Why Dukes Say I Do (15 page)

Her auburn brows drew together with concern. “What do you mean, ‘irregular’?” she asked.

“The girth strap, the bit of leather that helps secure the saddle in place upon the horse’s back, was sliced almost through.”

Her lips tightened. “Sliced. Do you mean like with a knife?” she asked.

He gave a nod of assent. “Just like that,” he said firmly. “I have no way of knowing whether it was done before we left for the tenants’ or if someone did it while our horses were idle once we’d reached the village. I only know that for at least part of our ride today you were in immediate danger.”

Isabella rested her hands on either side of her soup dish; Trevor could see a fine tremble run through the one closest to his. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked, her voice low and slightly hoarse. “First someone damages the dowager’s carriage, then the note, and the snuffbox, and now this! It is too much to be borne!”

She started to stand up, but Trevor stopped her. “Wait, my lady,” he said sharply. “What’s this about a note and snuffbox? Do you mean to tell me you’ve received other threats from this blackguard?”

Trevor could see that she was reluctant to tell him, but she seemed to come to some sort of agreement with herself and told him about the threatening notes and the replica of her husband’s snuffbox.

“Why in god’s name didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Did you think I was so resentful of your reasons for coming that I would refuse to believe you?”

Isabella looked sheepish. “It wasn’t so much that,” she admitted, “as my own pride that kept me from speaking. It is hardly a thing to be proud of that someone has seen fit to threaten me in such an outrageous manner. I must have done something to bring this upon myself.”

“Don’t be absurd,” he said fiercely, and when the footmen came to remove his and Isabella’s soup bowls and replace them with the next course he gave the men a fright by growling at them in such a way that they removed themselves from the room at once. “Not only are you a guest in my home,” he seethed, “but as such you are a lady under my protection and it is an insult to both of us that this person would importune you so.”

“Ah yes,” Isabella said wryly, “it is an insult to you, of course. Pray do not let me get in the way of your consequence, Your Grace.”

Now it was Trevor’s turn to feel sheepish. “I didn’t mean it that way, of course. I simply am angry that you didn’t tell me before so that I might ensure your safety more so than I have done up to this point. My god, the fellow has even managed to get into your bedchamber, it seems, to leave threats.”

“Not necessarily,” Isabella said thoughtfully. “He might not have delivered the snuffbox himself, but simply paid one of your servants to deliver it.”

Trevor stood, grateful to have some clear-cut action he could take to alleviate some of his annoyance. Going to the bellpull, he rang it, and when Templeton arrived Trevor instructed the butler to call all of the servants into the hallway to be addressed by him in fifteen minutes.

“Very good, Your Grace,” the butler said, hurrying away to call the servants to order.

“Are you sure this is what you wish to do?” Isabella asked nervously. She was clearly not comfortable with being the reason one of his servants might be sacked. But Trevor was damned if he’d continue to nurse a viper in his bosom, as it were, for one minute longer.

“Of course I’m sure,” he said curtly. “The sooner we find out who it was that left the snuffbox in your bedchamber, the sooner we can ensure your safety.”

But when a few minutes later all of the servants were assembled in the hallway, not one of them admitted to taking a package up to Lady Wharton’s room. And to his annoyance, Trevor believed them. After he’d dismissed them to return to their own dinner, he went back to the dining room with Isabella, who claimed she was no longer hungry. Even so, he insisted that she try some of the removes Cook had prepared for them. And by the time the last course was served, she’d eaten a few bites at least.

Since it was just the two of them, Trevor didn’t leave the room for after-dinner port, but they both retired to the drawing room and the tea tray.

“And you have no notion of who might be doing this to you?” Trevor asked one last time as Isabella stirred sugar into her tea. “It’s da … er, dashed strange that this coward would decide to accost you now, and not while you are in London. Surely he must have followed you from London into Yorkshire, and that is hardly an easy prospect.”

“I know,” she agreed. “But whoever it is clearly wishes me to be frightened. I wonder if it could be someone who does not wish for you to take up your responsibilities as the Duke of Ormonde.”

“But with all due respect,” Trevor said with a half smile, “you haven’t been particularly successful at convincing me.”

“No,” she agreed, smiling back at him, “but you have said that if I give you a chance to show me how important you are around Nettlefield you will at least come to London and give your grandmother a hearing. Perhaps whoever this is wishes for me to leave Yorkshire before I am able to do so.”

“It’s a thought,” Trevor agreed, taking a sip of tea. “Whatever the case, you must know that from now on you are no longer allowed to wander about the house and estate grounds alone.”

Though she seemed reluctant to do so, Isabella agreed.

“Now,” Trevor said, “tomorrow we will rise early and travel to York. If nothing else you will find the company of my sisters to be a distraction from your worries.”

“Indeed yes,” Isabella said with a grin, paraphrasing Johnson to say, “A lady who is tired of shopping is tired of life.”

“At least you did not say it about London,” Trevor said, following her up the stairs to their separate bedchambers. “That is a start.”

He was glad to have distracted her from the worry that must certainly be weighing upon her now. Tomorrow they would be away from Nettlefield House and whoever it was who threatened her, and his sisters would surely raise her spirits. But on the day after he would see to it that the search for her tormentor began in earnest.

*   *   *

After a night spent tossing and turning, worrying over who it might be who wished her harm, Isabella awoke the next morning groggy but determined to enjoy her trip to York. She did not tell the girls about what it was that troubled her, though, with the perspicacity of youth, they seemed to guess that something was wrong with her.

Even so, the girls were excited to be traveling into town, and Isabella let herself be swept up in their enthusiasm and did her best to ignore the duke, whose anger on her behalf last evening had left her feeling confused. It was one thing for him to show distant civility to her as a guest in his home, but the way he’d leapt to her defense had felt more than a little comforting. Had she ever been able to depend upon a man to offer her his protection with no questions asked like the duke had last night? She couldn’t remember such a time. It was more than a little seductive.

She had hoped he would choose to ride alongside the carriage, as gentlemen often did on such trips, but to her dismay he climbed up into the traveling carriage behind them. It was difficult not to notice that he’d donned more formal attire than what he wore to attend to the home farm and estate. She was displeased to see that he looked even more handsome in town clothes then he did in riding dress. Drat the man.

Fortunately for Isabella, Eleanor and Belinda were more than talkative enough to remove any onus from Isabella to carry the conversation. She peered out the window at the countryside as the sisters argued over whether the puff sleeve was indeed a fashion statement that would last into next season. As she let the sisters’ chatter wash over her, she felt Trevor’s gaze on her. But when she dared to look at him from beneath her lashes, he quickly looked away.

Their silence lasted only until they reached York, where they descended from the carriage in what Isabella assumed was the city’s main shopping district, which to her surprise was far more sophisticated than she would have expected so far from London.

“Mrs. Renfrew’s shop is just down here,” Trevor said, taking Isabella’s arm, as if they were indeed friends. She would have chided him for his cheek, but she didn’t wish to embarrass his sisters. Or so she told herself, trying to ignore the tingling in her belly at the feel of his strong arm beneath her gloved hand.

“I thought you might wish to visit the tobacconist’s, or the boot maker’s,” she said coolly as they followed his sisters to the dressmaker’s storefront. “Most gentlemen do not relish a trip to the dressmaker’s, I think.”

“I can hardly allow you to approve Eleanor’s gowns,” Trevor said calmly. When Isabella attempted to pull her arm out of his grasp, he held firm. “Don’t rip up at me, Lady Wharton. I simply meant that I cannot impose upon you in that way.”

“You don’t trust my judgment is what you mean,” she hissed as they stepped into Mrs. Renfrew’s.

“I don’t trust Eleanor’s judgment,” he said in a low voice, turning to look Isabella fully in the eyes. She felt her heart speed up when she saw the sincerity in his gaze. “I know you will try your best to steer her in the right direction,” he continued, absently rubbing her arm where he held it. Was he even aware he was doing it? she wondered, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. “But Eleanor can be quite forceful when she wants her way, and I do not intend for her to appear at the Palmers’ ball looking like a lady of the night.”

Swallowing her annoyance, Isabella conceded that he had a point. When she was Eleanor’s age she’d tried to dampen her petticoats, though her mama had soon put a stop to that. And Isabella had only a few days’ acquaintance with the girls, for all that she felt as if she’d known them all their lives. She might indeed need Trevor’s backing up her opinion to make Eleanor see reason should she wish to try something more daring than Isabella could allow.

“All right,” she said at last. She hadn’t forgotten his harsh words of the night before, but she vowed to make a fresh start with him today. If only for the time they were in York.

Though he did not make mention of his title, Mrs. Renfrew was clearly aware that the party that had just strolled into her shop was a ducal one. And she saw to it that they were all treated to her best service. To Isabella’s surprise, the woman even seemed to know who she was, though she had never been to York in her life. Clearly the gossip networks of Yorkshire were stronger than she could have guessed.

“Lady Wharton,” Mrs. Renfrew said with a deep curtsy, “may I say what a delight it is to have someone as fashionable as you in my shop? I hope you will allow me, if I am not too bold, to make up something for you to wear to the Palmers’ ball as well?”

Isabella was under no illusions that Mrs. Renfrew was offering to do so out of generosity of heart. Having a client like Isabella would be a feather in the woman’s cap. A feather she would boast about to any and all who came into her shop. Though Isabella would not have minded a new gown, this trip was for Eleanor.

“I thank you, Mrs. Renfrew,” she said with a slight inclination of her head, “but I’m afraid I brought far too many gowns with me from London as it is. And today is for Eleanor and Belinda. I will be happy to sing your praises, however, if you please my young friends.”

The older woman acknowledged the refusal with grace. “Of course, my lady,” she said quickly. “I believe I have just what Miss Eleanor needs to be the belle of the ball.”

Mrs. Renfrew took Eleanor and a still-chattering Belinda back to the area where they would be measured within an inch of their lives, leaving Isabella to wait with Trevor for them to return. They chatted amiably for some minutes about nothing of consequence. Isabella could feel yesterday’s argument hovering in the wings, but as she was the one owed an apology, she was loathe to bring it up. Unable to endure another moment of tension, she was about to excuse herself to look at ribbons in the front of the shop when Trevor spoke. “Lady Wharton, I apologize if I was unkind yesterday,” he began, genuine remorse clouding his blue eyes. “I’m afraid that my grudge against my family sometimes makes—”

He was forestalled from finishing his remarks by a feminine squeal, and Isabella turned to see Mrs. Palmer and Sir Lionel Thistleback hurrying toward them.

Eight

Isabella bit back a groan at the sight of Mrs. Palmer accompanied by Lord Wharton’s dearest friend. She hadn’t seen Sir Lionel in months and, frankly, she was pleased with the arrangement. He had borne witness more than once to Ralph’s harsh treatment of her, and ever loyal to him, Lionel had done nothing to help her. Men like Ralph and Lionel, she’d learned, were bound together by their shared interest in anything that took pleasure at the expense of others. And more often than not that pleasure had been at Isabella’s expense.

It also sounded as if, from the way Mr. Palmer had allegedly treated the brother of Mrs. Jones, the poacher, Thistleback’s host was cut from the same cloth as his guest. Perhaps Isabella should save some of her condolences for the unfortunate Mrs. Palmer.

“My dear Lady Isabella,” Sir Lionel crooned after introductions had been made, as he and his hostess joined them in the small sitting room where Mrs. Renfrew kept her pattern books. “It has been an age since I’ve seen you. Since your husband’s funeral, I believe. Such a sad occasion.”

Hearing the man mention her husband’s funeral so soon after she’d received a physical reminder in the form of his snuffbox sent an involuntary shudder through her. Still, Isabella could hardly mention the matter. She kept her own counsel but tried to be gracious to her husband’s friend. “Indeed, I believe you are correct, Sir Lionel. But we must press on. After all, it’s what dear Ralph would have wished.”

Thistleback’s grin indicated that he knew full well that it was not what her late husband would have wished. However, Thistleback did not call her to task for the fib. “My lovely hostess”—he gestured to Mrs. Palmer, who had watched their exchange with avid fascination—“has told me that you are visiting the Duke of Ormonde’s home now.” Coming from Thistleback, the description sounded as if she were temporarily being kept by the duke while she waited to be claimed by her next lover. Isabella steeled her features not to reveal her disgust.