The Duke and the Accidental Bride (Duchesses of Convenience #5)

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

" W hat are you looking at?” Isabella’s mother asked her. “Isabella?”

“Hmm?” Isabella responded vaguely, without turning to look at her mother.

“Isabella, I am trying to have a conversation with you. What are you – oh, for heaven’s sake, girl!” She threw her hands in the air. “What has gotten into you today?”

Still, Isabella was not paying her mother any attention.

Her attention was all for the Stoneside manor, which she had been staring at for the past three minutes, ever since she saw Duncan disappear through the back door. That was not interesting. What interested her, what confused and worried her, was seeing Lady St. Vincent follow him inside a moment later. More interesting still, they were yet to return.

To keep the confusion coming, because why not at this stage, her own sister was then quick to follow Lady St. Vincent just a few seconds later.

They were still inside the manor. All three of them. And the longer that Isabella watched and waited, the more her mind spun and turned and drifted toward thoughts of what it might mean... and why she was suddenly beginning to feel sick.

“As I was saying,” her mother continued. “You and His Grace seem rather happy. More than happy, in fact. And to think, you were against this marriage.” She chuckled. “As I have always said, a mother knows best.”

What are they doing in there?

Duncan and Lady St. Vincent being alone like that was worrying enough. She knew a little of their past, but not enough to come to any resolute conclusions. Perhaps the woman was following him? Perhaps Duncan was dissuading her? Or perhaps... Isabella’s stomach knotted when she considered the third option.

No... Duncan would not do that. Not to me. Not here, in public, with so many people around.

That thoughts of her husband touching another made her feel so physically ill was telling and spoke loudly to how Isabella was beginning to feel about her marriage. Not that she had time to ponder on this, as her sister chasing after them brought with it a whole host of new problems.

Louisa was distrusting of Duncan. She must have seen them leave together and decided to follow – to catch them in the act. Only, Isabella knew her sister wouldn’t find what she was looking for. And even if there was nothing to catch, Louisa was so certain of Duncan’s character that she would likely assume and then accuse and then... nothing good.

“Sorry, mother.” Isabella stepped around her mother. “I need to... I will be back.”

“Isabella!”

Isabella did not bother appeasing her mother’s shrill cry. She hurried across the garden, through the crowd, and toward the manor.

It was just as she was reaching the house, however, that she heard a shrill cry rip from inside. A cry of such anguish and suffering that it tore across the entire party and had all heads turning suddenly to see what the cause of such misery could be.

“Louisa!” Isabella cried out and rushed for the house, through the doors, and down the hallway.

She heard the commotion immediately. Screaming. Shouting. Yelling! Impossible to make out what any of it meant or who was the cause of the clamor, but that did not matter for she saw it with her own eyes soon enough.

Not that she understood what she was seeing.

Isabella came upon a scene that had her gasping in shock, as if she had stumbled into a nightmare and was failing to wake up. There was blood. There were bodies. There was confusion.

The first thing she saw was Duncan. He had his arms wrapped around Lady St. Vincent’s waist, lifting her into the air and roaring as she thrashed and kicked and shrieked for all her life was worth. There was blood on the woman, some on Duncan too, and Isabella’s mouth dropped open.

Then her eyes fell to the floor, and she saw the cause of the blood.

“Louisa!” Isabella cried out and dropped to her knees where her sister lay prone and shaking. “Louisa! What happened!” She snapped her head up and snarled at Duncan and Lady St. Vincent. “What did you do!”

There was blood everywhere. Louisa lay in a ball, holding her face, weeping as blood seeped through her fingers and pooled on the floor. A bloodied knife lay beside her, which Isabella kicked away as she tried to embrace and comfort her sister, not certain what she could do.

“Louisa! What happened? Are you – speak to me! Please!”

“Isabella!” Duncan cried out. “I am sorry!”

“No!” Juliet shrieked. “No! She doesn’t love you like I do! She does not!”

Louisa’s body trembled but she did not speak. Gently, Isabella tried to pull her hands back... “Please,” she said. “Show me what...” She gasped at what she saw.

The knife had slashed down the side of Louisa’s face, from the top of her right eye all the way down to her chin. A hideous gash which poured blood and looked so painful that Isabella could feel it as if it had happened to her own face.

“Oh no!”

“Isabella!” Duncan dropped the countess and pushed her away as he rushed for Isabella. “I can explain!”

“What happened!” Isabella cried out.

She could not believe that this was Duncan. That was madness! The reason for Isabella’s sudden verve of anger had everything to do with how she felt about herself… because this right here, she knew, was her fault.

“What on earth – Louisa!” Isabella’s mother shouted. “What has happened! What have you done!”

“Your Grace, what have you done!” another party guest accused.

“He attacked her!”

“He stabbed her!”

“Someone! Stop him! Take the knife!”

It was a calamity. Pure chaos in the tiny kitchen. The dozen or so party guests who had swept inside at the sound of the commotion fell upon the scene with a sense of anarchy. Some of the men tried to shield Louisa from Duncan. Some of the women tried to cover Louisa and pull her back. A few more rushed for Lady St. Vincent, assuming that she too was a victim of Duncan’s violence. And as for Isabella? She looked upon her husband for an answer.

Their eyes met across the kitchen. There was a sadness in them that made her gasp. That made her ache, as if he too knew that this was her fault.

Be she had a chance to speak, her mother was at her. “Isabella...” Her mother had her arm around her. “Quickly, dear.”

“But what of --”

“We have her.” Her mother indicated past the kitchen were a few of the women were helping to shield and protect Louisa. “Please, you must...”

She spared a final glance for her husband. Through the bodies that were blocking him, he did not fight, he did not argue, he did not try and reach her. The defeat in his eyes was ever-present, which in Isabella’s mind was all the proof she needed that whatever had happened here was indeed her fault.

The marriage she had never wanted, the one that she had begun to accept, even covet, looked to finally be over. And the most surprising part of all was how much that notion crushed her.