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“I have heard that the duke is young. Depending on his age, it would be easy to take advantage of his naivety.”
Isadora glanced at Lord Osgood sharply, as what he claimed could easily be misconstrued as insulting, but the lady sitting across from him merely regarded him steadily. “The current Duke of Buccleuch is ten and seven years of age and currently enrolled in Cambridge in London.”
“And what sort of man is Lord Scott?” he prodded further. Isadora noted that he had refrained from any refreshment, including the tea. He merely kept his hands folded together over his lean torso.
His aunt took a sip of her tea. “As to that, I suppose it would depend o’ what ye’ve heard.”
“Perhaps I should have phrased my query a bit differently.” His brow furrowed. “If someone were to speak of him in a less than savory manner, would there be just cause?”
Lady Scott put her cup in her saucer and looked at him with a shrewd expression that Isadora knew came with years’ worth of practice dealing with gossip. She had noticed the same sort of expression on Araminta’s face when the villagers of Canterburyused to gossip about their ‘Black Widower’ father. She was always ready to squelch any unsavory rumors. It appeared that this lady was prepared to do the same.
Another glance at the marquess made her pray that this journey wouldn’t be for naught and he could leave Scotland without any regrets.
“My father has long been kent to be a difficult man, Lord Osgood.” She spoke evenly. “In the past, he made poor choices that caused him to become nearly penniless. He struggled to recoup his losses, but it wasna without making a few enemies along the way. Because o’ his pride he managed to push people away with his gruff exterior, including my sister. She intentionally married an Englishman because she kent that he had forbidden the match. They eloped to Gretna Green.”
This seemed to surprise him. “I had no idea,” he murmured.
“No, I dinna ken you would,” the lady returned. “After that he cut her out of his life, which resulted in a rift between the families for decades.” Her expression became distant. “I dinna want to see him meet his maker without making amends for his misdeeds. This feud has been going on for entirely too long. I wasna able to bid Mary farewell because o’ it.” Her gaze was almost pleading when she turned back to him. “I wouldna ask for yer forgiveness now, but ye should ken that the true reason ye are at Dalkeith is at my behest, and mine alone. My father doesna ken that I wrote to ye, or that ye’re expected. But I’m glad that ye made the journey and I’ll no’ apologize for that.”
Remington sat backin his chair. He wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. He’d had his reservations about coming here, and now he discovered that it wasn’t at the behest of a dying man’s last wish. He’d been duped into believing that his great-grandfather had wanted to make amends, except it wasn’t true. Hesupposed it was something that Lady Grace had reached out to him at all, but he was tempted to demand he be taken to Edinburgh and await the next mail coach back to England.
It wasn’t until he felt a gentle hand clasp his that he remembered he wasn’t alone. He glanced over at Lady Isadora and saw her steady, gray eyes upon him. He drew from that courage and released a low breath.
He firmly believed that his great-aunt wished to make amends, and for that reason alone, he couldn’t fault her. It sounded as though she was a victim, just as much as his grandmother had been when she’d fled home and married a man her father despised. It certainly made sense why her son—his father—had never spoken of his Scottish heritage. The divide that separated them had been too distant to even try to traverse.
However, this made it tough now, as he was the one expected to make things right. And perhaps even go so far as to forgive an old man for his past transgressions. The problem was that he wasn’t a priest who was able to absolve him of all his misdeeds. In truth, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ease his suffering if what Lady Grace had said was true. He sounded like a crass old bastard who didn’t deserve to be forgiven. That would have to be up to God. It was only the pleading in this woman’s gaze that gave him pause, because she appeared sincere.
Nevertheless, the fact that he was there under false pretenses didn’t settle well.
“I will consider it,” he returned tightly. “But I’m afraid that’s all I can do. I don’t like being deceived, even if you believed you were doing the best thing for your father. I hold no such loyalty to either of you.”
“O’ course.” Her shoulders slumped, as if she was already defeated. He clenched his fists at his sides and told himself that he didn’t care. “I should have been honest with ye from the beginning, but I was afraid ye wouldna come at all. But believing ye to be an honorable man—” She struggled back to her feet andRem pushed aside the guilt that rose within his chest. “I’ve taken up too much o’ yer time. I’ll have Markum show ye to yer rooms.”
The butler appeared without having to be summoned and as Lady Grace walked away in the opposite direction, Remington and Isadora followed suit. Isadora was at his side and he was grateful for her continued strength. He wasn’t sure he could have managed this journey without her there.
They were led up the stairs to the west wing, and down a long hallway to a set of guest chambers that were located across from one another. Isadora was shown to her rooms first, which were decorated in feminine shades of blue and cream. Even the private sitting room was equally appealing. Across the hall, his lodgings were similar, with the exception of deep red and brown tones.
“I hope everything is satisfactory,” the butler intoned. “Ring if ye need anything at all.”
Rem’s throat had closed up as he stood in the middle of the sitting room and stared at a bookshelf overflowing with various tomes. His focus was so riveted on that mundane section of the room that he couldn’t even reply. Thankfully, Isadora spoke up on his behalf. “Thank you. I’m sure everything will be perfectly acceptable.”
A few moments later, a door shut behind him, but Rem didn’t move from where he stood. When he felt a gentle, feminine hand on his arm, he swallowed thickly. “Thank you for being here,” he said, his voice more raspy than usual.
“I’m glad that you don’t have to be alone.”
He moved away, the combination of his attraction to her, and the frustration from being someplace he wasn’t sure he should even be, making him restless. “I don’t wish to seem crass, but I think it’s best if you left. I fear I will be very poor company this evening.” He didn’t wait for her to reply but walked into the adjoining chamber where he sat down heavily on the bed and put his head in his hands. What he wouldn’t give for a decent Frenchbrandy right then. Perhaps he should ring for the butler and ask for some scotch.
“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you like this.”
He shoved a hand through his hair and sat back to look at Isadora, who hovered in the doorway between rooms. It was the first time he’d ever seen her look so hesitant. With a heavy sigh, he drawled, “And what do you think I might do? Other than drinking myself into a stupor, I have no plans to leave this room. Unless you are planning to join me, I suggest you return to yours.”
Chapter Fourteen
Isadora knew that she should turn around right then and leave. Nothing good would happen should she remain.
And yet…
It wasn’t so long ago that she’d noticed a similar despondency on Calliope’s face, when she believed that things were hopeless, that there was no chance of a happily ever after with Lord Blakely. That expression had torn at her heart, because she had known that she couldn’t ease her pain. The difference now was that she knew shecouldease it for the marquess, even if it was just temporarily.
