Enchanting the Duke Read online

  John’s absence diminished the beauty of her beloved Stratford. Even arguing with him was infinitely more enjoyable than being alone. She’d never felt more alive than when she was with him. How had she survived all of those long, lonely years without him? His weekly letters could not replace his presence. No clue had been found concerning the would-be assassin’s identity. That meant John would be in danger even when he returned to Avon Park. They would all have to remain on guard until the shooter was found.

  Finally, her wedding day arrived.

  Isabelle waited in the nave of Holy Trinity Church. The previous eight weeks seemed to have passed faster than a lightning flash, and her worries became concerns for their married life together. She was the young woman whom everyone believed would never be accepted into his world. Once married, she would become an embarrassment. John would grow to despise her for that.

  Then she would be alone. Again.

  “I cannot believe my little girl is a grown woman,” a voice beside her said. “What a beautiful bride you make.”

  Isabelle focused her attention on Mrs. Juniper, who had arrived at Avon Park a week earlier. She smiled at her former nanny and felt the intervening years of their separation melt away. Juniper had always cherished and protected her, until she’d been sent away. Now graying and pudgy, the older woman still possessed the ability to make her feel loved and accepted.

  “How I’ve missed you.” Isabelle touched the older woman’s hand. “I do hope you’ll agree to remain with me at Avon Park and help me with whatever children come along.”

  “Thank you for making me feel needed again,” Juniper said, dabbing the moisture from beneath her eyes with her handkerchief. “You don’t think I’m too old? His Grace—”

  “I can handle His Grace,” Isabelle interrupted. “You are family to me. What young mother wouldn’t wish for a grandmother to care for her little ones?”

  “You always did possess a kind heart,” Juniper said.

  Isabelle took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “If you don’t mind,” Isabelle said, “I would like a few moments before I walk down that aisle.”

  “I’ll go find Pebbles and we’ll take our places.” At that, Juniper disappeared into the church.

  Alone with her thoughts, Isabelle worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Today was her wedding day, a moment that every young girl dreamed of for years. Her groom was England’s premier duke, and after the ceremony, she would be a duchess. Thinking about that walk alone down the aisle in front of two hundred of society’s elite, unnerved her.

  “No frowning is allowed on this day.”

  “I haven’t seen you at all this week,” Isabelle said, rounding on Giselle, who still wore her tattered clothing. “I feared you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I remained hidden in the shadows while you prepared for today.”

  “Thoughts of my parents have filled my mind this week.”

  “Child, trust me. Your parents are watching you.”

  Isabelle brightened at her words. “Do you really think so?”

  “Love does not die with a person’s passing,” Giselle said. “Your father and your mother are with you in spirit.”

  Isabelle closed her eyes and touched her golden locket, trying to feel her mother’s spirit near her. “Thank you for all of those years of loyalty.”

  “I was with you before you came into this world,” Giselle said, “and I’ll be with you long after you go out of it. The problem is, you mortals have short memories.”

  “So I am never alone even when I feel so?”

  Giselle nodded. “Do you believe that John Saint-Germain is the dark prince?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Isabelle answered, giving the old crone a rueful smile. “If not, I’ll be marrying the wrong man.”

  Giselle laughed and touched her hand. “My blessings upon you, child. The moment has arrived for the greatest adventure of your life.”

  Leaving the nave, Isabelle positioned herself at the end of the long aisle. Her wedding gown had been created in ivory satin and lace adorned with hundreds of seed pearls. Its high-waisted bodice had a squared neckline and short, puffed sleeves. Her hair of spun gold cascaded down her back to her waist, and her veil was the sheerest ivory lace, which had once belonged to her own mother. She carried the traditional orange blossoms. The fragrant white flowers proclaimed her virginity and served as a fertility charm, because the blossom and the fruit appear simultaneously on the orange tree.

  Hundreds of candles lit the chapel, casting eerie shadows on its muraled walls, stained-glass windows, and ornate sculptures. At the end of the aisle was the altar where John and she would kneel in front of the Bishop of Coventry, who had journeyed to Stratford to marry them. Bouquets of blue forget-me-nots, purple violets, and white lilies adorned the altar.

  The organist began playing. The wedding guests rose from the mahogany pews and faced the center aisle.

  Ignoring the sea of unfamiliar faces, Isabelle gazed down the long length of the aisle to the man who awaited her at the altar. Formally attired in black, John Saint-Germain was the prince she’d once glimpsed in the Avon River, and she gave him a smile filled with love. His intense gaze held the promise of love and acceptance, giving her the courage to start down the aisle to him.

  Almost there. Isabelle reached the midpoint of the long aisle. John’s gaze never left hers, and she suffered the urge to run the remaining distance.

  And then Isabelle heard the vibrating notes of a flute emanating from the choir loft behind her. The flutist’s melody held a poignant, sensitive tone that touched her heart.

  Peering over her shoulder, Isabelle sent Giselle a smile that rivaled the flute’s song of infinite beauty. She returned her gaze to John’s and realized that he heard the celestial melody too. Wearing a puzzled expression, he stared at the choir loft for a long moment before offering her his hand.

  Hand in hand, John and Isabelle followed the bishop inside the sanctuary.

  “I never ordered a flute to accompany the organist. Did you?”

  “Giselle is playing for us.”

  “I thought angels played harps.”

  “Angels can play whatever they wish.”

  Thankfully, the wedding ceremony lasted less than thirty minutes. Isabelle’s heart warmed when John pressed his lips to hers, their first kiss as husband and wife.

  Isabelle gifted him with a smile. Perhaps their marriage would work in spite of all the odds against it. With her angel’s blessing, it was a union made in Heaven.

  John escorted Isabelle down the aisle. On impulse, Isabelle passed the orange blossom bouquet to Lobelia, surprising her oldest stepsister. “You’ll be next.”

  “What about me?” Rue whined. And then, “Ouch! Mother, you needn’t pinch me.”

  John guided Isabelle down the aisle and outside into the bright sunshine. Even the summer’s breeze whispered success for their marriage. The largest and most luxurious of the ducal coaches awaited them.

  Sitting beside him on the leather seat, Isabelle felt shy. The man beside her was her husband, and in a matter of hours, they would share his bed. She peeked at him from beneath the thick fringe of her blond lashes and saw him watching her.

  John lifted her left hand and kissed it. “The scroll on your wedding band is actually my wish for our marriage. It says, joy sans fyn—joy without end.”

  “My sentiments match yours,” Isabelle said. “My only regret is that Miles—”

  “No regrets are allowed on our wedding day.” John leaned close to kiss her.

  His lips were warmly insistent, and his fresh scent of mountain heather teased her senses until she felt he was casting a spell on her. His drugging kiss held a possessiveness that hadn’t been present before.

  “How do you like being a duchess?” John said, smiling.

  Isabelle gave him a rueful smile. “I feel the same as I did yesterday when I was Mistress Nobody.”

  “I wouldn’t want the mantle of greatness to give
you a haughty attitude.”

  “No, indeed. That would make two of us with the same attitude.”

  Within the hour, John and Isabelle stood beside his mother and his brother to greet their guests in Avon Park’s candlelit and flower-adorned great banqueting hall. The head table had been set along one of the rectangular room’s short walls, with two long tables large enough to sit one hundred people at each side poised perpendicular to it. More than an hour passed before the last guest in the receiving line stepped in front of John and Isabelle.

  “Best wishes, Your Grace,” Major Grimase greeted, kissing her hand.

  “Thank you, Major,” Isabelle said.

  “Congratulations, Your Grace.” Major Grimase shook John’s hand. “High time you took yourself a wife.”

  “Emulating my actions might be a good thing,” John said.

  “To tell you the truth, I do believe a young bride would kill me now,” Major Grimase replied. “What a quandary. I’m too young for an old bride and too old for a young one.”

  “I don’t believe a young woman would ever consider murdering someone as nice as you,” Isabelle piped up, making both men smile.

  “I see that you have your work cut out for you,” the major said.

  John nodded. “It would appear so.”

  “By the way, Saint-Germain, what do you think of the war?” Major Grimase seemed intent on talking longer than necessary. “How long do you think it will be before the King’s navy puts those colonials in their place?”

  Isabelle sensed a change in her husband’s demeanor. She turned to look at him.

  “I wouldn’t care to hazard a guess,” John said, losing his affability.

  “We’ll show them this time,” Major Grimase said, his voice rising with his excitement. “Too bad about your brother, though. He’ll probably be delayed until the war is over.”

  “You never can tell what the future will bring.”

  At that, Major Grimase moved away to find his place at one of the long tables.

  Isabelle realized that her husband and the major were discussing war between England and America. Miles and Jamie were still in New York.

  Anger swept through Isabelle like a gust of wind. Her husband had known and kept it a secret from her.

  “Our guests are waiting for dinner,” John said. “Shall we take our places?”

  Isabelle rounded on him. Only a blind man could have failed to see her anger.

  “God mend your lying ways.”

  John snapped his brows together. “About what are you talking?”

  “The war.”

  “I never lied about that. I merely—”

  “It was a lie of omission,” she interrupted him.

  “Listen to me,” John said, lowering his voice. “We have two hundred guests waiting to share our wedding dinner.”

  “Your lies have stolen my appetite,” Isabelle said, lifting her nose into the air.

  “Anger is one of the seven deadly sins,” he reminded her.

  “Is this the devil quoting scripture?”

  John burst out laughing. Isabelle failed to see the humor in what she’d said.

  “Do not humiliate both of us in front of all these people,” John said. “Please, Belle.”

  Isabelle looked from him to their guests and then back again. “We will discuss this as soon as they’re gone.”

  “Thank you,” he said, surprising her.

  As the violinists began circulating throughout the hall, John escorted Isabelle to the head table, where their families were already seated. Once the toasts were finished, John fed Isabelle the requisite quince, which represented female fertility. Blushing, Isabelle ate the yellow apple to the loud applause of their guests.

  With that tradition done, the Saint-Germain servants entered with their wedding feast, the likes of which Isabelle had never seen. First came the turtle soup, followed by the main course of poached salmon steaks with anchovy essence, duck with horseradish, rump of beef, stuffed artichokes, asparagus in cream, and tomatoes stuffed with mushrooms. The second course contained raspberry cream, gooseberry cream, baked custards, and walnut pudding with chocolate sauce. Finally, the traditional wedding cake arrived.

  Giddy with the small amount of champagne she’d drunk, Isabelle ate small servings of the soup, poached salmon, and the vegetable medley. She noted her husband’s long fingers on the delicate stem of the crystal goblet and then imagined those fingers caressing her naked body. Blushing at the tantalizing thought, she peeked at him and caught him smiling as if he knew her thoughts.

  Isabelle watched him shift his gaze toward their guests, and his smile became a dark scowl. The angry twitch in his cheek muscle had returned.

  Isabelle turned her head to follow his gaze. Advancing on them through the two rows of tables was Lisette Dupre, the raven-haired beauty from Hyde Park. Clutching the woman’s hand was a young girl, four or five years old, who looked exactly like Lisette. The child held a small satchel and a doll in her free hand.

  A hush fell over the wedding guests. With her head held high, Lisette ignored their stares and fixed her gaze on the head table.

  John started to rise when Lisette stood in front of them. Isabelle placed her hand on his forearm and stopped him.

  “Your Graces, I’ve brought you a wedding gift.” Lisette dropped them a curtsy and released the little girl’s hand. “I give you our daughter.” With those parting words, Lisette Dupre whirled away and hurried out of the banqueting hall, leaving the little girl behind.

  Several things happened simultaneously.

  “Lisette, don’t leave me,” the little girl screeched in a panic.

  “Bloody hell.” John bolted out of his chair.

  “Sweet celestial breath.” Isabelle rose from her own chair, her heart breaking at the sight of the abandoned child.

  John dashed out of the banqueting hall in an effort to catch Lisette. Two steps behind him raced his brother Ross.

  With her gaze fixed on the weeping child, Isabelle left the head table and hurried toward her. The wedding guests watched in silence. Ignoring them, Isabelle crouched down in order to be eye level with the girl. She gave the child a smile filled with sunshine. The girl sniffled and gave her a wobbly smile.

  “My name is Isabelle. What’s yours?”

  “Lily.” She dropped the satchel on the floor and held the doll up. “This is Charlotte.”

  “Lily, you are among friends here,” Isabelle said, gazing into her disarming green eyes. ”There is no need to be frightened.”

  “Are you a princess?”

  Isabelle smiled. “No, merely a duchess.”

  “Who is your duke?”

  “Your papa is my duke,” Isabelle told her.

  “I don’t have any papa.”

  “It appears that you do.”

  “I prayed for a papa,” Lily said, smiling. “God does answer prayers sometimes.”

  “Indeed, sometimes He does,” Isabelle agreed.

  “Which man is my papa?” Lily asked, gazing at the wedding guests.

  “The duke stepped outside for a moment,” Isabelle told her. “I’ll introduce you when he returns.”

  “You mean the angry man?”

  Isabelle nodded. “Your papa is the fifth Duke of Doom, the tenth Marquess of Mean and the twelfth Earl of . . . Egads!”

  Lily giggled. “I like you.”

  “I like you too,” Isabelle said. “Are you feeling better now?”

  Lily nodded and then glanced at the watching guests. When she looked at Isabelle again, her expression was worried. “Where’s Lisette? I need her.”

  Isabelle felt her heart wrenching at the lost expression on the child’s face. “Lisette had important business that needed tending. She brought you here to visit with me. Do you think you’ll like that? I know lots of games.”

  Lily brightened at the prospect of playing games. “What kind of games?”

  “Let’s see,” Isabelle said, placing one finger across her li
ps as if thinking. “In the summer, I lie on my back outside and watch the clouds make pictures. When I tire of doing that, I roll down the side of a grassy hill. Have you ever tried that?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “When autumn arrives, I toss the fallen leaves into the air and shout hooray,” Isabelle continued, trying to keep the child calm. “When winter arrives, I make angels in the snow. Springtime is my favorite because I walk in the woodland and play with the flower fairies.”

  Lily’s green eyes grew large with wonder. No child could resist the magical.

  “When the rains come, I enjoy tea parties and sitting in front of the hearth to play my flute,” Isabelle added as an afterthought, covering all eventualities. “Like my mother before me, I’m an excellent flutist, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Sometimes I sit outside and gaze at the stars in the night sky,” Isabelle said. “Do any of those activities interest you?”

  Lily nodded, her smile eager.

  “Will you stay here and visit with me?”

  “I’ll need to ask Myrtle what she wants to do.”

  “Who’s Myrtle?”

  “Myrtle is my special friend,” Lily said. “No one but me can see or hear her.”

  “I have a special friend too,” Isabelle said. “Her name is Giselle.”

  “She’s very old,” Lily whispered.

  Her remark surprised Isabelle. “How do you know she’s old?”

  “She’s standing there.” Lily pointed her finger to the right.

  Isabelle turned her head and recognized the tattered skirt her old friend always wore. How could this child whom she’d never met see her guardian angel? She would ask Giselle about it later. Lily’s arrival had already given two hundred members of the ton enough to gossip about. She needn’t add herself as another topic for their drawing rooms.

  “We’ve created enough scandal today to make the regent look like a priest,” Giselle said. “Take the child upstairs away from these people.”

  “Are you hungry?” Isabelle asked the girl.