The duchess snorted. “As if that might be any worse in this instance. As it is we’ll be lucky if Lady Margaret doesn’t murder all of us once she discovers what we’ve been up to.” Isabella winced, and the duchess immediately turned a kind smile on her. “Not to worry, though. I’m confident that everything will work out just fine, and as for your jitters, they’re really unfounded. Your grandmamma and grandpapa are equally anxious to meet you.”
“Truly?” Isabella asked.
The duchess nodded, still smiling, and a quiet sense of relief washed over Isabella, which was silly, really, considering how anxious the Deerfords had seemed on the night of the ball when they’d almost blown her cover. She was their granddaughter, for heaven’s sake. They would have to be beasts not to want to meet her.
Drawing a fortifying breath, Isabella leaned back against the backrest and braced herself for the afternoon ahead. She had asked for this, it was her idea, and there was no turning back now without looking like a coward, and a coward she was not—she’d meant to marry Mr. Roberts for the sake of her family, after all. As far as heroics went, that ought to count for something.
Eventually, Isabella managed to calm herself, and when she stepped into the parlor at Kingsborough Hall, only to be swept into an immediate embrace by Lady Deerford, she knew her concerns had been unfounded.
“Look at you,” her grandmother cried, stepping back for only a fraction of a second before pulling Isabella against her once more. Given the portly woman that Lady Deerford was, Isabella was forced to admit that she did give rather good hugs. “You’re ravishing, my dear—a diamond of the first water and I’ll shoot anyone who says otherwise.”
“Now, now, my dear,” a male voice said with a good-humored ring to it. “It wouldn’t do for you to kill her when we’ve only just found her—perhaps you will allow the girl to breathe?”
“Nonsense, Hugh—I’ve no intention of ever letting her out of my sight,” Lady Deerford replied, though she did disengage herself from Isabella and stand aside enough for her to get a better view of her grandfather.
Deerford chuckled. “I daresay Kingsborough may have a thing or two to say about that.” He stepped right up to Isabella and smiled—eyes warm and welcoming as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Please go easy on her—she’s been waiting so terribly long for this moment and is full of excitement.”
“And why wouldn’t I be?” Lady Deerford asked, attesting to the fact that there was nothing wrong with her hearing. “She’s my granddaughter—fully grown and practically with children on the way, and I’ve only just set eyes on her now! Of course I’m excited!”
A cough sounded and Isabella caught Anthony’s eye. He was trying very hard not to laugh, so she shot him a bit of a scowl, for she actually liked what little she knew of Lady Deerford so far and was touched by her enthusiasm. Lord Deerford seemed equally amicable—not at all the sort of man whom she would imagine to trick his daughter into an engagement by arranging to have her publically seduced. Certainly an explanation was in order.
“Come,” the duchess said. “Let’s sit and have some tea.”
Moving toward the seating arrangement, Isabella purposefully seated herself on one of the sofas, allowing her grandmother the obvious delight of sitting next to her, while her grandfather seated himself in one of the chairs, with Anthony in another and the duchess and her daughter on the opposite sofa.
“Allow me to pour,” Lady Louise said, reaching for the teapot while the duchess picked up a plate of scones and passed it to Lord Deerford, who took one with a smile and a thank-you before offering it to his wife.
“So, I understand that congratulations are in order,” Lady Deerford said as she took a scone and placed it carefully on her plate, “since you are soon to be married to the duke—handsome fellow that he is. You’re a lucky woman.”
“Thank you, my lady, I—”
“Oh no, we’ll have none of that, my dear. I’m your grandmother—I think we ought to forgo the honorific, don’t you? Why not call us Grandmamma and Grandpapa instead?”
“Very well, Grandmamma,” Isabella said slowly, gaining an instant squeak of approval from the lady herself. “Your wishes are greatly appreciated, and well . . . it is in part because of our upcoming wedding that I wanted to meet with you. You see, I am hoping that you will be able to join us as our guests, but in order for that to happen, there is a certain . . . situation . . . which will require not only some attention but a great deal of delicacy as well.”
“Your mother?” It was a simple question posed by her grandfather and one that cut straight to the point.
Isabella nodded. “Precisely.”
Silence reigned as her grandfather stared back at her with a thoughtful frown. He eventually turned to the duchess and said, “Would you mind affording us a moment alone, Your Grace? I would like to explain myself to my granddaughter.”
The room must have cleared in less than five seconds, with Isabella catching only a fleeting nod of reassurance from Anthony before the parlor door closed behind him and she was left alone with her newfound grandparents. Not knowing quite how to respond, she decided to do the British thing and offered them both some more tea.
“How much do you know?” Lord Deerford asked, his voice solemn as he leaned slightly forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his lap.
“Enough, I suppose,” Isabella said. Her grandmother had lost her vibrant demeanor and was now sitting very still on the seat beside her. There was no question that this was a subject she’d rather have avoided. Isabella knew that for any possible relationship to flourish between them, they could not ignore the issue. In a steady voice, she began to relate what her mother had told her.
They sat for a while in silence after she finished until, with a great sigh, her grandfather stood, went to the side table and proceeded to pour himself a brandy. “It’s all true,” he finally said, meeting Isabella’s gaze unflinchingly, though the tension that gripped him was visible in his posture. “But you have to understand—I was at my wit’s end. She’d just made her debut with great success, garnering no fewer than ten suitors in the space of a week. One of them was even a duke, if I recall. We were thrilled for her—positively thrilled!”
Lady Deerford shifted uneasily in her seat and promptly asked her husband if he would please pour her a sherry. When asked if she would like one as well, Isabella heartily accepted, hoping it would be enough to get her through this painful conversation.
“But would she have any of them?” Lord Deerford asked rhetorically, glancing sideways to where Isabella sat as he poured the dark brown liquid into two separate glasses. With a resigned shake of his head, he set the bottle aside, picked up the glasses and carried them to the table, where he placed one before each lady. “No, she claimed to be in love—with my stable master, for Christ sake.”
“Hugh!” Lady Deerford admonished.
“My apologies,” he muttered, resuming his seat and leaning back as he balanced his glass on top of the armrest.
Isabella bit her lip. The situation was not an easy one, made only more difficult by the fact that she understood both sides. Her mother had good reason to be upset with her parents, though it would of course have been unheard of for them to encourage a relationship with the man she’d eventually eloped with. “You know,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I think what hurt my mother the most was not so much your disapproval of my father but rather the way in which you tricked her. She felt betrayed, and forgive me for saying this, but she was right to do so.”
“What would you have us do?” Isabella’s grandmother asked. She shifted a little so she could look directly at her granddaughter. “We’d like to make amends if possible.”
Lord Deerford started to say something, but his wife cut him off. “You had your say twenty years ago, Hugh.” Her eyes glistened with emotion. “It’s my turn now—tell me, Isabella, what do you think would be the right approach?”
The desperate longing on her grandmother’s face tore at Isabella’s heart, and she found herself reaching for her grandmother’s hand and squeezing it within her own. Her grandfather looked almost equally affected. “I believe an apology would be a good beginning, and then, of course, accepting my father as your son-in-law.”
“You think Society will be more forgiving now than they would have been then?” her grandfather asked. “The scandal such an acceptance would incur would come crashing down not only on our heads but on yours too—on the Kingsboroughs, as well as on your future children. As it is, I daresay your fiancé has his work cut out for him explaining who you are once you make your appearance at the Darwich Ball, never mind who your parents might be.” Raising his glass to his lips, her grandfather took a deep swallow. “As far as I am concerned, I will be more than happy to welcome your mother and your father into my home—we’ve lost enough years together as it is—but it is imperative that we consider the consequences.”
He was right, of course, and while Isabella wouldn’t mind being shunned by a Society she didn’t even know, she couldn’t subject the Kingsboroughs or her unborn children to such a fate. “In that case, we have two options. We can either continue as we are or we can fabricate a story to explain the situation.”
Lord Deerford grunted. “Your mother will never agree to lie.”
“She might if it is in her daughter’s and grandchildren’s best interest,” Lady Deerford mused. Her eyes lit with renewed enthusiasm. “We must at least try to convince her.”
“Very well,” Isabella agreed. “In the meantime, I think we ought to discuss our plan with the duke and his mother, for I too am quite curious as to how he intends to introduce my parents and me at the ball on Saturday. He might have an idea that we can use.”
“I suppose that might work,” Isabella muttered as she considered Anthony’s suggestion. She’d imagined him concocting a complex tale as a means to escape their current predicament, only to discover that his solution was pretty straightforward and remarkably close to the truth.
“Honesty is generally the best policy,” he said as he strode across to one of the windows and stared out. “Although in this instance I have to say that a bit of elaboration is in order—to protect not only your reputation, Isabella, but also that of your parents and your grandparents. Deerford claimed your mother was kidnapped. I will not dispute that and complicate things further by having him branded a liar. Besides, I believe such a scenario is better than that of your mother deliberately thwarting all propriety by running off with a servant.” He met Isabella’s gaze and quickly said, “If you’ll forgive me for saying so.” She nodded, though her lips were drawn a fraction tighter than usual.