And there it was.
Lady Lavinia smiled sweetly. The edge of a samurai’s sword would not have been sharper.
The subtle implication of her request was clear:My mother has the ear of the Queen, and you know your duty as head of the family. Let us stay here or there will be hell to pay.
Tristan very much disliked being maneuvered and threatened.
He deliberated what to do, the mantel clock ticking by the seconds.
If Tristan tossed Aubrey out, he would look petty and ungentlemanly, further alienating the portion of Polite Society that disliked Isolde.
If Tristan acquiesced to Lady Lavinia’s demands, his servants would have to tolerate these vipers for a few more weeks, not to mention Aubrey’s snooping through Tristan’s personal effects.
Aspaterfamilias, it was his duty to provide for family members. Even if Tristan hadn’t wished to, his father’s will had stipulated that the heir to the dukedom—imbecilic Cousin Aubrey at the moment—receive an allowance from the family coffers. For Old Kendall, appearances must be maintained, even after his death. Once Tristan had an heir of his body, he could remove Aubrey from his payroll, but until then . . .
Jaw clenched, he reached a decision.
He and Isolde were leaving, so Aubrey and Lady Lavinia’s presence here mattered little to their own comfort.
Tristan would instruct Mrs. Wilson to lock all cabinets and rooms where Cousin Aubrey and Lady Lavinia were not allowed. Further, he would promise every servant, from Fredericks to the lowliest scullery maid, bonuses for dealing with the ridiculous demands of their unwanted guests.
“As you wish, Lady Lavinia.”
She smiled in triumph.
“Though, in the future, I would prefer to discuss such matters with my cousin directly. I shall have a word with him.” Tristan stared down Lady Lavinia. “It is most shameful that he sent youto do his bidding. I am appalled that my cousin could not rouse himself to ensure a roof over his wife’s head.”
They both knew that Lady Lavinia was the architect of this scheme. But castigating Aubrey made Lady Lavinia appear as if she were married to a coward and an imbecile, which for the record, Aubrey absolutely was. Or, if she protested her husband’s innocence and insisted she had come of her own will, she became a domineering shrew.
Neither was flattering.
Given how Lady Lavinia stiffened, Tristan’s barb had found its mark.
“Of course, Your Grace.” She curtsied again. “I shall leave you to your correspondence.”
Tristan sat and did not look up as she exited the room.
Yes, he and Isolde could not quit London soon enough.
6
How unexpected that I should be here, Isolde thought as she ascended the gilt staircase of Buckingham Palace, her hand snugged into Tristan’s elbow.
After all, she had never planned to marry. She most certainly hadn’t made husband-hunting her life’s goal as did other women of theton. Her attitude had been singular for an aristocratic lady—if she met a gentleman and fell in love, then she would marry.
Mostly, Isolde had supposed she would use her university education to further the cause of women—education, suffrage, and equal treatment under the law—content to spend her days on the fringes of Polite Society.
Instead, she had married and fallen in love with a powerful duke. Or rather, she had married and fallen in love with a remarkable man who made her laugh and met her as an equal. The dukedom was merely an unfortunate side effect.
So it therefore followed that Isolde hadn’t particularly pondered what being a duchess would entail. Of course, if shehadthought about it, she would have surmised that being the Duchess of Kendall would involve duties similar to her mother’s position as Countess of Hadley—overseeing the household, hosting guests, making and receiving morning calls, and so forth.
But given the number of people who currently bowed, curtsied, and murmured greetings as she and Tristan climbedthe stairs, Isolde had failed to envision the sheer scope of the role of Duchess of Kendall.
Once, she had inhabited the edges of Polite Society. Now, it appeared, she had moved to its very epicenter.
A sickening sort of nervousness coiled in her belly, like snakes writhing and spitting acidic venom into her throat. Would she be given the cut direct tonight? Or would she simply find her every word and gesture meticulously criticized in a gossip rag come morning?
She took a deep breath as she and Tristan reached the top of the staircase.
