“Yes, Saunders. I’ve been waiting to see him. Please show him in.” He glanced at the clock. It was three, and he had not bothered to eat. “Have Mrs. Beacon prepare a small platter of meats, cheese, and bread.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler said, offering a bow before leaving the room.
It was just in time. He would see this paperwork that supposedly bound him to Garrett Griffith’s younger sister. There was no aversion to her—only one to being forced to marry. That prickled.
The door opened. “Mr. Leonard, Your Grace,” Saunders announced before closing the door behind his business manager.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Leonard,” Michael said, standing and showing the seat in front of his desk. “Did you bring the document? I have not had time to locate what my father or brother may have done with it here.”
“I have our copy, Your Grace,” the older man said, unfurling the document from his satchel.
“Let’s talk about the betrothal agreement that was signed almost two decades ago. Perhaps you can explain why my mother is informing me of my obligation to marry Lady Isabelle Griffith when it was my brother who was betrothed,” Michael demanded, leaning forward in his chair.
Mr. Leonard stared at the paperwork on the desk in front of him. “Our senior partner at the time drew this up with your father and the Earl of Mortimer. But of course, I am familiar with it.”
Before he could say anything, a knock sounded on the door to his office, and a footman entered with refreshments. “Place it on the table, there,” Michael said, pointing to the table next to his desk.
When the footman had left, Michael walked to the brandy dispenser and poured two small glasses. “Brandy?” he said, holding a glass toward the solicitor.
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.” The solicitor grew silent for a moment before speaking. “I am afraid you will not be happy with what I must tell you.”
Michael bit the inside of his bottom lip. This meeting would not go the way he had hoped. “So, you are telling me my mother’s information is correct?” He controlled his voice, realizing this man had not even been involved with the document. Displaying displeasure would not be fair.
“According to my current partner, Mr. Smythe, our previous senior partner, used to suggest this codicil in every betrothal document. He saw it as a safety net. We no longer include it, and honestly, it isn’t used often,” Mr. Leonard explained.
A shiver ran down Michael’s back. “There is no way to break this?”
Mr. Leonard shook his head. “Not without damaging the lady’s reputation, Your Grace.”
“I suppose I have my answer,” Michael said. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.” He stood and walked his solicitor to the door.
“You are most welcome, Your Grace. I shall see you next week at our regular time. We still have other things to review.” Mr. Leonard bowed and followed Saunders out.
“I suppose I’m getting married,” Michael murmured. When he first heard about the codicil, he had felt anger at being forced into a situation he had not wanted, not planned. But now, he felt resolute and planned to see it through—unless he found a reason not to marry.
* * *
“Isabelle, do hurry. Her Grace expects us soon,” Lady Mortimer said, leaving her daughter’s room. “I will wait in the parlor.”
“My lady, I think you are ready,” her maid said, pinning a final small pearl into Isabelle’s hair.
“Thank you, Beatrice. I have a feeling this will not be a relaxing occasion,” Isabelle said, replacing her looking glass and brush in the drawer of her dressing table. She glanced around the rose-pink room and heaved a sigh. While she had enjoyed her earlier interaction with the duke, she had a feeling this evening’s entertainment would be her—or specifically, her future, if what she had heard in hushed tones outside her father’s study held any truth. She wasn’t proud of snooping, but she wasn’t ashamed of it, either. Not when it was the only way to get answers. When her father had summoned her mother to his study, Isabelle followed at a distance and heard. That had been the reason for the walk with Chase—to get away from everything. Only she hadn’t. She had seenhimfall into the water—Michael, her future husband. Unless she had misheard, which she doubted. She had an excellent record of peeling back the secrets of the household when she stood behind the Ficus tree outside her father’s study. Isabelle snorted at her thought.
She preferred to sit in front of her fireplace and read her latest mystery. Ever since her mother had given her leave to decorate her room as she desired, her bedroom had become her favorite place on earth—lately, her refuge. She stood and smoothed the light blue gauze overlay over her sapphire satin dress. “Thank you, Bea,” she said, accepting her silver-colored shawl and leaving the room.
* * *
“Darling, we should go over a few things with you before we arrive,” Lady Mortimer began, as the carriage started.
Isabelle’s stomach tightened. Her mother gave her husband the‘I’ve-started-this-for-you-now-you-finish-it’ look, which her daughter recognized too well.
Her father responded with an irritated grimace. “Darling, let us allow the evening to take place. Our daughter knows her duty.” He gave Isabelle a solemn look. “Correct?”
She wished her brother had been in the carriage. At least there would have been levity. Her brother had a way of disarming her parents—something she felt would have proven helpful tonight. Isabelle schooled her features and gave her father the soft nod of the dutiful daughter he was expecting, rather than the curt nod she fought the urge to display. Turning her head to the window, she closed her eyes for a moment to recollect herself. She missed Garrett and couldn’t wait for his return. He was in India, now, and expected to return for Christmastide. The holiday couldn’t come soon enough.
Thank goodness their carriage had finally arrived at the Clarence manor house. The door opened and Isabelle quietly took a deep breath before accepting the footman’s hand and stepping from the carriage.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, she glanced up as the door to the house opened and the duke stepped out. He hurried down the steps. “Lord and Lady Mortimer, how wonderful to see you both.”
