Page 12 of My Duke, The Stranger
“That you are what?”
Isolde took a deep breath and looked directly at Mr. Pembroke. There was nothing she could do but reveal what had happened, while praying that it might be written off as a misunderstanding.
One can only pray.
“He believes that he and I are?—”
“Your Grace!” Mr. Pembroke stepped around Isolde and rushed right by her.
Isolde’s eyes widened, her stomach rose toward her throat, and she slowly turned as she braced for the inevitable…
The duke stumbled from the cottage at which point Mr. Pembroke took him by the arms, looked him over, and pulled him into a hug. The duke looked surprised by the gesture, but he did not pull away, and when he saw Isolde watching, he smiled at her.
Once Mr. Pembroke pulled away, he spoke to the duke in a hushed whisper, the worry clear on his face, as was the confusion on the duke’s. Isolde watched the interaction closely, trying to discern what was being said as she waited for the cry of outrage that was sure to come.
“Thank God this is over…” Her father came in beside her. “Mr. Pembroke seems like a reasonable fellow, if not a bit rigid.” He laughed and then started to cough. “Truly, I think he was just concerned for his master.”
“Yes… concerned…” Isolde continued to watch the duke and Mr. Pembroke’s interaction.
“This is as good as could have been hoped for,” her father continued. “We did our duty, Isolde. Hopefully, the duke will remember it.”
She winced. “I have no doubt he will.”
“Isolde…” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I know how hard it was for you, caring for a man for whom you have no love. But you did the right thing, and such acts of selflessness are not easily forgotten. You will come to see in time that this was for the best.”
Wide-eyed, her brother and sister looked from the duke to his carriage. They were young and innocent, and this was possibly the most exciting day of their lives.
Her father looked at Isolde with both love and concern, as well as pride. He trusted her implicitly, knowing that she would always do as she must to keep their heads above water.
But I have ruined everything! How could I have done this? My father… my brother and sister… I have destroyed their lives.
“Father…” Isolde’s chest tightened, and her chin began to tremble. “There is something I need to tell you. But please, know that what I did, I thought… I thought it was for the best.”
“Isolde…” He saw the fear behind her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I made a terrible mistake,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “But I will do whatever I must to make sure it does not affect you or Marianne and Thomas. I promise you, it will not.”
“What did you do?” Her father looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Isolde…”
“Miss Whitmore.” Mr. Pembroke appeared suddenly in front of her. His expression was severe and controlled. “I believe that you and I need to have a little chat.”
“Surely, such things can be done on the way?” The duke limped toward them, and when he reached Isolde, he took her by the hand. “A moment ago, you were telling me how urgent it was that we returned to my… my manor.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I am sorry, such things are still a little surprising to hear.”
Isolde’s father looked at the duke’s hand wrapped tightly around his daughter’s. Then he looked at the duke, caught his gaze… and his own eyes widened with understanding.
“Isolde…”
“I am sorry, Father,” she said with shame as she bowed her head.
“I would prefer we have this conversation here,” Mr. Pembroke said carefully. “Your Grace, such things… they are not…”
“Not what?” the duke asked. “I might not have my memory, but you have assured me just now, Mr. Pembroke, that you are my personal steward, yes?”
“That is correct.”
“As you explained, your charge is to do as I request? To serve me, and without question. Your words.”
“I…” Mr. Pembroke clenched his jaw, the façade of control holding strong, albeit under protest. “That is correct, Your Grace. What you command, I do, and without question. But in this instance?—”
