Only a Duke Will Do by Tamara Gill
Chapter 11
Isolde looked up at the sky and shut her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face. Her friend Anne lay on the chair next to her. She, too, enjoying the beautiful weather the London Season had gifted them. They had opted to seat themselves on the terrace of Lord Kinruth’s townhouse, where the sunlight dappled through the wisteria hanging above them.
“Did you receive your invitation to Lord Wardoor’s estate? I understand he’s just recently returned from the country, some business transaction he had to take care of last week. I shouldn’t think he’d leave the capital for any other reason.” Anne threw her a pointed stare, grinning.
Isolde ignored her goading. “We received ours with the morning post. I have not decided if I should go. The Season has only just started to be fun. I’m not sure if I want to leave to attend a fortnight-long party in the country.”
“You’re not accepting his hand in marriage, if you decide to go, if that is your concern.” Anne rubbed her swelling belly, and a pang of envy shot through Isolde at the thought of her friend soon becoming a mother. “Please tell me why you’re so unsure of him.”
Isolde sighed, biting into another lavender tea cake to give her more time to answer. Why was she so unsure of Wardoor? Or, was she sure of him, but just didn’t really want him and was coming up with all the excuses in the world? “I’m sure I’ll end up going. Mama wouldn’t allow me to stay in Town, in any case. And do not forget, Anne, Wardoor is yet to even ask for my hand, and he may not, when all is told.”
“Oh, he’ll ask you. Of that I’m sure. But will you say yes, I’m less likely to give an opinion on.”
Isolde nodded. How well her friend knew her, but then, a closeness was only natural after so much time in Scotland together. “You will be attending, I hope?”
“Indeed. It’ll be nice to have some rest away from the capital. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to attend the parties in Town with my stomach being so unsettled and growing at such a rate.”
Isolde laughed. “But what a beautiful stomach it is. I’m so happy for you.”
Anne rubbed it anew. “When your time comes, you’ll be a wonderful mother, as well. And you will have your turn. I promise you this, as your friend.”
Tears pricked Isolde’s eyes. “I almost kissed him.” The words blurted from her lips, and she couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes, which just by her peripheral vision were as wide as tea plates. The following silence sounded as loud as a death knell.
“Wardoor?”Anne asked, sitting up. “Tell me everything.”
If only it was Wardoor, the guilt spiraling through Isolde would be nonexistent. “No, not Wardoor. Moore.”
Again silence ensued, and she finally looked at Anne who was now gaping at her like a fish. “Please say something. Anything. Even if it is only to say what a fool I almost was. How I’m an awful person who should be banished from England.”
“I wondered seeing you both reappear at Vauxhall, but as you said nothing, I didn’t want to venture as to what you spoke about.” Anne sat up, turning to face her. “What happened?”
If only Isolde could answer such a question. Why had she followed him, trying to talk sense into a man who refused to let her go? “I confronted him about his conduct toward me, and we argued. Somewhere along the way he told me his version of the night before our wedding. He still loves me, Anne, and it was just after his declaration that I almost allowed him favors he should never have.”
Anne stood, pacing before her. “I must declare that I’m relieved you did not kiss the duke. That is one complication you do not need. Not that the Duchess of Moore would be too vexed if her husband did stray. Her Grace has no shame when it comes to men she takes to her bed.” Anne stopped, turning to look at her. “That Moore tried to kiss you does not shock me. He’s so indifferent to his wife. Why, I’ve never known a man so emotionally removed from his spouse. What a sorry state of a marriage to be in.”
Isolde agreed Moore’s relationship with the duchess was a disaster. But that did not give her the right to come between them. Society expected her to make a suitable, if not grand, match, and she would. No scandal would shadow her again. “I need to keep away from him. Even though I believe that he did not know it was Leonora in his bed that night, he is married. No matter how much I may want him, I cannot change his circumstances to suit my feelings.”
“It does not excuse what happened, Isolde. They still slept together and had a child, need I remind you.”
“I know that,” she bit out more severely than she’d meant. “I’m sorry, Anne. I didn’t mean to be short with you. I’m just so confused.” And she was. Terribly so.
Anne sat on Isolde’s chair. “You’re not conflicted. You still love him.”
She looked out over the lawns, the roses and wisteria above them. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful and without the complications of Town life when they relaxed in such a way. “A part of me always will, I fear.”
“Oh, Isolde…” Her friend threw her a consoling look. “He’s not for you, my dear.”
She sighed, knowing only too well how true that declaration was. “Should I have my time again, I would’ve fought for him, at least listened to his excuse for what had happened that night. My father never gave him the chance, and I think that was a mistake. Leonora’s treatment of me is proof enough it was her scheming that gained her a ducal coronet. I was such a fool.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked them away, hating the fact that after all these years Merrick could still bring her to tears. But this time, not tears of pain, but regret.
“And if a gentleman asks you to be his bride, will you accept, knowing you still have these strong feelings for Moore?”
Anne’s bulging stomach caught her attention, the perfect, plump little lump that housed life. A little baby, a son or daughter that she herself longed to have most in the world. To finally have a child, a family, a home of her own was what a husband could give her. Moore, on the other hand, could not.
He was lost to her, and she must accept it; no matter how hard such a realization was, she must move on with her life and start living it, before it was too late. “Yes, I will accept a proposal, if one arises, and be forever faithful to my vows.”
Anne took her hand, squeezing it slightly. “I know this choice is not easy, and I wish I could turn back the hands of time for you so you could have all that your heart desires.”
Isolde let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I wish you could, too, dearest, but we must endure as best we can, and make the most of what is offered to us. I will find a kind, trustworthy husband, free of scandal and suitable for a duke’s daughter. I may never love him, but we will have children and a future. That is all I wish, for now.”
The fortnight before the house party at Lord Wardoor’s country estate was filled with balls and parties, shopping trips, and nights at the theater. Lord Wardoor accompanied her at most outings. He was attentive and kind, and as much as Isolde tried to like him more than she did already, she could not see him as anything other than a friend.
As expected, Isolde came across Moore at the many events about town, but after their near kiss at Vauxhall, he seemed to be avoiding her. Not even when the opportunities had arisen for them to converse had he sought her out, if only to apologize for what they’d almost done. Not that she wanted him to speak to her. She was in London to marry a suitable, trustworthy gentleman. It was unfortunate that Moore encompassed everything she’d ever wanted in a husband, a lover. No matter how much she wished circumstances were different, they were not. He was married, and that was the end of it.
Isolde sighed.The thought of the near kiss left a fluttering in her stomach that had no right to be there. She ought to be ashamed of herself. He was married, for heaven’s sake, but it still did not stop her from thinking of him late at night when she was alone in her bed. Imagining the feel of his hands sliding over her flesh, of what his kisses used to do to her, the delectable, heart-stopping embraces for her only.
Tonight they were to attend Lord Kinruth and Anne’s home for a small dinner party of their closest friends, before those who were invited to Lord Wardoor’s Surrey estate left Town.
It didn’t take long for her carriage to arrive at her friend’s home, and with the chaperonage of Anne and Lord Kinruth, her mama had allowed her to attend on her own. Isolde found the freedom liberating, but it also reminded her that should she marry, she could attend most outings this way, if she liked. No longer would she have to ask for permission to go anywhere or do anything.
All her life, even now on the cusp of being on the shelf, she’d had to ask to do anything. The thought that it could change in the foreseeable future was exciting.
Dinner was pleasant and seated beside Anne, it was over before she wanted it to be. The men, as customary, partook in their after-dinner drinks, while the ladies headed toward the withdrawing room, situated on the bottom floor.
A small fire burned in the grate to take out the slight chill that had settled in the night air, and the women gathered in groups around the room to talk. Isolde sat on a golden settee and watched the ladies as they laughed and gossiped. She sighed, pining at the notable absence of Merrick. Friends with Lord Kinruth, Isolde had thought he would be here tonight. Certainly Wardoor was, but maybe Merrick had had a previous engagement.
The door to the room opened, and Isolde turned, expecting it to be the men joining the party, but instead Moore and Leonora entered the gathering. Much to her horror, a tremble of expectation shot through her, and she cursed herself as a silly fool for yearning for someone who was no longer, nor ever would be, hers.
Anne greeted the late guests warmly and the duchess, with a spark of insolence in her eye, looked Anne up and down. “Oh, would you look at our increasing waistlines, my dear. How vulgar of us to be out in Society with such ghastly bodies.” The words were spoken loud enough for everyone present to hear, and Isolde noted Anne’s embarrassed blush. Thankfully, Lord Kinruth walked into the room at that moment and greeted the duke warmly, before passing Merrick a tumbler of brandy.
Moore looked about, taking in the guests, and Isolde drank in the sight of him. His black unruly hair matched his dark hooded eyes that sent her stomach to tumble each time they met. Now that Merrick had told her the truth of what had happened all those years ago, Isolde found it hard to be indifferent to him. Her attention snapped to his lips, and she swallowed, realizing how much she wanted to kiss him.
Wanted to feel the longing and desire that coursed through her body at his every touch.
As if sensing her interest, he turned, his gaze raking her form with a hungry intensity that left her breathless and ashamed. The look on his face reminded her of how he used to gaze upon her person, how much he had doted on her. He nodded in welcome, and she smiled a little in return, before trying to turn her mind back to the conversation going on around her.
“I am looking forward to your company at my country estate, Lady Isolde. I hope you’ll find my home to your liking.”
Isolde didn’t need to decipher Lord Wardoor’s statement or what he meant by the words, and as much as she was sure she would like his home, as much as any other, it was not likely to capture her heart, just as the man beside her would not.
“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, my lord. And I’m looking forward to seeing it very much.”
Wardoor started gushing about his estate and the improvements he would make should he marry, and Isolde stopped listening at the mention of his abundant lawns.
Watching the guests mingle about them, she noted Merrick didn’t seek out Wardoor to speak to him, but instead moved to the opposite side of the room with Lord Kinruth. She plucked a glass of champagne from a passing footman, hating that disappointment coursed through her each time he didn’t seek her out. He shouldn’t seek her out. Instead, he ought to concentrate on his marriage and how to amend Leonora’s ways.
“Will the Duke and Duchess of Moore be attending your house party? I know what close friends you are, after all.” Wardoor frowned, looking in Moore’s direction but didn’t deign to speak. So it was true, she had come between the two of them.
Isolde sighed, hating the fact. However, she could do little since Wardoor had taken it upon himself to look at her as a suitable wife. He was kind and pleasant looking, and was ready, from his own admission, to start a family. She would be a simpleton indeed, if she walked away from such an alliance. Her attention sought out Anne, and she watched a moment as her friend rubbed her belly, and longing overwhelmed her. Yes, as hard and painful as moving on would be, it was time she sought what she wanted most. A child.
“They are not attending. Another engagement elsewhere, or so the duke informed me.” Wardoor’s smile was brittle. “I know you have a past with the duke, but I do hope you’re willing to grasp a future when one’s offered to you with a gentleman you like, if not love.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, having not thought Wardoor would be so forward with his words. Hearing him state her struggles aloud and his willingness to be patient soothed her unease over the match. “You are right that I have a past with Moore, but that was many years ago, and he’s married now. And should I find a suitable husband and was offered marriage, I would seriously consider the proposal.”
The words were so clinical, so different from when Merrick had asked her to be his bride. Isolde hated them, so cold and without heart. She indeed had not moved on from Moore, would forever yearn for him in some way, but
Wardoor need not know that. Nor was she looking for a love match. If she tried hard enough, the marriage could work.
Wardoor nodded. “And would you consider me, should I ask for your hand in marriage?”
Isolde studied him a moment. “You have not asked me yet, so I do not know.” Was she ready for him? A moment of panic assaulted her at the thought that he would ask her here, now, tonight.
He laughed, raising his glass in salute. “Well then, I may have to remedy that.”
Relief poured through her, and Isolde smiled in earnest. Thankful he’d not asked, after all. “Maybe you should,” Isolde said, clicking her own glass against his.
Merrick stood as far away from Isolde as was possible. The sight of her tore his heart in two. It was beyond absurd the emotional turmoil going on inside his body each and every time he observed her around Town. Something had to be done about it, and that thing unfortunately was to cut her off. Leave her to live her life as she’d asked and make the best of his life with his son. Whether he liked it or not, he was married to Leonora. Had he not been so cold and unforgiving toward her, would she have turned to others for comfort? Probably not. Not only had he let Isolde down all those years ago, but he’d let down his wife, as well. He’d failed as a husband, and he was the worst of men for doing so.
“I see Lord Barkley isn’t here this evening. My wife will be sorely disappointed.” Even to his own ears the disdain and venom in his words was evident. He ought to stop, and yet he couldn’t. It was so ingrained in him, almost like breathing, natural and automatic.
Lord Kinruth grimaced. “I pay no heed to gossip.” Merrick scoffed. “You should, for in this case it’s true.”
He paused, knowing his own hand had played his wife into the lifestyle she now lived. “I’m glad we’re here tonight. I wanted to pay my regards before I head back to Mountshaw estate.”
“You’re leaving Town?” Kinruth’s eyes widened. “The Season’s only halfway through. What takes you from us so early?”
“William, first and foremost. I want him to start schooling with a tutor I’ve hired. And there are some pressing estate matters that I should attend to.” Not to mention he needed to distance himself from Isolde, and quickly. If he stayed, he would fail at doing so. And no matter how much he wanted her, had almost stolen a kiss at Vauxhall, he would not break the vows of his marriage. Even after all Leonora had done to him, how she loved to make his life a living hell, he would not become what, so sadly, she had.
“But your steward can handle the estate, and a letter to your boy’s tutor asking him to come to London instead of Mountshaw will suffice. Surely there is no other reason for you to hightail it back to the country.”
Merrick stole a look at Isolde. “It’s for the best. I believe we’re soon to hear of a betrothal, and I think for my own self-preservation that I shouldn’t be here when that occurs.” Merrick ground his teeth as Isolde smiled at Wardoor. Whatever were they talking about that was so amusing? The blood in his veins chilled, and shame washed over him that he couldn’t be happy for one of his oldest friends at finally finding someone whom he could marry. And damn him to hell, that Merrick wanted her, too, married or not. “I cannot stay.”
Kinruth clapped him on the shoulder, understanding dawning in his eyes. “I comprehend what you’re saying. And I’m sorry, my friend. For whatever it’s worth, I do think Lady Isolde believes your side of events on the night before your wedding and forgives you for them. In time, we shall all look back on these days and laugh at how inane it all was.”
Merrick nodded, doubting that would ever occur, and it still did not change his circumstances. He drank down the last of his brandy and welcomed the burn to his gut. At least he had William, the most important thing in his life. “The duchess will stay on in Town, but from tomorrow, I will be away. You know how to contact me should you need to.”
“We look forward to your return.”
The time away from Town would be just what he needed. To move on he must rid himself of the melancholy that had plagued him ever since Isolde’s return. He was no good to his boy or estates the way he was, and with Isolde leaving for Wardoor’s country home, he could take the time to regroup. “As do I,” he lied, smiling for good measure. With any luck, estate business would keep him away indefinitely, and he’d never have to return. That prospect was something to look forward to, but something told Merrick it was a dream that would not come to fruition.
