The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,9

kitchens. With luck, she would have a few minutes to freshen up and change before greeting the duke.

“Goodness, watch out!” a voice exclaimed as she barreled to the stairs.

Isobel slowed, narrowly missing a collision with one of the Fairfax twins. Violet and Molly had shown up six months ago with a note from their late father’s solicitor citing the duke as their guardian. Kendrick had read it without blinking and told Mrs. Butterfield to take care of it. He’d ignored his wards ever since, though he hadn’t batted an eyelash at allowing them to stay. At two-and-twenty, they were only two years older than her, and Isobel suspected he might have done it for her sake. Outside of Clarissa, female company was in short supply.

“Sorry!” Isobel caught her breath before climbing the stairs at a more sedate pace. “I forgot the duke was back today and with everything this morning, I’m a mess.”

Violet pulled a face, lifting the hem of her black bombazine mourning dress to follow Isobel. Molly, never a far step away, appeared beside them. “He doesn’t look happy. He never looks happy. Maybe he saw those awful scandal sheets, too.”

A fist clenched around Isobel’s heart, mortification rushing through her. She couldn’t deal with anymore pity, not even from the one person who could possibly understand. She and the duke had shared a lot over the years, but this was painful new territory.

“Honestly, you can’t believe a word of it, Izzy dear,” Violet said when they reached the landing. “The papers reported that I was an unremarkable, plain spinster, after two unsuccessful seasons, while Molly here was the rose of the hour, when we look exactly the same. How am I not a rose as well? No, no, I’m some anonymous, hideous weed.” She exhaled a peeved breath. “My name is Violet, for heaven’s sake. I’m the flower.”

Molly rolled her eyes and gave a shrug that made her brown ringlets bounce. “Everything isn’t a competition, Violet. But maybe if you were less thorny and more flowery, that would help your prospects.”

“I am not thorny, you beast!”

Despite being identical, the twins couldn’t be more like chalk and cheese, always at odds with each other. It usually made for good fun, but right now, Isobel had other things to worry about. “For the love of all things holy, stop bickering you two and help me change!”

After a quick sponge and spray of honeysuckle-scented water, it didn’t take her, the twins, and two maids long to switch out of her riding habit to a pale green muslin morning dress. Her hair brushed and re-braided, Isobel made her way down the stairs to the duke’s study.

With a calming breath, she knocked and entered.

In terms of coloring, the duke looked nothing like his eldest son. His hair leaned toward black instead of brown, and his eyes were blue instead of gray. However, the family resemblance was stamped in his high forehead and that proud nose. Not that she’d seen enough of her husband of late to compare otherwise. For all she knew, Winter Vance had put on ten stone and developed a set of jowls better suited to his excessive lifestyle.

“Your Grace, you’ve returned earlier than expected.” She greeted him from the open doorway, watching as the tall, elegant man rose to his feet from behind the desk.

“We had good weather and made excellent time.” The Duke of Kendrick frowned, a concerned expression on his face. “How are you faring, my dear?”

It was only then that Isobel saw the rolled-up newssheets on the desk, and all of her brave composure unraveled.

“I could shoot him in his rotten legs,” Isobel muttered, bursting into tears. She’d sworn no more, but her body shook with the effort to contain them.

“Get in line,” the duke said, offering his handkerchief. “Though I suspect you’d have much better aim than me.”

Isobel dabbed at her eyes with a laugh. He’d been the one to teach her to shoot and bought her a pair of pocket pistols for her last birthday. She composed herself and took a seat, pouring a cup from the nearby tea tray instead of the bottle of brandy she wanted.

Kendrick eyed her. “You need to go to London.”

“I cannot go to London.”

“He refuses to see me,” he pointed out. “He won’t refuse his wife.”

Isobel sighed. “We’ve had this discussion, Your Grace. I won’t go and be publicly cast aside. We both know that Roth is more than capable of doing that. I won’t set myself up for