Page 23 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

“And as her friend, no doubt you would defend her whatever she had done.”

Wyndham set his cup down with a clatter, entirely missing the saucer and nearly upending coffee all over the table.

“Of course I would. Just as she would for me. That is what friends are for. I can see you can never have had any, or you would know.” He got to his feet.

“I find my appetite has quite vanished. I must leave you to breakfast alone. Good day to you, Stourbridge.” And he was gone.

Richard regarded his three-quarters full plate of cooling kedgeree for a long minute.

That had been interesting. As far as he could tell, Wyndham did indeed think Isabella had killed her husband, despite his protestations to the contrary.

They were far too insistent. He clearly knew next to nothing but believed the rumors true, and thought Isabella capable of such an act.

But just as clear was the fact that the man had no intention of ratting on her to the authorities, such as they were. Because she was his friend.

But did he, Richard, agree with Wyndham?

And did he really want to know? The answer to the latter question had to be yes.

As far as he had made out from his interview with Mr. Allsop, she was now a penniless widow.

Anything that had come from her father was part of the estate he himself had inherited from Marcus.

None of it was to go to her. She was in the position of indigent poor relation, much as he had been as a boy, and he was cast as her possible benefactor.

And beautiful as she was, the possibility that she might be a dangerous opponent still existed. A rather exciting possibility.

The estate already possessed one single woman in his cousin Dora, but she was a different type of person to Isabella.

For a start, he knew her and trusted her.

She’d been his childhood friend and companion, the only person he’d missed after he’d left to join the army.

He could live with her, but could he live in a house occupied by someone who had killed his predecessor in what might have been cold blood?

Even someone who looked like Isabella and had such a disturbing effect upon his equilibrium?

The question was, why had she killed Marcus, if indeed she had? She must have known she’d be left penniless if he died. Why would she be willing to risk that?

His cogitations were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, accompanied by the tap of a stick, and girlish laughter.

Dora and Isabella came into the breakfast room together, both clad in what should have been somber black day dresses.

Although Dora’s was demure and unadorned, Isabella’s had about it the look of a dress that didn’t want to be classed as mourning.

The black showed off her ivory skin to perfection, and her auburn hair gave a splash of color to her ensemble.

His stomach gave a disturbing flip. Was he falling for her all too evident charms?

Isabella, spurred on by her usual morning appetite for breakfast after her ride, had spent no more than a few minutes in changing from her riding habit into something more becoming for daywear.

Hawkins, her maid, who was used to her mistress’s habits, made no objection to the speed and merely buttoned her into one of the requisite black mourning dresses Isabella had designed herself and had made by the local dressmaker in Newbury—Miss Chaloner.

That they were black was the only concession to true mourning, as Hawkins had more than once pointed out, but now knew better than to comment on.

She knew all too well that Isabella always did what she wanted, especially since the death of the duke.

Once changed, Isabella emerged onto the galleried landing where she encountered Dora, much more demurely clad.

Her best friend’s solemn face softened into a smile of welcome, but nevertheless didn’t lose its perpetual worried frown.

“Bella, are you going down to breakfast? Perhaps you will lend me your hand on the stairs? My leg is troubling me more than usual this morning. I must have slept awkwardly on it.”

“Of course.” Isabella held out her arm and Dora linked hers through it.

They descended the stairs together, Dora’s cane tapping on the dark oak of the treads with every step, just as Wyndham strode across the hall and disappeared into the drawing room looking as though he was in a huff.

The staircase was the one thing in the house that threatened to daily defeat Dora, and Isabella had helped her up or down the flight many times.

Dora squeezed her arm. “And what do you think of our prodigal returned?”

Isabella shrugged. She would need to be careful what she said here.

“He looks a sight too much like Marcus for my liking, although as far as I can tell, he doesn’t seem to share his personality.

Thank goodness.” She chuckled. “And I can tell you he’s no horseman.

We had a lovely ride, but he could do with some pointers on his seat. ”

Dora pulled her friend to a halt on the half-landing.

“Never mind the way he sits a horse. Trust you to think that the most important thing about him. Does it bother you that he’s a little like Marcus?

I know there is a familial resemblance, but I’ve never thought it overly worrying.

Although when last I saw them side by side, Marcus was a man grown and Diccon still very much a boy. ”

Isabella frowned. “I suppose when he smiles he is nothing like Marcus, but every time I look at him, I admit to finding myself seeing Marcus before me again. It’s like seeing a ghost, or maybe a blurred reflection.

I’m not sure I like it.” She shook her head.

“I’ve a mind to suggest to him that you and I should go and live in the Dower House.

Then I wouldn’t have to keep looking at him.

” Which might be a very good idea considering how looking at him was really making her feel. Most confusing.

Dora nodded, a tinge of relief in her eyes.

“That sounds an excellent idea. As for me, I would give anything to be away from this house with its unwelcome memories.” She shuddered.

“We could do so, but I fear we would have to ask his permission and would need him to provide us with an allowance. Neither of us are in possession of an income that would furnish the required servants nor cover our living expenses. We would be, in fact, we are, very much beholden to our cousin for our living.”

Isabella’s frown deepened into a scowl. “And that in itself is enough reason for me to take an active dislike to this interloper.” She paused, Richard’s undeniably handsome face dancing before her eyes.

Most annoying. “And he’s had the infernal cheek to ask me to help him find a wife.

A woman who will come here and take over the running of the house and… and…”

“Take your place. I understand your annoyance. But if you are to choose him a wife, you can choose someone who will suit both of us, as well. Better to have a new friend installed here than a potential enemy.”

“I already thought of that.”

“So you told him you would?”

“Sort of.”

Dora smiled again. “Then perhaps we’d better take on this task between us.

I feel it might be a two-woman job. He will need to be steered well clear of any young lady who might have ideas above her station in life.

Or who might hold the purse strings so tightly you and I will be discomfited.

If we intend to eventually take on the Dower House, we will need to train Diccon’s wife-to-be so that she puts us first, or at any rate, not last.”

Isabella nodded. “I could not have put it better myself. We need to think of ourselves, and how a new duke with a new duchess will affect us. He can’t be allowed to let delusions of grandeur overtake him.

We will have to try to manage him far better than either of us ever could manage Marcus.

” She gave a shiver. No one had ever been able to manage Marcus.

She lowered her voice. “Although, I will tell you now that I have no intention of finding him a wife for quite some time. My objections to each young lady will be of the most imaginative.” She chuckled.

They descended the last few steps into the hallway and crossed to the breakfast room, arms still linked.

Dora nodded. “He won’t know what’s hit him,” she whispered, as Isabella pushed the door open.

Richard was seated at the head of the table, his coffee cup in his hand.

“Good morning, Diccon.” Dora disengaged her arm from Isabella’s and came over to plant a kiss on his cheek as he rose to his feet.

“Isabella has been telling me about your morning ride.” She sighed.

“I do sometimes wish I was able to ride myself and enjoy the mornings with her. And now with you as well. Perhaps I shall take the carriage out later on while the sun is shining.”

She sat down at the table, but Isabella went over to the sideboard where the breakfast was laid out. “What shall I fetch you?”

Dora’s sniffed, her nose quivering. “I find I’m rather hungry today, for once. Could I have eggs, do you think, and a slice or two of the bacon?”

Isabella brought this for Dora before returning to fill her own plate with the same. Glancing up, she caught Richard looking at her a little quizzically and smiled. “What? You think I would not help my best friend?”

Dora smiled as well. “Don’t chide him, Bella. He doesn’t know our ways.”

No, he didn’t know them at all, and they were going to make sure it stayed that way, then he wouldn’t be able to work out what they were up to. Poor sap. Poor handsome sap. He had no idea what was coming to him.

Richard pushed his own plate away. “My food has gone cold, and my appetite has vanished. Shall I pour you both some coffee?”

Isabella bestowed her sweetest smile on him. “That would be lovely, thank you.”