Page 32 of When the Rogue Returns
The full moon was high by the time they reached her cottage. It had to be nearly nine o’clock. She was exhausted from her trip, yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep while this was unsettled.
To her relief, Mr. Gordon’s coachmandidremember where the Duke of Lyons’s villa was. Best of all, it was on her side of town but farther west, near Calton Hill. Indeed, she’d seen the Palladian mansion a number of times and wondered to whom it belonged, since it was so lovely.
Leave it to her wretch of a husband to latch onto such a wealthy host.
Mr. Gordon accompanied her inside, where Betsy was waiting to take her cloak. Isa could smell supper cooking; Betsy always had a warm meal ready when she returned from these trips, and Mr. Gordon sometimes joined them.
Isa forced herself to offer him supper, relieved when he said he’d already eaten and was heading home. As he bade her good night, she kissed his papery cheek and whispered, “I do so appreciate your finding out where Mr. Cale is staying. I know you think I’m being silly, but I will sleep much better knowing that I can call on him if I need to.”
“I don’t think you’re silly,” he said gruffly. “I think you’re mad. Then again, since you’re generally sensible, I suppose you can be allowed to be daft once in a while.”
She laughed. “Thank you, I think.”
“See you in the morning?” he asked as she saw him to the door.
“Of course.”
She waited until Mr. Gordon was well down the road, then told Betsy, “Have Rob saddle my mare.” Isa rushed upstairs to change. When Betsy followed her, obviously bewildered, Isa explained, “I have to pay a call on someone.”
“Tonight?”Betsy said, clearly shocked.
“Something urgent has come up. Help me into my riding habit.”
Though Betsy did as she was bade, Isa could feel the older woman’s disapproval like a chill wind.
“I hope this don’t got naught to do with the baron,” Betsy said as she finished. “Wouldn’t be fitting for you to meet with him at night.”
“Betsy!” she cried in her best tone of outrage. “Surely you are not implying what I think you are.” She headed out of her bedchamber.
Betsy hurried behind her. “I’m just saying that it’s a sad day when a woman as respectable as you starts going about late at night paying calls.”
“Not that it’s any of your concern,” Isa bit out as she hurried down the stairs, “but it’s nothing of that sort. It’s something having to do with Amalie, and it will not wait until tomorrow.”
“Well, then,” Betsy said, her entire tone changing, “if it’s for the little mite, you’d best be going.” She caught Isa’s arm. “But first you must eat something. Can’t have you fainting in the saddle.”
When Isa started to protest, Betsy added, “I’ll see to rousing Rob, and by the time you’ve got something in you, he’ll have your horse ready to go.”
“Fine,” Isa said with a sigh. When Betsy got her mind set on something, there wasn’t much use in fighting her. And it probablywouldhelp to have some fortification before she confronted her husband.
Still, when she rode off half an hour later and the moon was lower in the sky, she wished she hadn’t lingered. The last thing she needed was to be stuck at the duke’s villa once the moon set and there was no light to ride by.
But she had to settle this once and for all. If she ended up being turned away by the duke’s staff and spending the night in some haymow, she would survive. She always survived.
That thought cheered her a bit. When she knocked at the door of the villa and a stiff-necked butler opened it to scour her with a critical glance, she held her headhigh.
“I’m here to see Mr. Victor Cale,” she announced.
The man glanced to where she’d tethered her horse. “And who should I say is calling?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
“Mrs. Sofie Franke. A relation of his.”
She let down the hood of her cloak and the butler’s gaze fixed on the jewelry she still wore. Though she wasn’t fool enough to wear diamonds when she traveled, her small earbobs were gold with real emeralds.
Clearly the high-in-the-instep butler could tell quality when he saw it. “It is very late, madam,” he said, his tone a trifle less condescending this time.
She forced hauteur into her voice. “Trust me, if Mr. Cale is in, he will see me. And if he hears that you turned me away, he will not be happy.”
The man took in her cloak of good-quality wool and her fashionable hat, then stepped aside to allow her to enter. “I shall see if Mr. Cale is in to visitors.”
