Page 12

twelve

W here the hell was Isabella?

After Anthony had instructed the maestro to play the waltz and stopped to chat with a few of his guests, he’d lost sight of her. He couldn’t find Patrick, either.

“Anthony.”

He came to a halt at hearing Grandmama’s voice. “It’s done. The waltz is next.”

“I know.” There was a sadness about her that worried him. “Isabella is in the ladies’ room at the end of the corridor. She had a little accident.”

“What accident? Did you tell her anything?”

Her green eyes flashed. “Don’t use that tone with me. I didn’t do anything. She cut her lip on her own. Now go and find her. I’ll tell her parents you wish to talk to them in private.”

“Please no. I need to talk to Isabella first.”

“All right.”

He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Grandmama.” He started to dash towards the corridor, but she stopped him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. For her sake.”

So did he.

“She’s younger than you are, inexperienced and very na?ve.”

“I know.”

She snapped her fan open and closed it again. “Just go.”

He found Isabella in the middle of the corridor patting her curls and looking around. Grandmama was wrong. The pink gown suited Isabella perfectly; it exalted her rosy cheeks and pink lips. She fiddled with her hands when she saw him.

“What happened?” he asked. “Grandmama said you cut your lip.”

“I did. With my fan.” She pointed to her bottom lip where a thin slash marred her skin. “Not my proudest moment. But Her Grace was of great help. She was very kind.”

She lowered her gaze, and he doubted his grandmother had been completely kind.

For a split moment, he wished he could kiss her lips and soothe the pain. Or simply hold her.

He offered her his hand. “May I have the honour? The waltz is about to begin.”

“Of course.” She took his arm hesitantly.

Anthony sucked in a breath when she slid her gloved hand over his arm. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

She smiled, and he forgot what the hell he was doing for a moment.

“I didn’t have the time to talk to my mother,” she said as they walked towards the ballroom.

“We’re just dancing a waltz for now. I won’t make any formal announcement.”

“Yes, but everyone will spread rumours about us.”

He stopped before entering the ballroom. “If you don’t want to dance, I won’t insist.”

She gripped his arm more tightly, and his heart stuttered as he feared she might say she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

“I don’t mean to be cruel to your sister, but I’m sure she realises we aren’t a good match,” he said.

The other dancers formed a circle around the ballroom among mutters and whispers since the music didn’t start. The maestro was waiting for Anthony.

“You don’t mean to propose to Helen, do you?” Isabella whispered.

“No.”

“Why?”

“She’s beautiful and graceful. My grandmother adores her. But I find her lack of honesty disappointing.”

Isabella’s delicate eyebrows drew together. “Lack of honesty?”

“She never says what she thinks. She only says what she thinks will please me. I’m surrounded by people like her. I need a wife who shares her true thoughts and feelings with me.” And whose happy energy was contagious.

“Becoming a duchess is everything for her.” She gripped his arm.

“Exactly.”

“So do you wish to propose to…”

“You.”

She stumbled. “Anthony, I’ll break Helen’s heart.”

“Her dream is to become a duchess, not to marry me . She doesn’t care about me. I doubt she likes me.”

“But we…we don’t really know each other, either.”

“We’ll spend time together to know each other. I won’t force a decision on you. I won’t talk to your father unless you want me to. I want you to be completely free to make a decision. All I’m asking is to give me the chance and the honour of courting you. You’ll have plenty of time to think. I won’t rush you.” He dipped his head. “For now, will you dance with me?”

The other couples got ready to begin the dance, craning their necks at the maestro.

“I need a wife who understands me when I talk about the parliamentary bills, the constant disagreements between the Tories and the Social Democratic Federation, a wife who can help me in my decisions.”

“I’m not an expert.”

“I’m not asking you to be one. I don’t want you to be one. I’m surrounded by experts in politics. I only need your honest opinion.”

“Do you think I can be of help?”

“You’re more clever than you think.”

A few sweet notes came from the orchestra as the dancers grew impatient. He coiled his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Her rose scent covered that of the other ladies’ perfumes.

He wasn’t being completely honest because, while he needed all those things in a wife, he also liked her because she made him laugh and because she was kind and compassionate. When they were together, the world was less dark, and a little flame of life sparked in his heart.

He leant closer to her and whispered, “Dance with me. Please.”

“With pleasure.”

Relief overwhelmed him. He led her to the middle of the ballroom, ignoring the glances. He nodded at the maestro.

The music started. He took the first box steps, and she followed him with hesitant movements. He had to slow down to guide her through the next sequence.

“Is everything all right?” He made her twirl.

“My shoes are a tad tight, and my toes are crushed and sweaty.”

He chuckled. “See? I like your honesty. Another lady wouldn’t have said that.”

“I love dancing, but the wrong shoes turn it into a challenge. And just so you know, I love gardening, too.”

“My mother loved flowers and plants. I’m afraid that since her passing, our conservatory has been neglected. But if you wish to take care of it, I’ll be more than happy.”

“If I agree to be your duchess?”

“Even if you don’t.”

She gave him her first bright smile since the beginning of the ball.

On the sweet notes of The Blue Danube , he let her twirl around the ballroom. She laughed when she turned under his arm and during the quick chassés. He silently thanked the Duke of Kent for having introduced many waltz steps decades ago. The two-hands-across step brought him so close to Isabella that he could see the golden specks in her irises, and when they clasped hands, the world became perfect.

If her parents were watching, he couldn’t tell. His focus was only on her.

When the waltz ended and the couples clapped at the maestro, she was radiant. And he basked in her radiance like someone who saw the sun after a long time in the dark.

“Wonderful.” She brushed a curl from her cheek.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

He escorted her to the dining room, looking forward to sharing dinner with her. Grandmama followed him with her keen gaze that promised a long conversation afterwards. From a corner, Helen glared at them as well, her face flushed.

Isabella drew in a breath. “Helen must be furious with me.”

“We can talk to her together if you wish. I’ll tell her it was only a waltz.”

“But it wasn’t.”

He was about to tell her that Helen would forget him easily when Rogers stopped next to him and leant closer.

“Your Grace, there’s an urgent matter that requires your immediate intervention.”

He hoped it wasn’t another scandalous fashion emergency. “If you’ll excuse me, Isabella.”

Isabella bowed her head.

“I’m sorry to leave you in a moment like this. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Do not worry.” She touched his arm briefly, but his heart stuttered.

Anthony followed the butler out of the dining room and along the corridor towards the library.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

He didn’t need an answer; the angry voice of Lord McFall echoed in the hallway.

“How dare you?” McFall roared.

“It’s a misunderstanding.” That was Patrick.

Anthony strode into the library, skidding to a stop at the threshold.

Lady McFall trembled in a corner next to the window, covering herself with a curtain; she was visible only from the neck up. Patrick’s shirt was open, and his waistcoat and jacket were on the carpet. The scene didn’t bode well at all.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Patrick rubbed his chin. “Lord McFall is under the impression that something untoward must have happened here between his wife and me.”

The lady in question shivered, her eyes widening.

“Gloucester.” Lord McFall’s neck was so tense a tendon stood out. “Your brother was seducing my wife here on that table, and he has the audacity to negate the truth. I saw them with my own eyes.”

“Nothing happened. McFall is overreacting. That’s all,” Patrick said with nonchalance.

Had Anthony been alone with his brother, he would have told him not to insult his intelligence. He didn’t know what was worse—Patrick having seduced a married lady or Patrick’s flippant attitude. No, the worst thing was poor Lady McFall’s reputation.

He turned to his butler. “Rogers, fetch Mrs. Stamell to assist Lady McFall and take her to the ladies’ room.”

“Sir.” Rogers hurried away.

“McFall,” he said. “Perhaps we should let the lady go and collect herself while we discuss the matter.”

McFall closed a fist. “My wife isn’t going anywhere until I hear the truth from Lord Patrick.”

Good luck with that.

They could spend the whole week in the library. What Patrick lacked in common sense, he made up for with his stubbornness in always deflecting responsibilities.

“As I said, nothing serious happened. We were simply joking around.” Patrick buttoned his shirt and had the decency to offer his jacket to the lady since her clothes were nowhere to be seen. “Then McFall barged into the room and started shouting.”

“I’m not stupid, Lord Patrick,” McFall said. “You don’t expect me to believe your cock-and-bull story, do you? My wife is half naked.”

Patrick shrugged. “Yes, but as I said, nothing happened.”

“Because I intervened.” McFall thumped the desk.

Dammit . “Patrick.” Anthony kept his tone calm. “At least you could clear the lady’s name and take responsibility for whatever happened here.”

Patrick held up his hands. “Of course. Everything that has never happened here is my sole responsibility.”

“McFall, be reasonable. We should avoid a scene.” Anthony glanced at the lady. “Let your wife compose herself.”

McFall straightened. “Gloucester, you’re right. We should end the conversation here.”

Anthony glanced at the still half-hidden lady when the housekeeper arrived. “My lady, you should leave. My housekeeper, Mrs. Stamell, will take good care of you.”

Mrs. Stamell curtsied from the door. “Your Grace.”

Lady McFall walked out of the room, clutching the front of Patrick’s jacket. Layers of fabric fell in disarray over her legs. Her stockings were bunched at the ankles.

Anthony shot a burning glare at his brother before turning towards the woman. “My lady, wait.” He followed her to the dimly lit hallway and lowered his voice. “Are you afraid of going home with your husband? Perhaps you should go to a relative or a friend’s house tonight. Mrs. Stamell will have a carriage ready for you to take you wherever you want.” He didn’t believe McFall to be violent towards his wife, but better to be cautious.

Lady McFall curtsied. “Thank you. I’ll go to my sister’s.”

“Good.” After a nod to Mrs. Stamell, Anthony inhaled deeply before entering the library again where the tension was oppressive. “McFall, I’m sure Patrick will apologise for his behaviour.”

Patrick arched his brow but didn’t say a word. Good for him.

“I have a better idea.” McFall straightened in front of Patrick and slapped him with a glove. “Lord Patrick, I’ll see you at dawn. Battersea Park. Pistols. Don’t be late.”

Bloody hell. Anthony rubbed his forehead.

Patrick flourished a hand and bowed. “As you wish.”

“What?” Anthony roared. “Patrick, apologise this instant.”

“McFall challenged me. I want to accept the challenge.”

“This challenge is ridiculous,” Anthony said.

McFall’s cold demeanour was more disturbing than his hot anger. “Your brother accepted the challenge. There’s nothing else to discuss.” He went to leave the library.

Anthony stepped in front of him. “You know this is a mistake.”

“The only one who made a mistake is Lord Patrick. He insulted me and humiliated me. I’ll see you tomorrow, Gloucester.” McFall strode out of the library, his heels clicking against the marble floor.

Anthony grabbed Patrick by the shoulders. “Why the hell did you accept the challenge? Are you barking mad? McFall was the best shooter in the Scots Guards, and he’s now in the Coldstream Guards. And your idea is to agree to duel with him?”

Patrick shrugged himself free. “He’s a bloody buffoon.”

“He’s a scorned husband with excellent aim and more than fifteen years of impeccable service in the army while you’ve never fired a shot without hurting yourself. You’ll be dead in a minute.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m cleverer than you think. Duels are illegal. I’ll go to Battersea Fields with the entire constabulary of London, and while McFall will be in trouble, I’ll be free.” Patrick winked. “Genius.”

The shock silenced Anthony for a moment. “Honestly, you’re depriving a village somewhere of an idiot. This duel will be considered valid and fair, because a well-respected military officer is involved. The entire constabulary will turn their backs and leave you alone. Do you have any idea of how many soldiers McFall saved? He risked his neck to retrieve wounded men from the battlefield, and just so you know, half of the police officers in London are former soldiers who worship him. No one will stop McFall, and if he asked one of the peelers to shoot you, they would bloody do it.”

Finally, Patrick lost his cocksure attitude. “But McFall won’t kill me, will he?”

“If you want to take the chance, be my guest.” Anthony ran out of the library, chasing McFall down the corridor. He ought to stop this nonsense. “McFall! You must listen to me.”

Working his jaw, McFall stopped, his nostrils flaring. “Gloucester.”

“I’m sure we can settle the matter in some other way.”

McFall lifted his chin, fists clenched at his sides. “I respect you, and I don’t have any quarrels with you. But your brother’s behaviour was utterly disgraceful.”

“I agree,” Anthony said, “but a duel is an extreme solution.”

“More than fair, Gloucester.”

“You’re a renowned shooter. My brother has never hit anything and has no military training. It’s not fair.”

“That’s not my problem,” McFall said. “Tomorrow. At dawn. Or I swear I’ll come here and shoot him in cold blood. And this is the last time we discuss the matter.” He bowed and walked away. The sound of his angry footsteps thundered.

Anthony returned to the library, half-wishing to strangle his brother. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Pale and shivering, Patrick flinched at the tone. “He overreacted.”

“You were ravishing his wife.”

“I’m not her only lover. Lady McFall has a string of lovers and so many affairs?—”

“How does that make your situation better? Bloody hell!” He rubbed his aching forehead. “Go to your room. We’d better get ready for tomorrow. We need a strategy and to practise.”

“You’re overreacting, too. He won’t kill me. He’s angry now. Tomorrow morning, he’ll understand a duel is madness, and I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll have those words engraved on your tombstone.”