Promise Me Tonight (23 page)

“Oh, yes, of course. His solicitor. A Mr. . . . Mr. . . . Mr. Marbly; yes, that’s right. Aunt Kate, you are a genius. I shall write to him at once!”

To say that the response, which arrived nearly three weeks later, was disappointing would be a vast understatement, Isabella reflected. The note read:

Lady Dunston,

We are regretfully unable to disclose your husband’s

direction. Any correspondence you wish to

have forwarded to His Lordship may be directed to

our office.

Your humble servants,

Conter, Ellis, Marbly and Stinch

“Well!” Isabella huffed, and handed the note over to her aunt, who quickly skimmed it before Olivia snatched it out of her hands. “Concealing his whereabouts from his own wife! Do I honestly seem so desperate that I would go see the man when he doesn’t wish to see me?”

“That
was
the basic plan,” Olivia reminded her.

“Oh, go back to whatever it is you’ve been doing in the library.” Isabella made a shooing motion. “Insufferable man! Now I am in the same position I was in before.”

“Although it is not ideal, if it is the only way to reach him, I think you should write to James through this Mr. Marbly. Perhaps the news of the babe will bring him running to your side,” Aunt Kate suggested.

“Running as far away as he can get, more likely. No, I must tell him face-to-face.”

“Very well,” said her aunt. “I suppose we must summon Mr. Marbly here.”

“And what, pray tell, would be the use in
that
?”

“Darling, I am the Marchioness of Sheldon. You don’t think it should be
too
difficult to get the information out of dear Mr. Marbly, do you?” She fluttered her lashes and produced the wicked smile that still caused men to swear their undying love upon first sight. It was no wonder that both her husbands, each man her senior by at least twenty years, were rumored to have died in the bedchamber, beatific smiles upon their faces.

Izzie grinned. “The poor man doesn’t stand a chance.”

By the time Mr. Marbly arrived almost a month later, Izzie was no longer grinning. Nearly everything she saw or heard brought on a fit of weeping, which was only slightly preferable to the bouts of nausea incurred whenever she smelled or tasted anything. Thus it happened that Isabella’s first glimpse of the solicitor was somewhat distorted by a veil of tears. Nevertheless, she could see he was a tall man, probably around her father’s age, with a head of copper curls. He was handsome, she supposed, in a distinguished, dependable sort of way, and his clothing was that of a gentleman who insisted that quality and comfort need not be mutually exclusive.

She surmised with confidence that he was that epitome of British masculinity: a confirmed bachelor. The solicitor probably divided his time between his work and his club, disliked having his routine disturbed, and despised weeping females, but here he was, having traveled more than four hundred miles, and he was smiling at her and holding out a handkerchief.

Unaccountably, the action only made her cry harder. With relief, she saw her aunt appear in the doorway. Aunt Kate would take care of Mr. Marbly, Izzie thought, then gave herself permission to sit, or rather,
sprawl
back down on the sofa, where she promptly resumed her crying.

“Lady Dunston?” Mr. Marbly took a step toward her, his expression slightly panicked.

“She has been like this since your letter arrived,” her aunt said despairingly as she entered the room.

Izzie watched with a faint glimmer of amusement as Mr. Marbly gaped at her aunt. Though she had seen the same reaction any number of times, the sight of a man looking like a landed fish never failed to provoke a smile.

“I—I beg your pardon.” His voice cracked.

Aunt Kate, who knew exactly what effect she had on members of the male species, flashed him a sultry, inviting look. She fluttered her lashes and placed a hand over her heart, drawing attention to the low neckline of her gown, as she said, “I must beg yours as well. It is unforgivable for a hostess to be elsewhere when a guest is shown in and, as you can see, my niece is not quite up to acting the part. Welcome to Haile Castle. I am Lady Sheldon.”

He bowed, cool, crisp, and professional. “Timothy Marbly, my lady.”

Isabella was impressed at how quickly the solicitor had regained his composure. Thank heavens the “Effective Use of Seductive Wiles” was only the first part of their plan.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Marbly. My poor niece has been in this state since she learned that her husband did not trust her with his whereabouts.”

Apparently her aunt had moved onto a new phase of the plan, and it was the “Pity the Abandoned Bride” segment. Isabella sniffled and sighed loudly, throwing in the occasional moan and wail for good measure. Of course, if anyone in the room was deserving of pity, it was the solicitor. The poor man had to be exhausted, but she and her aunt had decided that might work to their advantage.

“I am truly sorry,” he began, “but I must respect my client’s wishes—”

Lady Sheldon cut him off. “Won’t you sit down?” She seated herself and gestured to the neighboring chair.

He took the proffered chair, clearly doubtful that the spindly, feminine piece of furniture would bear his weight. “As I was saying—,” he started again.

“Tea?” Lady Sheldon chirped.

“No, thank you. Now, I realize that Lady Dunston is understandably upset by her husband’s decision, but—”

“You see, Mr. Marbly,” her aunt confided, leaning toward him, “my niece has a rather important piece of news for her husband. News of a rather
personal
nature.” She patted her stomach.

He paled. “If Lady Dunston is ill, I must—”

“She is not ill. She is
expecting
.”

“Whom?”

“Pardon me?” Her aunt’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

Mr. Marbly let out an audible sigh. “You said Lady Dunston was expecting. I asked whom. It is the logical response.”

Her aunt gave an unladylike snort of pure exasperation. “A baby!” she exploded, nearly rising out of her chair. “She is expecting a
baby
.”

Baby
. That was the key phrase to begin the next phase of their plan. Olivia should be standing by with Charlotte. Help, in the form of a four-year-old, was on the way.

“Oh!” he remarked, nonplussed, but he quickly recovered himself. “Be that as it may, I cannot—”

“Maaammmaaaa!”

Right on cue, Charlotte burst into the parlor and, with a dramatic cry, hurled herself into her mother’s lap. “I miss Papa,” she sobbed.

Isabella watched Mr. Marbly closely. It was working. Her aunt was right. His whole face had softened. After this affecting display, surely he would realize the important role played by a child’s father. He couldn’t deny her own child the right to a father. The thought trailed off into nothingness as Izzie realized Charlotte’s crying had stopped—and a touch too quickly, judging by the solicitor’s expression.

Isabella looked on in dismay as Charlotte hopped off her mother’s lap and held out her hands. “I said it, Mama, just like Livvy told me. May I have my present now?”

Her aunt groaned and then whispered something in Charlotte’s ear that had the little girl practically skipping out of the room. She was probably headed to the kitchen for a treat. Aunt Kate claimed that rather than having a sweet tooth, Charlotte had an entire mouthful of sweet teeth.

Mr. Marbly was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to keep a straight face.

Izzie sighed. “I don’t believe the plan is working. We have no one to blame but ourselves. Charlotte delivered her line perfectly. We just forgot to tell her what to do afterward.”

Mr. Marbly let loose the laugh he had been holding back. It was a warm, hearty sound that soon had both Isabella and her aunt joining in. He really was attractive, for an older gentleman. From the sideways looks her aunt kept throwing in his direction, Izzie surmised she was not the only one who had noticed the solicitor’s charms.

When Mr. Marbly addressed her, his face was full of honest regret. “Lady Dunston, believe me, I wish I could furnish you with your husband’s present location, but it is impossible.”

Isabella took a deep breath. “I understand.”

“You do?” her aunt squawked.

“Yes. It seems I will have to seek my husband on my own.” She got up and began to move about the room. Mr. Marbly started to rise to his feet, but she waved him back down. “I must assume,” she said, “with circumstances being what they are, that James has gone as far away from me as possible. I must also assume that he will choose to hide out at one of his estates, for convenience, if nothing else. So, the estate that is farthest away? Hmmm. That would be the sugar plantation, if I recall correctly. Tell me, Mr. Marbly, does my husband own any properties farther away from England than Jamaica?”

“Not that I know of, my lady,” he said warily.

“Excellent. Then that is where I shall begin my search.”

The solicitor frowned. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you he isn’t there?”

“Not a bit,” she responded cheerily. “You might be trying to throw me off his scent, so to speak. No, I am determined to go. I refuse to let this state of affairs continue. As it is, my marriage has little chance of succeeding, but it will have no chance whatsoever if I cannot at least speak to my husband.”

“Dearest, you cannot go,” her aunt protested. “What if there should be a complication with the babe?”

Mr. Marbly, clearly relieved to have an ally, nodded rapidly, his head bobbing up and down like a parrot’s.

Izzie thought for a moment. “I guess that is a risk I will have to take.”

Mr. Marbly looked pained. She had seen that expression before on her father’s face. It usually meant he wanted to shake her and was lamenting his inability to do so. Presumably, from the way the solicitor’s hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, he felt much the same.

“I must agree with Lady Sheldon. The journey is neither short nor easy nor, I promise you, will you find your husband there. To continue with this plan would be very ill-advised,” he cautioned.

Izzie imagined that tone worked quite well for persuading his clients not to invest in risky ventures. But without risk, there was no gain, she reminded herself. Life was a series of gambles, an attempt to play the cards you were dealt as best you could. She just hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff.

“Ill-advised though it may be,” she ventured, “since you refuse to tell me where my husband is, I have no choice but to search for him myself. If you should change your mind, I might do the same.”

She had backed him neatly into a corner, and his expression said he knew it. “Very well, my lady.” The words emerged as a resigned sigh.

“Very well? Is that very well, have a safe journey, or very well, I will tell you where your husband is?”

“As I told you before, I believe that providing you with that information will almost certainly cost me my position.”

“I assure you, Mr. Marbly, I will not let that happen,” she hastened to assure him. “If my husband is angry with anyone, I promise it will be with me.”

“Thank you, my lady. As I was saying, though I am convinced that Lord Dunston will dismiss me if I reveal his location, I am just as convinced that he will dismember me if I allow the alternative, your proposed journey, to go forward.”

“You will tell me, then?”

“Yes.” He nodded, a smile twitching at his upper lip. “Not only because I have no wish to be dismembered, but . . .” He struggled to find the right words.

“What? What is it?”

“Your husband is a fine man, and I have always held him in the highest esteem, but lately he has become somewhat . . . reckless. It is my hope that the news of his impending fatherhood will recall him to his senses.”

Isabella was of the opinion that it might send him over the edge, but she kept it to herself. “Mr. Marbly,
where
is my husband?” she demanded impatiently.

“He is serving aboard the HMS
Theseus
which, he informed me prior to his departure, is one of the ships in the Mediterranean fleet.”

Serving aboard the HMS
Theseus. Blood pounded in her ears. A wave of blackness passed before her eyes, and her entire body began to shake.

“Izzie!”

“Lady Dunston!”

The voices were dim, as if coming from a long way off. Her aunt’s gentle hands guided her into a chair and then pushed her head down until her cheek rested on her knees.

“He promised,” she whispered.

Fury and heartbreak, fear and despair, and every conceivable emotion in between trampled over her.

“He promised.”

All the cracks in her heart, so recently pieced back together, started to open again.

“He
promised
!”

Before, James had only been lost to her physically. Now, at this very moment, he could be lost to her forever. A fresh wave of grief washed over her, and she shoved a knuckle in her mouth, biting down hard, relishing the pain. She didn’t know how to exist in a world without him. He had always been there.