Page 98 of Her Beast of a Duke
“Anytime,” Mary promised. “Now, come back to the modiste’s with me, for Hermia has found some very beautiful gowns and wishes for your opinion.”
Continuing her path of supporting Isabella, Mary came to collect her the day after, insisting they ought to walk through Hyde Park. After all, it was a lovely day, and lovely days could not be wasted in Mary’s eyes.
Isabella did not really feel up to it, but she had to try to keep picking herself back up, so she agreed, and soon they were strolling down one of the paths. But they were scarcely halfway when Lord Stanton approached.
Isabella’s stomach dropped, and Mary groaned at the sight of him coming closer.
“Heavens, not again,” she muttered. “That man is like a rash that will not be treated.”
“I agree,” Isabella sighed. “Let us turn around before he?—”
“Your Grace!” Lord Stanton called out, and, to her horror, he pulled out a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. “Do forgive the lack of quality, but I did not realize I would be graced with your wonderful company again. Otherwise, I would have brought a proper bouquet. When I saw you up ahead, I thought fast. Do you recall the first bouquet I gifted you the morning after we met when I called upon you? I stated my intentions to court you over a bunch of…”
He trailed off, his face hopeful, as if he expected her to fill in the gap and reminisce as he did.
“She does not recall,” Mary said flatly, turning them both around. “And your wildflowers are wilting, Lord Stanton. Deliver them to another lady who will actually want them, and not one who is married and most uninterested.”
With that, she tugged Isabella down another pathway, and this time, Lord Stanton did not follow.
The unwanted appearances of Lord Stanton continued. He interrupted her later that day when Isabella took time out of her wallowing to go to a tearoom with Hermia and Phoebe, the latter of whom claimed this particular place had the best cake ever.
Isabella only ordered herself tea, but she watched as Phoebe excitedly clapped over her large slice of cake—only to peer up at Lord Stanton’s arrival.
“Lord Stanton,” Hermia spoke up, having already been told about the previous appearances. “If you continue to pester my sister, I shall have my husband intervene, and I am certain you recall who he is. Nevertheless, I am the Duchess of Branmere and am more than capable of intervening as well, so this is your last warning. Do leave my sister alone. She does not want your company. If she did, she would speak with you, so I believe her silence says quite enough.”
“Your Grace, you are not being very respectful?—”
“No, Lord Stanton, what was not respectful is how you left my sister on your wedding day and now think you can slip back into her life and entice her with pitiful compliments when she herself is the Duchess of Rochdale. You ruined your chance, and whether you wish to reconcile your affections or simply gain company or favor, it does not matter. Leave my sister be. Leave all of us be.”
Hermia’s eyes flashed warningly, and Isabella waited with bated breath for Lord Stanton to leave. After a few contemplative moments, he did, and Isabella exhaled deeply. She was exhausted and shook her head.
“I think I will order some cake after all,” she muttered.
“Yes,” Hermia agreed. “I think that is the best idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It had been two weeks since Isabella had left Rochdale Castle.
Oscar left the countryside and ventured to his townhouse upon hearing that Hermia had taken Isabella to her own townhouse to meet with her other sisters and Lady Mary.
Part of Oscar wanted to race through the city’s streets and hopefully catch a glimpse of his wife. But another part of Oscar’s nature was still too cowardly. He opted to hide or simply approach the Branmere townhouse when the timing suited him better. He sat in the drawing room of his townhouse, staring out of the window at the carriages that clattered by.
How far away was she?
He felt different for being closer in proximity, even if he did not know where the Branmere townhouse was. He was still suffocating beneath that heavy emptiness, but brandy helped, and although he had run out of contracts to sign and letters towrite, he tried to keep busy. If he did not, he thought too hard, and he could not let himself do that.
The very taste of Isabella’s name on his tongue was something he chased away, for it hurt too much. Her voice lingered in his mind, the way it had cracked during their argument. The sight of her tears that she hadn’t bothered wiping away haunted his dreams.
More than once, he had woken up in a cold sweat from another nightmare, reaching for the soft body that he knew would not be there.
At his feet, Morris had flopped to the floor, whining, as he had kept doing ever since Isabella had left. He missed her, and, heaven strike him down, Oscar missed her too.
“I am sorry, my boy,” he said quietly, reaching down to pet the hound’s ears. “I have wronged you in how I have treated your mistress.”
Morris just sighed heavily as if to agree. Oscar closed his eyes, falling deeper into his spiral. Soon, the door to the drawing room opened, and Oscar was ready to growl at the staff to leave him be, only to find Edmund there.
“You again,” Oscar muttered. “I thought I asked you to leave me alone.”
