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She didn't want to let the thought trouble her any longer; the more she thought on it, the more it put fear into her that so much of her life had been a lie. These traditions existed for a reason - and she knew, now, that this had been why her father had warned her away from the younger Lord Brighton. Yet the thought perplexed her - why had he taken on so much debt from the young lord, if there had been a falling out between their parents? Why had he not gone to the Duke of Thrushmore, a foul man - but at the time, the most beloved in the land? Perhaps her father had known something she did not. Perhaps he knew a lot more of these men than she had.
Perhaps he knew that so much of the gentlemanly charm had been a lie... and that the Duke of Thrushmor
e would certainly have used the debt against her.
"Mighty lucky we haven't happened upon those Merry Bandits, the sort what the folks back in Upton and Harshire have been talking on, m'lady," Mr. Trevingham tried to calm his clearly unnerved passenger's disquiet with idle chatter. "I take it from the rumors running 'midst the hills that they prefer ta target the wealthy and the nobility traveling 'cross the roadways." Isobel blushed; she didn't want to tell dear Mr. Trevingham that the rather shabby appearance of his carriage - and its driver - no doubt deterred any malfeasance on the part of Robin Hood-minded bandits looking for wealth to plunder.
"I'm quite fortunate to have you here to protect me, then, am I not?" she commented with a faint smile.
"Protect? You think the sight of me sends any bandits scrambling in fear, m'lady? I'm flattered," Mr. Trevingham joked. The ride continued along quietly, and the lady melted against Mr. Trevingham's hobbling cart, drifting away from consciousness slowly, her mind straying to a thousand different thoughts. She saw the Lord Brighton in her mind again, distaste frothing through her at the gross proposition he had made regarding her debts. She would bargain with him, she insisted - she insisted to herself, quietly, before drifting into rest.
"M'lady, brace yourself, the hill up to Norbury Manor's just ahead, it'll be bumpy," Mr. Trevingham reminded her, shaking her free from troubling dreams plaguing her nerve-wracked mind. She groggily braced herself against the sides of the carriage and felt gravity work against her as the horses made their way up the nearly vertical hill in a slow and steady trod.
The steady trod came to a slowed stop, and Isobel exhaled deeply, watching the sun looming high atop the facade of dark wealth before her. The Lord Brighton, no doubt savoring the situations he would soon put her in, lay somewhere within the manor, his eyes gleaming in devilish delight at the misfortune fallen on his young, beautiful, demure debtor. A breath rattled through her lungs; she tried to still her jittering hands, before thrusting herself out of the carriage and into the sunlight, the horses whinnying as her weight lifted out from Mr. Trevingham's vehicle.
"Ought I introduce you, m'lady?" he asked, grinning his crooked grin.
"No, no... I'm expected. He knows I'm here, certainly," the lady grimaced.
"Ought I wait, then? D'you expect another... ahem, dinner cut rather short?" Mr. Trevingham commented wryly. Isobel sighed. She had no idea how the 'negotiation' would go - or if she would end up giving in to the man her family estate owed everything to. She had resolved not to give an inch - but her heart sunk at learning the Duke of Thrushmore to be an animal beneath the wolfish disguise of a gentleman, and she did not know if she could stand to refuse the Lord Brighton's lascivious proposal.
"Stay just down the road. Watch out for the bandits for us, won't you? There's no telling how bold they've grown," Lady Isobel requested, the subtle suggestion responded to with a coy tip of the hat from Mr. Trevingham.
"I'll be waiting and watching for you, m'lady," he offered, the horse hooves clop-clopping along the roadway behind Lady Duskwood. She gathered what courage she could, stepping towards the front door of the foreboding estate. Before she could even rap upon the aged wood, the doors swung open, and in the shadows of the foyer she caught the eye of a wizened old man in a black suit, his head bald and his eyes bulging.
"You've been expected," the old man dictated harshly; she winced at the sound of his voice. "The Lord Brighton awaits in the dining hall."
"Do you always have to be so dour?" the crack came from a young dark-haired woman dusting a small table near the landing.
"I do my job," the suit-wearing old man growled. "'Tis my job to deliver the messages of our master. As he expects them to be delivered."
"Don't mind Werner. He's stodgy, but well-meaning," the sassy maid in her black dress scoffed. "I'm Lilian. Suppose we'll be seeing more of you 'round here now, m'lady?" she asked. Isobel cleared her throat, a confused look on her face.
"I... I'm not certain... how do you mean?" she stammered.
"Oh, hasn't the Lord Brighton asked for your hand in marriage, yet? I know his father always wanted you two to marry. You're the Lady Duskwood, aren't you?" Lilian queried.
"You're... you're quite knowledgeable, for a maidservant," Isobel chuckled anxiously.
"Maybe I am," Lilian returned haughtily. "Or maybe I'm just good at guesses. Werner, you want to show her to the dining hall?"
"I'm certain I can find my way," Isobel trumpeted defiantly, carrying herself standoffish through the room, along the stairwell, until she stood once again in front of a familiar doorway. Her nerves ran like fire. She couldn't believe she had to resort to this, but her mind flowed once again back to Upton - to old Gudheim, and the ramshackle taverns her father had kept going in the worst of times. With them on her mind, she pulled open the doors.
"Had to say, I'm not surprised you're back, love," the voice interrupted her peaceful calm the moment the doors opened. Basking in rays of sun shimmering through plates of tall glass, Lord Ellery Brighton stood in his perfectly-tailored suit, his young, athletic body painted with daylight's glow of white-yellow, his face as defiantly youthful and clean-shaven as she had recalled. She entered silently, her face downcast, her expression mired in slithering anger.
"I'm here to negotiate the nature and terms of the debt between our respective estates, m'lord," she said, undeterred by the flippant nature of him. "It's critical we have this matter resolved soon. The estate and people of Upton are reliant upon it."
"They're in a difficult spot, it'd seem, eh love?" he steps away from the window and she glimpses his eyes, gripped in a silent, smoldering satisfaction. She cannot deny in her mind how gorgeous he is - but lacking the fundamental qualities one would seek in any decent man, much less a husband, leaves him with so much to yet be desired.
"Please. We can discuss this, professionally," Lady Isobel insisted, shaking, looking away; anywhere, other than his face.
"You went off to see old Eugenius, didn't you, love?" he chuckled, circling her now like a starved creature eyeing its prey. "You wouldn't be the first t' think he's some sort of respectable... something, anything, other than the filthy lecher he is. I could've warned you about that bloody old pervert, darling," he shook his head, looming in closer to catch a whiff of Lady Duskwood's scent.
"I've sim... simply tried, what I know, to resolve the matter of the debt between our estates. Now, I've come to you to try to negotiate the terms," she said, quaking under the feeling of him; his powerful and rebellious presence made it hard for her to keep her composure.
"It's okay, love. I forgive you," he whispered into her ear. She felt the tickle of his breath on her neck and she thought about how much better he felt, in so many ways, than the Duke of Thrushmore - the man so many had taken to be a true 'gentleman'. Instead, this filthy rogue now held her fate in his hands, but she couldn't deny that his presence made her melt; made her legs shiver, her thighs blush warm and red.
"Please don't call me that," she protested meekly.
