Once a Duchess (32 page)

Isabelle lapsed into a brooding silence, pondering the depths of her mother-in-law’s malice. Justin seemed to detect her mood, and merely handed her Marshall’s letter, as Belle slipped to the floor to try walking again. Rebecca serenely picked up her daughter and took her outside.

Eventually, Isabelle began to read. Marshall’s smooth voice spoke the missive in her mind. A shiver coursed down her spine.

Isabelle swallowed.
Dear to us both.

Marshall would have found Justin regardless; this she did not doubt. He was a true gentleman, and he brought Justin back. For her. For Justin, too, of course, but he had her in mind.
There is one friend in particular, dear to us both …

She missed him so much. He haunted her waking thoughts. He dwelt in her dreams. He made love to her in those dreams, sometimes tenderly, sometimes urgently, always passionately. She daydreamed about the children they might have had, but when she opened her eyes again, her arms were empty. But not her heart. It was always full of pain and longing. The longing was her constant companion. It never went away.

“Isa?”

Isabelle opened her eyes. Justin knelt on the floor in front of her. “Are you all right? You look faint.”

He picked up one of her hands and lightly slapped her wrist.

“Everything’s gone wrong,” she whispered.

“Monthwaite?”

Isabelle nodded miserably.

“Did he suitably atone for the divorce?” he asked.

“He had an article printed in the paper.”

Justin whistled. “Sounds serious.”

“It was,” Isabelle answered. “But I don’t know if I can trust him. He hurt both of us — ”

“But he’s made up for it,” Justin pointed out. He patted her cheeks. “You still look pale.”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “There was someone else.”

Justin’s face darkened. “Another woman?”

Isabelle shook her head. “No, there was another man whose life Marshall ruined.”

“Ruined is a strong word.” Justin lifted her chin with a finger. “You suffered, Isa. I did, too. But I wouldn’t say my life was ruined.” One side of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. “To be sure, it’s taken some unexpected twists, but I’m happy. And it turns out he didn’t even send me packing to begin with — his mother did, and we already knew she was a harpy.”

Isabelle’s shoulders jostled with her exhaled laugh.

“I do note,” Justin said, “that he takes responsibility, even though his mother sent threats in his name. Very stand-up of him. And,” he raised a finger, “when Monthwaite learned of his mistake, he made it up to both of us, didn’t he?”

She nodded again.

“You loved him then,” Justin said quietly, “when you were an eighteen-year-old girl. You still love him.” It wasn’t a question, and Isabelle didn’t try to deny it.

“Do you know whether he’s remedied things with this other man?” Justin asked.

Isabelle’s fingers tightened around Justin’s. Her brow furrowed. “He has,” she admitted. Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, Justin. I think I made a mistake.”

• • •

“Good God! Justin Miller!”

Isabelle looked up and Justin awkwardly turned on his knees. Lily stood in the door in a royal blue traveling costume, her fingers paused in the act of untying her bonnet. She looked from Justin to Isabelle, and back to Justin again.

“My word, are you proposing?”

Justin barked a laugh. “I don’t think my wife would thank me if I did.” He hauled himself to his feet.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Justin was trying to keep me from fainting,” Isabelle explained, rising to take Lily’s hands in greeting. “It was something of a shock to find him in my parlor,” she said in an over-bright voice. “He brought his lovely wife and daughter, too. They’ve gone for a walk. I’ll have them called in, shall I? Mrs. Miller is
American
, Lily. Our Justin went and married an American!”

Lily raised a lace-gloved hand. “Isabelle,” she said in a stern tone, “the prospect of meeting Justin’s wife and child fills me to the brim with rapture, I assure you, but there’s something I have to tell you first.”

The commanding edge to her voice brought Isabelle’s frenetic recitation to a halt. The firm set to Lily’s mouth aroused a queasy feeling in Isabelle’s middle. “What is it?”

“I had a note from Naomi yesterday afternoon, and I left as soon as I could to reach you.”

Pure, unadulterated fear sprang up in her very blood, coursing through every inch of her. “Marshall. What’s happened to him?”

“He’s leaving tomorrow,” Lily said. “He’s going to South America.”

Isabelle shook her head, not understanding. “His expedition. I already knew about that.”

“It’s supposed to be only for six months, but Naomi found notes indicating he never intends to return.”

The final bit of color drained from Isabelle’s face. “Tomorrow?” she whispered harshly. The full meaning of Lily’s information pressed down on Isabelle like a load of stone. A life without Marshall. Forever.

“Isabelle!” Lily snapped. “Listen to me.”

Isabelle lifted her head from where it had fallen against Justin’s shoulder.

“It’s time to come clean,” Lily said. “Naomi and I have been keeping an eye on you two, hoping you’d come ‘round on your own. It appears you’re both bull-headed ninnies who would rather be miserable and alone for the rest of your natural lives, rather than simply put the past behind you and move on.” She drew a deep breath and lifted a brow.

Isabelle had seen her take such a tack with others, but she herself had never felt the full brunt of Lily Bachman’s ire. It was not a pleasant experience.

“Buck. Up. You love Marshall. He loves you. And if you don’t do something about it right this instant, I shall be subjected to your insufferable malaise for the rest of my days. Spare me that fate, and do the right thing.” She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “If you aren’t already too late to get there before the ship sails.”

Isabelle grabbed Lily in a fierce embrace. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Lily said in a softer tone, “go. Go!” she insisted, shooing Isabelle out of the parlor.

As she dashed for the stairs, Isabelle heard Lily behind her: “And just where in the blazes have you been all these years?”

Isabelle’s fingers shook as she changed into a traveling costume. She had to get to Marshall. She had to tell him she’d forgiven him, that she loved him, even if he wouldn’t take her back. But she couldn’t allow that possibility in her mind. Everything would work out. She just had to get there.

Isabelle gracelessly stumbled out of the carriage Lily had loaned her. The footman caught her with a steadying hand under her elbow.

She took a few steps, her bunched muscles protesting and cramping. They’d stopped only to change horses. Her blue-gray traveling gown was hopelessly rumpled. She felt sticky all over from her long confinement.

Now that she was at the London docks, trepidation tugged at her skirts. The sights, sounds, and smells were overwhelming. The docks teemed with activity, and dawn had scarcely broken. Large men lugged crates and trunks up gangways. Raucous laughter erupted here and there, punctuating the ceaseless, dull roar of hundreds of voices.

The water of the Thames was scarcely visible from Isabelle’s vantage point. From where she stood, the river was a forest full of branchless trees with sails instead of leaves. Ships crowded the docks and waited in the river. Somewhere nearby, the hulks were anchored in the middle of the river, whole ships full of convicted thieves and murderers.

Even at this hour, prostitutes lurked at the fringes of activity, calling out to passing men. At the mouth of an alley, a man lay face down in a pool of vomit, a bottle of gin clutched in his hand. Isabelle couldn’t tell whether he was dead or alive, and no one else seemed to notice or care.

She shivered. This was no place for a lady. Reason shouted at her to climb back into the safety of the carriage and send the footman for Marshall.

This time, though, she had to let her heart take the lead. She had hurt him when she’d left, and she had to be the one to reach out and find him. She selfishly wanted to see the look on his face when he saw her.

He wouldn’t ever see her, however, if she remained planted next to the carriage, gawking at the bustling activity. He would be gone, forever beyond her reach, if she didn’t start moving.

With a shaking hand, she pulled from her reticule the paper Lily had given her. On it was the name of Marshall’s ship.

“
Adamanthea
,” she muttered. She looked at the ship closest to where she stood. The name painted on the hull was
Siren’s Call
. Isabelle scowled and took a few steps. A hand clamped around her upper arm. She shrieked.

“Wouldn’t you like me to go with you, ma’am?” Lily’s footman asked. “Miss Bachman would have my head if any harm came to you.”

Isabelle nodded gratefully. Together, they plunged into the morass of humanity moving across the docks and quays.

She allowed the footman to do most of the talking, asking for directions to Marshall’s ship. The first several brutes he questioned claimed ignorance. Another sent them toward the East India Company’s private docks. Yet another seaman sent them back in the direction from which they had just come.

The sun was fully above the horizon now. Isabelle stomped her foot and let out a strangled cry of frustration. She had come all this way at a breakneck pace to find Marshall, and now she was going to lose him forever because she couldn’t locate his bloody ship.

“Excuse me,” she called out to a nearby man holding a horse by the bridle, carefully guiding the animal through the crowd. He didn’t notice her. Isabelle tapped his shoulder. “I’m looking for the
Adamanthea
,” she said. “Do you know where it is?”

The man turned, revealing a weathered, hard face. Isabelle sucked in her breath. Thomas Gerald tugged the brim of his cap. “Indeed I do; I’m headed there m’self,” he said amicably. A flash of recognition crossed his face.

Isabelle backed away, looking over her shoulder for the footman.

“Please,” Gerald extended a staying hand, “me and His Grace have settled our differences. Why,” he said, pulling himself erect, “I’m going with him to South America as master of the horse.” He smiled proudly.

Isabelle returned his smile weakly. It seemed they had made their peace, after all. And more, the former convict could help her find Marshall.

“Where’s the ship?” Isabelle asked Thomas. “I have to see the duke.”

“Two ships down,” he answered.

Isabelle wheeled around to see where he pointed. She tsked in annoyance. “We passed it,” she said to the footman.

“Come on, then. I’ll walk with you.” Gerald gently tugged on the horse’s lead.

A dockhand stumbled into the horse, dropping a crate against its haunch. The already nervous animal reared up on its hind legs, flailing to escape. “Whoa now!” Gerald struggled to calm the horse. “Go on ahead,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be a few minutes here.”

Isabelle plowed through the crowd, not paying attention to whether Lily’s footman followed. Marshall was close. She had to find him, had to see him. The thought looped through her mind like a mantra, driving her forward.

Two guards stood at the foot of the gangplank. One of them put his arm across her path as she tried to step onto the ramp. “Stop there, miss.”

She huffed with impatience. “I’d like to board the ship, please.”

The great brute merely smacked his lips and shook his head. “Yer got papers to show me?”

Isabelle sniffed. “Papers? Why on earth do I need papers? I’m here to see the Duke of Monthwaite.”

“If yer ain’t got papers,” the guard replied, “then you got no bidness on this ’ere ship. Off you go, then.”

Isabelle gave first one guard, and then the other, her most dazzling smile. “Surely it’s nothing to you if I just step aboard for a moment. His Grace would not want you to bar my way.”

The other guard spat on the ground near her feet. “His Grace don’t want no thieves or whores on ’is ship. On your way.”

Isabelle’s mouth dropped open. “Why you despicable … ” She set her jaw and lifted her chin. She had not come all this way to be insulted into defeat by two unwashed ruffians. “You seem to have mistaken my identity. I am neither thief nor whore, and I’m done discussing the matter.” She took a step forward.

“Right, then,” said one of the guards. Each man roughly grabbed hold of one of her arms and began dragging her away from the ship.

“Let me go!”