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“I’m sure you would,” he laughed. Since he glanced around and didn’t see the carriage anywhere around, he offered her his arm. “Shall we take a promenade through town? It would be a shame to miss anything the city has to offer while we wait.”
“That sounds like a grand prospect, my lord.”
Rem felt a touch of pride as he escorted Isadora around to the various shops, and relished the few, envious glances that were shot their way. They were likely wondering how he had managed to gain such a gem at his side. Isadora, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice the attention, or else she politely ignored it because she didn’t care. It was just another facet of her personality that he had come to adore.
As they headed back to Dalkeith, the air inside the carriage wasn’t filled with as much tension as before, and they were able to converse on easy subjects without the threat of desire making too much of an intrusion. He believed that he was finally starting to earn her regard, and that meant the world to him. But then, their affair hadn’t ever started out with a fiery passion. It had become that way over a period of time.
When they pulled into the Palace at dusk, he was feeling more energized than he had that morning. He was actually looking forward to seeing his great-grandfather and trading barbs as they played another round of cards.
But the moment they arrived and the butler greeted them with a grim countenance, he knew that something was dreadfully wrong.
“I am sorry to say that Lord Scott met his maker earlier this afternoon. Lady Grace is in the front parlor and asks for ye to join her there when ye returned.”
Rem had to swallow down the shock, as well as the tightness in his throat as he walked inside. Although he should have prepared himself, knowing that this day was upon them, he still wasn’t quite prepared, because there was so much that he wanted to say to the older man, to ask him. But now he supposed those questions would go unanswered.
He was grateful for Isadora’s calming presence beside him when he walked inside the parlor. It was a scene very similar to the one that he’d walked in on the first time he’d stepped footinside the Palace. Lady Grace was sitting at the same, small table and staring down into a tepid cup of tea.
When they walked in, she looked up with eyes full of moisture. “Lord Osgood. Lady Isadora. I’m so verra glad you’ve returned safely.” She sighed. “I suppose ye were told about my father’s passing.”
“We were,” Isadora said, since Rem suddenly found that his throat wasn’t in working order. “Was someone with him when he passed?”
“I was,” Lady Grace offered a melancholy smile. “The footman who had been sitting with him came to get me when he noticed a change in his breathing.” She paused as her lower lip began to tremble. “I kent this day was coming, but I thought I had more time…”
Isadora sat down beside her and took her hand in hers, and then covered them both with her other one. “I’m sure he knew you were there.”
“Oh, I ken he did, because he spoke to me.” She glanced to Remington. “He wanted me to tell ye what a good man he thought ye were. He said he thoroughly enjoyed the card game last night and that if ye dinna make Lady Isadora yer wife that he would come back to haunt ye in the afterlife.”
Rem chuckled, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Isadora to gauge her reaction. She was silent for a moment, and then she said softly, “I suppose we shouldn’t deny a man’s last request.”
Lady Grace was the first to recover from her surprise. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
“Well, the marquessdidpropose to me. I just haven’t given him my answer.” She looked at him with a tentative smile. “Until now.”
“Oh! That’s lovely!” Lady Grace’s upset vanished with the prospect of a love interest beneath her very roof. “If it’s no’ too presumptuous o’ me, might I suggest Gretna Green? It’s a day’sride from here. I’ll even lend ye my carriage so ye can have an old-fashioned, Scottish wedding!”
Lady Isadora smiled. “I would be honored.” She turned back to Rem, who had yet to voice his opinion on anything. Shock was still keeping him immobile. “What do you think, my lord? Shall we elope to the blacksmith’s shop?”
Finally, the repercussions of what she was saying penetrated the fog inside of his brain. “Indeed, my lady. I should say those are ideal circumstances, indeed.”
Chapter Twenty
The sound of metal hitting metal was the first thing Isadora would recall about her wedding day. Similar to the sounds she’d heard in Newcastle, but this time they were standing in front of the infamous anvil that had held witness to more than one hasty set of English nuptials.
And now, here she stood beside the man about to become her husband.
A combination of several emotions was tumbling about inside of her at the moment, but nothing she could actually put a name to. She ought to be feeling regret or remorse or something similar since she was giving up her independence, the solitude she had fought so hard to obtain over the years. Instead, there was the heady sense that she was about to embark on a new life, that the sordid heartbreak and mistakes belonging to Lady Isadora Bevelstroke could finally be laid to rest and she could begin anew as Lady Isadora Fletcher, the Marchioness of Osgood.
And yet…
Part of her was screaming on the inside, warning her that this was the biggest mistake that she could ever make.
Nevertheless, the deed was accomplished in record time, and she stood staring down at the ring on her finger that Lady Grace had given her, a special gift that she said had belonged to her mother—Remington’s great-grandmother—and that should be passed down to future Scott generations. Isadora had been extremely humbled by the gesture, and while she might have wished her sisters could have been there to partake of her special day, there was something almost symbolic about marrying the marquess in secret. It was a quiet union, just as their unusual acquaintance had been. What had started out as a business arrangement had merely merged into another sort.
As they kissed lightly to seal the pact, Remington looked at her with pride on his face. “Where would you like to go on your honeymoon, Lady Osgood?”
Isadora swallowed heavily. It would, no doubt, take her a long time to get used to being called something other than Lady Bevelstroke, but she would manage in time. As to the question he’d asked, she decided that the one place she wanted to be right then was home, or what had been home to her for many years. “When I left London, I had initially intended to return to Broxbourne House, my father’s hunting box. Since I haven’t yet had the opportunity, I should like to go there now.”
“Whatever your heart desires, I shall make it possible,” he returned, as he placed a hand over his chest. “I will make the necessary arrangements so that we can leave in the morning.”
