“I know,” I said. “Isherwood’s commanders were not happy with him for his actions. But they’d never liked his wife and were relieved when she returned to England.”
Donata gazed at me through the mirror as Jacinthe looped her hair into a knot. “The story related tomelast night was that she ran off with a blackguard who used her shamelessly, before she fled to England in disgrace.”
I fixed my eyes on my coffee and answered quietly. “I wouldn’t say he was a blackguard.”
Chapter 6
The room went very silent. When I at last looked up, Jacinthe was departing discreetly out the door.
Donata turned to me, regarding me with eyes so sharp they cut.
“Perhaps you should tell me the tale, Gabriel,” she said, her voice too calm. “Before someone else gleefully informs me that you were Mrs. Isherwood’s lover.”
I rose and went to the door through which Jacinthe had departed, turning the key in the lock.
“I agree,” I said. “I would prefer you hear my version of events first.”
I did not resume my seat but remained standing, hand on my walking stick. Donata crossed her legs and rested her arm on the back of her chair, a nonchalant pose, but every line of her bore tension.
“If anyone used Marguerite Isherwood shamelessly, it was Isherwood himself,” I began. “He was a brute of a man. Though Marguerite was no tame flower—she fought back and denounced him. In the end he wanted no more of her, but she was hardly heartbroken. He sent word to his solicitors in London and began the petitions in Doctor’s Commons. I did not meet the Isherwoods until Salamanca, which is where he threw her out of his lodgings and told her to find her own way home.”
Donata regarded me steadily. “And you, being gallant …”
“Isherwood had already annoyed me with his tactics, and his cruelty.” I moved slowly back to my chair and sat. “He led a charge that did nothing but waste men, and he barely made it out alive himself. Sergeant Pomeroy saved his life, and Isherwood only shouted abuse at him, the ungrateful bastard.”
A small gleam of interest entered Donata’s eyes—very small. “I imagine Mr. Pomeroy was not cowed.”
“I then had to save Pomeroy from arrest for striking an officer. I made out that it was an accident.”
“Clever of you.” Her words were cool.
“Not really, but it turned Isherwood against me, not that I’d hoped to make a friend of him. When I heard he’d stranded his wife, and had advised her to whore herself out—his very words—I stepped up to offer her a place to stay. I’d taken rooms in Salamanca itself, nothing luxurious, but dry and comfortable.”
“Mm. I take it that you did not, like a gentleman, sleep all night in a hard chair.”
I had to shake my head. “Mrs. Isherwood was in a towering fury at her husband, bent on making him pay. I did not try very hard to stop her.”
“I see.”
I knew she did see, exactly, and was trying to stop herself thinking of it.
“I have never been pillar of virtue,” I said tightly. “My wife had run off with Major Auberge long before that, taking Gabriella with her. I was young and angry. Also lonely.”
“It was seven years ago,” Donata said. “You were not much younger than you are now.”
“I feel so.” I tapped my left knee. “Thishas made me an old man before my time.”
“Hardly.” The word was crisp. “I grant that you had no lady of your own, you were full of pride, and you wanted to rub Colonel Isherwood’s nose in it.”
“You are correct,” I said. “It made us laugh that he was a cuckold.”
Donata dropped her gaze at the word but only briefly. “Then it is no wonder he turned an interesting shade of red when he saw you at the Regent’s dining table. And you a trusted friend of Mr. Grenville, no less.”
Donata was no stranger to vengeance against a callous husband, but her face might have been carved of marble. I suspected she fought with herself—my affair with Mrs. Isherwood was long ago, but her first husband had paraded mistresses before her, which had hurt her deeply. She was not in a hurry for that sort of thing to happen again.
“What became of Marguerite?” she asked, her voice too casual. “Was she a permanent fixture in your rooms?”
“Indeed no. It was never a romance.” Marguerite had been grateful to me, but I’d nursed no illusions she’d fallen in love. “I encouraged her to return to England. She’d had the mad idea of cuckolding her husband with as many officers as she could, but I pointed out the dangers of this step.”
