Page 16 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

Dora shrugged. “Marcus never liked him. He was three years older than Diccon, but for some reason saw him as a rival. For what, I don’t know.

” She gave a little shrug. “I sometimes wonder if it was because Diccon and I were such friends. Not that Marcus wanted me as his friend. He just didn’t want Diccon to have that pleasure.

Who knows? He went out of his way to be as unpleasant as he could to Diccon.

Terrible things. He is a bully, as you well know. As we both know…”

Isabella nodded. She could vouch for that.

“However, our grandmother doted on Diccon. Another thing that incurred Marcus’s rage.

I think Grandmama had favored Diccon’s father, her younger son, and so, quite naturally, she favored his child.

When he was old enough, he went to her and asked if she’d purchase him a commission in the army.

She took some persuading, but in the end she did, or, rather, she persuaded my father to do so.

And one day, off he went. I never saw him again.

Marcus says he died in battle. I like to think as a hero, as he was always my hero, and saved me more than once from Marcus’s anger. ”

Only it seemed he hadn’t died at all. Marcus, being Marcus and probably just because he enjoyed hurting his sister, had told her that her beloved cousin had perished.

A fresh wave of hatred for Marcus welled up in Isabella’s chest so violently that if she weren’t careful it was going to come spewing out of her mouth. She clamped it shut, just in case.

The path slewed sideways on the steepest part of the hill, the parkland beginning to appear between the trees. A herd of red deer were browsing where the woodland joined the meadows.

So, what did she think of the prodigal son so far?

That he looked far too much like Marcus for comfort.

A bit taller, maybe, with a face more weatherworn than Marcus’s had ever been, which was only to be expected after half a lifetime of soldiering.

A tougher, more careworn version of Marcus, perhaps.

Rougher, his edges not so sharp, and with a twinkle in his eye that Marcus had never had.

A decidedly attractive twinkle.

That he was attractive, she couldn’t deny, but it was in an entirely different way to Marcus.

And she wasn’t the impressionable girl she’d been at eighteen, when Marcus had come wooing her and her father with his suave good looks and his persuasive, loving words that had all been lies.

He’d promised her and Papa the world, and delivered none of it.

And his good looks, thanks in part to his excesses, had soon begun to wane, slurring into the appearance of what he truly was—a dissipate rake.

She also couldn’t deny that there was much she wanted to discover about this strange newcomer.

That in truth, she was fascinated by him.

That her unruly heart had quivered with something she’d never felt before when she regarded him.

Apart from at breakfast she’d had little chance to pose any questions, and for once, she’d felt an unaccustomed reticence.

Whether it was because of his resemblance to Marcus, she couldn’t be sure.

Was she wary of him because she feared he might have more in common with his cousin than just his looks? Possibly.

The track headed off along an avenue of lime trees towards the house, but to her right the parkland lay open and inviting.

A canter, this time perhaps. She didn’t want to bring Sultan back to his stable dripping with sweat.

A canter towards the north gates followed by a gentle walk back through the woods and past the lake to cool her horse off would be fun.

As luck would have it, she and Sultan arrived at the north gates just as Richard passed through them on his return from Newbury.

He was riding Douglas, the cob who was often used to pull the market cart. Why on earth would he want to ride a staid old cob when he had his choice of every horse in the stables? Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

She slowed Sultan to a walk. She’d have to be polite and speak to him, but that wouldn’t be too much of a chore.

There was nowhere for her to go and he’d definitely seen her so she could hardly just ride off.

She waited for him to draw level. Of course, Douglas was his cob now, as were all the horses.

Everything that had been Marcus’s was now his, including everything that had once been her father’s and should, if the world were not upside down, be hers now.

If only her father hadn’t been so impressed that a duke had offered for his only child.

In her heart, if she were honest with herself, she knew her father had been an easily impressed old fool.

Only he’d not had to suffer the consequences of his quest to climb the social ladder. She had.

“Good afternoon, Isabella.” Richard doffed his hat to her, the expression on his face hinting that he was pleased to see her.

Or if not that, at least not annoyed by her presence, as Marcus had so often been.

If only he didn’t so strongly remind her of Marcus, liking him would be much easier.

He was certainly handsome, but she well knew the old adage about beauty only being skin deep was all too true.

When her papa had told her she was to become engaged to a handsome young duke, she’d been fooled all too easily.

But not for long. And she certainly wasn’t about to allow herself to be fooled a second time, even if he did make her heart flutter in the most delicious way.

“Good afternoon… Richard.” Why was saying his name so hard?

She shied well away from addressing him as Diccon, in the familiar way Dora had.

But then, Dora had known him when they both were children.

He’d been Diccon to her then and clearly still was.

She eyed him with a touch of suspicion. How had his meeting with the man of business gone?

Allsop. Well, by the look on his face. But then, she’d never expected it to do anything else.

After all, what was there to go wrong with it?

He’d inherited the highest order of the nobility and a fortune in one fell swoop. He would be the envy of most people.

He fell in beside her and smiled, suddenly looking nothing like Marcus and positively boyish. “I see you’ve been taking advantage of the sunshine to take that ride I interrupted this morning.”

She nodded. “Sultan becomes a nightmare if he isn’t ridden every day.”

His gaze settled on her horse. “An Arabian?”

“Yes.”

Out of the corner of her eye she watched his riding style. He sat Douglas well enough, but there was something about him that suggested riding wasn’t something he was used to doing. But of course. He’d been an infantry officer. Which would be why he didn’t have the look of a cavalryman.

“I can see you’re not accustomed to riding every day.”

“Is it that obvious?”

She let herself smile at his discomfort. “Yes. It is.”

He shrugged, letting the cob walk on a long rein.

“Riding is not a passion of mine, and when I joined the army I’d already decided I wanted to be in an infantry regiment.

I’ve served in a succession of foot regiments.

I was firstly an ensign in the 42nd Foot and then later moved on to the 81st when I became a lieutenant.

It was only six years ago that I joined the 95th.

As your friend Wyndham pointed out, the 95th is a very new construction. ”

He spoke with a hint of regret in his tone. “Will you miss it?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. One thing she did not want to do was connect in any way emotionally with this man, handsome as he was. And now she’d offered him sympathy.

He nodded. “I will. It’s all I’ve known since I was little more than a boy.

It’s been my life, and I thought it always would be.

If I ever considered what it would lead to, I suppose it was to perhaps becoming a general or dying in battle on some foreign field.

I never thought I’d be leaving on my own two feet at five and thirty, as a major.

And returning to Stourbridge.” His voice dropped and his eyes took on a troubled expression.

Was it so awful for him to be returning home? She gazed about herself for a moment. Despite Marcus, she loved Stourbridge, and it was beyond her ken to picture someone not liking it at all.

The castle had come into view, its four stout, truncated towers rising above the brow of the hill they were riding up, the land undulating away into the distance, tree covered and green.

She had a sudden itch between her shoulder blades that she couldn’t shake off.

She didn’t want to be exchanging pleasantries with the man who would usurp her beloved home and the fortune that should have been hers, whatever her heart was trying to tell her.

It was all too much. “I’m sorry. I find I must hurry.

” She set her heel to Sultan’s side, and urged him into a canter for the last few hundred yards, leaving Richard behind her.

To her relief, he made no move to follow.