Enchanting the Duke by Patricia Grasso

Author:Patricia Grasso
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: 0
Published: 2015-01-12T22:25:16+00:00

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Isabelle drew the draperies aside to peer out the window early the next morning. Bright tentacles of orange light streaked the mauve-colored eastern horizon, promising a perfect morning with radiant sunshine and clear blue skies. The bud-laden branches of the trees in the garden area remained motionless, which meant no biting spring wind with which to contend.

“His Grace must have the ear of God,” Isabelle said over her shoulder. “He’s managed to conjure the perfect morning for a ride in the park.”

“I fixed it for him.” Giselle stared into the hearth.

“Why are you looking so glum?” Isabelle crossed the chamber to sit on the edge of the opposite chair.

“Saint-Germain has seen and heard me,” the old woman complained, “but he refuses to believe I exist.”

“Convincing skeptics can be a frustrating and impossible task,” Isabelle said.

“I thought seeing was believing.”

“Give John time,” Isabelle said. “We will bolster his faith in the celestial.”

“Child, you are beginning to love him,” Giselle said, turning to look at her.

That comment surprised Isabelle. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve just defended him to me by insisting he is not beyond redemption.”

Uncomfortable with the topic of her growing fondness for the duke, Isabelle rose from her chair. “It’s early yet. I think I’ll go back to bed.”

“Would you like me to play for you until you fall asleep?” Giselle asked. “I always did when you were a child. Remember?”

“I’d like that very much.”

Isabelle climbed into bed and pulled the coverlet up. The old woman sat on the edge of the bed to play a lullaby until her charge fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Three hours later, Isabelle had washed and dressed in preparation for her outing in Hyde Park. She wore a peacock-blue silk and wool gown that was as light as sarcenet but warmer. Over this she donned the Wellington mantel and the Wellington boots that were all the rage in fashionable London. She’d left her head bare. After brushing her blond hair off her face, she’d woven it into one thick braid and knotted the braid at the nape of her neck.

Isabelle took one last peek at herself in the framed mirror and looked toward the hearth for her angel’s approval, but Giselle had vanished. “I’m leaving, Giselle. Wherever you are.”

She started for the door, but paused when she heard the voice say, “Enjoy yourself, child.”

Isabelle whirled around, but the chamber was empty. She left the chamber in a good mood.

With her spirits high, Isabelle walked down the main staircase to the foyer. John was already waiting. His smile of greeting made her feel warm.

“Your punctuality heartens me,” John said, when she stood before him. “I detest tardiness in anyone.”

“I am always punctual,” Isabelle said. “I’ve been told that timeliness is out of fashion with London’s society ladies.”

The perfection of the day was a rarity for early April. The sun shone radiantly against the sky’s clear blue backdrop, and from the west blew a gentle breeze.

Isabelle paused when John held out his hand to assist her into his carriage.

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