Scandal at Vauxhall (Pleasure Garden Follies) (10 page)

“Enough,” he shouted,
drawing the attention of passersby. A small, curious crowd moved closer. “Lord Thompson,
you’re injured!”

That was when
Nathaniel noticed the pain radiating in his shoulder.
Hell
. Isabel would surely be with him once she saw he was injured.
Lucky enough, his townhouse was not far from Hyde Park, and he could change. “I
will be fine. To hell with this interruption! Downsbury called for this duel,
now let us finish this blasted thing. I haven’t got all morning!” he roared.

“The duel has
been called off by His Grace. When he misfired, I approached him, and that is
when he dropped his firearm and took off with his second. Why in the world
would he abandon the duel and ruin whatever honor he had left? He will never be
able to show his face about town any time soon.” Avonlea adjusted his cravat
then patted Nathaniel on the back. “I will only be a moment. Let me see what is
keeping your driver so long.”

No, the duke would
not return. He had lost all credibility now, and if he thought for even the
briefest of moments that he would gain Emily’s dowry, he was wrong. Now that
the debacle was over with, he had run the bastard out of London, hopefully for
good. But now, Nathaniel had more property than he cared to own, and quite
frankly, did not have the time to manage. He would have to see about selling
those newly acquired assets.

He shrugged to
release the built up tension in his shoulders and winced.

“My Lord, I can
tend to your wounds back at your house, or would you prefer to summon your own physician?”
the surgeon asked, while examining his shoulder briefly.

“I would rather
we did not have it looked at. What I need is to wash up, pack the wound, change,
and check in on Her Grace.”

“My Lord, if your
wound is not thoroughly flushed, it could fester. It needs to be attended to
with expediency.”

Avonlea
approached and stared ice-cold daggers. The look sent a shiver down Nathaniel’s
spine. Avonlea could intimidate a lion if required, and truth be told, he
envied the man’s size, but he would never admit to it. “Do not be a fool,
Thompson! You are in need of medical assistance, and that is that. I will ride
with you, as I have already summoned for your carriage. He will meet us at your
townhouse.”

Nathaniel
growled.
How can everyone fret at a time
like this, when I have so much to do?
White’s would be in an uproar over
Downsbury backing out, and that was one sight he looked forward to. He followed
Avonlea into his waiting carriage.

The door closed
behind him, and the two gents sat in silence briefly.

“Thompson, I am
not going to pretend that I understand the sort of madness that leads a man to duel
a duke over a dowager’s property. I will, however, give a word of advice. If
you intend to do the honorable thing, do it soon. I will assist where I can,
but your mother is making a muddle of things.”

“I am sure by
now, Avonlea, you know all too well that I do not back down after my mind is
made up. Isabel is my match in every way. And while my eagerness to reacquaint
with her made a mess of things, I plan to make her my wife. And the sooner the
better. I would cart her to Gretna Green tonight if it meant I could have her
now.
”

His friend sat
there stoically, smiling as if he were a cat that swallowed a mouse.

“What is so
amusing, Avonlea?”

“Nothing. Well,
other than the fact that I am remembering what you said our last day at
Oxford.”

How could he
ever forget the day he denounced marriage. How it was only meant for—ancient
history did not matter now.

The carriage
came to a halt and the footman opened the door. He stepped out with Avonlea
behind him and entered his manor, only to find his servants rushing about.
Orders were being shouted and bonnets were strewn about in the main hall.
For heaven’s sake, what in damnation is
going on?

Nathaniel and
Avonlea slipped further into the hall when all became clear.
Of all the times the dreadful woman had to
stop by, she chooses now.

“Benson!” his
friend shouted, drawing not only his physician’s attention but his mother’s and
sister’s as well. Pressure built up behind Nathaniel’s eyes.

“Nathaniel!” both
women squawked. “You’re injured!”

Benson and
Avonlea closed the space between them. “Benson, I will join you and Thompson
upstairs. Ladies, I do believe we have everything under control. Lady Thompson,
you are looking lovelier as each day passes. Miss Thompson,” he bowed, “How is it
that I have not seen you this season?” Avonlea declared.

Nathaniel rolled
his eyes heavenward. “Come along, Benson, I am sure you do not have all day,
and I have much to do myself.”

All three
gentlemen ascended the stairs to his bedroom. Nathaniel tossed his jacket on a
nearby chair and sat at the edge of his bed, stripping out of his shirt. The
wound looked worse than it felt. The flesh was torn and the blood surrounding
the gash had begun to dry. But the only thing weighing heavily on his mind was
finalizing the necessary arrangements.

“This should not
take too long, but I wager you will need to rest.”

“Rest is for the
dead, Benson. Get the bullet out, sew me up, and name your price. I have to
leave before the Archbishop finishes his appointments today.”

“What the hell
would you be needing to see the Archbishop for, Thompson?” Avonlea queried.

“You know why,
or have you wasted too many of your nights in more than one tankard?”

He tried to
continue speaking, but the pain blinded him and stole the very words from his
mouth.

“Listen,
Thompson, sit tight, and I will see what I can do.”

Nathaniel
patiently waited for the doctor to finish pulling through the last stitch and
bandage up the area. “There. Now be sure to get some rest, My Lord.”

He went to stand
up, but the room spun and threw him off balance. Evidently, he had
miscalculated his own tolerance for pain and loss of blood. Faint and woozy,
Nathaniel laid back and closed his eyes.
I
only need a few minutes.

* * * *

Isabel opened
her eyes to find herself in her bed alone, no one in sight, and with a fearsome
headache. Her last recollection was that of Nathaniel leaving her for a duel.
He had promised he would be back and swore nothing would happen to him, yet a
sinking feeling in the pit of her belly told her otherwise.

Something had
gone amiss, and she did not know what. Now if only she could summon the
strength to see what news might have arrived after his departure.

She stepped off
the platform and tiptoed across the floor in search of her slippers. She slid
them on, and as she was about to leave her room, the housekeeper caught her.

“Your Grace, you
shouldn’t be out of bed. The physician said in your condition, you need every
ounce of rest you can manage. Not to mention, you needn’t stress yourself out
with grief.”

“More grief? I
assure you, madam, I am quite capable of walking, and I am feeling much better.
Has there been any news of Lord Thompson?”

She watched the
housekeeper’s ruddy cheeks pale, eliciting even more questions. “Your Grace,
allow me to assist you back to bed, and I will tell you what I know.”

Isabel sighed
and rested her palm on her belly. “Do the rest of the staff know of my
condition yet?”

“Yes, Your Grace.
Though, while we were quite pleased to find out that there will be the pitter
patter of tiny lord or lady feet through the house, we are all quite worried
about you.” The housekeeper helped Isabel into bed, tucking blankets around her
small form.

“A friend of
Lord Thompson’s stopped by the house, shortly after your swoon, to advise that the
duel was over, but that Lord Thompson was injured. The injury he sustained was
not life-threatening, and he was being tended to by a private physician.

“The gentleman,
a Lord Avonlea, asked for your whereabouts and we, Edmonds and I, told the man
you were resting. He asked us if your affections for Lord Thompson were true,
and we answered truthfully they are. Upon his departure, he assured us you and
Lord Thompson would be free soon enough from this scandal, and he was positive
a marriage between you both would certainly be blessed.”

The sheer
thought of Nathaniel being injured over her honor broke her heart in many
pieces. She had no idea how one man could make her senseless. And to hear that he
still wanted to pursue marriage, despite ruining his family’s good name,
baffled her.
How on earth can I ever
repay him?

“Your Grace,
there was just one other thing. I do not mean to be so bold, but there are
strong objections to your match with the
marquess
. It
is rumored that his mother is in the process of formally announcing an arranged
betrothal to a certain Lady Eloise Morton.”

Isabel’s stomach
dropped into the pits of hell when the housekeeper confirmed her worst
nightmare. They were better off separated. Society would never accept their
union, much less a child out of wedlock. Her mind was made up—once she was
deemed fit enough to travel she would venture off to the country in search of a
smaller estate to live out the rest of her days.

“Please ask
Edmonds to prepare my carriage and pack some of my belongings into a trunk.”

“For how long, Your
Grace?”

“I expect we
will be gone for a fortnight. I think it is time for me to seek out my new
home.”

“But, Your Grace—”

“Run along now,
we haven’t got all morning.”

This time she
feared they would never have another chance. This child was a miracle, but would
be a constant reminder of her love for him.

* * * *

Nathaniel clenched
his fists, searching deep within not to lose his temper with her servants. “What
in the hell do you mean, she is not here?”

The butler
stammered. “My Lord, Her Grace said that she would return in a fortnight, and that
they were only going into the country.”

“Is there
anything more you could tell me about where she could have gone?”

“I overheard the
maids whispering about Her Grace finding a smaller country estate.”

So that was it.
She’s running, the imp!
Isabel must have
heard that his mother announced the betrothal to Lady Morton. Quite frankly, he
could not blame her for wanting to take the high road, but no matter where she
went, and no matter what hijinks his mother pulled, he would always find his
way to Isabel.

“Very well, my
good man, I will see what I can do to find her. Before I go, though, do you
have a preference in what manor you serve Her Grace in?”

“I beg your
pardon, My Lord, I am not sure I follow.”

“My good man, I
am about to make Her Grace the Marchioness of Stoughton. Would you prefer to
stay here in this residence, or could I persuade you to join us at my estate?”

“My Lord, your
offer is quite generous. Had I been much younger, I would gladly accept, but it
was my wish to retire soon. With her grace now being cared for by you, I do not
see why I am needed any longer.”

Well, it was
certainly good to know his affections had the approval of the staff, but good servants
such as Edmonds were hard to find. “I am sorry that you will not be joining us.
Should you ever need anything, come see me immediately. I will ensure you are
taken care of.”

“Absolutely, My Lord.”
Edmonds nodded and passed his hat to him.

Nathaniel turned
to leave, nearly running into Avonlea. “What is the rush, old chap?”

“We are on a
mission.”

“What kind of
mission?”

“The kind of
mission that requires an oath of silence. The kind that will send my mother
into a fury, and the kind that will infuriate a certain duchess.”

“Sounds like my
kind of adventure, Thompson. Where are we headed?

“To the
country.”

* * * *

“Your Grace, I
am sorry, this is the only room I have left.”

Isabel glanced around.
It was passable, accommodating the needs to every traveler. A bed, fireplace, a
table and chair, and a chest of drawers. Besides, while it was the furthest
thing from extravagant, she would only spend the night here.

“Are you sure
there is nowhere you could place my driver for the night, ma’am?”

The woman
pondered for a moment before replying. “There be a loft in the stables. I am
sure
m’husband
will not mind if he rests up there. I
will get
m’boy
to show him the way. Your Grace, I am
honored you are spending the night here. I will be sure you get the best
breakfast the county could provide
ya
with.”

“That will be
all, ma’am.”

The innkeeper’s
wife retreated.