“I am like a bodyguard,” guessed Samantha, sitting beside her in the carriage Isobel hired to drive them the five miles to Syon Hall.
“You are my assistant,” corrected Isobel. “You accompany me and assist me. You are always with me in my work as cultural attaché.”
“I am your maid,” Samantha concluded glumly.
“I have no maid,” corrected Isobel. “It’s not my goal to portray myself as a fine lady or even as a woman. I’m simply... a colleague of the duke’s. Which is true. Iwasthe duke’s cultural attaché. Youaremy assistant. And I do not have a maid.”
“Well, you are a woman,” said Samantha, “so I’d not press the issue on that. Given a choice.”
Isobel had worn a light-green dress that fit her petite figure like a snugly wrapped stocking. She’d concealed the length of her hair with her signature bun. She carried a navy leather satchel to appear businesslike. Her attire had been easy; she’d sold enough holidays to esteemed women to know how to impress.
Her introduction at the door of Syon Hall would be far more complicated and nuanced. Even as the carriage made the last turn, she had no idea what she would say.
“Your mother felt a little left behind, I fear,” said Samantha, sounding not at all sorry.
“The only thing to make this situation more fraught would be Georgiana,” said Isobel, gazing at the autumnal woodlands outside the carriage window. “She’ll manage in Hammersmith alone for a night or two. Or for the afternoon. Or two hours. We could be sent away the moment we arrive, mind you. I’ve no idea what to expect. Whatever happens, I’m afraid there will be very little for you to say; you are simply there so that I’m not calling on the dukealone. I’m sorry. Simply follow my lead. And whatever you do, do not mention weapons or fighting or show any kind of... aggressiveness toward them.”
“Do not worry, Isobel,” assured Samantha, “you can rely on me. And of course the topic of weaponry will not come up, not at the stately home of a duke.”
“Thank you,” said Isobel, barely listening. What if they turned her away? What ifheanswered the door? What if—?
“Even so,” continued Samantha, “you mustn’t be so afraid of learning todefend yourself, Isobel. If you would but explore the training as I have—”
“Oh my God,” said Isobel, turning from the window. She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth.
The view unfolding outside was unlike anything she’d seen in all of her travels. An ancient stone gate marked the end of a long, crushed-gravel drive. Sprawling parkland unfurled, foggy and dotted with red and gold trees, on either side. At the end of the drive stood a Palladian-style manor house so grand it looked like a small city. The yellow stone glowed in the sunlight like a wall of gold.
As the carriage drew closer, the parkland gave way to smoothly manicured estate grounds: rounded hedgerows, sandstone walkways, immaculately weeded flower beds of autumnal vegetation. Swans paddled a slow circle in a fountain.
Syon Hall was nothing short of a palace. Versailles had been no grander.
“Just to the front door, miss?” the driver called.
“Ah—yes, thank you,” said Isobel.
To Samantha, she said, “Pay him. When we alight, pay him with the money I gave you and send him on.”
“Just as I predicted,” sang Samantha, “I am the maid.”
“Samantha!” hissed Isobel. “Please cooperate.”
“Iamcooperating,” insisted Samantha defensively. “It’s simply notclearto mewhatwe aredoing.”
Isobel turned away from the grandeur outside and blinked at the dusty black interior of the carriage. She sucked in air with short, shallow gasps.
“I’m sorry,” breathed Isobel.
She turned to her friend and clutched her hand. “When I was in Iceland with the duke, I fell in love with him—or perhaps I was in love before we left, it doesn’t matter—and he claimed to have fallen in love with me. He proposed marriage while we were there, but I bade him return and settle into... into—”
She stole another look out the window. “To settle atthispalacebefore we made the betrothal public. The agreement was, he would send for me afterward.Ifhe still believed in our—well, in a future. Together. With me. As you may have noticed, he has not turned up. However, I learned this morning from Baron Peyton’s daughters that the duke is rumored to be somehow... incapacitated, or consumed with ennui or—or something has gone wrong. I don’t know exactly what the problem may be. I... I probably shouldn’t have come. I hadno callto come. His family doesn’t know me;hedoesn’t want me. But I love him too much to think of him struggling alone.” A deep breath. “I love him more than my pride and more than my own self-preservation. Andthatis why we are here. Unmarried women cannot turn up alone on the doorstep of bachelor men. I took advantage of you, I know, by dragging you along, and I’m sorry to use you this way, but I am frantic with worry.”
Isobel looked at her with an expression that was half smile, half cringe. “You are too good to me,” she finished.
Samantha’s eyes grew large, understanding dawning on her face. She craned to study the manor house rising before them, now just yards away.
She turned back to Isobel. “This is a very important errand indeed,” she said. “I am happy to help. Do not worry, Isobel. You were right to come. I liked the duke from the beginning, and you know how I feel about tall men.”
Isobel let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. She squeezed her friend’s hand, closed her eyes, and braced for the carriage to lurch to a stop. Before he opened the door, she took three quick breaths.
