Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) Read Online Free

of your own making.” Lord Saybrooke spoke without a trace mirth, but
despite the harsh words, they were spoken with compassion.
    “My
own making? How dare you, sir!” This time Isobel’s outburst did wake Lady Whitcomb,
who sputtered and blinked her eyes, gradually taking in the scene before her.
She promptly feigned sleep.
    “How
am I possibly to blame?” continued Isobel in a fury. “Did I marry Warwick
knowing he was already wed?”
    “No,
and that is why you are to be pitied. No one could have foreseen such an
outcome, not even you, despite your cunning plan.”
    “Plan?
What plan?” Isobel gave him a haughty look and sat down.
    “Come
now, do you deny it? You relentlessly pursued Reginald Aiken, he was the
Marquess of Crewe at the time, I believe,  though you clearly did not love him,
or respect him or even like him. But he was to save your family from penury and
to elevate you in society. To that end you mowed down anyone in your path.”
    Isobel
glared at him, so angry she could not speak. Saybrooke continued relentlessly.
    “Laura
Downing was his first choice and you plotted her demise with the pockets-to-let
Lord Tyndale, luring her into a compromising situation where she was forced to
wed the scoundrel. And you were free to pursue Aiken.” Saybrooke fixed Isobel
with a scowl.
    “In
light of recent events, it would seem that Laura was fortunate to have escaped
Reginald,” countered Isobel in a defensive tone.
    “Someone
was fortunate, but it was not Miss Downing. Tyndale was more than able to pay
off his creditors with her dowry and then promptly lost every farthing that was
left over the gaming tables. He died two years ago, leaving her penniless.”
    “I
hardly planned that! I am not God,” Isobel sputtered.
    “No,
you are not. But you played God in this situation and now you must live with
the consequences.”
    His
words were aimed straight at her heart, or perhaps, at her conscience, but they
were not said with anger or censure. Isobel stared at Saybrooke, aghast. He
looked back at her with a strange mixture of severity and tenderness. Anger and
guilt fought for supremacy in Isobel’s breast. Anger won.
    “If
God had been in evidence after my father lost every farthing of our money on
his ridiculous schemes, I would not have had to take matters into my own hands.”
    “I
don’t recall you ever asking for guidance from God or anyone else for that
matter.” Lord Saybrooke’s hold on his temper was weakening.
    “I
was an unmarried woman, sir! I had guidance from everyone including the cook. I
need never have asked for it! I could not stroll in the garden without someone
commenting upon it, suggesting it might be too cold and should I not wear a
shawl. An unmarried lady, Lord Saybrooke , has a surfeit of constraints
and controls imposed upon her which masquerade as guidance. My parents gave me
guidance, my governess gave me guidance, and the vicar’s wife gave me guidance.
And all of them impressed upon me that my duty was to marry. The worth of my
very existence depended on marrying well.”
    “And
so, you would have me believe that you merely succumbed to your parents’
mercenary machinations, your governess’ self-serving maneuvers and the vicar’s
wife’s meddlesome interference?  You were just a pawn in their plot to have you
married off, is that it?” Saybrooke looked at Isobel, disgust written all over
his face.
    Isobel
said nothing, but looked over at Lady Whitcomb, who had managed to fall back
into a true slumber from her feigned one. Isobel thought about his words. Of
course, any advice from the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Woodley, would be dismissed out
of hand. The woman was a pious, toad-eating fool. And her governess, Miss
Littleton? Her guidance was also suspect. She dallied with the head groom, who
had to be over fifty, while she preached of chastity and propriety. Isobel
loathed her. Her parents, however, that was the difficulty. She had been a
lonely little girl, raised