Desperate Measures (Regency Undone) Read online

  She watched the horse and carriage disappear around the side of the huge house with a sinking feeling, then drawing a deep breath she raised the brass knocker and rapped smartly on the door.

  It was flung open almost immediately and a tall, dark haired lady in a state of what could only be described as dishabille stood staring insolently down at her. The bodice of her dress was loosened and low, revealing a small bosom that was barely concealed at all and Isabelle averted her eyes awkwardly so that they settled instead on the spectacularly long dark hair that was free-flowing and matched the wildness of the woman’s expression.

  ‘Yes?’ she enquired impudently, her gaze raking Isabelle’s high necked cloak and delicately styled soft auburn locks maliciously.

  ‘I have an appointment with the Duke of Rotherham.’

  ‘Do you indeed? Well, la-de-da, I am not sure the Duke of Rotherham is expecting you.’

  ‘I’ll take over from here thank you, Angelica,’ a male voice intercepted smoothly from behind her. ‘Where the deuce is Hemsworth? Come in Lady Pennington.’

  Isabelle stared in shock at the sight of the Duke also dressed in an extremely casual fashion with his shirt undone almost to his waist. He looked thoroughly blue-devilled. Had he forgotten their arrangement of the other night?

  She eyed him disapprovingly. ‘I am sorry, Sir. I had not realised you were … entertaining; and obviously you have forgotten our appointment. I will come back another time.’

  She turned to leave, agitated by the memories that were stirring in her head.

  ‘No. Wait.’ His voice was sharp, and perhaps realising it, he modified his tone. ‘I apologise that I was not ready to meet with you, Isabelle. I only returned from London late last night and I have been … catching up on my sleep. Please allow my butler to show you to the library and I will join you as soon as I can. Aah, Hemsworth, there you are. Kindly escort Lady Pennington to the Library.’

  ‘Apologies your Grace. There was a small matter I had to attend to in the Drawing Room. If you would like to come this way, my Lady?’

  Isabelle hesitated but already the butler was leading the way. With head held high, she followed him, trying not to watch as the wild haired siren hooked her arm possessively through the Duke’s and they disappeared into a room together.

  The Library was large and impressive; tastefully decorated with a quiet, understated elegance that Isabelle appreciated. She moved over to observe the books and finger them delicately. How she would love to be able to avail herself of the wide choice of subjects contained on these shelves.

  The view from the window caught her eyes, vast rolling countryside that seemed to stretch forever. She sighed. Such an attractive setting - and in normal circumstances she could quite believe that she would be ecstatic living in a house such as this. But the man who owned it! She very much suspected he was as dissolute as her husband had been and nothing would force her to live in such a household as that again.

  ‘An angel in our midst!’

  She turned round startled at the sound of the voice and was even more alarmed to be confronted by a man in a dressing gown.

  ‘I beg pardon Sir, but I would ask that you leave forthwith,’ she demanded coldly, her body stiffening in outrage as he started to walk towards her.

  ‘Now why would I wish to do that my lovely?’ he asked, appraising her with his eyes as he closed the gap between them. ‘Is this not an open house-party where everyone is encouraged to be friends?’

  ‘For you maybe,’ Isabelle said haughtily. ‘But I am here specifically to see the Duke of Rotherham and have no desire of any new friends, thank you very much.’

  The man chuckled, his gaze raking over her in a way that made her skin prickle with distaste as he continued to draw nearer. Before she had realised what he was about, he had reached out to pull her into his embrace and his mouth was heading for hers, his intention all too obvious.

  She yanked herself back from him. ‘How dare you, Sir.’

  The sound of her voice and the hefty slap that followed it merged with the thunderous tones of the Duke of Rotherham as he stormed into the room and hauled the miscreant off her. ‘Damn you Partingdale, what the devil do you think you’re at?’

  ‘Steady on Rotherham, just getting to know our beautiful little friend here. She tells me she has come particularly to see you - but I didn’t think that could be right seeing as you have the lovely Angelica doing your bidding upstairs.’ He laughed lewdly and Isabelle saw the Duke’s jaw tighten.

  ‘Out. Now.’

  Guy didn’t even look at him as he issued the order; his gaze fixed instead on Isabelle’s flushed countenance as she battled to maintain some level of dignity.

  ‘Are you alright?’ he asked quietly, as the door closed.

  Isabelle straightened her gown with hands that were not quite steady. ‘Perfectly,’ she said coldly, ‘although I feel you could exert a little better control over your house guests - most of whom seem to have a propinquity for wandering around the place in a state of semi-undress.’

  The eyes she fixed on him sparkled with condemnation, making it plain that she would not easily be intimidated or forgive him for what she had so far suffered at his hands.

  ‘I apologise for my guest’s behaviour,’ he said stiffly, ‘though it seemed to me that you handled yourself admirably.’ A hint of humour creased his eyes as he added. ‘That was some slap you delivered. Most ladies of quality would be swooning on a chair by now demanding their smelling salts.’

  Isabelle flushed. She could hardly tell him she’d had plenty of practice defending her virtue over the years. Yet something told her she didn’t need to tell him. He was looking at her as if he could see straight through the mask she wore, and she stiffened. It was a disconcerting sensation to feel that another person was looking into your soul.

  She cast around for some safer topic of conversation and finally latched onto the issue at hand.

  ‘Your son, Sir? I cannot imagine for one minute you would have him here while this depravity is going on. Yet my understanding was that I should meet him here today?’

  ‘Depravity? Is that what you would call it?’

  ‘I am not a simpleton Your Grace. And neither am I a simpering innocent. I understand perfectly what I have witnessed here today.’

  The Duke of Rotherham was somewhat taken aback by this new forthright attitude he was seeing. At his cousin’s house the other night he had considered her to be an exceptionally good looking woman, of obvious good birth, but somewhat colourless and dull. But her reactions today both to Partingdale’s unwanted attentions, and what she deemed to be his depravity, had revealed an altogether more intriguing side to Lady Pennington that drew his interest despite himself.

  He frowned, surprised to realise that he was discomfited by her disapproval. Usually he did not give a rag what other people thought of him. At the rather seasoned age of three and thirty years he felt he was entitled to live his life as he wished, having tried to live by the rules once.

  He inclined his head stiffly, disliking the sensation that he had somehow let himself down. ‘I apologise. I admit I had forgotten that I had arranged to see you today and on a whim I invited some acquaintances from London to return here with me for the weekend. Let me reassure you on one count however. My son is currently staying with my mother a few miles from here. She has been a little out of sorts lately and we thought he would be a cheering influence. If you have no objection, I suggest we travel over there now in order that you may meet him.’

  Isabelle tilted her chin and met his look evenly. ‘I’m sorry Sir, but I cannot feel that there is any point pursuing this interview. As I mentioned the other night, I feel it would be easier for me to take a post away from Hertfordshire.’ She gave a thin smile. ‘I accept it is my own pride that is the barrier and no doubt one day, as my papa always predicted, that will be my downfall; but I’m afraid I do not think I would adapt happily to being a governess in a household such as this, or in an a
rea where I have previously been relatively well known in better circumstances.’

  Her face was bright red, reflecting her effrontery and Guy’s cheeks acquired a duller red, as he was forced to acknowledge that on first appearances, he could not blame her for her accusations against his household, even though it was the first - and certainly the last - time he would be inviting this particular group of acquaintances back to his home. Before he could make any response, however, a loud knock was followed by the door being opened in hurry and the butler entering with a missive in his hand.

  ‘Beg leave to interrupt, Your Grace, but this has just come from Mansell House. I fear there is bad news concerning your mother.’

  Guy took the note and read it, a frown marring his brow as he did so.

  ‘Ask Williams to bring the coach immediately,’ he ordered.

  He turned back to Isabelle. ‘I regret this rather settles matters for us. My mother has apparently suffered a heart attack and the doctor attends her as we speak. I would ask that you accompany me while I visit her and I will undertake to drop you back to Avalon Hall on our return.’

  For a moment Isabelle toyed with the idea of requesting a private carriage for herself but the Duke was already departing the room, which left her little option but to follow suit.

  The journey in the magnificent carriage was conducted in silence and Isabelle took advantage of the fact that the Duke was observing the landscape lost in thought, to study him more closely. A worried frown creased his brow and she sensed his anxiety for his parent even though he made no mention of it.

  He was not strictly a handsome man she decided; his features were too strong for that. But he was undoubtedly an attractive one, his height and breadth being above average and displaying his perfectly tailored clothes to perfection. He held himself with an indolent arrogance that she was well used to amongst members of the tonne and she could quite believe that he was a gentleman who put himself out for no-one, unless it was to his benefit.

  He turned unexpectedly and caught her looking at him. ‘Are you satisfied with what you see, My Lady?’ he enquired, an amused gleam in his eye.

  She held his look bravely. ‘I have not yet decided, Sir. You are a difficult man to fathom out.’

  ‘Oh, I think as men go my needs are relatively few and simple, but now is not perhaps the time to go into that. We were interrupted in our conversation in the Library. You were saying how you would prefer not to remain in Hertfordshire or work in a household such as mine?’

  Pink tinged her cheeks. ’I have nothing to add, Your Grace. I believe I made my feelings perfectly clear.’

  ‘Abundantly so, I would say. I can perceive you are in a difficult position but do you not feel that at least here in Hertfordshire you have friends and perhaps family, who care for you?’

  ‘I prefer not to speak of my personal situation, Your Grace. My family are not able to assist me and indeed I am fed up with being a burden on them and having them interfere in my life. In future I shall depend upon myself and I daresay I shall make a far better job of it than they have so far done on my behalf.’

  She tilted her chin at him, as if expecting him to disapprove of her little show of independence, but when he did not respond she felt a trifle foolish.

  Instead he gave a grim smile. ‘I can sympathise with those sentiments. My mother constantly plagues me about the need to acquire a new wife and a mother for my son. It is very irritating even though I know her wishes are out of concern for me. Do you like children, Isabelle?’

  She blinked. ‘Why of course I do. How else could I consider being a governess?’

  ‘Yet I would guess your experience of children is limited?’ He looked at her in a considering manner. ‘I do not wish to put too fine a point on it, but does it not occur to you that you may find it difficult obtaining the sort of position you desire?’

  Isabelle bit her lip. He had voiced her innermost fear but she would not let him see that he had unsettled her.

  ‘I am well versed in all the basics of education, I play the piano and I speak the French language. I am quite sure that those accomplishments will be quite enough to benefit any child until they reach an age where a more formal level of education is required.’

  ‘Hmm … I still fear it may not be as easy as you seem to think, but I wish you well of it. Aah, we are here. Pray come with me and I will arrange for refreshments to be brought to you while you are waiting.’

  He seemed to be gone an age and Isabelle had not only finished the small jug of cordial she had been brought but also a whole plate of sandwiches. She looked up as the door opened and the Duke walked in. One look at his face was enough to know it was not good news.

  ‘I trust your mother is not too severely incapacitated, Your Grace?’ she said, rising from her chair.

  ‘It is touch and go,’ he said abruptly. ‘Please come with me.’

  Before she could anticipate his action he had taken her hand in his and was drawing her out into the large hall and up the grand staircase.

  ‘I would ask a favour of you, Isabelle,’ he said, holding her hand tightly so she had no chance of escape, ‘and if you agree, there need be no more talk about governesses and companions. I will set you up in a home of your own with a modest income for the rest of your life.’

  She stopped dead in her tracks, only to be jerked forcibly back into motion as he carried on walking up the stairs.

  ‘Wh … what? How can you be serious?’ she gasped, clutching at her cloak so as not to trip over it. She was having difficulty keeping up with him and was mightily glad when finally they came to a halt outside a solid oak door.

  He looked at her frowningly. ‘The doctor is with her but he believes she may not last the day. The favour I have to ask is that you pretend that we are to be married.’

  Isabelle looked at him aghast. ‘What are you talking about? That is the most preposterous …’

  ‘We do not have time to argue. And there is not time to explain in detail. Suffice to say, as I mentioned earlier, my mother has been on to me almost since my divorce to find myself another wife and mother for my son. And now she is not so sick that she is beyond pulling the health card to obtain her wishes.’

  His features softened. ‘However, if these are indeed her final hours, then I am inclined to put her mind at ease and indulge her. I am a rich man Isabelle. If you will agree to pretend to an Engagement with me while she lives, I will promise to release you when she dies and provide you with a comfortable living for the rest of your days. Do we have an agreement?’

  Isabelle’s heart was pounding. She could not believe her ears. It seemed immoral, and yet … a house of her own. Independent means. Not to have to work for her living. Dear Lord, it was such a temptation.

  The Duke of Rotherham placed a hand on each of her shoulders, requiring her gaze to meet his. ‘I realise I am asking a lot of you,’ he said abruptly, ‘but I am very fond of my mother and I know it would bring great peace to her to know that I am settled. You need not fear that once she is gone I will hold you to the engagement. I am in no more of a hurry to marry again than are you, but if I can do this one small thing before she dies-’

  Isabelle was stunned to realise that she was moved to compassion by the genuine grief she saw in his eyes. She who had never thought she would look with anything other than contempt at a man again. Of course it would be completely improper to let him set her up in a house of her own – whatever would people say? Quite rightly they would wonder about the set up. Question her morals. But did she really care about that? She was surprised to find that despite everything, she did.

  On the verge of sharing this decision with him, she became aware of how tightly his hands were clasping her shoulders, how intent was his regard. He really did care about his mother she realised looking back into those sombre grey eyes and for a moment it was as if she could see through the mask that he wore.

  ‘People would talk.’

  ‘I would be absolutely discreet
. No one would know where the funds for your house and income came from. Most people would assume it was the inheritance left to you by your late husband or your parents.’

  It was so tempting. And - her expression hardened - she was no longer the naïve innocent she had once been. If she didn’t look to her future, then no-one else would. This was undoubtedly the best opportunity she would ever get to acquire security.

  Without giving herself time to reconsider, she found herself nodding her agreement.

  A tight squeeze of her shoulders was the only acknowledgement she got before his hand moved to the door knob and he was pushing the door slowly open. ‘Just follow my lead and all will be well.’

  The room was not dark as Isabelle had imagined, but bright and airy, with the crisp cool draught of early autumn blowing gently through the slightly opened windows.

  ‘Is that you, Guy? Have you brought her?’

  The voice was not that weak as to be unintelligible but it had obviously taken a great effort to speak the words and the woman lying in the bed looked sallow and devoid of energy as Isabelle approached.

  ‘We are here mother. This is Lady Isabelle Pennington, of whom I spoke.’

  He drew Isabelle gently forward, his hand on hers warm and reassuring. ‘My mother,’ he introduced, ‘The Duchess of Rotherham.’

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Your Grace,’ Isabelle said, taking a feeble hand in hers. ‘His Grace has told me much about you. I am sorry to see you laid so low.’

  ‘Yes … well …not for too long I hope. So you are … to marry … my son?’ Each breath was forced out through bloodless lips and Isabelle crushed her guilt at the lie, feeling her heart go out to this woman she had never met until today; whom she was unlikely to see again. Surely it was not wrong to satisfy a person’s dying wish? She forced herself to meet the other woman’s gaze equably.