Once a Duchess(98)

 

Isabelle snickered. “Really, Justin, how many gentlemen do you suppose have their secretaries scribe their criminal communications? No, Marshall neither wrote nor dictated those.”

 

Justin extended the third letter. “How about this one?”

 

She recognized his distinctive hand in the salutation. “That’s Marshall, definitely.”

 

“Then who wrote the first two?” Justin mused.

 

Isabelle blew her cheeks out. “If I were a betting woman, I’d put my money on the dowager. She’s gone to excessive lengths over the years to punish me for overstepping my station and marrying her son.” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously, whoever wrote those wanted you to think they were from Marshall. She has easy access to his stationary. I don’t think anything would have actually come of these threats, but even thinking to write them is ghastly.”

 

Isabelle lapsed into a brooding silence, pondering the depths of her mother-in-law’s malice. Justin seemed to detect her mood, and merely handed her Marshall’s letter, as Belle slipped to the floor to try walking again. Rebecca serenely picked up her daughter and took her outside.

 

Eventually, Isabelle began to read. Marshall’s smooth voice spoke the missive in her mind. A shiver coursed down her spine.

 

My dear Mr. Miller,

 

I cannot imagine how you will receive this letter, but please believe that I approach you now humbly, with the deepest sorrow and regret for the turmoil you have experienced on my account.

 

Circumstances have led to the renewal of my acquaintance with Mrs. Lockwood, my former wife. Through a series of communications, I have determined that I was in the most egregious error when I accused her and yourself of wrongdoing. The pain this realization has caused me cannot be overstated. I have begged her forgiveness, and I must beg yours, as well.

 

It would be trite of me to assume that a few words dashed upon parchment would suffice for the years of separation from your family, friends, and homeland you have endured. While I sincerely hope you have made a satisfying life for yourself in America, I would like to extend an invitation for your return to England. I trust the enclosed bank draft will prove sufficient for your expenses. Renew your ties with family. Take up old friendships again. There is one friend in particular, dear to us both, who would welcome you back with open arms; certainly there are others.

 

The unfortunate circumstances surrounding your departure from England are beyond regrettable. I alone shoulder the full responsibility for your exile. Therefore, I extend the full measure of my support by any means necessary to facilitate your repatriation, or whatever else you may desire.

 

Yours,

 

Monthwaite

 

 

 

Isabelle swallowed. Dear to us both.

 

Marshall would have found Justin regardless; this she did not doubt. He was a true gentleman, and he brought Justin back. For her. For Justin, too, of course, but he had her in mind. There is one friend in particular, dear to us both …

 

She missed him so much. He haunted her waking thoughts. He dwelt in her dreams. He made love to her in those dreams, sometimes tenderly, sometimes urgently, always passionately. She daydreamed about the children they might have had, but when she opened her eyes again, her arms were empty. But not her heart. It was always full of pain and longing. The longing was her constant companion. It never went away.

 

“Isa?”

 

Isabelle opened her eyes. Justin knelt on the floor in front of her. “Are you all right? You look faint.”

 

He picked up one of her hands and lightly slapped her wrist.

 

“Everything’s gone wrong,” she whispered.

 

“Monthwaite?”

 

Isabelle nodded miserably.

 

“Did he suitably atone for the divorce?” he asked.

 

“He had an article printed in the paper.”

 

Justin whistled. “Sounds serious.”

 

“It was,” Isabelle answered. “But I don’t know if I can trust him. He hurt both of us — ”

 

“But he’s made up for it,” Justin pointed out. He patted her cheeks. “You still look pale.”

 

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “There was someone else.”

 

Justin’s face darkened. “Another woman?”

 

Isabelle shook her head. “No, there was another man whose life Marshall ruined.”

 

“Ruined is a strong word.” Justin lifted her chin with a finger. “You suffered, Isa. I did, too. But I wouldn’t say my life was ruined.” One side of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. “To be sure, it’s taken some unexpected twists, but I’m happy. And it turns out he didn’t even send me packing to begin with — his mother did, and we already knew she was a harpy.”