Page 5 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

“So I have been told all my life, but it hasn’t changed me before, and I doubt it would change me now.” Eliza smiled triumphantly. “I shall inform Mama that I’m taking you with us, and we will come here tomorrow to escort you. You need not fear being trapped here with my grouchy cousin.”

“Eliza!”

“I must be off. Thank you for your time, Adrian. Isobel, it was a delight meeting you.” She fluttered her fingers at them both in farewell, and all too soon, she was gone.

Silence reigned.

The duke slumped back in his chair. “Just because you have the friendship of my hoyden of a cousin does not mean anything has changed,” he warned her.

“I would never dream of it, Yer Grace,” she said, folding her napkin beside her plate. “But perhaps it’s time to stop treating me like the enemy.”

Alone once again—finally—Adrian sat in his study, his fountain pen poised in his hand above a blank sheet of paper.

What to tell his mother—and what to request of her. Should he really ask her to return home before she was due?

But she could not stay away when he had a young woman in his house.

He dipped his pen in the ink and began to write. Better he inform her of the facts of the situation. Eliza had attempted to take Lady Isobel into her household, but he could hardly allow that in good conscience when he did not know, truly, if she was telling the truth.

No, he had to keep the Scottish lady in his house until his mother returned. And in doing so, that allowed him an opportunity to learn about her a little more.

In particular, what she had meant about English lords. Something serious must have happened in Scotland for her to say something of that nature. And, if she was to be believed, it involved an English lord, one of his peers.

If there was some kind of problem, he should know about it.

Especially if it transpired that she had inappropriate connections with one.

Could he still be in Scotland, or would he have returned to England?

Chances were, Adrian would know him; the pool of English lords was not especially large.

Even if they were not close and had not exchanged more than a handful of words, he would have at least some indication of his character or a connection to him of some sort.

And Lady Isobel.

He had no idea what to make of her. Brash, brazen, bold.

Beautiful.

Unafraid.

He had yet to meet a lady not affiliated with his family—blood relative or not—who stood her ground quite so easily. He had a reputation for being cold and emotionless, and most ladies quailed before it.

Not she.

He just wished he knew whether he found it endearing or infuriating.

Jane laid Isobel’s dresses on the bed. Isobel chewed at her lip. Another maid ran her hand down the material. England was far warmer than Scotland; April in London was an order of magnitude warmer than Edinburgh.

She ought to have thought more clearly about everything. But when she had been prepping to leave, she had not been thinking clearly at all. Everything had been thrown in a trunk, and she had not considered what her life would look like once she reached her destination.

The ton. Events. Smiling and preening before the intrigued gaze of gentlemen.

Isobel hated the thought.

Yet she must find a husband before Moreton could find her. She did not have the luxury of not playing the game.

Jessica, one of the younger maids, held up one of Isobel’s heavier dresses, the material thick and heavy.

“This won’t do for this time of year, my lady,” she said.

Isobel pinched her nose. “Yes, I know. I will be far too hot.”

“Especially in the ballrooms.”

It was one of her prettiest dresses, bought for balls in Scotland, where the population was sparser and the weather colder.

Isobel ran her fingers along the pretty patterned velvet and silk blend. “Such a shame,” she murmured.

“Well,” the maid said, “I could always lighten it for you, my lady. Then you could wear it to events in London, too.”

Jane held up a cream chiffon. “This will do for tonight, I think, my lady.”

“Thank you, Jessica. If ye can lighten it, and it wouldn’t add too much to your workload…” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lady.”

Isobel slumped into a chair.

Another week—at least—of the duke’s company before his mother returned from Cornwall. Of all places in England for her to be, she had to have visited the furthest flung from Scotland.

“Is the duke always so bad-tempered?” she asked Jessica.

“Oh, well.” Jessica considered the bundle of fabric for a few minutes, her rosy cheeks flooding with still more color.

“Well no, he doesn’t have a temper. Really, he’s very good to his staff.

Cold, but not unpleasant. And never cruel.

” Her blush deepened. “And he’s good to us maids.

Doesn’t corner us on landings like other gentlemen might. ”

“Have, ye mean,” Isobel said, muttering under her breath. “Ye ought to report anyone who does that.”

“And who would I report them to, my lady? The Watch? No constable concerns himself with that sort of behavior.”

“The lady of the house, perhaps.”

“Mothers protect their sons, and wives prefer to live in ignorance. Besides, many wives cannot control such behavior.” Jessica shook her head.

“The duke is a good employer, my lady. He has never abused his power like that—not once, not to any of us. And if we ever have a problem, we can come to him and he will be fair. Not—he is never kind, precisely, but he is just.”

Isobel pursed her lips. In her experience of the duke, he had not been cold or remote.

Well, no, that wasn’t strictly accurate. He had been cold sometimes, retreating behind a mask. But his temper had come out all too often. A hot-blooded man, perhaps capable of holding it back behind an icy demeanor but very capable of feeling.

At least, very capable of anger. Very capable of pushing her to see whether she would bend in the face of his challenge.

She had not had the impression that he would make any inappropriate advances toward her, and perhaps under other circumstances, he might have been fair, but he was certainly not fair when it came to her.

The question was: what did it all mean?