“But I have to try,” Isabella said. “You know that you and I have to marry. Even more than Rosalind has to, we have to. There will be no pretty lives for us as spinsters growing old alone in our father’s house. Rosalind was right when she suggested that we would have to return to lives as maids or that Father might marry us off to whomever would have us. He promised Mother that he would raise us, but he never promised that he would keep us for the rest of our lives. It’s the reason I’m so determined to secure your future. That’s why I’m willing to marry the Duke, even though I don’t know what to expect. I know that by doing so, I’ll be able to help advance your position. That’s what matters to me—seeing you married. Seeing your future set.”
“And I want the same for you,” Felicity replied.
“Of course, it’s a risk,” Isabella continued. “This time in our lives is a risk for both of us. But think of it this way. We know for certain what will happen if we stay here—or rather, we know for certain that it won’t be anything good. We know that we’ll lose what little protection our lives have offered us thus far and that we’ll have to start over in new places where we won’t be together, where we won’t be protected by our station in society. And I know that you worry the Duke might be a dangerous man, but there’s no reason to believe that Father would choose to marry us to anyone less dangerous. He has never cared about us. The Duke has promised to help see to it that you find a match, and whatever else he may be, I do believe he was telling the truth about that.”
“I hope you’re right,” Felicity said. “Not for my own sake but because I would like you to be married to a good and honest man.”
“I’d like that for both of us.” Isabella sighed. “Whatever happens, Felicity, you and I will still have one another, all right? Remember that.”
“Will we?” Felicity asked. “When we’re both married—if that day comes, I mean?—”
“It will.”
“We won’t see each other every day the way we do now. I’ll miss you.”
Isabella took Felicity’s hand in hers. “I’ll miss you too,” she said. “But we’ll have so much more power over our own lives than we have right now. We’ll be free to visit each other all the time. Our lives will be much better when we’re free of Father and Rosalind. And who knows, maybe the Duke will be lovely.”
And she resolved, no matter what it took, to make certain that the gentleman they found for Felicity would be the best available. Even if the Duke turned out to be less than ideal, Felicity would have nothing but the very best.
CHAPTER 6
“Bring the Earl of Henrough a cup of tea, please, Bartleby,” Arthur told his butler.
“Never mind the tea.” Taylor Badington, Earl of Henrough, distant cousin and close friend to Arthur, waved his hand dismissively. “Let’s make it something stronger. Have you any scotch?”
“Of course.” It was quite early in the day for scotch, Arthur thought—but then, Taylor lived a very different sort of life. He’d likely been out all night, consorting with the various gangs of London. Arthur often had to remind himself that his friend never took part in anything illegal because he did seem as though he might. Arthur was perfectly aware that Taylor did know plenty of criminals.
In fact, he counted upon it.
Taylor’s connections were going to help him achieve his goals. Taylor was the one, Arthur was sure, who would be able to gather the information Arthur had so long sought—he would be able to find out who was responsible for the deaths of Arthur’s parents. And as soon as Arthur knew the identity of his parents’ killer, he would get his revenge.
That was what his whole life had been about so far—discovering the identity of the person who had ended his parents’ lives. That was the reason he never had time for balls. That was the reason he hadn’t put any effort, until now, into the idea of finding a wife for himself—until one had been delivered into his lap. He would certainly accept Miss Isabella if she was interested. It would be good to have that area of his life attended to without having to do any work on his own to manage it. It would be a weight off his shoulders.
He knew there were people in society who asked questions about him. He knew he was the subject of their curiosity and gossip. Honestly, being talked about like that made it more difficult to conduct the investigations that were at the very center of his life. He wanted to blend in, not to stand out. Perhaps doing something normal and expected like taking a wife would help him in that regard. He couldn’t be sure, but it was worth the effort.
“Scotch, then,” he told Bartleby, and the butler nodded and withdrew to get their drinks.
“So!” Taylor slapped his knees with both hands and beamed at Arthur. “You’re getting married! I must confess, I never saw itcoming for you. You’ve had such a one-track mind for the entire time you and I have known one another. I’ve never seen you have your head turned by a lady. This one must be very special indeed.”
“She’s pretty,” Arthur said absently.
“Merely pretty?”
“I’ve only met her once,” Arthur pointed out.
In truth, he thought her captivating—but he wouldn’t have known how to describe the way she made him feel. A painting of her wouldn’t have done her justice. It was something about the sparkle in her eye when she was on the verge of insulting him and the set of her jaw when she spoke of her determination to help her sister. But how could he have explained these things to Taylor?
“I still can’t believe you chose not to have a traditional courtship. I would have thought…” Taylor trailed off. “Well, that isn’t true. I wouldn’t have expected you to want to go through a courtship. That would have been most unlike you, now that I come to think about it. And yet, to see you entering into a marriage so suddenly is also unexpected. If the young lady is merelypretty, if you’ve only met her once and so can’t possibly be in love…what made you do it?”
“These things have to be done in a gentleman’s life,” Arthur said. “People already notice me, Taylor. People say things about me. They wonder about the sort of man I am—they call me eccentricand reclusive. If I do something normal—if I marry—people will stop talking about me. And that will afford me more freedom in this investigation. Having too many eyes on me has prevented me from discovering the answers to the mysteries that have plagued me all my life. This will solve that problem.”
“And that’s why you’ve decided to get married?” Taylor asked, shaking his head. “It’s all because you think it will get you closer to finding the killer you’ve sought for so long?”
“That’s the reason behind everything I do, and it always has been,” Arthur told his friend. “You’ve known me long enough that I would think you would know that, Taylor. What other motivation should I have?”
“Well, I would think,” Taylor said, accepting the glass of scotch that Bartleby now passed him, “that a gentleman such as yourself—handsome, wealthy, and a duke to boot—might take an interest in marriage because it would be pleasurable. Haven’t you thought of all the good things that are apt to come of it? You’ll be able to start a family—you’ll have heirs, perhaps, someone to take over the dukedom after your time.”
“I don’t care about that.”
