Page 34 of The Duke of Aces
What had Minerva seen that had her mind preoccupied the entire time Isadora dealt with Mr. Wembly? Nothing appeared to be amiss or strange or out of the ordinary.
Isadora pulled back and Minerva released her with a quick last-minute squeeze. Minerva had been acting peculiar all week. Not once had she offered to assist with the negotiations with Mr. Wembley. Not once had she attempted to involve herself while Isadora had paced about Minerva’s chambers, complaining about the growing list of things to be accomplished. Not once had her sister mentioned Tom’s sudden departure. It was as if her sister was distancing herself on purpose. Although Minerva had provided guidance on each and every task Isadorasoughtassistance with.
Arms looped, they made their way to the front doors. Halfway, Minerva turned and said, “I believe Mr. Wembly was trying to hold out for a better offer. While we know Avondale has adjourned to the Continent, there has been talk of His Grace’s hasty departure. In fact, the gossipmongers are already at work. His Grace’s appearance at the races has spurred whispers that this is to be the Season that the Duke of Avondale will find himself a bride. Which has given validity to the current rumor that after a day in the company of Misses, His Grace has taken up with his mistress until the Season officially begins and he gets himself leg shackled.”
Isadora tensed at the thought of Tom being with another woman. “Why do so many ladies like mama simply turn a blind eye to their husband’s infidelity? Not all marriages are contracted out of convenience or for money.” Her voice held a tinge of sadness that she thought she had under control.
“I don’t have a reasonable answer to your query. It’s simply how things are.” Minerva gave Isadora’s arm a light tug. “Now come along, if we hurry, we might have enough time to stop by Gunter’s and indulge in an ice.”
Shuffling her feet, Isadora asked, “Would you agree to a marriage of convenience?”
Minerva’s features transformed from indifference to contemplation, to abhorrence, back to indifferent all within a blink of an eye. “Regardless of whether I would or not, marriage is not in the cards for me, dear sister.”
Minerva swung the large wooden door open and proceeded to their awaiting carriage. Isadora followed, and once they were seated side-by-side on the forward-facing seat, Minerva asked, “Would you agree to a marriage of convenience?”
Isadora didn’t know how to respond. She had pondered upon the question every night as she tossed and turned in bed. With a deep sigh, Isadora said, “I’ll admit for a day…mayhap two, His Grace had me seriously considering his insane proposition. However, I’ve decided I’m not interested in a union in name only since there are no guarantees. While I’ve discovered that there are marriages that start off as merely a union of circumstance, and then the couples learn to love each other forming a bond so tight you would never have guessed that their union hadn’t been a love match from the start…”
Minerva finished her thought for her. “There are those marriages like our parent’s union, whose started off blissfully and is now a life sentence of misery for them both.”
Isadora nodded and turned her attention to the buildings passing by, blinking away the moisture that built up in her eyes.
It was Minerva’s turn to sigh. Her sister bumped her. “I see you have given this much thought.”
“Aye. I have indeed.” Isadora mumbled and then continued, “I believe I want a union like Diana’s. I want to marry a gentleman that understands and loves me for all my faults.”
Minerva grinned. “Nay. You need a gentleman that can afford your extensive wardrobe to back your debts, if necessary, to give you the freedom to quench your thirst for adventure.” Her sister pinned her with a knowing stare. “You and I both know Avondale is the man that can give you all that and more.”
“No. He can’t.” The rebuttal rolled off her tongue before she really gave Minerva’s statement due consideration.
Minerva rolled her eyes. “Yes, Avondale can. You wish you could ignore the truth, but you can’t—His Grace is your counterpart as Chestwick is Diana’s.”
Isadora let the silence fill the coach as they continued to rattle down the road. When she couldn’t hold Minerva’s stare any longer, she blinked and asked, “Is Drake yours?”
Her sister didn’t even bat an eyelid. It was unkind to think of her sister as the Ice Queen, but Lord Mansville had picked a moniker that only her sister could warrant. “We are not discussing my relationship with Drake. That is all in the past and is no longer relevant.”
No longer relevant? Isadora’s heart raced. The finality in her sister’s tone could only mean one thing—Minerva was on the verge of executing her plan. Which, in turn, meant Minerva was convinced Isadora was on the verge of marrying someone.
“I shan’t be agreeing to a courtship with His Grace upon his return, let alone marrying the man.”
Minerva shrugged and said, “You know I will support whatever decision you make.”
This. This uncharacteristic response is what had Isadora panicking. “I do, and I shall reiterate my position once more—I will not marry before you.”
Chapter Eighteen
After a longand drawn-out sennight of pretending to enjoy the company of his enemy, Tom sat across from his sister in his chambers. He was at his wit’s end with their progress. Comtesse Du Montfort was either entirely ignorant or she was masterfully evading Charlotte’s clever queries. He suspected the original information intercepted and passed along by the Foreign Office was inaccurate. Charlotte disagreed and remained convinced that, if given more time, she’d manage to obtain both the location and names of the remaining Napoleon supporters. The decision to involve his sister rather than execute the mission alone weighed heavily upon Tom’s shoulders. Unable to summon the interest in the events occurring about him, Tom acknowledged he would be no further along if he had ventured alone.
Charlotte sat at the large wooden desk in the center of his assigned bed chamber. Twirling a quill back and forth between her fingers, she said, “These French imperial nobles are a rather complex lot. I’m not entirely certain that they remain loyal to Napoleon.”
“Aye. The emperor had high hopes the imperial nobles would be a stable source of support for the regime.” Unable to remain idle, Tom stood and walked over to the fireplace.
“Hence his strategy to grant a great number of titles. To think France has over thirty dukes, three to four hundred counts, and over a thousand or so barons. It has me confounded.” His sister had poured over the guestlist for days, drawing an intricate diagram of how each individual was acquainted with one another and their association with their host, the Comte Du Montfort—who most naturally avoided. Comte Du Montfort had a darkness that cloaked him at all times. To Charlotte’s frustration, Tom had not left his sister’s side unless she was sequestered away with the comtesse along with the other women in the drawing room.
“It might be time we devise an alternate plan.” Tom began to pace back and forth along the six-foot span in front of the fireplace. As a duke, he was assigned a rather lavish room in Du Monteford’s home, which provided him and Charlotte plenty of room to work. “Although I still question whether or not we are on a fool’s errand.”
“I caught the comtesse making eyes at you last night at dinner.” Charlotte’s shoulders rolled forward as she sighed. “Perhaps it would be more effective if it were you who was pursuing the information we seek.”
“Possibly.” Tom turned and faced his sister. “If you were Isadora, would it bother you if I were to seduce a woman to carry out a mission?”
