“Lady Wharton is my guest, Sir Lionel,” Trevor said, standing as close to Isabella as propriety allowed. “She has kindly agreed to assist me in planning my younger sister’s come-out next spring.”
“Oh, how wonderful, Your Grace,” Mrs. Palmer gushed, clearly torn between watching the byplay between her guest and Isabella and her desire to know more about the plans for Eleanor’s debut. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear you have finally chosen to take up the duties of the dukedom.”
If Trevor were the sort of man who kept a quizzing glass, Isabella reflected, Mrs. Palmer would find herself the recipient of the sort of look that had been depressing pretensions for centuries. The lack of such an instrument, however, did not keep Trevor from putting the grasping woman in her place. “I am so pleased to hear you approve, Mrs. Palmer,” he said coolly, his words indicating that he felt entirely the opposite. “I will be sure to consult you the next time I make a decision regarding the dukedom.”
But Mrs. Palmer had clearly been at the end of much sterner snubs. “I would be happy to assist you with whatever you need, Your Grace.” The way she ran a finger over the pendant resting on her bosom indicated that her assistance might be more personal in nature than her words implied. Clearly, Isabella mused, the unhappy Mr. Humphrey Palmer was failing at his husbandly duties.
An awkward pause fell over the group as Mrs. Palmer’s invitation hovered in the air. Finally, Isabella spoke. “It is my understanding, Mrs. Palmer, that you have planned an entertainment in Sir Lionel’s honor. We are here ordering a dress made up so that Eleanor may attend.”
The subject was clearly one that the other woman relished. “Indeed, Lady Wharton, we are planning a ball! And I cannot tell you how excited I am that we will have not one but two distinguished guests from London at our humble country entertainment.”
“Oh, I hardly think that I—” Isabella began, but was cut off by Thistleback.
“I hope that we will be able to add a bit of town bronze to your party, Mrs. Palmer,” he said with condescension. “Though I hardly think that it will be the humble affair you predict. Why, you’ve a bit of town polish yourself, don’t you? And you will have a duke in attendance as well, won’t you?” He raised his eyes inquiringly at Trevor, whose face was impassive as he watched the two interlopers.
Still, when he spoke it was mild enough. “Yes, I will be in attendance, Sir Lionel. I will escort my sister and Lady Wharton. I hope that you will remember that they are both under my protection.” He said the words in an easy enough tone, but Isabella and no doubt Thistleback could hear the steel behind them. Even so, Thistleback, who had never been called a smart man, said, “I hardly think Lady Isabella will like that arrangement, Your Grace. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that she was under another man’s protection…” He paused, letting the insinuation linger in the air, then finished, “… her husband’s, I mean.”
But it was clearly a dig at Isabella’s character. Thistleback had made advances toward her not long after the funeral, but Isabella had sent him away with a flea in his ear. He’d clearly not forgotten the setdown. This explained the whispers that seemed to follow her about London before she left for Yorkshire, however.
“Sir Lionel,” she said, managing to keep her voice deadly calm, “I believe you have confused me with some other widow of means. I hope that you will let whoever told you this falsehood know the truth of the matter. I should hate for it to reflect badly on your character. After all, a man’s reputation once lost is lost forever.”
She was pleased to see the man’s nostrils flare with annoyance. Even so he said, “I hope you will not take offense at my little joke, Lady Isabella. I was merely making a play on words. Nothing more.”
Her eyes avidly watching the interplay between the two, Mrs. Palmer shook her head, causing her sausage-like ringlets to bounce with the motion. “I cannot keep up with your London intrigues,” she said with a small sigh. It was clear that she would like for the back-and-forth between Isabella and Sir Lionel to continue, but her desire to get Isabella’s opinion about the fashion overrode it. She was a shallow lady at heart. “Lady Wharton,” she said with a wheedling tone, “I hope that you will tell me about the gown Miss Eleanor is having made up. I daresay Mrs. Renfrew is grateful to have someone as distinguished as you come into her shop.”
Exchanging a speaking look with Trevor, Isabella allowed herself to be spirited off by the other woman.
* * *
Left alone with Lord Thistleback, Trevor returned to his seat in the little parlor area. He was not surprised to find the other man had followed him and taken the seat opposite. He had nothing of importance to discuss with the man. After his insinuations about Isabella, Trevor would rather draw his cork than exchange words with him. The knowledge that he was staying in the neighborhood during the same period that Isabella had been threatened placed the baronet at the very top of Trevor’s list of suspects.
Clearly unaware of the direction of Trevor’s thoughts, Thistleback made the first conversational foray. “You are quite lucky to have someone like Lady Isabella assisting you with your sisters,” the man said, his piggish eyes knowing. “I was great friends with her husband,” he said, smoothing the sleeve of his blue coat. “I have known her for many years.”
Trevor was curious about Viscount Wharton. How could he not be when Wharton’s shadow seemed to loom so heavily over Isabella? There was the fact that his snuffbox had been used to terrify her. And the note reading
Do you miss me?
A taunt if ever he’d heard one.
She hardly ever mentioned the man, but there was something about the way she tiptoed around his name that let Trevor know her relationship with her husband had not been a happy one. That the man sitting before Trevor had been the fellow’s bosom companion only solidified his suspicions. No one who could claim Thistleback as friend could possibly be an honorable man.
“Then you must know that she is an honorable woman,” Trevor said at last, his words echoing his thoughts. He could not let the other man’s salacious words go without letting him know that Lady Isabella was not without friends. Men like Thistleback sought to belittle the women around them because they could not control them. Trevor would not be surprised if Thistleback had attempted to place Isabella under his own protection and been soundly rejected. His earlier accusations smacked of the fox and the sour grapes.
“I hardly think a social acquaintance is enough for me to make a judgment on the matter,” Thistleback retorted. “After all, seeing someone at various
ton
gatherings is hardly tantamount to knowing the contents of another’s soul. I do concede, however, that she seems to have behaved honorably despite the whispers surrounding her behavior these last months.”
“Perhaps you should tell me about these whispers so that I may judge for myself,” Trevor said, attempting to make the other man put his insinuations into more open terms. “After all, I should like to know what kind of person to whom I’m entrusting my sisters’ care.”
Thistleback’s eyes narrowed, as if he was attempting to determine Trevor’s sincerity. He was, of course, lying through his teeth. He had no fears at all regarding Isabella’s suitability to shepherd his sister through society. Isabella had shown herself to be levelheaded when it came to dealing with them. And she hadn’t tried once to seduce him into bending to her will. Given his suspicion that whatever hold the dowager had over her was something of vast importance to her, that alone was enough to convince him of her honor.
“Well, there is nothing overtly scandalous about her,” Thistleback said, confirming Trevor’s suspicions. “She has attended some rather risqué entertainments, but other than that she hasn’t been linked with any one man. And Wharton would not have tolerated her playing him false.” He scratched the side of his face. “He kept her on a rather tight leash, if you want to know the truth. He was not a man who would tolerate much in the way of independence from his wife.” Thistleback laughed. “Once when she demanded he give up his mistress, he beat her quite severely. I don’t think the poor woman could sit for a week.”
Trevor said nothing, as he wished fervently that he could go back in time and pummel the late Lord Wharton.
“You won’t tell her I told you, though,” Thistleback said, his eyes shadowed with worry. “I promised Wharton I wouldn’t ever speak of it. It’s quite ridiculous when you think of it. Wives aren’t supposed to know that mistresses even exist! Let alone demand that their husbands give them up. A man must be able to rule his own roost.”
Listening to Thistleback, Trevor was reminded of a long-forgotten incident from his childhood. One of his father’s tenants—a brute to begin with—had beaten his wife so badly that the poor woman had lost consciousness. Trevor could still remember how angry his father had been when he’d returned home from the woman’s bedside. He’d thrown the husband off the estate with the threat of having him impressed into the navy if he ever returned. It was true enough, Phillip had told Trevor, that the law said a wife was just another possession that a man could do with as he pleased, but a man who ruled his home through violence was not much of a man to begin with.
Neither was Thistleback, Trevor thought as the man continued to justify his friend’s abuse of his wife. “And it isn’t as if Lady Isabella has suffered for it. In the month after Wharton died, I believe she attended every entertainment society had to offer.”
The duke wasn’t surprised to learn that Isabella had run wild once her abuser was dead. She was probably starved for freedom and desperate to do all the things she’d been prevented from doing while he was alive. Trevor looked at Thistleback sitting there, looking as if he’d just done something naughty. If it were up to Trevor, he’d make the man pay for his former friend’s misdeeds. But that would only hurt Isabella, and she’d been tortured enough. Trevor wanted to know if beatings had been the extent of Wharton’s abuse of his wife, but he would have to wait and see if Isabella would tell him.
One thing was certain.
Trevor would be damned before he’d let Isabella anywhere near this man alone again.
* * *
Trevor was quiet on the ride back to Nettlefield, but Isabella attributed his silence to his having been forced to pass time with Sir Lionel. The duke wasn’t the most gregarious of men at the best of times, and any moments spent with her late husband’s friend could not be counted among the best of times.
She had been unhappy to see him approach back in the dressmaker’s shop, but she could hardly cut the man dead in front of the Ormondes’ neighbors. After all, if she wanted to convince the duke to travel back to London with her she would need to make nice with the people he socialized with here. She doubted Mrs. Palmer had much influence over her host, but every little bit helped.
Besides, Isabella did not wish to call attention to her previous relationship with Sir Lionel in front of Eleanor and Belinda. They were unaware of the vile sorts of things some men got up to, and Isabella would not strip them of their innocence if she could help it. She remembered being just as trusting they were now, and she would do whatever it took to make sure they were able to maintain that outlook for as long as possible.
What troubled her the most about seeing Thistleback, however, was the coincidence between her receiving what must be a replica of Ralph’s snuffbox and his bosom friend’s appearance in the neighborhood. Could Thistleback be the one who had sent the token? It was just the sort of cowardly taunt a man of his character would find amusing. But surely he was not also responsible for sabotaging the dowager’s carriage. After all, Sir Lionel had no notion that Isabella was even expected to travel to Yorkshire. Much less that she’d be doing so in the dowager’s carriage.
Something was definitely rotten about the number of coincidences, but she could not tell just what.
Yet.
“I cannot wait for my new gowns to be delivered,” Eleanor said, interrupting Isabella’s thoughts and all but clapping her hands at the prospect of her new wardrobe. “Thank you again for taking us today, Lady Wharton,” she gushed.
“Of course you are welcome,” Isabella responded, squeezing the girl’s hand. Isabella was surprised to realize it herself, but she enjoyed the girl’s company. She was unaffected and enthusiastic and had none of the guile or cunning that marked the demeanor of many young ladies of Isabella’s acquaintance. Though she was loath to admit it, Trevor had done a good job raising his sisters, the lack of steady governesses notwithstanding.” And you must call me Isabella. Though it is your brother you must thank. I was merely a guest on this trip.”
Indeed, even she was thinking of thanking Ormonde for taking them to York. Though there had been the unfortunate meeting with Thistleback, there had been enough other distraction that she was able to stop herself from dwelling upon the fact that someone was trying to frighten her witless.
She let Eleanor’s chatter wash over her as she thought about what her next step would be in her quest to convince the duke to come to London. The next day she was supposed to attend the duke’s appearance as the local magistrate for the surrounding neighborhood. She’d never thought to find herself at such an event, but she could not help but admit to herself that she was looking forward to it. It was hardly the sort of thing ladies were encouraged to do in the regular course of things, and she was curious about the entire process. Of course, the fact that she’d have a front-row seat at watching the duke mete out justice had nothing to do with it.
Or very little to do with it, she amended.
Or not much to do with it, she amended again.
Really, she told herself, she was entirely neutral about the matter.
She was saved from further argument with herself by the slowing of the carriage before Nettlefield House. And if Isabella blushed a little when the duke handed her down from the carriage, she could blame it on the heat of the afternoon.
“Such chivalry,” Isabella teased her host, trying to pass off her breathlessness for mock enthusiasm rather than the real thing. “I might begin to think you wished to charm me, Your Grace.”