“There you go again, running from your problems,” Eleanor muttered before sweeping past him and heading back into the ballroom.
Lord Leyton was slow about making his way over, dragging his feet and looking like he was hoping someone else would call for his attention before he reached Andrew.
Nobody came to save him, and he stopped in front of Andrew, the color draining from the lord’s face.
“Lord Leyton.” Andrew stood tall, arms crossing over his chest. “Speak with me in the study over there for a moment. Lord Jameson has allowed me use of it for the evening.”
Lord Leyton swallowed hard, dark eyes darting back and forth, sweat beading on his forehead. Andrew strode down the hall, throwing open the door to the study and stepping inside.
He took his place in the center of the room, the warm glow of the fire in the hearth illuminating the otherwise dark place. Andrew didn’t care for the dramatics of whisking Lord Leyton into another room, but he was sure the other man would throw a tantrum if this conversation was held in a more public arena.
Men always did when it was time to pay their debt.
As Lord Leyton shut the door behind him, he cleared his throat. “Your Grace, I can assure you, I’m going to be able to pay you?—”
Andrew held up a hand, cutting him off. “Lord Leyton, it’s time.”
Five
“This is your fault!” Lord Leyton waved a sausage finger in Isobel’s face before turning and pacing across the drawing room floor, the scent of alcohol wafting from him.
She had been hoping he wouldn’t find her in there the afternoon after the ball. All she had wanted was a day on her own to work on one of her paintings and hide from the reality of what she had done the evening prior.
The memory of the duke’s kiss lingered with an unsettling warmth, made all the worse by the bitter knowledge that she had failed Joan in the very duty that had brought her to the ball.
Father huffed, his chest puffing up. “When I told you that you were going to marry Lord Sinclair, you should’ve been elated and willing to do whatever it took to keep his attention.”
Isobel said nothing, her lips pressing into a tighter line. There was nothing to say. In all the years that she had been dealingwith him and his raging, she had learned it was better to stay silent and let the storm pass. Nothing she would do would ever please him as much as screaming at her.
“You’re just going to sit there and not say anything?” Father shook his head, his hands balling into fists.
She flinched, shifting to protect the canvas on the easel behind her. “I’m sorry, Father. I should’ve done better.”
“You’re right. You should’ve. You’re old enough to know how the world works now, Isobel. We needed you to marry Lord Sinclair, but you had to have said or done something to scare him away.”
How is that possible when I barely said a word or two to him before the marriage?
Father sunk into one of the chairs in the corner, burying his face in his hands. “You should’ve done whatever it took to make him happy. He was a man who would’ve been willing to look the other way about the dowry. He would’ve happily taken you and then married you. He wouldn’t have had a choice at that point.”
Her jaw dropped before it snapped shut, teeth grinding. What was she supposed to say to that?
Joan entered the room, glancing between the two of them. “What’s happening in here? Father, I thought you had a meeting in town.”
“That was early this morning,” he snapped, glaring at her.
Isobel cleared her throat, schooling her expression into calm she did not feel. “I have faith we’re going to be able to find Joan a husband.”
Father’s attention drew back to her, his frown deepening, eyes narrowing as he pushed out of the chair and stalked over to her.Thankfully, he’s leaving Joan alone.
“You have ruined everything,” Father hissed. “I knew when your mother had you that you were never going to amount to anything, but I couldn’t imagine you were going to disappoint me this much in life.”
Isobel took it in stride, but it would be a lie to say the words didn’t cut a little deeper than she’d like. She was used to it though. The cut would be worn like a badge of honor, a reward for enduring another round of her father’s wrath and not breaking down.
Father crossed to the other side of the room, grabbing Isobel’s favorite hand-painted vase and throwing it at the floral wallpaper on the wall opposite him. The vase shattered, large chunks raining down to the floor, small chunks flying in all directions. Isobel bit back the tears. They would only make him angrier.
She bowed her head, shrinking in on herself the way she knew he wanted her to. Father needed to feel like he was in control. He needed to be the one lording over the situation with all thecontrol in his hands. She wouldn’t fight him. Not when he was like this. Certainly not when Joan was in the room.
Father whipped around to Isobel. “You told me that you were going to help save this family, and you couldn’t do that. You said you were going to take care of Joan. Do you think ruining a marriage is the way to do that? It hadn't even begun and Lord Sinclair couldn’t wait to escape you!”
