Page 8 of The Rakehell of Roth
Strangely, Isobel had developed a fondness for the duke over the years. Having lost her own parents in a terrible carriage accident, she had gravitated to the stoic man. Besides her sister, who had her own life, Kendrick was the only family she had. Eventually, they had bonded over a shared love of music as well as their common bedsore of a connection—his estranged son and her equally estranged spouse.
Isobel stepped over to where Hellion was grazing. She glowered at Clarissa. “You could have reminded me,” she accused without much heat.
“How could I when I forgot as well?”
“Some friend you are. Come on.”
Clarissa shook her head. “Not a chance. You enjoy the Duke of Derision by yourself. He positively loathes me. Besides, I need to cool my horse and my sore behind after chasing your shadow for the last half an hour.”
“He doesn’t loathe you.”
Clarissa’s eyebrows shot upward. “He called me a witless pest, Izzy.” Her eyes widened as she clutched at her chest with dramatic flair. “Witless. Me? Doesn’t everyone know that I am the undeclared Goddess of Eternal Wit? For shame!”
Isobel snorted. “That’s a mouthful.”
“Well, you know what they say about more than a mouthful.”
“No, Clarissa,” Isobel said, her lips twitching, “whatdothey say?”
She tapped her lips with a finger. “Something I might need to consider for our next batch of letters. Speaking of, I should get started. ‘More than a Mouthful’ is a memorable title, don’t you think? Or perhaps, ‘Ladies Gobbling Bananas.’”
“Clarissa!” Heat flooded Isobel’s cheeks. Sometimes her best friend was too much.
“What? It’s a natural part of life, or so my brothers declare in secret. All men enjoy it, I bet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even the duke. Perhaps we should send him a copy and see if we can get him to crack a smile?”
“You wouldn’t!”
Isobel pinned her lips between her teeth. If the duke had any inkling of her secret life as Lady Darcy, he would implode. As much as he cared for her, Lady Darcy’s intrigues weren’t thedone thingfor a lady of quality. The duke was a fastidious man who was a stickler for decorum.
That said, most people didn’t appreciate her father-in-law. Underneath all that aloof, brooding reserve, he had a heart that beat fiercely for his sons, even though his firstborn seemed to be convinced the duke was the devil. From what Isobel could garner from the tight-lipped upper servants, they’d been on the outs since Winter was a boy…a divide that had only worsened in recent years.
Isobel sighed and mounted her horse. She wasn’t sure she was up for company, but she turned Hellion around, stroking the mare gently. Hellion was the foal of her sister’s prized thoroughbreds, Brutus and Temperance, and had been a belated wedding present from the Duke and Duchess of Beswick. At first, Isobel had been terrified of the horse, but the truth was she’d been so lonely that she’d learned to ride out of sheer necessity.
At least the mare had stuck around.
Because Hellion wasloyal, unlike a certain fickle, spineless marquess.
Arriving at the stables in short order, she slid from the horse with a soothing word and a caress, and threw the reins to a waiting groom, before dashing toward the kitchens. With luck, she would have a few minutes to freshen up and change before greeting the duke.
“Goodness, watch out!” a voice exclaimed as she barreled to the stairs.
Isobel slowed, narrowly missing a collision with one of the Fairfax twins. Violet and Molly had shown up six months ago with a note from their late father’s solicitor citing the duke as their guardian. Kendrick had read it without blinking and told Mrs. Butterfield to take care of it. He’d ignored his wards ever since, though he hadn’t batted an eyelash at allowing them to stay. At two-and-twenty, they were only two years older than her, and Isobel suspected he might have done it for her sake. Outside of Clarissa, female company was in short supply.
“Sorry!” Isobel caught her breath before climbing the stairs at a more sedate pace. “I forgot the duke was back today and with everything this morning, I’m a mess.”
Violet pulled a face, lifting the hem of her black bombazine mourning dress to follow Isobel. Molly, never a far step away, appeared beside them. “He doesn’t look happy. He never looks happy. Maybe he saw those awful scandal sheets, too.”
A fist clenched around Isobel’s heart, mortification rushing through her. She couldn’t deal with anymore pity, not even from the one person who could possibly understand. She and the duke had shared a lot over the years, but this was painful new territory.
“Honestly, you can’t believe a word of it, Izzy dear,” Violet said when they reached the landing. “The papers reported that I was an unremarkable, plain spinster, after two unsuccessful seasons, while Molly here was the rose of the hour, when we lookexactlythe same. How am I not a rose as well? No, no, I’m some anonymous, hideous weed.” She exhaled a peeved breath. “My name isViolet, for heaven’s sake.I’mthe flower.”
Molly rolled her eyes and gave a shrug that made her brown ringlets bounce. “Everything isn’t a competition, Violet. But maybe if you were less thorny and more flowery, that would help your prospects.”
“I am not thorny, you beast!”
Despite being identical, the twins couldn’t be more like chalk and cheese, always at odds with each other. It usually made for good fun, but right now, Isobel had other things to worry about. “For the love of all things holy, stop bickering you two and help me change!”
After a quick sponge and spray of honeysuckle-scented water, it didn’t take her, the twins, and two maids long to switch out of her riding habit to a pale green muslin morning dress. Her hair brushed and re-braided, Isobel made her way down the stairs to the duke’s study.
