Anthony raked his fingers through his hair as he paced the space. “Have Cook prepare something cold for all of us—some ham and some cheese with a few slices of bread. The duchess and I are hungry as well—perhaps if he sees us eat, he’ll find himself tempted.”
“A splendid idea, Your Grace.”
Anthony eyed him and frowned. “Only if it works, Marsham.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Will that be all?”
“Bring the food so we can eat, then you and I will discuss the doctor’s visit, and when that has been completed I should like to take the duchess to see her sister. Does that sound reasonable?”
Only the slightest twitch of his lips betrayed Marsham’s surprise at being asked rather than ordered, and by a duke no less. He nodded briefly, and with an “I believe so,” he took his leave of Anthony and headed for the kitchens.
Chapter 20
He hadn’t called on her—not today, not yesterday and not the day before that either. Isabella yanked a potato out of the ground and tossed it into a nearby basket. She’d pushed him too far with her stubbornness, and now he wanted nothing to do with her—and after he’d been so kind as to buy her that book. It was a good book too, with a definite flair for the dramatic.
No, he was probably showering Lady Harriett with attention instead. A fierce pang of jealousy sprang to life in Isabella’s chest, so painful that she actually winced. What right did she have to feel that way? She’d rejected him—repeatedly—and he’d decided to move on. It was for the best really, and it was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
No,her inner voice screamed. The thought of him marrying someone else—of him touching any other woman the way he’d touched her—Dear God, she couldn’t bear it.
Yanking another potato from the ground, she considered her options. Lady Harriett had told her that she and Anthony were betrothed, but something about her words and the way she’d spoken them had rung false. In fact, Isabella was willing to guess that Lady Harriett had taken an interest in Anthony and was trying to eliminate her competition, which would explain why she’d threatened her.
But before she hurried off to confront him about it, Isabella had to make a decision. Would she be the dutiful daughter everyone expected her to be, condemning herself to live unhappily ever after with Mr. Roberts? Or would she do what she knew would make her happy and marry the duke instead? If there was ever a time in her life when she ought to be selfish, then this was surely it. Her parents would undoubtedly be furious—might never speak to her again—and Mr. Roberts would be ... well, he wouldn’t be happy, that was for sure. But she and the duke would be, though they would not avoid scandal.
Standing there in the vegetable patch with her hands all covered in dirt, she finally made her decision—she would go to him and ask him about Lady Harriett, and if he denied any connection to the woman, Isabella would accept his offer of marriage. She’d run away with him if that was what it took for them to be together.
A weight was lifted from her heart in that moment. Hopefully her parents would not be too cross with her—especially once they realized how much easier their lives would be with the duke’s protection. He would care for them, she was certain of that.
Finishing her task, she took her basket to the kitchen and gave it to Marjorie, after which she ran to her room, washing her hands and face at the washbasin and changing into a clean gown. Filled with excitement, she wrote a quick note to her mother explaining that she would be back later in the day, then left the cottage at a brisk pace.
It took her half an hour to arrive at the massive front door to Kingsborough Hall, and for a long while she just stood there, staring at it as she tried to calm herself. Taking a deep breath, she eventually stepped forward just as the door swung open, revealing none other than the odious Lady Harriett.
Isabella froze. What on earth was she doing here unless ... No, it wasn’t possible. Whatever the case, Isabella would not be made to feel inferior by such a vile woman, so, squaring her shoulders, she stood her ground, offered Lady Harriett a curt nod in greeting and then looked beyond her, at the butler. “I’m here to see the duke,” she announced, trying very hard to ignore Lady Harriett’s glare.
The butler peered down his nose at her and said, “The servant’s entrance is at the back, miss, though I don’t believe we’re presently hiring.”
Lady Harriett snickered, and again Isabella ignored her, determined to make her case. “I am not here as a servant but as an acquaintance of the duke.”
The butler looked dubious but at least asked her name, which she gave him. He seemed to consider it for a moment before saying, “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard mention of you. Besides, His Grace is no longer in residency.”
Isabella’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“He has left town, Miss Chilcott, and I am not at liberty to say when he will return. Now, if you will please excuse me, I have a job to do.” And without further ado the door closed in Isabella’s face.
“I thought I had made myself clear,” Lady Harriett said. Isabella turned to look at her and was struck by the venom that shone in her eyes. Surely Anthony couldn’t mean to marry such a creature. “He no longer wants you, and with the Season about to begin, I suspect it will be an age before he returns, and once he does ... well, it shall be with me on his arm. We are to announce our engagement, you see. That is why I was here—to ensure that all will be ready for my arrival as duchess.”
Isabella gaped at her. She glanced at the door, then back at Lady Harriett, who was looking far too pleased with herself. In that moment, Isabella lost hope. She’d pushed him away and he’d left without a single word of warning, to set up his residency in London, no doubt, where Lady Harriett would reconvene with him.
Isabella hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the butler’s concise dismissal of her made it difficult to deny what Lady Harriett had told her.
With a breaking heart, she straightened her back and addressed the woman before her. “I will stay away from him,” she promised in a low whisper. “You have my word on it.” And before Lady Harriett had a chance to see the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, Isabella turned on her heel and strode away, hurt and angry. How could he? What kind of man chased after a woman, desperate to make her his wife, only to choose someone else without a moment’s notice? One who clearly didn’t feel for her what she felt for him. “I hate him,” she muttered as she walked the long and tedious road leading back to Moxley.
In the space of one week, he’d made her long for something more than what was her due, he’d made her believe he cared, had given her a taste of passion and had, with his charm, his touch, his words, made her fall desperately in love with him. And then he’d left her—gone to London to prepare for the Season and the arrival of his fiancée. She’d never hated anyone as much as she hated him in that moment. What a fool she’d been to think that a duke would actually want anything more from her than a few laughs, some stolen kisses and ... thank God she’d managed to preserve her innocence, or she might have been left to bring a child into the world on her own.
It was no wonder that her mother hated his kind. They were arrogant people who toyed with people’s lives, as if doing so was a game to them.Shehad been a game to him. That much was clear now. She stopped for breath, her heart pounding in her chest as the tears flowed down her cheeks. She wiped them hastily away when she spotted a carriage rolling toward her. As it came closer it slowed, coming to an eventual stop as it drew up beside her. The door opened and Mr. Roberts peered out, tipping his hat in greeting. “Miss Chilcott, I’ve been hoping to speak to you. I trust you have fully recovered from your ailment?”
She nodded, recalling how she’d remained in her room when he’d called on her Sunday for tea. She’d been in no mood to entertain him—her meeting with Anthony in the bookshop earlier in the day had been too troubling to think of. “Yes, thank you,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I’m glad to hear it, though I’m not the least bit pleased to find you trudging about the countryside like this. It really won’t do. The future Mrs. Roberts must ride in a carriage.”
