Once a Duchess (21 page)

He took another fortifying swallow of his drink. Then he turned around.

Five faces registering varying degrees of shock watched him.

Isabelle sat between her brother and Naomi on the sofa. Her beautiful green eyes were wide, and she looked ready to bolt for the door. Tight bands constricted around Marshall’s chest when he saw her alarm. He wanted to toss the rest of them out on their collective ear, carry Isabelle to bed, and begin making up for lost time.

Caro perched in an armchair facing the sofa, but her seething face was turned away from the Fairfaxes, refusing to acknowledge their presence. Grant stood behind their mother’s chair with his hands thrust into his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, tense.

Alexander Fairfax’s jaw moved side to side, banked fury evident in every taut muscle.

Oddly, of the entire group, only Naomi seemed perfectly at ease, as though the situation did not surprise or unsettle her in the least.
Poor thing.
She had no idea what all the hullabaloo was about.

It seemed everyone could use a drink. He poured brandies for the men and wine for the ladies.

Alexander caught his eye when Marshall handed him a glass. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us what this is about, Monthwaite.”

With a dull thud, Caro’s fist slammed against the upholstered arm of her chair. “You will not address your superior so familiarly.”

“Sod off, Your Grace,” Alexander retorted with a sneer.

The dowager duchess’ mouth fell open.

Alexander jerked his chin toward Marshall. “Were it not for your damned son’s lunatic behavior, we would all be enjoying a pleasant evening right now.”

“Now see here, Fairfax,” Grant interjected. “Mind your tongue around my mother before I mind it for you.”

A shouting match between the three erupted, with Fairfax accusing the Lockwoods of all manner of duplicity and dishonor. At one point, he called Caro a snake in the grass.

Showing true Lockwood spirit, Caro and Grant railed against the collective immorality of the Fairfax family, referring to them as peasants and gold digging opportunists.

Marshall and Isabelle’s gazes met. She rolled her eyes. He gave her a wry smile and walked behind the couch to lean between her and his sister.

“Naomi, you should go now.”

His sister smoothed the skirt of her salmon gown. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe I should.” She sipped her wine and smiled her sweet, sisterly smile. Two feet away, Alex Fairfax leapt to his feet, pointed at the dowager duchess, and called her a hateful old hag.

Marshall ground his teeth. “This is getting out of hand. It’s no place for you.”

Naomi raised her face and breathed deeply, as though drinking in fresh country air, oblivious to the animosity flying over their heads. “To the contrary. Here I am with my mother,” she gestured serenely to the irate Caro, “my brothers,” she nodded to Grant, whose face had long since gone red with the force of his yelling, “my sister.” She patted Isabelle on the leg. “Oh!” She covered her mouth in false embarrassment. “My
former
sister. And her beloved brother. Where should I be,” she concluded, “if not in the bosom of my loving family?” She sipped her wine again, as calmly as if it were her afternoon tea.

Isabelle exhaled a small laugh. “Let her stay.”

He opened his mouth to argue. Isabelle cut him off with a hand and leveled her gaze on him. “She’s not a child.” She arched a brow in a manner that drove home the resemblance between her and her brother. “Don’t treat her as one.”

Taking Isabelle’s words to heart, he looked at his sister, and really saw her, perhaps for the first time in years. She not only had all the beauty and dewy youth that had kept him hovering protectively over her all Season, but also sharp intelligence behind her blue eyes. A little girl no more — his sister would soon be a formidable woman in her own right.

He nodded, granting Naomi permission to remain. Isabelle needed all the allies in this room Marshall could give her, after all. Then he straightened and raised a hand for silence. The feuding parties ignored him.

“Enough!” His voice cracked like a bullwhip. The warring parties fell silent, turning the combined force of their angry glares upon him. He met their stares head on; it was his turn.

“Why are we here?” Alex demanded again.

“What was the meaning of that shameful display? You’ll be lucky if Woolsley doesn’t bring charges against you.” Strands of Caro’s silver hair had fallen loose from her coif. Her lips were tight, and her eyes puffy. He was struck by how age was rapidly catching up with her. “And you’ll be fortunate if Lady Lucy will still have you, after that unbecoming scene.”

He answered calmly, “Whether or not Lady Lucy will have me is no longer of any import.”

Caro’s mouth fell open and she made a stricken sound.

“There were no promises made,” he said. “I regret disappointing Lucy’s hopes, but that is as it must be. I’ve come to the realization that the divorce was a terrible mistake.”

Isabelle’s startled eyes captured his. He could drown in those eyes; he wanted to. A lump of emotion formed in his throat and he drew a shuddering breath.

When he spoke, his voice was husky. “Isabelle, I stand here in front of you and our families to beg your forgiveness.”

She eyed him warily.

“What are you doing?” Caro said in a rush. “I saw — ”

He frowned, annoyed at the interruption. “I know what you
think you saw, but you’re wrong. What you witnessed that day was not infidelity.”

His attention returned to Isabelle. “You were injured, just as you said. And I injured you further with the divorce.” That awful word burned his tongue like acid. He threw back the remainder of his drink.

Isabelle opened her mouth as though to speak, then pressed her lips together again. He could tell she was not convinced.

“Marsh, are you sure you know what you’re about?” Grant pointed an accusing finger at Isabelle. “She was in another man’s arms. Mother saw them! How can you doubt it?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

Though it would make convincing the others easier, Marshall wouldn’t compromise Isabelle by revealing the discovery of her unevenly healed rib. He shrugged. “I’m asking you to trust me, Grant.”

“She knows the truth.”

Marshall turned. Isabelle’s gazed was fixed on Caro, whose face blanched to resemble thin parchment. “She was there at Hamhurst when I was still in the bed with my ribs wrapped. She talked to the doctor, even, but still accused Justin and me of carrying on.”

Caro’s eyes narrowed and she fidgeted in her seat.

Isabelle’s voice raised in anger. “She didn’t tell you that, did she, because she didn’t want you to believe I’d been hurt!” Her fists were white-knuckled balls in her lap. “She preferred the public spectacle of a divorce to our marriage,” she concluded with a bitter laugh.

Marshall started to ask Caro for confirmation, but the truth was written all over her features. At least she had the sense to keep her eyes downcast. Cold anger at his own mother’s evil betrayal wrapped around his spine.

His hand tapped against his thigh as his mother squirmed under his intense glare. How could she? This treachery was worse even than he’d feared. It was bad enough thinking she’d misjudged what she saw, but she’d known the truth and twisted it into a vile falsehood. The edges of his vision went red.

“I will deal with you later,” he swore through clenched teeth. Caro swallowed, her eyes wide.

With a considerable force of will, Marshall pushed his anger aside and set his glass on an end table. Tonight was for Isabelle, he reminded himself. All else must wait. He crouched in front of her and took her hands. Although they were cold and trembling against his palms, her face was remarkably calm. A fresh wave of admiration for her courage washed over him. This Season had been difficult for her, yet she’d thrown herself into the maelstrom of society with grace and dignity.

“I wish it had never happened,” he murmured. “I need you to forgive me, Isabelle. It was all a horrible, wretched mistake.”

Her green eyes softened. The corners of her mouth turned upward just the slightest bit.

“Apologies are well and good,” Alex snapped.

Isabelle’s face went flat, and Marshall saw the minutiae of ground he’d gained slip away.

“But, I don’t believe you understand the full import of what this divorce has meant to my family.” Alexander’s words bristled with frustration bordering on anger.

Marshall found himself in the awkward position of looking up at his former brother-in-law. He cleared his throat and stood, then gestured for Fairfax to continue.

Alex propped his elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested his jaw against his fist. “Because of your divorce, my sister was finally forced into anonymous exile, no longer fit for polite company. As you know,” he continued, inclining his fair head, “she was reduced to employment in an inn to support herself.”

Behind Marshall, Caro made a sound of disgust.

“Only because you cut her off,” Marshall retorted. “What kind of a brother — ”

“I would never have done so,” Alex returned, his voice rising in intensity, “had you not been so bloody precise in your accusations. I read all about my sister’s immoral conduct in the news sheets, Monthwaite. How d’you suppose that felt? What was I to believe? After a few years of everyone telling me Isabelle was a shameless adulteress, what would you expect?”

Marshall’s eyes flicked guiltily to Naomi sitting steadfast at Isabelle’s side. He would never do such a thing to her. Would he?

“Additionally,” Alex said, “my sister’s divorce has been an impediment in my own life. Believe it or not, Monthwaite, even lowly commoners such as myself aspire to marriage and children, but no decent woman will have me, because of the scandal hanging over us like a pall.” He made a popping sound with his lips. “I’m sure you can see my predicament.” He gestured with both his hands. “Your words are like so much piffle, for all the good they do us. My sister came to London this Season to procure a respectable husband and ease the strain on our family.” He lifted an ironic brow. “That worked out well, didn’t it? You’ve seen for yourself how the world treats us. And you’re
sorry
?”

Anger, guilt, and frustration ate away at Marshall. Hot breath whooshed from his nostrils. He looked from Alex’s furious face to Isabelle’s heartbreakingly resigned one. Alex was right. Marshall’s ugly divorce had made a muck of their lives. It hadn’t been enough to try to surreptitiously help Isabelle find a husband — though it had nearly been the death of him to see her with another man. He wished he could have another go at Woolsley’s face for what he’d done, but it proved Alex’s point that society would not accept the Fairfaxes.

He had to do more.

“I’ll apologize publicly,” he said.

Behind him, Caro gasped. “You’ll do no such thing! Think of the scandal! Son, I forbid you to pursue such a reckless course — ”

He rounded on her, his face a cold mask. “I’m the head of this family. You will not and cannot forbid me anything.”

She startled as though he’d struck her; her eyes immediately filled with tears. Pressing a fist to her lips, she turned her face away. A pang shot through him, but he couldn’t afford to capitulate to Caro’s desires in the matter. Doing so in the past was one of the causes of all this grief.

Caro inhaled to compose herself and opened her mouth.

“No more.” Marshall slowly shook his head. “You’ve done quite enough.”

She bared her teeth in a snarl. “All I have ever done,” she clamped onto the arms of her chair with a talon-like grip, her voice rising in fervor, “has been for the good of this family. But you refuse to see it. Understanding fails me when it comes to your unfathomable infatuation with this half-French nobody! No fortune, no name, no breeding, no connections, and more deficiencies than I can count.”

“Out!” Marshall roared, rage pounding in his ears. His breath came in hot, labored pants. “And if you so much as think another maligning word against Isabelle, so help me — ”

He forced his lips back together before he said something unforgivable.

Caro stood and twitched her black skirts behind her. “Come, Naomi,” she said, her narrowed eyes on Marshall. “You and I shall remove to the dower house. This one is beginning to reek of the unwashed.”

She exited the room only slightly faster than her normal, stately pace. Naomi gave Marshall a questioning look. He nodded. “It’s your decision. This is still your home.”

Naomi smiled gratefully. She squeezed Isabelle’s hand and then followed her mother, leaving Marshall and Grant with the Fairfax siblings.

Marshall took several deep breaths until his blood pressure returned to something approaching normal.

“Grant, would you excuse us?”

“Actually,” Isabelle said, rising from the sofa, “I’d like to go now. Please take me home, Alex.”

No!
She couldn’t leave now — not after he’d just done battle on her behalf. “There are things we must discuss.”

She shook her head. “Everyone’s said quite enough tonight. I accept your apology.” The smile she gave him was strained. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to hear it. But now that I have … ” One slender shoulder shrugged.

Alex offered his arm.

She pinned Marshall with a weary look. “Please don’t issue me any more invitations. They aren’t good for either of us.”

Marshall bit back a growl of frustration. Why was she suddenly so blasé? If he could just get her alone, he could talk some sense into her — or kiss some sense into her, should talking fail.

As they reached the door, Marshall called, “Fairfax! Please, a word.” Alex murmured something to Isabelle. She nodded and continued down the hall, while Alex remained in the library.

“Grant.” Marshall jerked his chin to the door. His brother’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and left the two men alone.

Alex stood in the middle of the room, hands deep in his pockets. “Monthwaite?”

“With your permission, I’d like to call on Isabelle.” Alex raised an eyebrow, but otherwise gave no response. Both men knew such a request was as good as a declaration of courtship. Marshall couldn’t hold back a short, bitter laugh at the irony of having to request to court the woman to whom he’d already been married.