Once a Duchess(95)

 

“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “You’re home. I thought I’d never see you again.”

 

He gave her a tight squeeze and grunted. Then he dropped a kiss on her forehead and pushed her back to arm’s length.

 

“You look wonderful, Isa. Tell me how you’ve been keeping yourself.”

 

Isabelle wiped her face with a handkerchief. She sniffed loudly. “How have I been?” she said through her smile and tears. “Are you serious?”

 

She gestured to a chair. Justin sat, crossing his right ankle to his left knee. Isabelle sank to an adjacent settee.

 

“You heard about the divorce.”

 

Justin’s smile fell. He nodded and looked at his shoes.

 

As happy as she was to finally see her friend, myriad questions that had plagued her for years came bubbling to the surface. She tucked her legs up against her side and leaned toward him. “Where were you?” she asked softly. “I faced the entire House of Lords. My name was shredded in the papers. I lived in exile, Justin.”

 

He made a clucking sound and a wretched expression crossed his face. “I’m so sorry you had to face that alone, Isa. I should have ignored his threats and stayed close.”

 

Isabelle’s brow furrowed. “Whose threats? Marshall’s?”

 

“Yes, at least,” he gave a half-smile and jerked his head to the side, “I thought so. Now I’m not so sure.”

 

Isabelle’s head reeled. “I don’t understand.”

 

Justin raised his hands. “I’m hoping you can help me clarify a few things. We’ll get to that. I thought you’d like to know where I’ve been the last several years.”

 

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Isabelle said.

 

“I went to America,” Justin said. “It was made clear to me, in no uncertain terms, I could either expatriate myself or suffer fatal consequences.”

 

Isabelle startled. “Marshall threatened to kill you?” Her brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like him at all.” Then she remembered how he’d pounced on Viscount Woolsley when he’d asked Isabelle to become his mistress. Maybe he would have been capable of threatening Justin, when he thought he’d been intimate with his wife.

 

“See for yourself.” Justin produced an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Isabelle. The corners were bent and the edges worn. The broken wax seal was brittle with age, but bore the unmistakable imprint of the Monthwaite crest.

 

Isabelle scanned the unsigned note, which indeed bore a very threatening message. Something about it though wasn’t right. And then it came to her.

 

“But Justin,” she said, looking up, “this isn’t — ”

 

“Da da!” squealed a little voice.

 

A very small girl wearing a light blue dress took several toddling steps through the parlor door and across the rug before falling to her knees. She resolutely pushed herself up again. Her tiny, rosebud lips pursed in a determined scowl as she half-ran, half-fell toward Justin.

 

For an instant, Isabelle thought she was daydreaming again, imagining the precocious child.

 

“There’s my girl!” Justin said in a happy tone. “All clean now?”

 

Isabelle’s jaw dropped in surprise.

 

Justin slid from the chair to the floor, his legs sprawled wide. He held his hands out to the little child. She gurgled a laugh when he snatched her up and lavished kisses on her plump cheeks.

 

“Hello, ma’am.”

 

A pretty, dark-haired woman about Isabelle’s age followed the baby into the room and made an awkward curtsy.

 

Isabelle’s questioning eyes flew to Justin. He smiled and shrugged. She stood to greet the newcomer. “Mrs. Miller, I presume?”

 

Justin clambered to his feet with the small child in his arms. “Isa, this is my wife, Mrs. Rebecca Miller.”

 

“How do you do,” the woman said in an unfamiliar accent. She curtsied again and wobbled, clearly unaccustomed to such gestures.

 

Isabelle clasped her hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” she said. “Please don’t curtsy, I’m not the queen.” She smiled warmly, hoping to put the woman at ease. Instead, Mrs. Miller’s face flushed pink up to her brunette hairline.

 

“And this,” Justin hoisted the little girl around to face her, “is Belle.”

 

Isabelle leaned forward, bringing her face level to Belle’s. The little girl had round, rosy cheeks and a tiny nose. Her eyes were a startling hazel and they peered fearlessly at Isabelle.