Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (11 page)

“I tire of hearing others sing Lord Swenton’s praises.”

Isolde noted how the duke flinched. “I am not one to interfere with any man’s home,” he said coldly. “But there are few men finer than John Swenton. Perhaps, Sister, you would tire less of others if you would consider a kind word for the baron from your lips. I have heard your shrewish tongue call him foul names and make vile accusations. Think upon it. Swenton could have abandoned you to poverty and shame upon the Continent.”

“The baron would never have turned his head from me. Look at the loyalty he has displayed for a woman who rejected him as her son. Surely his wife could know as much freedom as his mother. Moreover, I did not say I meant to ignore my position, only that I wish to know a bit more of Society before my retreat to the wilds of Yorkshire.”

Ashton warned, “Swenton has the legal right to remove you from Town. He does not require your permission.”

“And I have the guile to leave all of you behind.” Lady Satiné glared at her family trio. “It would be quite ironic if I disappeared. For each of you to know what it means to know a throwaway.”

The duchess’s cheeks flushed with irritation. “What dispensation do you believe you have suffered?”

“First our parents…” the baroness countered.

The duchess hissed, “Yes,
our
parents! Yours and mine and Cashémere’s. We each suffered with the deaths of Edward and Chenille Aldridge. At least you were sent to Uncle Charles. Meanwhile, Cashémere knew the disabuse of Kentigerna Aldridge.”

“And you came to the Fowlers,” Lady Swenton declared triumphantly. “Have you ever considered how it might have been either Cashémere or me as Thornhill’s duchess if the situation had been different?”

The duke protested, vehemently. “I can assure you, Lady Swenton, I would never have chosen another, and, obviously, Lord Yardley’s heart knew the difference between you and your twin. A change of circumstances would never have brought you to my attention.
What if’s
are for schoolgirl dreams.”

“Satiné, you speak with falsehoods,” Ashton remonstrated. “I have always done my best by you. You wanted for nothing.”

“Except a mother’s love,” the girl sobbed. “I did everything to please you.” Lady Swenton’s bottom lip trembled, and Isolde wished to rush to her side and provide comfort. This family drama was difficult to watch. “To be the perfect niece, but you turned your back on me when I thought to find my way in the world. When you discovered me no longer flawless. You left me behind, just as did my parents, and as did Cashémere when my twin had claimed her earl. You thought more of outmaneuvering Uncle Samuel than you did for my safety.”

Baron Ashton’s expression fell. “There is not a day goes by,” he said with self-chastisement, “that I do not rue the day I withheld what I knew of Samuel Aldridge.”

“Yet, it was I,” the baroness spat the words, “who paid for your singularity. Uncle Samuel convinced Charters to claim husbandly privileges before the Scot dragged me before the anvil. Lord Averette did so not to punish me, but to vex you!” Isolde’s heart slammed into her ribs. Such duplicity changes a person forever.

The duchess pleaded, “Do you not understand? It was Uncle Samuel who arranged for the carriage accident, which killed our parents?” Isolde quickly swallowed the gasp that rushed to her lips. She had never known such cruelty among family members. Her own brothers and cousins often had spats over insignificant events, but they were always strongly loyal to one another.

Unabashed, Lady Swenton countered, “Yet, Samuel Aldridge has gone free, while my punishment continues.”

Ashton said gruffly, as if drained emotionally by the confrontation, “Do you see your life with Baron Swenton as part of that retribution? My God, Satiné! Swenton risked his life to save you from the glass cone, and now he risks his reputation to protect yours. If you truly feel abused by your connection to our family, then castigate us, but release Swenton. Seek an annulment or a divorce.”

No longer having the ability to contain her ire, Lady Swenton was on her feet. “Baron John Swenton! I tire of hearing of his goodness! You praise him as if the baron is some sort of saint.” She stormed away toward the bay of windows, and Isolde took the opportunity to make her escape through the door leading to the duchess’s dressing room; yet, she did not close the door completely. As unpredictable as Lady Swenton had been of late, Isolde meant to hear the rest. She would know Baron Swenton’s fate and warn him if his wife meant to make him a fool. “And I the sinner,” the girl finished bitterly.

Baron Ashton rose to take Satiné into his embrace, but she skittered away from him. “No one despises you. Nor do we place all the blame upon your shoulders. We each know how you suffered from Lachlan Charters’s treachery.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Come home with me to Chesterfield Manor. We will start anew. Just you and me. I will send word to Swenton to dissolve the marriage.”

Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks. From where she looked on from the door’s hinged opening, Isolde recognized Lady Swenton’s pained loneliness. “Where would that particular resolution leave me? Not even worthy of being a baroness. Likely married off to a member of the gentry or a gentleman farmer in exchange for a hefty dowry. A position from where I can receive the pity of all those within the community. I think not, Uncle.”

The duchess accused, “Then you mean to keep Lord Swenton at bay until you know someone more
worthy
? Does Lord Morse have so much to offer?”

Defiantly, Lady Swenton’s fists came to her waist. “You have your duke secured, Duchess. You have no idea what the remainder of womankind must suffer. You are a silly chit, Sister Dear!” she snarled. “Have you forgotten, Morse is the heir to the Duke of Falkenberry.”

“Until Falkenberry marries and produces an heir,” Thornhill corrected.

“Everyone expects me to take another lover,” Lady Swenton flippantly declared. “I am a damaged commodity. If I must ply my favors, why not with the son of a duke?”

Defeat swarmed Isolde’s chest. She did not believe Lady Swenton truly meant to accept Lord Morse’s insinuations, but she knew enough of the girl to recognize how if her family did not withdraw their objections, the baroness would act upon her threat. Her mistress was not of a weak resolve.

The baron’s ashen expression darkened. “You speak of sexual favors as if you were a courtesan!”

“Believe what you will, Uncle.” Lady Swenton turned on her heels to exit, but the duke stepped into her path.”

“I will have no one speak such vile aspersions in my home. You will apologize to the baron and your sister this minute or leave my house immediately,” he demanded. “Family connection or not, I will not have you abuse my duchess under her roof.”

Isolde knew the duke had erred in his estimation of his wife’s sister when Lady Swenton’s shoulders shifted stubbornly. “As I have said previously, this family has never accepted my decisions as viable. As you have instructed, Your Grace, I will set Sally to packing my bags.” The baroness did even afford the duke a curtsy of respect to signal her exit.

“Wait!” the baron called. “Where will you go? You have a son for whom you must provide.”

“A son I never…”

Isolde whispered the word
wanted
to complete the baroness’s thoughts.

“I shall not go to York if that is what you assume. I mean to enjoy London while I may.” The baroness shoved past the duke to jerk open the exterior door to duchess’s sitting room. Hiking her skirts, Lady Swenton stalked away. Realizing she must convince her mistress to change her mind, Isolde rushed through the dressing room to intercept the baroness in the passageway. Bursting through the secondary door, Isolde expected to find her mistress striding toward her in a huff. Unfortunately, between Isolde and the girl was Mrs. Pleasance with Edward Fowler in her arms. Prior to the explosive conversation of a few moments earlier, the Thornhill nurse had been summoned to the duchess’s sitting room.

In Satiné’s Swenton’s countenance, Isolde recognized the girl’s intent before she acted upon it. “No!” she cried, and from the opposite door, an echoing chorus called the same.

Not understanding the baroness’s intent, their chorus of warnings brought Mrs. Pleasance to a stumbling halt, but the woman’s hesitation only played into the baroness’s blind ire. Anger coursing through the girl, she shoved the nurse from her path, knocking the nurse backward into an ornate table and candelabra. Mrs. Pleasance instinctively reached a hand to steady her stance, which sent the boy tumbling precariously from her arms.

Isolde had had no time to consider the consequences: She dove for the boy–sliding along on a carpet runner upon the polished hardwood floor–her arms outstretched.
Thunk!
Somehow, she had caught the babe and rolled to her back. Clutching him tightly, young Edward’s cries filled her heart with joy.

In the next instant, the duke was kneeling beside her. Without a word, he removed the child from Isolde’s stiff fingers and handed him to the hovering duchess. “Are you injured?” he asked breathlessly.

Isolde’s heart raced, and she was certain more than one bruise had formed on her knees and elbows. “I have no notion,” she said in bewilderment. “Is the wee one well?”

The duke looked to his wife. “Edward’s lungs have announced he does not wish to repeat the game his aunt practiced; however, my son does not appear to have touched the floor.”

“I wish I could claim likewise,” Isolde said with an ironic chuckle.

“Should I send for a physician?”

Isolde shook off his offer. “Might you assist me to my feet?”

The duke extended his hand. “If you ever require my service, you need only to ask. Edward has your quick actions to thank for saving him from what could have been a incapacitating injury.”

Isolde sat cautiously. “I appreciate your gratitude, Your Grace, but you owe me…” Unfortunately, she could not disguise the wince of pain running down her arm. “Perhaps a surgeon would be in order, Your Grace,” she whispered breathlessly, while clutching her forearm to her chest.

As if she were a feather, the Duke of Thornhill scooped her into his arms. “Duchess, ask Mr. Horace to send for a physician to examine our Edward, as well as Mrs. Pleasance. Horace should also send for a surgeon for Miss Neville.”

Clutching at the duke’s shoulders, Isolde noted how the duchess sprang into action. Isolde’s hand stung with tingling spurts of pain. She rested her head against Thornhill’s shoulder and took several steadying breaths. The duke pushed his way past Ashton, who rushed ahead of them, to place Isolde upon her bed. “You are not to move until Mr. Granwithe examines you,” he ordered in an uncharacteristically ducal voice. If her hand and arm had not pained her so severely, Isolde might have smiled. Thornhill was a powerful man, but the power came from his physical bearing. Being a duke had not come easily to the man. She was certain Brantley Fowler would age well in the position, and some day in the not too distant future, he would be one of England’s most imposing figures.

“What of Satiné?” Ashton asked from off to the left, and Isolde turned her head to look upon the dark emotions crossing the baron’s countenance.

Thornhill spoke with jarring reality. “Your youngest niece, Baron, meant to harm Mrs. Pleasance.”

Isolde vehemently declared, “It was not an attack on Mrs. Pleasance, Your Grace.” She had no reason to defend the baroness, but if she did not, no one else would. “Lady Swenton saw only the image of everything she once desired. Everything she has lost.”

Despite his nod of understanding, the duke’s tone did not soften. “It is my duty to protect the duchess and my heir. Although I recognize your sound reasoning, I cannot guarantee my wife’s sister will not lash out again.” He turned to the baron. “I mean to set Lady Swenton from Briar House as quickly as possible.” Isolde wished to beg the duke’s indulgence, but Thornhill’s stubborn loyalty translated into his giving no sway.

Although he spoke from defeat, Ashton’s tone remained fierce. “I cannot have Satiné upon the street; I will see her to the Rosewood until Swenton arrives.”

Isolde suggested quietly, “You should send word to Lord Swenton to hurry his return.” Although he would not learn all of what had occurred today, at least Baron Swenton would be made aware of the change in his wife’s status. Isolde would be addressing no letters soon. Her right hand was already swollen and tender.

Baron Ashton muttered, “It is a duty I do not care to know, but I will summon Swenton to London. Meanwhile, I think it best if Satiné’s son remain under your protection, Thornhill. I would not have my niece act against the boy.”

Thornhill agreed, but he added, “You must know, Ashton, I have yet to witness Satiné even once displaying a drop of affection for her child.”

“I pray, in his absence, Baron Swenton has devised a means to convince Satiné to accept reason. Otherwise, my dearest girl is lost to us forever.”

Satiné had tolerated her uncle’s disapproving silence for two days. If she had had access to her own funds, Satiné would never have tolerated his censure of her actions. She supposed she should have been grateful Ashton had not placed her in his private coach to transport her to Yorkshire and Lord Swenton’s threshold. He might have if her uncle’s man of business had not requested Ashton’s presence in examining a new property in London.

“You may as well know,” Uncle Charles had explained as they shared a meal in the hotel’s dining room. “I have sold Ash House and am seeking a new Town residence. I have spoken to Thornhill and have sent word to Berwick. I meant to discuss my decision with Swenton upon his return, but Mr. Steinburg has flocated two properties of interest.”

Satiné pretended little concern, but her uncle’s admission explained the reason for his not escorting her to Ash House. “Why the sudden need for a new house?” She hauled in a steadying breath. “Your former home always served your purposes well.”

Scowling, he expelled a sigh of resignation. “I had wished to speak of changes in my life under more congenial circumstances.” He paused as if to gather his courage. “My purposes have altered, Satiné. I plan to remarry.”

“Remarry?” she hissed in disbelief. A scalding shock shook her to her core. “Remarry?” she repeated as confusion swelled. “To whom? You have never sought the attentions of the local gentry or the ladies of the
ton
. Why now? Why not when I was young enough to know an aunt? Please say you have not fallen prey to some young innocent straight from the schoolroom.” Bitterness filled her tone.

“No young maid. A widow,” he confessed. “I met her onboard ship when I returned from England.” Satiné’s mind had rebelled against her uncle’s admission: He had abandoned her and found company in another. “She is a Mrs. Eastwood. Cynthia. We have corresponded regularly, and I have called upon her in Staffordshire often. She will never replace my dearest Louisa, but I do not wish to die alone.”

A muscle jumped in her cheek as she bit the inside of her jaw to keep from crying out against the injustice: Soon she would have no home to claim. Another woman would act as her uncle’s hostess. “What else should I know of Mrs. Eastwood? Does she bring children to the marriage? Are you considering beginning a family of your own?” Even with her best efforts, a soft sob escaped.

His breath came painfully acute. “Two sons. Eleven and nine. Cynthia is in her early thirties. Much too young for a man of my years, but I do not seek a woman who would bear me an heir. I have long since accepted the fact my Cousin Joseph or his son Jamison will inherit the barony. I made the choice not to remarry after Louisa’s passing; yet, I can provide Forrest and Montgomery Eastwood a more secure future, and it would do me well to have the boys claim Chesterfield Manor as their home. The manor is so empty. So lonely.”

Satiné thought resentfully,
No more lonely than is my life
. With effort, she placed a smile upon her lips. “Then as I am certain will my sisters, I shall wish you happy, Uncle.”

That conversation had occurred the previous evening, and Satiné had several long hours to consider her options. Today, her Uncle Charles had gone out to examine the second of the properties Mr. Steinburg had suggested, and Satiné had seized the opportunity to secure her escape to the Continent and from her marriage if all other avenues closed about her. She could not explain, even to herself, what she was willing to do if her plans fell through, but she had long considered all the possibilities. Today’s journey into the merchant section of London would solidify her security. So, with Sally in tow, she had set out in a let hack to the business district. A few carefully worded questions to the hotel staff had provided her the direction she had required.

“It is a beautiful piece,” the man had commented as he examined the jewels of the brooch Lord Swenton had insisted she accept as part of her wedding gifts. “Are you certain you wish to part with it, Mrs. Seacate?” She had not disclosed her true name to the man.

“It must be so,” she said with feigned sadness.

The clerk waited for her to elaborate on her reasons for parting with the piece, but when Satiné offered no further explanation, he shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. “Permit me to ask Mr. Liston to view the jewels. I shan’t be but a few minutes. There is a private parlor just beyond that drapery, if you care to wait.”

Satiné glanced toward the recessed area to which the clerk indicated. She had hoped it would not take Mr. Liston long to evaluate the brooch’s quality; she was uncertain how long her uncle might be absent from their suite of rooms. “Ask Mr. Liston to expedite the process.”

The clerk nodded his understanding and disappeared with the brooch into an office. With nothing to entertain her, Satiné made her way to the private sitting area. Her mind remained on what she might tell her uncle if he discovered her absence; therefore, when she pulled back the draped closure to step into the well-lit room, she had not expected to encounter a familiar countenance. “Lord Lexford!” she gasped.

The gentleman rose quickly to his feet and bowed. “Miss Aldridge?” His words spoke of doubt.

“Certainly,” she snapped. “Pray tell me you know the difference between me and my twin.” Satiné wished to remind the gentleman he had once kissed her quite passionately, and a true gentleman would never forget such a thing.

The viscount, evidently, had a similar thought, for he offered in explanation, “After our encounter with Mr. Charters, I lost much of my memory of what has occurred in the past few years. My memories are borrowed ones from my associates. In truth, when I encountered Lady Yardley at Chesterfield Manor a year prior I would not have known her except for having spent time at Thorn Hall during my convalescence. Lady Yardley did not become part of my current memory until that moment. As you favor both sisters, I chose what was the logical conclusion as to your identity. You must forgive me if not all the details are accurate.”

Satiné said sadly, “It is quite sobering to be forgettable.”

Lord Lexford smiled with his customarily teasing tone. “It took a mighty blow to drive your image from my mind.” He gestured to a second chair in the small room. “Please join me, Miss Aldridge.”

She took great satisfaction in her reply. “You have not heard; I am surprised. I became Baroness Swenton when my Lord traveled to Vienna on family business.”

The viscount made no attempt to disguise his surprise. “Married? To John Swenton? I am pleased to hear it. The baron has long considered a satisfying joining, but I held no inclination his thoughts dwelled on you. I cannot express how agreeable this news is. I have felt guilty for not seeking you out after my recovery.”

“It was but a kiss, my Lord,” she said apologetically. “Cashémere and I should not have practiced deception.” In truth, Satiné had hoped he might follow her to Italy and speak his proposal, but Velvet’s letters had disclosed the viscount’s difficult recovery; and she had accepted the futility of her desires.

“Yet, my honor says I ignored my duty,” he protested.

Satiné bit her bottom lip to drive away the desperation she felt whenever she considered Charters’s ruining of her reputation. “Your life knew as much chaos as mine, Lord Lexford. It was not meant to be.” A weak smile announced her change of subject. “As you and Lord Swenton are close associates, we shall often be in company. It is excellent we can speak so honestly to each other.” Catching her impetuous tongue before she admitted she would have preferred the boyishly handsome Lord Lexford to the warrior-hardened countenance of Baron Swenton, Satiné said, “My husband spoke of your recent marriage. Tell me of your lady, my Lord. I mean to make Lady Lexford one of dearest friends.”

The viscount’s countenance changed to one of tender consideration. “Lady Lexford is quite remarkable: She has brought life to my manor after so many deaths. Mercy is an appropriate name for a woman who has been my salvation. We welcomed our Thomas some five months prior. He and my nephew Aaron keep the nursery staff quite busy, and I know they will be great friends. Aaron is already responsibly protective of his cousin.”

Satiné would never have been fulfilled by such an existence. “It sounds as if you are rarely in London. Do you not miss your days of freedom?”

“Lord, no!” he exclaimed. “I have seen more of the world than anyone should. I would be happy to live out my days in Cheshire. I come to London only when the marquis demands my support for one Parliamentary bill or another. I would not be in London if Lady Lexford had not insisted I personally locate an appropriate place of business for the girl we once employed at Lexington Arms. Miss Chadwick is an artist in transformation. She and Lady Lexford have completed most of the renovations to my manor. As an employee of a local draper, Miss Chadwick has also designed rooms for the Marquis of Godown and for Lord Worthing. She means to open her own shop in London, and I have promised my wife to see the girl set for success. Perhaps you will have the need for Miss Chadwick’s services at Swenton Hall.”

Satiné’s heart jumped in keenness. Why had she not considered her husband owning a Town house? In truth, some part of her could not imagine Baron Swenton enjoying London’s pleasures: He always appeared so quietly serious. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “When the girl is settled, ask her to call upon me.” She paused briefly. “You do know the directions, do you not? Of course, you know upon which street sits Swenton Hall,” she prompted.

“As well as I know my own Town direction,” he said with a tease.

Disappointment flooded her chest: Lord Lexford had ignored her unspoken question. Somehow, she must discover the direction for her husband’s London abode. If she could claim residence at Swenton Hall before the baron’s return, it would be more difficult for Lord Swenton to deny her the remainder of the Season.

The clerk drew back the drape and bowed. He presented Lord Lexford a small box. “Your purchase, my Lord,” the man said with a practiced smile.

The viscount rose to accept the box. He glanced to Satiné. “A token of my affection for Lady Lexford,” he explained.

Satiné placed a smile upon her lips. If not for Lachlan Charters, the gift would have been hers. She could have been His Lordship’s viscountess. “I am certain your lady shall treasure the gesture, my Lord.”

The clerk bowed a second time. “If you will follow me, Mrs. Seacate, Mr. Liston will address your request.”

She noted the viscount’s raised eyebrow, but the gentleman held his tongue. “Permit me to speak my farewells to Lord Lexford,” she instructed.

“Certainly, Ma’am.” With a final bow the clerk disappeared.

“Mrs. Seacate?” the viscount whispered suspiciously. “Why not use your new title?”

Satiné shook off his question. “It is a habit I developed on the Continent. A woman alone is not safe, especially in business dealings. I invented a protector.”

Lord Lexford’s frown deepened. “Your position as Baroness Swenton provides more protection than does the imaginary Mr. Seacate.”

She gave a chuckle. “True. Yet, I fear my marriage is too new for my proper title to come easily to my lips. I had responded with ‘Seacate’ before I had thought.” Satiné retrieved her reticule before the viscount could question her further. “I should not keep Mr. Liston waiting.” With a quick curtsy, she made to depart.

The viscount’s shoulders had tensed, but he said, “It was an honor to renew our acquaintance, Lady Swenton. Please share my regards with your husband.”

Satiné lowered her eyes in deference. “I shall, my Lord.” Exiting the small parlor, she followed the clerk into Mr. Liston’s office. Her headache–the one which regularly tormented her of late–had returned. She hoped she would have enough time to stop at the apothecary to purchase another bottle of laudanum before returning to the hotel. So many deceptions had taken the toll on her composure.

*

“Thank you for acting upon your instincts, Lexford,” Aristotle Pennington had said as he examined the brooch Aidan Kimbolt had procured after Satiné Swenton had departed the jewelry shop.

The viscount’s questioning countenance remained. “Surely you do not think Swenton has knowledge of Shaheed Mir’s missing emerald!”

Sir Carter Lowery explained, “We do not know what to think. I have taken note of Lady Swenton’s wearing a matching emerald ring, necklace, and bracelet. Lady Lowery shared the fact that the items were reportedly a gift from Swenton, part of his mother’s jewelry collection.”

Lexford’s discontent continued. “When I discovered no coach awaited Lady Swenton and chose to follow her to first the apothecary and then to a hotel, I held no ideas of naming John Swenton a thief. I meant only to discover what deceit Lady Swenton practiced.” After the viscount had seen her enter the hotel with her maid in tow, he had returned to the shop to seek information on the nature of Lady Swenton’s business with Mr. Liston. Having discovered the lady had sold an emerald and diamond brooch, Lexford had “convinced” Liston to permit him to purchase the piece for a reasonable profit before carrying his suspicions to the Realm’s leader. Of course, he had thought to announce Lady Swenton had stolen from her husband, a man they had all trusted. Yet, a different reality had appeared.

“We have heard rumors of Jamot’s return to London,” Sir Carter shared. “It seems odd Jamot has made no effort to stir trouble since he killed the prince’s attacker some seven months prior. Yet, as soon as Swenton returns to England, information regarding Jamot floods our offices.”