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"M'lord..."
"Please, lovely Isobel. Eugenius, I insist," he grunted, that off-setting smile growing. He sat next to her, looming closely; Isobel withdrew in calm confusion. He ought to know not to crowd her - certainly, not like this.
"E... Eugenius," she hissed. "My estate... you know, how truly my father loved the people of Upton - how much he would do anything to help them," Isobel smiled as a bowl of soup was set before her. The scent of slow-roasted vegetables stewed in stock and freshly-picked herbs de Provence struck her strong; she took in a deep whiff, and it smelled so truly heavenly. Having eaten little save an apple plucked from a roadside stand all day, she wanted so badly to devour the food, but she kept her sense of propriety intact, as best she could. The Lord Brighton could act so crass, and the Duke of Thrushmore could overstep his bounds, but she, at least, would make her father proud.
"Your father, as I understand it, took on quite a lot of debt in the furtherance of the estate - owed to that malcontent, Lord Brighton, in Norbury," the duke spat, taking a loud slurp of his soup.
"You... you knew?" Lady Isobel remarked in faint surprise. "You knew of my father's situation? And of... of the duke?"
"Did you think I would have listened to you had I not known you needed my help?" the duke smiled a sickening smile bright and wide. "Please, enjoy your soup, won't you?"
"Did... did you do nothing to help my father while he was still alive, duke? I had thought you to be a friend of his," she exhaled, fiery.
"Your father had little interest in asking me for my assistance, lovely Isobel. I'm not certain why - but, it is as it is, and now..." the duke's smile grew dark and devious; she suddenly felt his hand on her leg, and she recoiled, taking in a sharp breath at the man's gross actions.
"D-duke! I'm..." she stilled her nerves. "I... yes, I need... I need help, the Lord Brighton, he sought to take advantage of me, in exchange for forgiveness of the debts my father left to him. I had hoped to have a good discussion, with a gentleman—"
"Lovely Isobel," the duke purred, a wretched noise that wrenched Isobel's stomach. "I lost my wife, as you may have heard... she was such a lovely young thing. And since she's been gone..." Isobel felt the duke's fingers sliding, heedlessly up her leg, and she shuddered, her breaths halting. "...I've felt so alone, here in the manor. I've needed someone here, in the manor... to keep me company..." he drew closer, and Isobel felt her leg begin to shudder hard; when he dared to grasp her thigh, she shrieked, shuddering and pulling away from the man who had been made out to be such a gentleman by so many woman across northern England. The chair groaned as its legs skidded across the wooden floor.
"M-m'lord!" she exclaimed.
"Lovely Isobel, come to me," he growled, a severe look in his eyes. "I'll make the debts with Lord Brighton go away. I'll even take your hand in marriage," he offered, as Isobel should beg him for the opportunity. She recoiled, surprise setting in to her bones. If this is the way that the man all of north England took to be a fine gentleman conducted himself - what could she expect from the rest of high society?
"M'lord, I... I simply hoped we could come to a business accord—" Isobel took a step back, but the duke persisted; feeling cornered, she shook as he came closer, sniffing her scent loudly and biting at her jaw with a feral aggression.
"I've needed you for years, little Isobel," he hissed into her ear. "And now I can have you. You need me, don't you?" he asked, his voice full of kink and lust. "You need me to fix your problems. Don't worry. I can make it all go away, if you'll be mine," he snarled, and without warning, he pressed his lips to hers. Isobel's eyes opened wide and she groaned, huffing and pulling herself away from his embrace.
"M'lord! This..." Isobel stammered in disbelief. "I th-thought you were a gentleman!"
"I am a man, and I'm the best chance you've got," the duke reminded her harshly. "Come, stay at my manor. Stay with me—"
"You're no different than that dissolute creature in Norbury," Isobel scolded. "I thought you a gentleman. I'll be taking my leave," she said, flustered. The Duke strutted after Isobel as she stormed towards the end of the dining hall, the pretense of her manners faded.
"You'll never make it alone, not in this world, lovely Isobel," the duke's voice rose to a shout, a voice much bigger than his aging, shrinking body. "Not with that monster, Brighton, at your heels. Do you think you can get past him without my help?" he called after her. Isobel flung the doors open, her cheeks bright with barely-concealed fury.
"I'll be very relieved to prove you wrong, Lord Miller," she shouted, clacking her way to the front doors.
"You'll be back! You've no choice!" the duke said, a dark laugh in his throat. She heard it echo into a muffle as she stormed into the last dying strands of sunset, her eyes downcast, the stress heavy on her shoulders again. She heard the rickety cart rounding the corner, Mr. Trevingham's face twisted in mild befuddlement.
"M'lady, that didn't last quite long for a dinner, I must say," he commented wryly. "Your dinner dates are quite the fiascoes of late, it seems."
"That's quite accurate," Isobel sighed in a frustrated bluster. "I know you'll... perhaps be quite put off by this request, Mr. Trevingham, but..."
"Another ride, back to Lord Brighton's estate?" he queried knowingly. Lady Duskwood's shoulders slumped.
"Perhaps we could stop for food beforehand. My dinner plans keep coming up short," she said.
CHAPTER SIX
It had been the most harrowing few days of her life, but at least on her ride back across the countryside, through Upton and the stormy hills, through sunset and twilight and another romp across rocky byways, she had managed to finally have a dinner worth eating. Boiled potatoes and beef - simple, perhaps, but the roadside inn she and Mr. Trevingham had spent the evening at were acquaintances of her father's, and they seemed quite overjoyed to serve her.
Now, the fleeting joy of the night's stay had disappeared - noontime approached, and with it crept closer the knowledge that she would have to face him again - the lout, Lord Brighton. She felt awkwardly at peace with her decision to see him again. She would bargain with him, she had decided - she would not simply give herself to the man who wanted her so much. No, she would fight for herself - at least put up a fight, try to keep her dignity together, for her late father. Somehow, her encounter with the Duke of Thrushmore had reminded her of something Lord Brighton had said before they'd parted ways -
"Marriage is an illusion, just like all of these other foolish, trite institutions we conjure up."
She had not thought much on his words when he spoke them; her mind was too busy revolting against the very idea of him, even as she admired the handsome gall of the young lord. She hadn't thought on what he meant - not until this morning, when she set herself once more on the bench of Mr. Trevingham's ramshackle carriage. She remembered all the women fawning over the Duke of Thrushmore at her father's wedding - all the talk of his lovely wife, of the tragedy; of how lovely and gentlemanly he had always been.
And yet her own experiences with the ostentatious, possessive, manipulative duke had turned out quite differently. He had not at all been the gentleman she had expected - nor did he have in mind the needs of her as a woman, or the suffering people of Upton. He cared only for her body - for her flesh, just as the Lord Brighton had expressed to her. The two were not nearly as different as she had thought, and this troubled her. Perhaps Ellery had been right - perhaps so much of the world she had built her whole life upon, was a simple lie the nobility told one another. But why?
