his mind. “Well, what’s wrong?”
“Your grace, there have been three letters delivered for Mr Bentley; I have put them in his rooms.” Foster shifted from one foot to the other. “I must also report that two unsavoury characters called demanding to speak to him. They were sent about their business but I fear Mr Bentley might have fallen in with some rogues.”
Alexander frowned. He’d been correct in his first assessment of the situation. Bentley had, in a few short weeks he’d been mixing in Society, got himself in financial difficulties. “Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention, Foster. I shall speak to Bentley when he returns.”
If the wretched man wasn’t in Grosvenor Square by tomorrow he would have to send someone out to look for him. The young man might be irritating, and from the looks of it was going to be a serious drain on his purse, but he was his responsibility. He could not allow his putative heir to languish somewhere without offering assistance. He was damned if he was going to make the journey again himself, he’d done enough gallivanting these past few days after that particular person.
There was no sign of either his valet or Bentley the next day. What could be keeping them? The toll roads were fit to travel on, the weather was clement and he could see no impediment to their return. By the next morning he was concerned so when Foster arrived with a letter sent express he hoped it was news of the missing pair. He did not recognize the writing. Impatiently he broke the seal and read the contents.
He slammed the letter down on the desk. What a disaster! He had no option but to rout out Bentley’s tailor and drag the unfortunate man down to Newcomb along with his samples and pattern books. He could hardly blame his cousin for being robbed, but it was a damned nuisance nevertheless. He had no wish to return to his country estate. He was unwelcome there and his presence would only exacerbate the rift between himself and Isobel. Only time and separation might mend the damage his appalling behaviour had caused to the marriage.
Thoughtfully he picked up the letter and examined it again more closely. This was the first missive he’d received from her. The note was hardly a
Duncan returned the following morning and Alexander was relieved to hand over the search for a suitable tailor to his capable manservant. The description of Bentley’s bedraggled appearance when he’d arrived at Newcomb amused him, but it did not make up for the fact Alexander had no recourse but to return to Newcomb.
Chapter Fourteen
Two days after Isobel had sent her plea for help to London she was returning from a brisk walk around the park with the dogs when yet another travelling carriage bowled around the curve of the drive. There was no doubting to whom this belonged for emblazoned on the handsome black paint-work was the crest of the Rochester dynasty.
She sincerely hoped Alexander had come to remove her guest who had taken to sulking in the drawing-room, his gloom pervading the whole house. It would seem without his sartorial elegance to bolster his self-confidence he was a pitiful creature indeed. No doubt the second less substantial coach contained the tailor come to measure Bentley for his new wardrobe. With a sigh she returned to the east wing glad all the rooms were now usable and she was safely installed in her own apartments.
Ebony and Othello shot off ahead of her somehow sensing who was in the carriage. By the time she made her way around to the turning circle in front of the main building Alexander had descended and was playing with her dogs. She could hardly credit this youthful gentleman with a ready smile for everyone could be the austere man she’d married what seemed like years ago.
“Good afternoon, my dear, you look enchanting. I expected to see you overwrought after all that has transpired these past few days.”
“I’m very well, thank you, sir. Surprisingly Bentley is far less intrusive this visit.”
“Where is he? I can’t wait to see him dressed in my castoffs. I’m sorry you have been bothered for a second time. I am here to organise his new wardrobe and then take him away.”
Isobel laughed. “He will be moping about in the drawing-room bewailing the fact that his clothes were stolen and he can’t return to town until he is properly dressed. He will also be complaining the tailor I discovered locally is worse than useless and that he will refuse to wear anything made by such a person.”
“He’ll wear what he’s damn well given and be grateful for it. However, I’ve brought his tailor with me in the second carriage. He has a selection of articles in the correct size for Bentley to choose from. He also has his pattern books and samples so will be able to go back to Town and start making up what’s needed.”
They strolled companionably around to the east wing where the front door was open and Mary and Bill were waiting to greet the duke. Two footmen rushed past to collect the baggage. Inside Alexander stared up at the ceiling enquiringly.
“Have you managed to repair the roof? Do I get to sleep in the nursery with Bentley?”
“You may relax, Alexander, everything is as it should be. If we are to continue to use this place for Mr Bentley, it must be re-roofed before next winter. However, it’s sound enough for now thank goodness.”
They agreed to meet up at dinner and she vanished to her own domain at the rear of the house leaving him to take care of matters with her less welcome guest. Hopefully both men would depart the following morning and her life would once more be calm and uneventful.
She paid particular attention with her appearance that night as she had two gentlemen to entertain. “Sally, I think you have done a splendid job altering my evening gown. It’s fortunate the high waistline is ideally suited to someone in my condition.”
“Emerald green silk is a perfect match for your eyes, my lady, and by removing the demi-train and adding a panel at the back there will be more than enough room to accommodate the baby over the next few months.”
Isabel’s hair was long enough to dress in a more elaborate style. She preferred to have it loose, but tonight she made the effort to appear as the Duchess of Rochester and not a country squire’s wife. “No, Sally, I won’t wear the emeralds. This is an informal occasion not a grand event.”
Disappointed, her maid returned the beautiful necklace to its velvet box. “I could wear the pearls I was given as my wedding gift then you could thread the smaller strand through my hair if you wish.”
“Yes, my lady, I shall do so at once.”
This was the first opportunity her abigail had had to show she was capable of dressing a duchess—up till now Isobel and worn the simple gowns best suited to her condition.
Despite the extra preparations she was on her way downstairs when the dinner gong sounded. She could
