Why Dukes Say I Do (3 page)

Trevor offered her his hand, and though she glanced quizzically up at him, she took it and allowed him to assist her from the carriage. Fortunately, she’d worn heavy boots for the journey, because the ground was a soggy, muddy mess. To his surprise, she was taller than he’d supposed, her nose almost aligned with his own when she stepped out next to him. Their eyes locked for one heart-stopping moment, before she colored up and looked away.

Well, he thought with an inward grin. Perhaps the prickly London lady was less prickly than he’d at first surmised. He felt his body respond to her nearness in the automatic way it always did when confronted with a pretty girl. But there was something about this one that felt different. Which clearly meant that he’d been awake for far too long. He needed to get this chit back to Nettlefield so that he could reveal his true identity and send her back on her way. He didn’t like forcing a woman out onto the road so soon after her arrival, but if she’d come uninvited to beg or, worse, at his grandmother’s behest then there was no reason for him to feel any sympathy for her.

Didn’t stop him from feeling a churl, though.

“Up ye go,” he told her, gripping her around her trim waist and lifting her to sit sideways across Bey’s saddle. Without further ceremony he put his foot in the stirrup and mounted up behind her, slipping a protective arm around her waist to hold her steady.

It was a surprisingly intimate situation between strangers, and Trevor tried to steel himself against responding further to her nearness. But it was impossible to ignore her lavender-scented hair and the more natural, primal scents of female sweat and something that he knew instinctively was simply her.

Directing Bey into motion with a touch of his heel to the horse’s flank, he clenched his jaw and tried to ignore her. Which proved impossible given the way that her reluctance to hold on to him put them both in danger of falling. They might be atop the same horse, but Lady Isabella kept herself as far away from his body as possible.

“I won’t bite,” he said, unable to hide his amusement at her diffident grip. Ignoring her protest, he held on to her more tightly. “Unless you wish it, of course.”

He waited for an outraged gasp, but she had no doubt decided to ignore him. A few moments later, however, she said, “It’s funny. You sound like an unschooled peasant one minute, and then the next your voice has a distinctly upper-class accent.”

Caught out, Trevor thought with a frown. “I don’t suppose you’d believe that I received lessons from the local vicar?” he asked.

“Not for a moment,” she said grimly.

“Well, then, Lady Wharton,” he said calmly, “I’m afraid that I’ve misled you a bit.”

“Rather more than a bit, I think,” she said sharply. “Though I suppose the lack of proper introduction excuses you, under the circumstances…”—she paused deliberately—“Your Grace.”

“I do not use the title, as you would know if you’d done any sort of investigation at all.” He kept his gaze on the road ahead of them.

He felt her head shake against his chest. “I would not have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes,” she said. “I knew of course that you had been raised in the country and had some sort of foolish notion about refusing to take up your responsibilities, but I thought that it was an exaggeration. But it’s true.”

“You and I both know that it’s not possible for me to give up the title completely,” Trevor said reasonably. “And I fear that my grandmother’s tale of my refusal to take up my responsibilities is, like much of her talk, an exaggeration. I consult regularly with the stewards and secretaries of the duchy; I simply do not choose to go to London or to set myself up in grandeur at the ducal estate.”

“So you choose to remain here in Yorkshire playing at the role of gentleman farmer,” Lady Isabella said with a shudder. “I cannot say that I understand your position, because I do not.”

“I choose to remain here in Yorkshire because it is my home,” he said stiffly. “I have a responsibility to the people of Nettlefield and I intend to remain here, dukedom or no dukedom.

“Now,” he went on, “what brings you to Yorkshire, my lady? Are you perhaps a distant cousin in need of a loan? A young widow whose son wishes to attend Eton? Or did you come at my grandmother’s behest to
persuade
me to come down to London?”

She did him the courtesy of not misunderstanding him.

“The latter,” she said calmly, as if he hadn’t just accused her of being a toady. “Your grandmother has need of you in London. She is quite ill.”

“Bollocks,” he said, not bothering to guard his language. “She has need of my position because she does not have enough power on her own as the dowager. And if she’s ill then I’ll eat my hat. She sent you here to lure me with your looks—which are quite splendid by the way—back to town so that she can direct me as she sees fit. Which will not happen while there is breath in my body.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Isabella murmured. “You are quite averse to the notion, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed, so you may return to London at once and inform Her Grace that I have no intention of dancing to her tune.”

“I can hardly do so at the moment, given the state of her traveling carriage,” Lady Isabella said calmly. “I hope you do not mean to refuse me accommodation,
Your Grace.
” She put special emphasis on his title. “Rustic though I suppose it must be.”

“I can hardly do so and continue to call myself a gentleman,” Trevor returned. Though he’d like to, just to prove a point to his grandmother. But the punishment would be for Lady Isabella, not the dowager. Which would be fruitless. “And fear not. I believe you will find Nettlefield up to your, no doubt, exacting standards.”

They rode along in silence until finally they reached the lane leading to the manor. It was full dark now and visibility was such that only the front step was illuminated in the gloom. Even so, the house was not an unimpressive sight. Nettlefield had been built sometime in the seventeenth century by a prosperous squire whose descendent had sold the property off some two hundred years later to Trevor’s father, who had been in search of a place to settle his young family. The façade was grayed with age and weather and rather dour, but it was home.

“Your Grace,” Templeton, his butler, said from the top step, “we had begun to fear you’d met with some misadventure.”

Dismounting and reaching up to lower Lady Isabella to the ground, Trevor was pleased to see her mouth agape. Rustic accommodation indeed, he thought wryly.

“Templeton, see that the blue room is readied for our guest,” he told the butler, offering Isabella his arm as he led her up the steps. “Lady Isabella Wharton will be our guest for a few days before she returns to London.”

If Templeton thought there was anything untoward about the fact that his master had returned home with a strange lady on his arm, the older man didn’t mention it.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the butler said, bowing to their guest as they moved into the hallway. “Lady Wharton, may I offer you a warm welcome and offer my assistance should you need anything during your stay?”

“Please have Mrs. Templeton send a tea tray into the sitting room,” Trevor said, assisting Isabella to remove her cloak and handing it to a waiting maid who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

He was leading Isabella toward the stairs when a whirling dervish in the form of his sister Belinda came bolting into the hallway. “Trevor! Thank goodness you’ve returned! Flossie is about to give birth and I fear that she simply won’t rest until she sees you!”

Two

Today was obviously the day for Isabella to find her preconceived notions upended at every turn.

First the fellow she assumed was a common laborer turned out to be the Duke of Ormonde. Then the house she’d expected to have all the elegance and appointments of a shepherd’s cottage turned out to be a sturdily built manor house. Now the duke himself turned out to be married to someone appallingly named Flossie, and if that weren’t bad enough, she was about to give birth to their child. For all Isabella knew, this young woman who had just burst onto the scene was his child as well.

Isabella rubbed her forehead between her brows, though it did nothing to assuage her burgeoning headache.

But, despite the news that he was about to become a father, the duke merely shrugged. “I will be up directly, Bel, though you know my opinion about Flossie’s affection for me. She could not possibly care less whether I’m in the room with her or not. That is, I fear, a notion entirely of your own making.” He turned to Isabella, and she felt suddenly diffident under his gaze. “I wish you to meet our guest.”

The young girl had seemed about to argue with him over the unfortunate Flossie, but she stopped when she realized that the duke was not alone.

“Lady Isabella Wharton,” he said, “may I present my youngest sister, Belinda.”

Isabella felt herself being subjected to the same scrutiny the duke had given her when he’d first come upon her on the roadside. Only now her gown was more rumpled, her hair was falling from its pins, and in general she felt a fright. Not that she cared what a provincial young lady who hadn’t even made her come-out thought of her, Isabella reminded herself.

Straightening her spine, she subjected young Belinda to her own scrutiny.

Belinda’s hair was the same deep russet as her brother’s, and it had obviously not been dressed by anyone with skill at the task. Her gown, three years out of fashion, was a passable shade of deep green but was hardly anything to boast about. It was serviceable and nothing more. But it was the young lady’s eyes that were her best feature. They were not unlike the duke’s. A startling blue that reminded Isabella of the spring sky.

“Lady Wharton,” Belinda said eagerly, “how lovely to see you! You’ve come just in time to see the kittens.”

Momentarily startled by the non sequitur, Isabella glanced at her host, who shrugged. “Flossie was perhaps waiting for an audience.”

Pieces snapped into place in Isabella’s mind. “Ah, the unfortunate Flossie,” she said.

“She loves Trevor most of all,” Belinda said, tucking her arm into Isabella’s, completely unfazed by her most standoffish manner. “He pretends not to care,” the young lady confided, “but I know he loves her, too. How can he not when she is altogether the best cat imaginable?”

Isabella paused when she felt the duke’s hand on her arm. “Just a minute, Bel,” he said, not unkindly. “Lady Wharton has had a rather trying day. I think she’d probably rather forego a visit to Flossie’s bedside for now.”

Belinda paused, and Isabella paused along with her, looking to the duke for guidance. “Oh dear,” Belinda said, turning to Isabella in alarm. “I am sorry. I didn’t think. Of course you won’t wish to see Flossie now.”

“It’s no matter, Bel,” the duke said to his sister, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure Lady Wharton does not mind.” His blue gaze spoke more loudly than his voice.

“Certainly not,” Isabella said quickly. “And I should very much like to see the kittens tomorrow.”

Relief shone in the young lady’s eyes. “Thank you, Lady Wharton,” she said gratefully. “Trevor, I must get back to Flossie. You will come up and see her before you retire for the night, won’t you?”

The duke nodded. “Of course.”

When Belinda had gone, Trevor led Isabella up the stairs. She followed along, though she knew that showing her to her room was an office that a footman or maid should perform. Clearly the duke had much to learn about being ducal.

“Belinda is my youngest sister,” he said, leading Isabella down a rather well-appointed hallway. “She is convinced that her cat holds me in great affection.”

Isabella could hear the amusement in his tone even as a thread of steel sounded behind it. “I realize that you will be returning to London quite soon,” he said, “but I would appreciate it if you would not subject my sisters to your reason for being here.”

Isabella, who had been trying her best not to notice how strong his arm felt beneath her hand, glanced over. “Why ever not?” she asked, realizing that her fatigue had dulled her intelligence. Of course his sisters would be a means of convincing him to return to London with her.

“I think you know why not,” he said fiercely. “They have no concept of what life as sisters to the Duke of Ormonde would be like. Whereas now they enjoy a rather easy existence in the country, a trip to London and exposure to its excesses would change their lives irrevocably.”

“Don’t you think they should be able to make that choice for themselves?” Isabella demanded, as they paused before an open door.

“They are thirteen and seventeen,” the duke said, his expression hard. “They are too young to make that decision for themselves. As their guardian, it is up to me to decide what’s best for them. And for now, I choose to remain in the country.”

Deciding that this battle was one that she’d best fight when she was in her full faculties, Isabella gave an inscrutable nod. It could mean anything, she decided.

“I will leave you to your rest,” he said with a slight bow. “I hope you will be comfortable here during your stay.”

Leaving her to the care of her waiting maid, the duke departed. And for the first time in hours, Isabella relaxed.

“Sanders,” she told her maid, “I would like a bath, I think. And then bed.”

“Very good, my lady,” the efficient woman said, unfastening Isabella’s gown. She’d only been with Isabella for a month or so, but she was quite good at her position. “Oh, my lady?”

“Yes?” Isabella asked, sighing with pleasure as Sanders loosened the ties of her corset.

“I found a note in your case while I was unpacking your things,” the maid said, folding the discarded gown over her arm. “It’s there on the writing desk. I thought perhaps the young duchess sent it with you.”

Frowning, Isabella stepped over to the desk in her stocking feet and pulled the robe she’d donned against the spring chill tighter around her. The note was lying flat on the desk, right where Sanders had said it would be. Her name was scrawled in an unfamiliar hand across the folded page. Rather than being sealed, the letter had been neatly folded into a rectangle, the end flap tucked in to form a makeshift closure.