Marjorie shook her head. “She did not give me one but asked specifically to speak with Miss Chilcott.”
“Well, by all means then, show her in,” Isabella said, putting her needlework back in its basket as she wondered who this lady might possibly be. Lady Louise, perhaps?
“She asked that you come outside,” Marjorie said, looking somewhat uncomfortable, “so you can speak in private.”
Isabella stilled and glanced hesitantly at her mother, whose brow was furrowed in a deep frown. “It seems we’ve been quite overrun with nobility these past few days,” she said tightly, making her disapproval known.
Isabella rose and went to the door. It had to be Lady Louise, for she doubted the duchess herself would venture into this part of town, requesting a private conversation with her. “I’ll just see who it is,” she told her mother as she stepped into the hallway and opened the front door.
The woman she found waiting for her, however, was not Lady Louise. In fact, Isabella had no idea who she might have been, for she had never seen her before in her life. She was pretty, with light brown curls framing her face. Her figure was fashionably slim, and Isabella couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy at her natural elegance. “May I help you?” Isabella asked.
The woman gave Isabella a head to toe inspection, then stared down her nose at her with the same amount of disgust and arrogance that she probably reserved for toads. “Frankly, I don’t know what he sees in you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Who was this woman, and what on earth made her think she had the right to speak to Isabella that way?
“The duke may have taken a momentary interest in you, Miss Chilcott, but you know as well as I that it is only a matter of time before he tires of you.” Her lips curled upward and her eyes flickered with disdain. “Why, you’re not even worthy of being his mistress, so why don’t you stop your . . . whoring and save us all further embarrassment by staying away from him?”
Isabella could scarcely believe her ears, but she recognized the rage that swept through her at the other woman’s insult. “I don’t believe I care for your tone, Lady . . .” She deliberately allowed her words to trail off, hoping this shrew would fill in the blank.
“Harriett,” the lady said, and then, “the Duke of Kingsborough’s fiancée.”
Isabella could feel the blood draining from her face. “His fiancée?” she squeaked, hating how panicked she sounded.
Lady Harriett nodded as though she’d just conquered France. “It hasn’t been formally announced yet, so I thought I’d use what little time I have before it becomes public knowledge to do a little housekeeping. It’s one thing for the duke to have a few indiscretions—indeed, I expect nothing less—but what I won’t stand for is when those indiscretions stop being discreet.” She stepped toward Isabella with a sneer. “I saw you leaving his barn with your clothes and hair in disarray as I was on my way to Kingsborough Hall myself the other day, and I am well aware of his . . . appreciation of you.”
Isabella felt sick.
“However,” Lady Harriett continued in a brighter tone than before, “he knows his duty and will eventually accept that he must end his acquaintance with you. I merely thought to speed things along.”
“If that is all,” Isabella said, her voice clipped with anger, “then I would like to ask you to leave.”
Lady Harriett gave her a hard stare. “Don’t do anything foolish, Miss Chilcott, or I will see what little reputation you have ruined.”
“Is that a threat, my lady?”
Lady Harriett shrugged as she moved toward the gate. “I only mean to caution you,” she said, “unless of course you wish for the whole town to know what a harlot you really are. Good day!”
If only Isabella had had a rock in her hand, she would have happily tossed it at Lady Harriett’s head, she was so enraged. The nerve of her to come to her home and . . . and accuse her of being a whore! She watched, her whole body shaking, as Lady Harriett climbed inside her awaiting carriage and drove away.
It couldn’t be true, could it? Anthony would have said something, surely he would. He’d asked her father for permission to court her, for heaven’s sake. Was it possible he’d changed his mind and offered for Lady Harriett instead? The woman had said that their betrothal was recent. Perhaps it had happened yesterday after she’d walked away from him on Main Street. He hadn’t looked pleased, but he had promised he’d call on her. She took a deep, steadying breath and decided that the only reasonable thing to do at this point was to ask him herself. She certainly wasn’t about to take that snooty Lady Harriett at her word.
“A letter, Your Grace.”
Anthony watched from his side of the table as his mother plucked a letter from the silver tray that Phelps was holding toward her. His mood was somber at best after having told Winston about his meeting with Miss Chilcott in the barn. As he’d expected, his brother had looked at him as if he was unworthy of being a duke, and then he’d told him precisely how disappointed he was in his behavior. It had been nothing less than what he deserved.
“Thank you,” his mother said, breaking the seal and pulling a neatly folded piece of paper from the envelope. She read, her lips parted and when she looked up, Anthony immediately knew that something was amiss. “It’s my sister,” she explained, looking to each of her children in turn.
“Is she all right?” Louise asked, while Huntley, Winston and Sarah broke off their conversation to offer the duchess their undivided attention.
“She took a fall and . . .” Her voice broke. “From what I gather, she is not herself. I must go to her at once.”
“I will escort you,” Anthony said, placing his napkin next to his plate and rising. He signaled Phelps, who’d removed himself to the doorway. “Please tell the stable master to ready the landau.”
The butler nodded and disappeared into the hallway beyond.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Winston asked.
“No,” Anthony said. It was a kind offer, but he knew that his brother was eager to return home and pick up the reins of his business. Things never ran quite as smoothly as they did when Winston was there, and besides, Anthony didn’t want to suffer his brother’s glower for the entire duration of the carriage ride. There was no denying that he was still angry with him. “You have plenty to see to as it is.”
“Huntley and I can join you if you like,” Louise offered.
Anthony gave her an appreciative smile. “Thank you, but I know that you were planning to return home and close up the estate before removing yourselves to London for the Season. Don’t worry—Mama and I will be fine.” He turned to his mother, who was looking worried and pale. “If you can be ready to leave in an hour, we should be able to make it by nightfall.”
She nodded quietly, acknowledging his words, and rose slowly to her feet. Louise was beside her in an instant. “Let me escort you upstairs,” she said. “I’ll call for your maid, and the two of us can help you pack.”
Anthony watched them go before turning his attention back to Winston, Sarah and Huntley. “I’m sorry to leave you all in such a rush, but knowing Mama, she’ll worry herself sick until she sees Aunt Cordelia.”
“You mustn’t concern yourself about us,” Sarah said, her voice as soft as always. “Your mother needs you, and we completely understand. We just hope that your aunt will be all right, and like Winston said—if there is anything at all that we can do to help, by all means, let us know.”
“Thank you, Sarah, that’s very kind of you, but right now I just . . . I need to pack. If you’ll excuse me.” He left them then, heading to his study to collect enough money to sustain them on their journey. After that, he called for his valet, who accompanied him upstairs to help him pack. Half an hour later, he and his mother said their good-byes to Louise, Sarah, Winston and Huntley, climbed into the carriage and headed north.
“I’m sorry to burden you like this,” his mother said as she turned away from the window to face him. They had left Moxley behind a while ago and were now galloping at full speed across the English countryside.
Anthony stared at her. “Your apology is completely unnecessary,” he said, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I am only happy to help, surely you know that.”
She attempted a smile and nodded. “Yes, but I feel as though you’ve been doing little else for the past five years.”
“I don’t mind it,” he said, hoping to ease her concern. “It’s my duty to take care of you, and even if it weren’t, I’d still do it. You’re my mother and you need me, that’s all that matters.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t help but think that it has kept you from making a family of your own. You put your life on hold for all of us—for your father when he was sick, for Winston and Louise so they could be free of the burdens you chose to carry on your own, and for me. We’ve all been like rocks around your ankles, weighing you down and keeping you in one place.”
Anthony shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’m the oldest and I was here—managing the estate and taking care of you and Papa was my responsibility. Granted, it wasn’t easy seeing Papa in such a state of decline, but I never considered any of it a burden.”
She wiped the tears away with her hand and leaned back against her seat. “I’m glad you’ve finally met a woman whom you care about. Miss Chilcott—”
“Oh no,” Anthony muttered, staring back at his mother with wide eyes. “I told her I’d call on her this afternoon, but I completely forgot with our haste to get on our way.” Her expression was once again pained, so he hastily said, “Not to worry—I’ll send her a letter as soon as we reach our destination. I’m sure she’ll understand, given the circumstances.”
His mother nodded. “You should invite her for tea one day, Anthony. I’d like to meet her when she’s not masquerading as Miss Smith.” Her smile was good-natured, and Anthony couldn’t help but return it. What other mother would be willing to accept that her son had fallen for a woman who wasn’t who she’d said she was? None, he wagered.
He contemplated her words and said, “Perhaps that’s not a bad idea. One thing is for certain—I can use all the help I can get in convincing her to marry me instead of that wet towel Mr. Roberts.”
“That’s a bit possessive of you, don’t you think? From what you’ve told me, Mr. Roberts has been courting Miss Chilcott for almost a year. You can’t possibly expect her to just toss him aside from one day to the next just because you’ve suddenly come into her life.”
Anthony glowered. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. “I know she feels the same way as I,” he grumbled.
“Even more reason for her to be backing away from you.” She gave him a stare so frank that Anthony felt certain she saw the situation with far more clarity than he did. “I’m not familiar with Mr. Roberts, but if your description of him is accurate, then I very much doubt he’s managed to elicit as much as a blush from Miss Chilcott, which would mean that if she’s responding to you in the same manner that you’re responding to her, well heavens! The poor girl must be terribly confused, perhaps even frightened by such an onslaught of emotion.”