.
In the end, their errand was accomplished in record time—a feat for which Anthony gave the ladies full credit. To show his appreciation, he invited them both for tea at Mrs. Wilkes’ Tearoom, ensuring that they both selected a tart and suppressing a smile when Isabella deliberately avoided the one with apples. Seating themselves in a small nook, they each proceeded to enjoy their treats.
“Thank you again for ordering those gowns on our behalf,” Lady Margaret said as she took a sip of her tea. “The fabric was very dear, not to mention how much it will probably cost to—”
Anthony waved away her concerns with his hand. “My dear lady, you really mustn’t worry about that. It is my pleasure to ensure that you will both be equally stunning at the Darwich Ball. Tomorrow I will send my valet over to your house so he can discuss your husband’s attire with him.”
Lady Margaret leveled him with a frank stare. “You still haven’t told us what you intend to say when people start asking about Isabella’s identity and heritage.”
“I’m working on it,” Anthony assured her, though she didn’t look the least bit convinced. All he could do was thank his lucky stars that she didn’t know what his plan entailed, for she would undoubtedly quit the country before allowing him to reunite her with her parents or make a public appearance as the long-lost Lady Margaret.
Casting a sidelong glance at Isabella, he steeled himself. This was what she wanted, and he had to concede that if this situation could be resolved, Lady Margaret’s reputation could in all likelihood be restored, allowing her daughter to be accepted into Society with honor and dignity. It was most assuredly a battle worth fighting.
When Lady Louise and her mother the duchess stopped by the Chilcott residency two days later, Isabella was about to collapse into a bundle of nerves. She’d been looking forward to this day for almost a week, but now that it had finally arrived, something odd had begun happening to her stomach—as if it had suddenly decided that it didn’t belong in her body. Attempting bravery, she donned a bright smile as she wished her mother a pleasant afternoon, promising not to remain too long in her hostesses’ company. On quaking legs she then made her way toward the Kingsborough carriage, which stood waiting, and allowed the driver to help her up.
“Dear me,” Lady Louise said as Isabella seated herself across from her. “You look as if you’re heading to the gallows! I hope your parents didn’t notice, or they’ll think we have ulterior motives.”
“Which we do,” the duchess reminded her daughter.
“What I meant is that they might believe we’re trying to offer Anthony some time alone with his future bride,” Lady Louise said.
The duchess snorted. “As if that might be any worse in this instance. As it is we’ll be lucky if Lady Margaret doesn’t murder all of us once she discovers what we’ve been up to.” Isabella winced, and the duchess immediately turned a kind smile on her. “Not to worry, though. I’m confident that everything will work out just fine, and as for your jitters, they’re really unfounded. Your grandmamma and grandpapa are equally anxious to meet you.”
“Truly?” Isabella asked.
The duchess nodded, still smiling, and a quiet sense of relief washed over Isabella, which was silly, really, considering how anxious the Deerfords had seemed on the night of the ball when they’d almost blown her cover. She was their granddaughter, for heaven’s sake. They would have to be beasts not to want to meet her.
Drawing a fortifying breath, Isabella leaned back against the backrest and braced herself for the afternoon ahead. She had asked for this, it was her idea, and there was no turning back now without looking like a coward, and a coward she was not—she’d meant to marry Mr. Roberts for the sake of her family, after all. As far as heroics went, that ought to count for something.
Eventually, Isabella managed to calm herself, and when she stepped into the parlor at Kingsborough Hall, only to be swept into an immediate embrace by Lady Deerford, she knew her concerns had been unfounded.
“Look at you,” her grandmother cried, stepping back for only a fraction of a second before pulling Isabella against her once more. Given the portly woman that Lady Deerford was, Isabella was forced to admit that she did give rather good hugs. “You’re ravishing, my dear—a diamond of the first water and I’ll shoot anyone who says otherwise.”
“Now, now, my dear,” a male voice said with a good-humored ring to it. “It wouldn’t do for you to kill her when we’ve only just found her—perhaps you will allow the girl to breathe?”
“Nonsense, Hugh—I’ve no intention of ever letting her out of my sight,” Lady Deerford replied, though she did disengage herself from Isabella and stand aside enough for her to get a better view of her grandfather.
Deerford chuckled. “I daresay Kingsborough may have a thing or two to say about that.” He stepped right up to Isabella and smiled—eyes warm and welcoming as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Please go easy on her—she’s been waiting so terribly long for this moment and is full of excitement.”
“And why wouldn’t I be?” Lady Deerford asked, attesting to the fact that there was nothing wrong with her hearing. “She’s my granddaughter—fully grown and practically with children on the way, and I’ve only just set eyes on her now! Of course I’m excited!”
A cough sounded and Isabella caught Anthony’s eye. He was trying very hard not to laugh, so she shot him a bit of a scowl, for she actually liked what little she knew of Lady Deerford so far and was touched by her enthusiasm. Lord Deerford seemed equally amicable—not at all the sort of man whom she would imagine to trick his daughter into an engagement by arranging to have her publically seduced. Certainly an explanation was in order.
“Come,” the duchess said. “Let’s sit and have some tea.”
Moving toward the seating arrangement, Isabella purposefully seated herself on one of the sofas, allowing her grandmother the obvious delight of sitting next to her, while her grandfather seated himself in one of the chairs, with Anthony in another and the duchess and her daughter on the opposite sofa.
“Allow me to pour,” Lady Louise said, reaching for the teapot while the duchess picked up a plate of scones and passed it to Lord Deerford, who took one with a smile and a thank-you before offering it to his wife.
“So, I understand that congratulations are in order,” Lady Deerford said as she took a scone and placed it carefully on her plate, “since you are soon to be married to the duke—handsome fellow that he is. You’re a lucky woman.”
“Thank you, my lady, I—”
“Oh no, we’ll have none of that, my dear. I’m your grandmother—I think we ought to forgo the honorific, don’t you? Why not call us Grandmamma and Grandpapa instead?”
“Very well, Grandmamma,” Isabella said slowly, gaining an instant squeak of approval from the lady herself. “Your wishes are greatly appreciated, and well . . . it is in part because of our upcoming wedding that I wanted to meet with you. You see, I am hoping that you will be able to join us as our guests, but in order for that to happen, there is a certain . . . situation . . . which will require not only some attention but a great deal of delicacy as well.”
“Your mother?” It was a simple question posed by her grandfather and one that cut straight to the point.
Isabella nodded. “Precisely.”
Silence reigned as her grandfather stared back at her with a thoughtful frown. He eventually turned to the duchess and said, “Would you mind affording us a moment alone, Your Grace? I would like to explain myself to my granddaughter.”
The room must have cleared in less than five seconds, with Isabella catching only a fleeting nod of reassurance from Anthony before the parlor door closed behind him and she was left alone with her newfound grandparents. Not knowing quite how to respond, she decided to do the British thing and offered them both some more tea.
“How much do you know?” Lord Deerford asked, his voice solemn as he leaned slightly forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his lap.
“Enough, I suppose,” Isabella said. Her grandmother had lost her vibrant demeanor and was now sitting very still on the seat beside her. There was no question that this was a subject she’d rather have avoided. Isabella knew that for any possible relationship to flourish between them, they could not ignore the issue. In a steady voice, she began to relate what her mother had told her.
They sat for a while in silence after she finished until, with a great sigh, her grandfather stood, went to the side table and proceeded to pour himself a brandy. “It’s all true,” he finally said, meeting Isabella’s gaze unflinchingly, though the tension that gripped him was visible in his posture. “But you have to understand—I was at my wit’s end. She’d just made her debut with great success, garnering no fewer than ten suitors in the space of a week. One of them was even a duke, if I recall. We were thrilled for her—positively thrilled!”
Lady Deerford shifted uneasily in her seat and promptly asked her husband if he would please pour her a sherry. When asked if she would like one as well, Isabella heartily accepted, hoping it would be enough to get her through this painful conversation.
“But would she have any of them?” Lord Deerford asked rhetorically, glancing sideways to where Isabella sat as he poured the dark brown liquid into two separate glasses. With a resigned shake of his head, he set the bottle aside, picked up the glasses and carried them to the table, where he placed one before each lady. “No, she claimed to be in love—with my stable master, for Christ sake.”
“Hugh!” Lady Deerford admonished.
“My apologies,” he muttered, resuming his seat and leaning back as he balanced his glass on top of the armrest.
Isabella bit her lip. The situation was not an easy one, made only more difficult by the fact that she understood both sides. Her mother had good reason to be upset with her parents, though it would of course have been unheard of for them to encourage a relationship with the man she’d eventually eloped with. “You know,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I think what hurt my mother the most was not so much your disapproval of my father but rather the way in which you tricked her. She felt betrayed, and forgive me for saying this, but she was right to do so.”
“What would you have us do?” Isabella’s grandmother asked. She shifted a little so she could look directly at her granddaughter. “We’d like to make amends if possible.”
Lord Deerford started to say something, but his wife cut him off. “You had your say twenty years ago, Hugh.” Her eyes glistened with emotion. “It’s my turn now—tell me, Isabella, what do you think would be the right approach?”
The desperate longing on her grandmother’s face tore at Isabella’s heart, and she found herself reaching for her grandmother’s hand and squeezing it within her own. Her grandfather looked almost equally affected. “I believe an apology would be a good beginning, and then, of course, accepting my father as your son-in-law.”
“You think Society will be more forgiving now than they would have been then?” her grandfather asked. “The scandal such an acceptance would incur would come crashing down not only on our heads but on yours too—on the Kingsboroughs, as well as on your future children. As it is, I daresay your fiancé has his work cut out for him explaining who you are once you make your appearance at the Darwich Ball, never mind who your parents might be.” Raising his glass to his lips, her grandfather took a deep swallow. “As far as I am concerned, I will be more than happy to welcome your mother and your father into my home—we’ve lost enough years together as it is—but it is imperative that we consider the consequences.”
He was right, of course, and while Isabella wouldn’t mind being shunned by a Society she didn’t even know, she couldn’t subject the Kingsboroughs or her unborn children to such a fate. “In that case, we have two options. We can either continue as we are or we can fabricate a story to explain the situation.”
Lord Deerford grunted. “Your mother will never agree to lie.”
“She might if it is in her daughter’s and grandchildren’s best interest,” Lady Deerford mused. Her eyes lit with renewed enthusiasm. “We must at least try to convince her.”
“Very well,” Isabella agreed. “In the meantime, I think we ought to discuss our plan with the duke and his mother, for I too am quite curious as to how he intends to introduce my parents and me at the ball on Saturday. He might have an idea that we can use.”
“I suppose that might work,” Isabella muttered as she considered Anthony’s suggestion. She’d imagined him concocting a complex tale as a means to escape their current predicament, only to discover that his solution was pretty straightforward and remarkably close to the truth.
“Honesty is generally the best policy,” he said as he strode across to one of the windows and stared out. “Although in this instance I have to say that a bit of elaboration is in order—to protect not only your reputation, Isabella, but also that of your parents and your grandparents. Deerford claimed your mother was kidnapped. I will not dispute that and complicate things further by having him branded a liar. Besides, I believe such a scenario is better than that of your mother deliberately thwarting all propriety by running off with a servant.” He met Isabella’s gaze and quickly said, “If you’ll forgive me for saying so.” She nodded, though her lips were drawn a fraction tighter than usual.
“When all is said and done,” Anthony continued, “I believe the ton will accept my explanation, for they all have two important qualities in common—they thrive on a good story, and they heed rank and authority. As a duke, I doubt they will dare discredit me. Especially not if my family and the Deerfords support my claim.”
“You have our complete cooperation in the matter,” Lord Deerford confirmed. He looked at Isabella. “He’s right, you know. There’s no doubt that there are those who will always wonder about the truth, but they won’t voice such opinions publically for fear of incurring Kingsborough’s wrath.”
Looking to Isabella, Anthony felt a surge of reassurance. Her confidence in him was unmistakable—it shone in her eyes so clearly that he knew she would trust him with her life. They’d come this far—he wasn’t about to let anything ruin it now, not even the scrutinizing gaze of the ton. “Before we do anything further,” he said, “we have to meet with your parents and explain the situation to them. We’ve had enough lies and deceptions to last each one of us a lifetime—it’s time we started being honest and frank with each other. Isabella, I realize that this won’t be easy for you, but you know that I’m right. We cannot go behind your parents’ back, surprising them at the very last instant, when they’ve no choice but to accept our plan. It wouldn’t be right.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed. But that didn’t lessen the bout of nervousness that descended upon her an hour later as she entered her home while Anthony and her grandparents waited outside in the ducal carriage. Gracious! And she thought she’d been nervous about meeting them. This was far worse.
“Oh, you’re back,” her mother said, raising her gaze from the piece of embroidery she was working on as Isabella opened the parlor door and stepped inside. “Did you have a nice time?”
Her father lowered the newspaper that he’d been reading and peered at her over the rim of his spectacles.
“Er . . . yes, it was lovely,” Isabella said, crossing to the nearest seat and dropping herself into it. There really was no easy way in which to break the news to her parents, so she just blurted, “I met my grandparents.”
Her mother froze and her father promptly dropped his paper. “Wh-what are you talking about, Isabella?” her mother asked, her eyes darting toward the door, while her father leaned forward to retrieve his paper from the floor.
“My grandparents,” Isabella explained. “Your parents, Mama. I’ve met them. Today. At Kingsborough Hall for tea. They’re very eager to see you.”
Her mother blanched and was across the floor in an instant, knocking over her teacup in her hurry to reach the window, where she began yanking the curtains shut. “Are you mad?” she hissed as the light dimmed in the room.
As Isabella grabbed a napkin to clean up the spilt tea, she looked up and met her father’s accusing gaze. She knew what he must have been thinking, but she chose to ignore him. After all, considering what they’d done to her, she felt rather justified, not to mention that she was well and truly sick of this nonsense and decided to say as much. “You’re a grown woman, Mama. You’ve made your own choice—your own life—but you’ve made your mistakes too, just as well as they have.”
“How can you possibly compare what I did with what they did to me?” Her mother’s eyes were sharp as flint.
Isabella didn’t back down. Instead she offered her the most dubious gaze she could manage. “You kept my birthright from me, Mama, from Jamie too, and you hid us from them, denying not only them but us a relationship that wasn’t yours to deny. And if that’s not enough, you tried to discourage my interest in Anthony because you didn’t want me associating with an aristocrat. How, pray tell, is that any different from what your father did to you?”
“My father betrayed me by allowing me to think that he would actually let me marry your father, only to have me compromised instead at the hands of a rake.”
“And you would have me believe that you would have given me the option to choose my future freely if it hadn’t been for Anthony putting two and two together?” She shook her head, angry at her mother’s stubborn state of denial. “I don’t believe you ever would have told me, and in my ignorance, I would have been just as betrayed by you as you were by your father.”
Her mother gaped at her. Finally at a loss for words, she threw her hands in the air, eventually slumping down onto a stool.
“You are right, Isabella, and I cannot possibly begin to tell you how sorry I am for what we did, but you must believe me when I tell you that both your mother and I did what we thought was best at the time.” Her father’s eyes darted to her mother before adding, “What would you like us to do?”
With a heavy sigh, Isabella said, “Talk to them, allow them to ask for forgiveness, and let’s try to move on.”
“I cannot,” her mother said, finding her tongue.
“You will try,” Isabella told her calmly. “Not for your own sake, perhaps, but for me and for the children I hope to have. Once I marry Anthony, questions will be asked, not only about me but about you as well. I would like to avoid scandal at all cost. Do I have your cooperation in this?”
“Yes,” her father said before her mother had a chance to reply.
When Isabella looked to her for approval, she said nothing but offered the most reluctant nod that Isabella had ever seen. “Thank you,” Isabella said on a sigh of relief as she went to her mother, knelt by her side and placed a kiss upon her cheek. “I know how difficult this is for you.”
Her mother nodded, looking not exactly displeased with the situation at hand but rather exhausted—as if it was all too much for her. It was all too much for all of them, Isabella decided, but for now, there was nothing for it but to muddle through. What a relief it would be to have it all over and done with. “Come along you two,” she said, getting up and offering her hand to her mother. “My grandparents are waiting outside with Anthony, probably just as apprehensive about all of this as you are. Let’s invite them in, shall we, and see if we can’t forget our differences.”
Her mother still looked skeptical, but she didn’t make a fuss this time. Instead, she returned to her seat on the sofa, waited for Isabella’s father to do the same and then nodded. They were ready to take on the past.