“Hush about the money, Isa.” Alex sighed dispassionately. “You won’t make me any more respectable if you just take yourself off to toil in another kitchen somewhere. Besides,” he said, inclining his head, “no gentleman would allow his wife to work like that.”
His cool logic deflated her somewhat. “A villager wouldn’t mind,” she grumbled.
Alex stood, setting the newspaper on the table next to his chair. “Are you quite over your pout? You’re not going home to marry a blacksmith or whatever cork-brained fancy it is you’ve taken.”
His unexpected calm about this whole thing only made her uneasy. She touched his arm, the dark wool of his jacket soft against her trembling fingers. “I know this Season has cost money you can ill-afford. It’s not your fault no one will have me.”
He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Perhaps that will change. Monthwaite said he’d apologize.”
Isabelle stared sadly at her brother. Poor, deluded Alex. He’d stood so strongly against Marshall last night. She didn’t know what the two men had spoken of after Alex sent her ahead to the carriage. What empty, pretty words had her former husband filled his head with?
“That’s highly improbable,” she said gently. Isabelle returned to the window. A lone figure passed through a pool of golden lamplight. “I believe Marshall realizes his error in judgment,” she allowed. “I even believe he is truly sorry for the divorce. However,” she placed her hands on the window sill, “I do not believe he will do anything more. A public apology would be humiliating for his family. His mother won’t have it, and he never crosses her. At most, he might tell a few of his friends that he might have been mistaken, when they’re in their cups and not likely to remember. But that’ll be the end of it.”
Behind her, Alex’s steps across the carpet were heavy and measured. There was a rustle of paper. “Then you might want to see this.”
Isabelle turned. Alex held the evening paper so that the front page faced her. She gasped. Boldly inked in letters two inches high was the headline: DUKE DIVORCED IN ERROR.
She snatched the paper from her brother’s hands. Beneath the headline were the words: Dk. Monthwaite says former wife innocent of all charges.
Isabelle sank to her knees in the middle of the floor to read the story.
“In an unprecedented interview,” she read aloud, “His Grace the Duke of Monthwaite spoke with this humble journalist concerning the delicate matter of his divorce, the scandal of which several years past gripped the attention of the nation.
“According to the Duke of Monthwaite, facts have recently surfaced which absolve his former wife, the Duchess of Monthwaite, née Fairfax, of all wrongdoing.
“As the astute reader will recall, Her Grace was brought to trial on charges of the most serious nature. In light of the knowledge he now possesses, the duke regrets having ever subjected the lady to the public scrutiny and humiliation of the divorce trial.
“Said His Grace: ‘It is my desire that the public hold the duchess blameless for past events. I know her to be of the highest moral integrity and unimpeachable character. I cannot adequately express my profound regret for the divorce which stripped the lady of her peerage and reputation. If I could give her a message, I should like the duchess to know that if there is anything I can do to ease the suffering she has endured as a result of my actions, she need only … ’”
Isabelle’s voice failed as a she fought back the lump forming in her throat. A turmoil of emotions tumbled through her. Mostly, she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of Marshall’s gesture. He had issued his apology in the most public venue, a newspaper that would be read throughout England and around the world, in every corner of the empire.
Alex offered her a hand. She took it and rose, clutching the newspaper to her chest.
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Well?”
She cleared her throat. “It would seem,” she said in a small voice, “he kept his promise, after all.”
Alex’s face, so like her own, softened as he smiled. “I suppose you could say that, little sister,” he chucked her lightly on the shoulder, “if understatement is your aim.”
She exhaled a laugh. Did this really change anything? Marshall had made good on his word, but she didn’t know if she could trust him not to hurt her again. “Oh, Alex, what now?”
“That, my dear,” Alex said with the barest shake of his head, “is entirely between you and Monthwaite.”