Page 41 of Lord of Loyalty

How dare Will interfere when she was in full flow, and order her about? He didn’t know all there was to know, and he certainly had no right to command her.

“I have one more thing to say.” She stood beside Will. “Before you make any further effort to blackmail Sir William here, I want you to know that the package you held for him in his absence was intended for my brother. Aye, I appreciate it was addressed to Will Cavendish, but the note inside and the contents were for my late brother, Edward, and have now been passed to me, as his heir. Sir William concealed the fact from you in order to protect Edward’s reputation. He deceived you for my benefit, fearing my name would be dragged through the mire along with my brother’s.”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in, waiting for Will to support her. But he said nothing. Risking a glance at him, she saw his face was pale and set. Mathieson met his gaze.

“Is this true, Cavendish?”

“Do you doubt the word of a lady?” The challenge in Will’s voice was fierce, making Mathieson blink, and step away. Isobel remembered she still held the poker and moved it out of Will’s line of vision. Just in case.

As soon as Mathieson moved, Maybury joined the wall of opposition, and Manners came down to the bottom step of the staircase. The tension was so palpable, one could cut it with a knife.

Mistress Mathieson broke the silence. “My apologies for having disturbed you, sir. I advise departure, Husband, but not in retreat—only to regroup. We have listened to your case, Sir William, Mistress Marston, and will consider what our next action may be. God give you good day.”

Isobel swallowed her gasp of surprise. Who would have thought the lady of the house held sway over her belligerent husband? It seemed she did, however, for although he colored and scowled, he bowed curtly and turned his back on the united front in Will’s hallway, and followed wife and daughter into the street.

“Well.” Isobel let out the breath she’d been holding. “We seem to have command of the field, Sir William. At least, for now.”

Will’s face as he turned to her was stark, emotionless, like that of a statue carved in marble. “Excuse me, Maybury—pray, make shift for yourself and don’t await my company for breakfast. I need private speech with Mistress Marston.”

Without further ado, Will took her by the wrist, making her drop the poker with a clang, and pulled her into the parlor.

“Congratulations, Isobel,” he ground out as he released her and slammed the door closed. “You’ve just ruined everything.”