Page 63 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
Isabella sprang out of bed. She had been exhausted upon her return to Burlington Grange and had done nothing but eat a little fruit and drink a cup of cocoa before going to bed.
The clock on the mantelpiece now struck the half hour, and Anne helped her to wash and dress before she made her way downstairs to find her father and Edward conversing in the drawing room. It still felt odd to be back at home, even as she had come to consider Howdwell Heights a home, too. The viscount rose and bowed.
“You look well rested,” he said.
“I feel well rested, but I ache a little,” Isabella replied, remembering her rough treatment at the hands of the kidnappers.
“Sit down, my dear. I’ll call for some coffee to be brought. I’m sure you’re hungry, too,” he said, and Isabella nodded.
But curiosity was her chief concern, and she wanted to know more about the secret society and the details of her rescue.
“Is Augusta all right? We were both so terrified. But thank goodness Hugh discovered where we were,” Isabella said.
“She’s all right—a little shaken, though. But it’s hardly surprising, is it? She sends her love to you. I’m sure you’ll see one another soon,” Edward said.
“But what about this secret society? Did you know about it, father?” Isabella asked, turning to her father, who shook his head.
“I’d heard rumours about it—The Order of the Restoration—theOrdo Restitutionis,” the duke said, glancing at Edward, who nodded.
“That’s right, an ancient and noble society, tracing its roots to the English Civil War. We worked for the restoration of the monarchy—and achieved it,” he said.
Isabella felt somewhat indignant. She had suspected nothing of a secret society, even as she had believed herself and Edward to have shared all their intimacies.
“And you never told me anything about it,” she said, fixing Edward with a hard stare, even as the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.
He laughed.
“It wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told you, would it? The society only comes together in times of need, though we practice philanthropy more than subterfuge now. But I was glad of their company last night,” Edward replied.
Isabella thought back to the terrible events, and she shuddered to think of Victor’s arms around her and the knife pressed into the small of her back. Her father’s arm was bandaged, and in the mirror that morning, Isabella had seen the bruising to her temple where the pistol had been pressed.
“And I was glad of their arrival, too—and yours,” Isabella replied.
Edward smiled at her.
“It was strange not to have you at Howdwell Heights last night—the house was strangely quiet,” he said, and the duke laughed.
“You’d prefer the noise, would you?” he asked, and Edward nodded.
“I would, your Grace. That’s why I’ve come here—not only to see how Isabella is but to ask your permission to marry her, if she’s willing to accept me,” he said, glancing at Isabella, who gasped.
She had not expected him to ask such a question, even as the thought had been on her mind, too. He had promised to make their courtship public when the ordeal was over, and now, it seemed he was making good on that promise. Her father, too, appeared surprised, but he smiled and nodded.
“I was angry with you, Edward—I blamed you for what happened. But I was wrong to do so. Victor was the only one to blame, and he’d have found a way, one way or another. You proved your love for Isabella through your actions—rallying the society to your cause and giving chase.
You protected her at Howdwell Heights, and your suspicions revealed the culprit behind this nefarious plan. You’ve proved yourself worthy of my daughter’s hand, but it’s her decision,” he said as Edward turned back to Isabella with a nervous look on his face.
But Isabella did not need to think twice. Edward had proved his love for her, and he had kept his promise of courtship, too—albeit with a rapid conclusion. But for Isabella, there was no need for a long and protracted courtship or the rituals of an arranged match. They were already past such things and had shared more as a couple than most marriages share in a lifetime.
The intensity of their first meeting, the close proximity in which they had lived, the things they had shared…all of this gave rise to an emphatic yes. Isabella knew Edward, and Edward knew Isabella. She knew him to be dutiful, hardworking, and a model aristocrat.
But more importantly, she knew him to be kind, gentle, loving, and courageous. They had grown closer than she could possibly have imagined and shared far more in common than she could ever have wished.
“And it’s a decision I’m glad to make,” she said as Edward fell to his knees and took her hand in his.
“Do you mean it? You’ll marry me?” he asked, and Isabella nodded.
“I’ll marry you—yes, a thousand times, yes. I’ll marry you,” she said, and the look of relief on his face was palpable.
