Page 28 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

O n the day of the ball, with the invitations all long since dispatched and almost all of them back with eager acceptances, Richard had assumed that Isabella, and perhaps Dora, too, could afford to sit back and feel satisfied.

Their new gowns had arrived from Miss Chaloner with a full day to spare and were now hanging, wrapped in delicate tissue so no one could see what they looked like, in their bedrooms. And Isabella had browbeaten poor Dora into agreeing to wear hers rather than the old black one she’d tried to get out of her armoire.

In fact, Isabella had gone through Dora’s gowns while she was otherwise employed and removed every black dress. Determination was her middle name.

However, Isabella, determined or not, was clearly not a young lady inclined to inaction and resting on her laurels.

With the servants, wearing hunted expressions on their faces, preparing the rooms with extravagant displays of hothouse flowers and candlelit chandeliers, and an orchestra to supervise, she swept around the house like a small whirlwind, checking this and fiddling with that.

Little wonder that when he searched, Richard found Dora had wisely retreated out to the gardens with a book to take shelter in the summerhouse.

She looked up as he entered, her expression a curious mixture of pleasure and acute wariness.

Blaming her years at Marcus’s mercy for this nervous wariness was the easiest thing to do, and yet, just because it was easy to do so, it didn’t mean he wasn’t correct.

However, it was logical to assume Marcus had become the sort of adult he’d promised to be as a youth.

Dora laid the book in her lap, her whitened knuckles betraying how tightly she was clasping it. “Good afternoon, Diccon.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Returning a smile he hoped was reassuring, Richard sat beside her. How often had they played in here as children? Especially when they’d been trying to hide from Marcus. “I wondered if I might find you out here. Our bolt hole. It seems old habits are hard to break. From whom are you hiding today?”

She managed a more genuine smile this time.

“From Isabella, of course, lest she finds me a job to do that someone else has already done, and makes me irritate them. Much as they love her, the servants don’t like to have her breathing down their necks.

She should know by now they’re quite capable of preparing for a ball without her help. ”

He smiled back. “A wise move. And, I have to admit, it’s the reason I’m out here.

She seems to want my advice on everything about this ball.

Do I like the flowers in the entrance hall?

Should the platform for the orchestra be higher, or moved nearer the windows?

Will I look at the supper menu again?” He chuckled.

“I was forced to beat a tactical retreat. Hopefully she won’t find us here. ”

Dora’s grip on her book slackened as though his commiserative words had made her relax.

“She doesn’t mean to annoy. It’s just her way.

She likes to be in charge. She so often has had her way here at Stourbridge, because Marcus’s habit was to remain mostly in Town.

It was why she preferred being here to being in London.

Marcus was in London, and, of course, here she could be with her precious horses. ”

Richard stretched out his booted legs. He was wearing the new everyday breeches the tailor had made for him, but tonight he’d have to don true evening wear of silk breeches, tailcoat, and stockings.

Not something he was used to doing, nor relishing.

The informality of an army on campaign was looking more attractive by the minute.

He pushed that worry aside, content that it was something he wouldn’t have to do very often.

“I’m glad I have you to myself for once.

I must admit that I’m more than curious about Isabella’s marriage to my cousin.

Perhaps you might be able to fill me in. ”

“Oh.” How taken aback she sounded. She caught her breath and her eyes flew wide with what looked like alarm.

Again. Despite their problems with Marcus as children, he’d never known her as frightened as she appeared nowadays.

What was going on with her? Perhaps he could persuade her to confide in him. She always had in the past.

“Come,” Richard said, keeping his voice gentle and persuasive. “You must know more than most. You seem very close. Like sisters.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I feel if I were to disclose details of Bella’s marriage I would be betraying her confidence. You must allow me to keep her secrets for her. If she wishes you to know, she will no doubt tell you herself.”

Good God, what did she think he wanted to know?

He reached out a hand and patted hers, which was icy cold despite the warmth of the autumn day, feeling her startle like a frightened deer.

That she was hiding something was obvious.

But what? And was it the same thing Isabella was concealing?

And, even, should he be so intent on digging it out, despite his mission to find out the truth?

Might his curiosity only make matters worse?

He tried another smile, keeping his voice gentle and a little apologetic. “I only wanted to know if it’s true how she came to marry him.” And some more, but perhaps he could wheedle that out of her once he had this.

“Oh.” Her eyes darted sideways as though she might be considering flight. If she’d been a bird, her wings would have been fluttering in a panicked attempt to escape. “She was only a child, straight out of the schoolroom, when Marcus took it into his head to marry her.”

This was better. But he knew some of this already. “Is it true he was in dire financial straits and needed to find himself an heiress?”

She shrugged, perhaps feeling herself on more solid ground—the solid ground of honestly pleading ignorance.

“I have no idea. He would not have told me. Philip might know. He was working here then as assistant to the old estate manager, Mr. Burrows. You probably remember him. He died a few years ago now, after he’d retired.

Yes, Philip would know more of the estate finances than I do.

Don’t forget, I am but a woman and not considered able to understand things like money.

That is the domain of men.” Those last words were said with such a strong hint of sarcasm that Richard was reminded of the old Dora he used to know.

“You are one of the cleverest women I’ve ever met, Dora.

Even as a child you surpassed both Marcus and me in your studies.

I believe that was one of the reasons he so despised you.

” A thought buzzed into his head. “Does his dislike of you, and me, have anything to do with why you yourself aren’t married?

If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” Asking her to reveal her own story might make her more willing to tell Isabella’s.

She gave an eloquent shrug. “You may be right.” She paused.

“I should tell you that when Papa died, some thirteen years ago now, I was in the happy position of being engaged to be married to Sir Francis Litchfield, a fine gentleman who was one of Marcus’s old friends.

He’d met me while visiting Marcus, and we had formed an attachment to one another.

” She blushed. “I…I will admit to having cared for him, and Papa was prepared to settle a handsome dowry on me which no doubt rendered me more attractive in Sir Francis’s eyes.

So he asked Papa for my hand. The money might have lured him to begin with, but I think he truly cared for me, because he didn’t give a jot about my leg.

” She patted the offending limb. “He even told me that in no way had it prevented him from offering for me.”

Her eyes had taken on a faraway expression, as she gazed back down the tunnel of time. For a moment, once again, she was the Dora he remembered.

He patted her hand. “So why are you not now married to him?”

Her jaw set and anger kindled in her eyes, banishing the wariness and fear for a moment.

She spoke through almost gritted teeth. “Because when Marcus became duke, he refused to sanction our marriage, and, of course, to pay any dowry out. In part, it was because he wanted to keep the money for himself. I was still only twenty, so he had a perfect right to do so. It meant he fell out with Francis, but he said he didn’t care.

He said Francis could go to hell, but he was not marrying the sister of a duke.

” She patted her leg again. “He told me I was damaged stock and should not be allowed to breed. But I knew that what he really wanted was me here, at Stourbridge, where he could continue to torment me. It was one of his favorite pastimes… after you left.”

How bitter her words were. Under his hand he felt the tension in her grip on the book increase. She met his eyes, hers brimming with pain. “He took pleasure in it.”

What could he say? That as a thoughtless boy he’d given no consideration to how it would be for her, abandoned by her only friend? He swallowed. “I’m so very sorry, Dora.”

She shook her head. “It’s done now, and you can change nothing.

Perhaps if you had not gone, things would be very different.

I might even now be married, with children of my own…

and Marcus would not be lying in his grave…

” Her voice trailed off, and she gave an eloquent shrug.

“I do not wish to become maudlin. Let us speak of other things.”

He nodded, glad to push aside the guilt. “Don’t think of it. Neither of us can change the past, much as we would like to. So instead, tell me how it was that Isabella came to join you here.”