Chapter 23
“It appears you have a visitor,” Isabella said just as Anthony was preparing to hand her up into the carriage. He and Mr. Chilcott had agreed to escort the ladies home before heading over to Mr. Roberts’s. Turning his head, he followed Isabella’s line of vision until he was filled with tremendous irritation at the sight of Lady Harriett riding up the driveway. What the devil does she want now?
He quickly ushered Isabella into the carriage and out of Lady Harriett’s assessing sight before stepping away from the landau just as Lady Harriett’s horse came trotting up to him. “Your Grace,” she said with a pretty smile that belied her true nature. “I came to call on you so we can discuss the upcoming Season.”
Surely she must be cracked in the head.
“I thought I made it clear to you when last we met that I have no desire to keep your company.”
He watched her bristle, but she quickly recovered, though her smile did strain a little around the edges as she said, “My apologies, Your Grace. I was only hoping to make amends, but since you appear to be otherwise engaged, I shall bid you a good day.” She then swung her horse about and cantered off, allowing Anthony to breathe a sigh of relief. It was about time she realized that her backhanded efforts to win him would only incur his wrath. He could only hope she finally realized that she wouldn’t stand a chance against the woman presently ensconced in the privacy of his carriage.
Climbing inside, Anthony offered Isabella an apologetic smile as he settled down on the vacant seat across from her and next to her father. He could tell from the wary expression about her eyes that Lady Harriett had managed to unsettle her yet again but she was trying her best to appear unaffected.
“How’s your sister faring?” he asked, hoping to draw Isabella’s attention to a lighter topic than that of her nemesis.
She grinned openly at him. “As mischievous as usual, I suppose.”
“She switched the salt and the sugar on Sunday when Mr. Roberts came for tea,” Mr. Chilcott muttered at Anthony’s side. “I daresay he didn’t find the apple pie as tasty as usual.”
It was difficult for Anthony to hide his smile. Young Jamie was certainly doing her part to aid Anthony by trying to discourage Mr. Roberts’s suit.
Lady Margaret, however, did not look amused, and no matter how happy Anthony was that Mr. Roberts had suffered an ill-tasting piece of pie, he understood her sentiment all too well, for Jamie’s mischief reflected poorly upon her. “Needless to say, her actions have been punished with another day of confinement, as well as helping Marjorie in the kitchen.”
“I only wish I’d been there to see Mr. Roberts’s expression,” Isabella grinned, eyes twinkling with devilish delight.
“You were not?” Anthony asked, a wave of relief washing over him at this revelation. It had irked him to think of the two of them sitting down to tea together.
Isabella shifted a little uneasily in her seat and eventually glanced stubbornly out the window, apparently reluctant to answer.
“Isabella wasn’t feeling well that day and remained in her room for the duration of Mr. Roberts’s visit,” Lady Margaret explained, eyeing her daughter with a touch of suspicion.
Recalling the way in which Isabella had fled from him outside the bookshop, Anthony felt a surge of warmth course through him. Eyes fixed on Isabella, whose cheeks had colored more deeply now, he simply said, “How fortunate it is that she recovered so quickly.” He’d unsettled her that day—he was sure of it, for she’d had much the same effect on him—and there was immense happiness in knowing that she hadn’t simply gone home to entertain Mr. Roberts as if nothing had happened between her and Anthony.
With each word they spoke to each other and every touch, the connection between them strengthened. It was just as well that the Chilcotts had finally begun to warm to him, for he preferred not to entertain the thought of whisking their daughter off to Gretna Green—an idea that had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. No, it was simpler if everyone accepted his suit, and as far as he could tell, this was thankfully no longer an issue.
Anthony awoke the following morning to a blue sky overhead and rays of sunshine beaming through his bedroom window. His conversation with Mr. Roberts the previous day had gone better than expected, leaving Anthony in an exceedingly good mood. In fact, he’d been pleasantly surprised by how willingly Mr. Roberts had relinquished his attachment to Isabella once Anthony had told him of his own interest in her. Given Mr. Roberts’s character, he likely wished to avoid the complication that fighting over a woman would be bound to entail. He’d actually been most hospitable and gracious toward both Anthony and Mr. Chilcott, going so far as to offer them his best cigars and cognac.
With the help of his valet Anthony dressed in a light brown jacket, beige breeches and dark brown Hessians with a waistcoat to match. Placing his fob watch in his pocket, he then headed downstairs, where he met his mother for breakfast.
“You’re looking very handsome today,” she said, abandoning her newspaper and taking a sip of her tea. “I’m certain Miss Chilcott will be very impressed.”
Her secretive smile made him smile in return. “I dearly hope so, Mama, for I’ve no idea what I’ll do if she refuses me now.”
“She won’t refuse you, my love,” his mother promised. “Why it’s obvious for all to see that she’s positively smitten with you.”
“Well, I will be sure to send you a letter straightaway as soon as I have my answer,” he said. “You’ll probably be halfway to London as I make my proposal.”
Once his mother departed with Goodard at ten, Anthony told Phelps to inform the grooms that he would be needing his favorite horse saddled and ready to leave within half an hour. He then finished his tea, met briefly with his secretary and finally departed for Moxley at a pleasant trot. Today he would not rush but take his time, consider the words he would say to her wisely and savor every moment so he’d always be able to recall it in exact detail.
So, as he rode into town envisioning his future with Isabella at his side and their children tumbling about all around them, Anthony failed to notice the quiet looks of disapproval that trailed after him as he went. Nor did he think overly much about the shopkeeper’s unwillingness to help him purchase the dark blue gloves Isabella had fawned over when Mr. Roberts had insisted upon the green, or the florist’s sour expression as he picked out a large bouquet of daffodils. If these women were determined to have a bad day, then that was their prerogative—his mood, however, would not be ruined by anyone.
But when half the town stood whispering behind him as he opened the garden gate at Isabella’s cottage and started up the path that would take him to the front door, an overwhelming sense of uneasiness settled upon his shoulders like a cloak. He tried to shrug it off, telling himself that news of his impending proposal had probably spread and that the inhabitants of Moxley were only eager to discover Miss Chilcott’s answer. He might even have succeeded in his attempt if it hadn’t been for the sudden shout that rose through the air. “Whore!” someone yelled, and another quickly repeated the insult until Anthony felt his blood boil in his veins. There could be only one explanation for this, and her name was Lady Harriett.
Instinct told him to turn back and face Isabella’s accusers, but rationality stopped him in his tracks. Nothing good would come of him beating them all to within an inch of their lives as he wished to do, except that he would feel vindicated. Isabella, on the other hand, would have to suffer further embarrassment. There had to be another way.
Knocking on the door, he waited only a moment before it was opened just enough by the maid to allow him entry. “Thank goodness you’re here, Your Grace,” she said, her voice shaking as she took his hat and gloves. “The Mister and Missus are in a right state, and poor Miss Chilcott has locked herself away in her room. She refuses to come out!”
“Hopefully I can help,” he said in the calmest tone he could muster. “If you’ll be so kind as to put these flowers in water, I’ll go on through to the parlor and have a word with the Chilcotts.”
Taking the large bouquet from Anthony’s outstretched hand, the maid nodded, bobbed a curtsy and scurried off. Once out of sight, Anthony took a deep breath, straightened his jacket and stepped toward the parlor door. After a quick rap, he was admitted entrance by Mr. Chilcott, whom he found nursing a large glass of brandy, while Lady Margaret was pacing frantically back and forth. Jamie sat on a chair in a corner, eyes averted and looking miserable.
When Anthony entered the room, Lady Margaret turned toward him, her whole body sagging with relief as she let out a heavy sigh. “Thank God! You’ve no idea how happy we are to see you, Your Grace. The situation is completely out of control, as you can see. Why, there is the most outrageous rumor circulating about Isabella—people claiming that she’s a . . . a harlot!”
Setting Isabella’s gift on a corner table, Anthony eyed Mr. Chilcott, who was presently taking another sip of his drink. Christ, this was bad. Rumors could break a person’s reputation forever, even if there was no basis for truth behind them. The fact that everyone chose to believe it would be enough for them to forever shake their heads at Isabella every time she stepped outside her front door. Something had to be done.
“Do you have any idea why they’re saying this? What has led them to make such a serious accusation?” he asked.
“Our maid, Marjorie, went into town a short while ago to purchase some items for me. She overheard a group of women talking, and from what she could make out, one of them was saying that Isabella had been seen cavorting with a man assumed to be one of your groomsmen or fieldworkers, since the tryst had reportedly taken place on Kingsborough land—in one of your barns to be exact.” Sniffling, Lady Margaret quickly dabbed at her eyes with a bunched-up handkerchief. “Everyone in town knows of her attachment to Mr. Roberts, so this is part of it, but what makes it all so much worse is the claim that Isabella accepted money from this man in exchange for whatever favors she allegedly provided. The insult to her name is beyond compare, not to mention the men we’ve had to turn away in the last hour, all hoping to strike a deal with her. It’s disgusting!”
Anthony could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears as the story poured from Lady Margaret’s mouth. He wanted to break something or hurt someone—preferably with his fists—but he forced himself to remain calm for the sake of Isabella, Jamie and their parents. A monumental task to say the least. “It’s the last Friday of the month today, is it not?” he asked, turning to Mr. Chilcott for confirmation.
Isabella’s father nodded grimly. “Yes,” he said, his features bleak with despair.
“Then there will be a town meeting tonight—at the assembly hall if I’m not mistaken?” He’d attended a few of these meetings before, since he thought it important to know if there were issues he ought to be aware of. Commerce was often discussed, so if he chose to stay away, he would have no idea of whether or not the people of Moxley were thriving.