The Sweetest Revenge (28 page)

Isabelle squeezed her friends’ hands tighter.

Anna squeaked. “If you break off one of my fingers, you may take it home as a souvenir.”

Isabelle released her. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I don’t want to let you go.”

Anna threw her arms around her. Susan wrapped her arms around them both. The three of them hugged, the postilion coughed again, and finally, after exchanging a final kiss with her friends, Isabelle climbed into the carriage. As it rattled down the drive, she poked her head out the window. “Good-bye!” she called. “Good-bye.”

She waved until the carriage turned the corner and they disappeared from view.

Good-bye, Susan and Anna.

Good-bye, Aunt Mary.

Good-bye, Phil Sutherland.

Good-bye, London.

Good-bye, Leo.

She slumped into her seat. Her companion awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Are you all right, miss?”

“Aye,” she whispered. “I am fine.”

She wondered if she would ever be fine again.

***

Leo found the great-aunt Belle had told him about. He scribbled a note requesting an interview. Within an hour, he received a polite response informing him the lady was not at home to callers that day. He sent another note the following day, only to receive the same response. On the third day, he went to the woman’s house in Holborn to deliver the message himself.

At first, the butler attempted to turn him away, but Leo said it was a matter of some urgency and threatened to stay until Mrs. MacInnish agreed to see him. Finally, he was ushered into a small, shabby parlor.

In the dim light, he made out a large, shadowy form reclining on a sofa. He approached it and bowed.

“How do you do, Mrs. MacInnish?”

The woman shifted, lifted a quizzing glass, and regarded him with a large blue eye.

“Leo, is it?” she said crisply. “I’d advise you to say whatever it is ye have to say, my lord, and then hurry out o’ here. It is almost time for my afternoon repose. And tug on the pull for me, would you? It’s colder than the pits of Hell in here.”

The pull. Where was it? He turned, peering into the dark shadows of the room.

“Over there, lad.” She pointed to a corner opposite the massive fireplace. He found it and tugged. Instantly, a short, pinched-faced footman appeared. Mrs. MacInnish snapped her instructions, then sat up on her sofa as the servant tended to the fire.

“So tell me what all the ruckus is about.” She gazed at Leo shrewdly. “All this fuss just to see an old lady not of your class, no relation whatsoever to you?”

“I wanted to speak to you about Belle…er, Miss Frasier.”

“Oho! Ye wish to talk to me about my niece. Saw her gallivanting around town, did ye? Like a bonny young ghost, raised from the dead?”

“You knew? You knew what they did to her?” He didn’t know why that should surprise him.

The pinched-faced footman, having stoked the fire to a cheerful roar, silently exited from the room.

Mrs. MacInnish narrowed her eyes. “Ye mean what
you
did to her? She was an innocent lass before you corrupted her, your lordship. I’ll not have you thinking of it any other way.”

Must his sins be slapped in his face at every opportunity? All he wanted was to make things right.

“You knew she was alive?”

She snorted. “She’s my niece. In fact, her aunt and uncle did try to convince me that she was dead, but I’m no’ a ninnywit. I looked into it myself, and it was easy enough to uncover their bloody lies.”

Why hadn’t he thought to do the same?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He regretted the question as soon as it emerged from his lips.

She snorted. “Me, tell you? Come now, lad. You were the one that made a mess of ’er life, weren’t you? It was up to you to make amends, if you cared enough.”

He spoke through his teeth. “I did care enough.”

“Ha! You certainly had a fine way of showing it, didn’t you? Instead of trying to learn the truth, instead of doing the honorable thing, ye went and turned yerself into the most debauched scoundrel ever to walk the streets of London.”

This was not going to be easy. The old harridan hated him. He leaned over her round frame. “I need to find her, Mrs. MacInnish. Please tell me where she has gone. To her aunt in Northumberland? To Scotland? Somewhere else? Tell me.”

She gazed up at him. An irreverent smile curved her pink lips. “Never. And stop loomin’ over me. I’m no’ afraid of you, so dinna try to threaten me. I’m an old woman, close to my time, and I willna be bullied by anyone, especially an arrogant, spoilt dandy of a lord.”

He straightened and spoke stiffly. “I assure you, ma’am, my intentions are honorable.”

“Your intentions?” The old woman scoffed. “Lad, I read about your antics in the gossip rags every week. Do ye wish me to repeat some of what I been reading? Nay? Well, dinna try to tell me you’ve ever possessed a shred of honor in your sordid, dissolute excuse for a life.”

He felt like throwing something. His gaze roamed the dimly lit room. The Grecian vase on the mantel would do very well. Unfortunately, smashing it would not add to his esteem in this woman’s eyes.

“You will not read any gossip about me this week, or next, ma’am. I have turned over a new leaf.”

“Och!” she said in disgust, clearly not believing a word of what he said.

He shrugged, trying to look careless, trying not to show that his future depended on her cooperation. “Tell me how I can prove to you that my intentions are honorable with regards to your niece.”

She shook her head. “It is too late for you, lad. Isabelle has heard all the rumors. That lass has got a head on her shoulders. She’s more sense than to connect herself with the likes of you.”

“I love Isabelle, Mrs. MacInnish.” There, he’d said it aloud. To a near stranger. He held his breath.

Her eyes hardened into glassy, pitiless orbs. “Ye’re a wicked, depraved spirit. Go find yerself another innocent virgin to debauch, and leave my family alone. You dinna deserve Isabelle, lad.” She rose and stepped toward him until her face was inches from his. “Do ye hear me? You dinna deserve her.”

Leo turned away, his eyes stinging. He would have to find another way.

***

Isabelle arrived at her uncle’s farm on a rainy and miserable day, quite appropriate to her mood. She paid the hired postilions, who’d dropped her trunk into a puddle on the road, then slogged alone up the muddy driveway, dragging the trunk behind her. Her gown, one of the new travel gowns given to her by Great-Aunt Mary, was ruined, but she was feeling too glum to care.

Feeling more apprehension than she’d experienced in the entire journey so far, Isabelle wished she hadn’t said good-bye to Mrs. Armstrong, the lady’s companion, back in Inverness. For the first time, she felt she could truly make use of the woman’s no-nonsense support.

Not surprisingly, no one came out to greet her. Pausing beneath the narrow overhang at the front door, she looked up at the gray rain beating against the weathered stone façade of the house. This was her life now. Again.

Should she knock or walk in as if she was a part of the family?

She knocked.

After an interminable length of time, the door creaked open. Her uncle stood frowning, shirttails out, sleeves rolled up, hands and forearms black with soot.

“Ye’re back,” he mumbled, his gaze roaming her dripping countenance. Then, “Chimney’s plugged again.”

“Oh,” she said, then frowned. “Shouldn’t Devon be fixing it?”

Devon was their man-of-all-work, one of the three servants they employed.

“Devon’s gone to Edinburgh.”

“Ah. I see. That chimney has been quite…problematic, hasn’t it?”

“Aye.” He glanced down at her trunk. “Well, come in, then.”

He grabbed one end of the trunk and dragged it into the house. Isabelle followed. When she was halfway up the stairs, she heard the reedy voice of her Aunt Una calling from the downstairs bedroom she’d been confined in for the past two years. “Isabelle, is that you?”

“Aye, Aunt.”

“Well, come see me, then,” her aunt commanded.

Isabelle obediently descended the stairs and went into her aunt’s room, wiping drops of water from her forehead with the back of her sleeve.

“Isabelle,” Aunt Una said. “I near died without you.”

“Good afternoon, Aunt Una. You look…” Her voice faded, because in fact, her aunt looked terrible. Her skin was papery and yellow-tinged, and she had lost weight. Even her hair, once black and lustrous, had faded to a sallow gray.

Her aunt waved a skeletal hand at her. “Nobody kens how to care for me like you do, Isabelle. You must read to me.”

“Aye, Aunt. I will. I’ll be down straightaway after I’ve put on some dry clothes.”

Sniffing, her aunt turned away. Isabelle took her leave. As she walked past the kitchen, the cook looked up but had no words of welcome for her. Isabelle fled upstairs to her own quiet sanctuary, her bedchamber.

Yes, indeed. She was home.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Leo went to White’s in a funk, having made little progress in finding Belle, though it had been a fortnight since his release. Keeping to his search of Belle by day and his own quiet house by night, he had become a recluse. He did not look forward to facing questions about his change in behavior, which was, by now, apparent to everyone.

Besides Belle’s great-aunt, none of her close relations resided in London. Both her parents were dead—her mother had died when Belle was a child, and as Belle had told him, her father had died more recently. Unfortunately. He would have liked to have had the chance to confront the villainous ass who’d sacrifice his daughter’s well-being for a few pounds.

Leo had been to Northumberland, where Isabelle’s aunt said she hadn’t seen the lass for over a year. He had continued north and into the Highlands. Avoiding Leothaid Castle, he’d gone straight to Isabelle’s old house, where her uncle had turned him away at the door with a scowl, saying Isabelle wasn’t in Scotland, and if he had his choice, he’d never see the hussy again.

Leo had returned to England, exhausted from a fortnight of travel. Yesterday, he’d hired a man to continue the search for her. Leo knew it would be at least another fortnight before he heard anything from him. Meanwhile, he’d continue the search in London. If she wasn’t with her family, she most certainly was still somewhere in the city. He needed to discover the identity of Lady M. Or find Anna Newton. Though he’d already questioned everyone he could find about Miss Newton—it was like the woman didn’t exist.

Earlier that day, he received a note from Philip Sutherland. Brief and to the point, it said, “White’s tonight?” Leo, after long deliberation, had scribbled back, “I will be there at nine.”

It was time to make an appearance at White’s, to engage in a bit of political banter, perhaps a few games of faro or hazard. He would return home by midnight. He was in no mood to compete for a strumpet’s favor with Sutherland tonight.

Upstairs at White’s, Leo picked through the crowds of gentlemen and finally spotted Sutherland sitting comfortably on a dark sofa and swirling brandy in a glass. Archer sat across from him, and the two were deep in conversation.

Briefly, Leo considered leaving. Turning around and simply going home.

Sutherland had been through Belle trauma with him once before. It wouldn’t be fair to put him through it again.

In truth, though, he really didn’t want to talk about it, not with Sutherland or anyone else. After years of living his life in a certain way, his friends would mock him for a weakling and a besotted fool.

It was the truth. He
was
a besotted fool, and just thinking about Belle, about her sweet smile, her creamy skin, her wide blue eyes, made him weak all over.

Except in one place.

Sutherland glanced up and saw him, then beckoned him over with a grin. Leo saw that his friend’s expression wasn’t nearly as—what was the word?—
devilish
as usual.

He walked over to his friend, collecting a glass of brandy on the way, and sat down on the sofa beside him. “Welcome home, old chap.” Sutherland clapped Leo on the back. “I heard you’ve been in Scotland. Unkind of you to keep yourself away so long.”

Leo mumbled an excuse about having business to take care of.

Archer gazed at Leo with an unreadable expression, then held out his hand. “Welcome home, Leo.”

Leo took the proffered hand and shook it, noting a slight reserve. Something resembling panic welled within him. His friends were behaving oddly. Had something happened while he was gone? Could they possibly know…?

He smiled, but at the same time narrowed his eyes. “What’s amiss, gentlemen? Did something happen while I was in Scotland? Some scandalous bit of gossip, perhaps?”

“You have a keen nose, Leo. You are correct—there is news.” Sutherland flicked a glance at Archer. “Archer has a new mistress.”

Just then a group of gentlemen accosted Leo to slap his back, welcome him home, invite him into their games, and to complain about the dearth of interesting social events in town this time of year. Leo dealt with them with half smiles and bored politeness, as he always did and eventually dispatched the crowd, promising to start a new game as soon as he’d finished his drink.

It made him nervous that neither Sutherland nor Archer joined in any of the conversations. Instead, they merely watched, Sutherland with a speculative gleam in his eye, and Archer with a tightness around his mouth Leo couldn’t decipher.

Sutherland sank back into the sofa, retrieved a drink from the side table, and took frequent sips. A warning prickle crept down Leo’s spine. What would he do if they knew his secret? What would he say? How would he defend himself?

Leo gazed between them warily, rotating his untouched brandy in his hands.

When no one remained nearby to hear, Leo took a long swig of brandy and turned to Archer. “A mistress, eh?”

Sutherland nodded sagely. “Dark-haired, and a beauty, too.”

“Congratulations are in order, then.” Leo grinned at Archer, relieved that this was the extent of his friends’ gossip. “Who is she?”