Page 81

March 3, 1784

After hours of sorting though the late duke’s delinquencies, Isidore felt as if she were going as mad as her former father-in-law. “I think your mother must be suffocating in that house,” she announced. “I shall see if I can tempt her into joining us for supper.”

Simeon looked up, obviously startled. “You will?”

“I’ll try,” she conceded. “You might clear away those letters, just in case she agrees.”

“She has been adamant in her refusal.”

“It’s not right that she should be in a house full of fumes.” Isidore stood up.

“I’ll lend my voice as well, if you will allow me to finish this note and clear away any letters that might distress my mother.”

“You don’t think I’ll be successful on my own?”

“I’d be shocked, but that’s a commentary on my mother’s stubbornness, not on your persuasive skills. But I’d prefer to accompany you, given the fumes.”

Isidore went outside to wait for him, but after five minutes, she was too restless to wait. She wouldn’t be felled by the smell. Her house in Venice had persistent odor problems, emanating from the canals, and she had never succumbed to the vapors.

She entered the house through the ballroom and was immediately met by the stench. There was a racket in the main hallway, and she cautiously opened the door. A man was trundling a wheelbarrow past her. Isidore’s eyes fell to the barrow, and then she wished they hadn’t.

He didn’t see her, so she slipped up the stairs. If anything, the smell was actually stronger as she climbed the stairs. Her knock on the dowager’s door was met with something resembling a bark. “Your Grace?” she called. “It is the duchess. Would you open the door?”

A moment later the dowager did open the door, the better to glower at Isidore.

Isidore fell into a deep curtsy. “Did the duke not leave a footman to guard you?”

“The fool began to vomit,” the dowager said irritably. “What on earth are you doing here? The stench is enough to make any person vomit, not merely the lower orders. You must leave at once.”

“I came to ask you to join us in the Dower House,” Isidore said. Truly, she did feel a bit faint at the odor. “Supper is being sent from the village. You can’t possibly eat here.”

“I doubt that I could eat.”

Isidore realized that the dowager was distinctly white, with patches of rouge standing out like poppies on her cheeks. “Your Grace, I insist that you accompany me out of this house. You are faint from lack of air.”

“I am faint from the stench,” the dowager said. But she put out a hand to the back of a chair. “I thought I would—”

Isidore took her arm. “You may return to your chambers as soon as they are habitable,” she said coaxingly.

“You needn’t treat me like a child!” the dowager snapped, but she did take a step toward the door. “I can’t leave my jewels.”

“They’ll be—”

“I go nowhere without my jewels. No one understands my attachment to them.”

Isidore nodded. “We’ll take them with us.”

“And I was working on letters,” the duchess said. “I must have them as well. I must finish my correspondence.”

Isidore glanced over at the table stacked high with sheets of stationery. “We can’t carry those. Is this your jewelry box?” She picked up an exquisite little box, rosewood with silver hinges.

“One of them,” the dowager said. “The other is there.” She nodded toward a much larger box, made of leather and trimmed with faded velvet.

“Goodness,” Isidore said a moment later. “It is heavy.”

“I shall carry the smaller one,” the dowager announced. “Give it to me. I suppose all the footmen have fled the house.”

“They’re in the barn,” Isidore explained.