“When all is said and done,” Anthony continued, “I believe the ton will accept my explanation, for they all have two important qualities in common—they thrive on a good story, and they heed rank and authority. As a duke, I doubt they will dare discredit me. Especially not if my family and the Deerfords support my claim.”
“You have our complete cooperation in the matter,” Lord Deerford confirmed. He looked at Isabella. “He’s right, you know. There’s no doubt that there are those who will always wonder about the truth, but they won’t voice such opinions publically for fear of incurring Kingsborough’s wrath.”
Looking to Isabella, Anthony felt a surge of reassurance. Her confidence in him was unmistakable—it shone in her eyes so clearly that he knew she would trust him with her life. They’d come this far—he wasn’t about to let anything ruin it now, not even the scrutinizing gaze of the ton. “Before we do anything further,” he said, “we have to meet with your parents and explain the situation to them. We’ve had enough lies and deceptions to last each one of us a lifetime—it’s time we started being honest and frank with each other. Isabella, I realize that this won’t be easy for you, but you know that I’m right. We cannot go behind your parents’ back, surprising them at the very last instant, when they’ve no choice but to accept our plan. It wouldn’t be right.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed. But that didn’t lessen the bout of nervousness that descended upon her an hour later as she entered her home while Anthony and her grandparents waited outside in the ducal carriage. Gracious! And she thought she’d been nervous about meeting them. This was far worse.
“Oh, you’re back,” her mother said, raising her gaze from the piece of embroidery she was working on as Isabella opened the parlor door and stepped inside. “Did you have a nice time?”
Her father lowered the newspaper that he’d been reading and peered at her over the rim of his spectacles.
“Er . . . yes, it was lovely,” Isabella said, crossing to the nearest seat and dropping herself into it. There really was no easy way in which to break the news to her parents, so she just blurted, “I met my grandparents.”
Her mother froze and her father promptly dropped his paper. “Wh-what are you talking about, Isabella?” her mother asked, her eyes darting toward the door, while her father leaned forward to retrieve his paper from the floor.
“My grandparents,” Isabella explained. “Your parents, Mama. I’ve met them. Today. At Kingsborough Hall for tea. They’re very eager to see you.”
Her mother blanched and was across the floor in an instant, knocking over her teacup in her hurry to reach the window, where she began yanking the curtains shut. “Are you mad?” she hissed as the light dimmed in the room.
As Isabella grabbed a napkin to clean up the spilt tea, she looked up and met her father’s accusing gaze. She knew what he must have been thinking, but she chose to ignore him. After all, considering what they’d done to her, she felt rather justified, not to mention that she was well and truly sick of this nonsense and decided to say as much. “You’re a grown woman, Mama. You’ve made your own choice—your own life—but you’ve made your mistakes too, just as well as they have.”
“How can you possibly compare what I did with what they did to me?” Her mother’s eyes were sharp as flint.
Isabella didn’t back down. Instead she offered her the most dubious gaze she could manage. “You kept my birthright from me, Mama, from Jamie too, and you hid us from them, denying not only them but us a relationship that wasn’t yours to deny. And if that’s not enough, you tried to discourage my interest in Anthony because you didn’t want me associating with an aristocrat. How, pray tell, is that any different from what your father did to you?”
“My father betrayed me by allowing me to think that he would actually let me marry your father, only to have me compromised instead at the hands of a rake.”
“And you would have me believe that you would have given me the option to choose my future freely if it hadn’t been for Anthony putting two and two together?” She shook her head, angry at her mother’s stubborn state of denial. “I don’t believe you ever would have told me, and in my ignorance, I would have been just as betrayed by you as you were by your father.”
Her mother gaped at her. Finally at a loss for words, she threw her hands in the air, eventually slumping down onto a stool.
“You are right, Isabella, and I cannot possibly begin to tell you how sorry I am for what we did, but you must believe me when I tell you that both your mother and I did what we thought was best at the time.” Her father’s eyes darted to her mother before adding, “What would you like us to do?”
With a heavy sigh, Isabella said, “Talk to them, allow them to ask for forgiveness, and let’s try to move on.”
“I cannot,” her mother said, finding her tongue.
“You will try,” Isabella told her calmly. “Not for your own sake, perhaps, but for me and for the children I hope to have. Once I marry Anthony, questions will be asked, not only about me but about you as well. I would like to avoid scandal at all cost. Do I have your cooperation in this?”
“Yes,” her father said before her mother had a chance to reply.
When Isabella looked to her for approval, she said nothing but offered the most reluctant nod that Isabella had ever seen. “Thank you,” Isabella said on a sigh of relief as she went to her mother, knelt by her side and placed a kiss upon her cheek. “I know how difficult this is for you.”
Her mother nodded, looking not exactly displeased with the situation at hand but rather exhausted—as if it was all too much for her. It was all too much for all of them, Isabella decided, but for now, there was nothing for it but to muddle through. What a relief it would be to have it all over and done with. “Come along you two,” she said, getting up and offering her hand to her mother. “My grandparents are waiting outside with Anthony, probably just as apprehensive about all of this as you are. Let’s invite them in, shall we, and see if we can’t forget our differences.”
Her mother still looked skeptical, but she didn’t make a fuss this time. Instead, she returned to her seat on the sofa, waited for Isabella’s father to do the same and then nodded. They were ready to take on the past.
Chapter 26
Isabella would forever look back on the two hours that followed as the most emotionally tumultuous of her life. The anger her mother felt had been most apparent in the way she’d yelled at Lord Deerford until the man had actually leaned backward, as if he’d hoped to avoid her verbal assault. Lady Deerford had been the first to dissolve into a puddle of tears, apologizing for her husband’s past actions until she must have been sore in the throat.
Isabella had felt terribly sorry for her, but her mother was apparently made of stronger stuff, for she hadn’t looked the least bit affected. Anthony had looked as if he’d rather have been anywhere else but in that tiny parlor at that very moment, and he’d retreated to a corner with obvious discomfort.
In the end, it had been Isabella’s father who’d intervened and, speaking with more authority than Isabella would ever have given him credit of possessing, had told her mother firmly that it was time to bury the hatchet since, as their daughter had recently pointed out, they had barely treated her any better. “How would you have felt if Isabella had decided to elope with the duke, never to be seen or heard from again?” he’d asked.
Isabella’s mother had stopped her tirade and looked at everyone in turn—the first sign of embarrassment showing in the blush on her cheeks.
“In fact, she is better than us, for she was willing to ignore her own happiness for our sake, whereas we put your parents through hell.” He’d turned to his father-in-law then and held out his hand, which the marquess had quickly accepted. “I’m so sorry. I wronged you in the most despicable way—we both did—and I can only hope that you will one day find it in your heart to forgive us.” Turning to his mother-in-law, who’d been furiously dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, he’d apologized to her as well before sweeping her into a tight embrace.
Releasing her, he’d finally looked to his wife, whose own eyes had begun to glisten, and said, “Go on—make amends.” Upon which the dam had broken and she’d burst into tears as she’d flung herself into her parents’ arms.
Isabella had joined the exchange of embraces, until everyone—save Anthony, who hadn’t left the safety of his corner for a second—had looked flushed and puffy. They’d been smiling, though, grinning even, as they’d stepped away from each other with bashful self-awareness. Falling silent as they’d noticed Anthony gaping at them as if they’d all belonged in Bedlam, they’d watched as he’d slowly raised a bottle of brandy and said, “Care for a drink, anyone?” Upon which they’d all erupted in a fit of laughter.
Yes, it had been a memorable afternoon, one which had ended with Anthony relating his plans for introducing the Chilcotts into Society. “Since it was initially put about town that Lady Margaret was kidnapped and nobody knows that she really absconded with Mr. Chilcott, we shall simply elaborate upon the tale, explaining how Mr. Chilcott saved her and took her to his home for recovery. The two fell irrevocably in love and, fearing her parents’ disapproval, since Mr. Chilcott was untitled and with no wealth to speak of, she decided to stay away all of these years.”
“Until now,” Isabella said, liking the simplicity of it and deciding that it was bound to be accepted as the truth.
“Until now,” Anthony echoed with a nod of confirmation. “On their way to Kingsborough Hall for the ball,” he continued, “the Deerfords noticed a woman who reminded them of their daughter. Having never abandoned hope of finding her, they approached her, discovering to their joy and elation that it was indeed the long-lost Lady Margaret. Upon being introduced to her husband and children, they showed not the least bit of disapproval toward Mr. Chilcott but thanked him profusely for saving their daughter from her attackers and have since accepted him as a valuable member of the Deerford family.”
“I have to say that it does sound plausible,” Mr. Chilcott said.
“In addition,” Anthony pressed, addressing Isabella’s parents, “I shall see to it that you are moved either to one of the apartments at Kingsborough Hall or to a larger town house—whichever you prefer. Once we are through, nobody will dare so much as frown in your direction.” With a smile he turned to Isabella. “Now then, I believe your gowns will be ready tomorrow. I’ll ask Sands, my valet, to pick them up and have them delivered here so you can start packing.” Gathering her up in his arms, he then kissed her quite thoroughly upon her lips, not the least bit concerned that they had an audience.
“Are you almost ready, dear?” Isabella’s mother called from the other side of her closed bedroom door. “The duke is here to escort us, and judging from the way he keeps fidgeting with his cravat, I suspect he’s most anxious to see you.”