Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(80)

Wendell stuck something blurry and flesh-colored in Ransom’s face.

His hand.

A last pang of bruised pride knocked about his chest, heaving in its death throes. He didn’t need help rising to his feet, that pride insisted. He wasn’t an invalid or a child.

But he was human. Hopelessly in love, for the first time in his life. And in danger of losing everything. As Duncan had said, he needed all the friendly help he could get.

He swallowed back his instinctive refusal and accepted the man’s hand.

Once Ransom had gained his feet, Wendell called for the knights to circle close. Their hands clapped on his shoulders and back.

“All knights salute!”

Fists thumped armor. “For my lady, and for Moranglia!”

Chapter Twenty-five

Izzy, you’re not going to believe this.” Abigail pulled her toward the turret window.

“What is it? Oh, please tell me it’s not the solicitors. We’re not ready at all. I’m not dressed. Ransom isn’t even here.”

“It’s not the solicitors. Look.”

Izzy poked her head out the narrow window. There in the distance, winding down the road to the castle’s barbican, was the familiar, gaily colored sight of the West Yorkshire Riding Knights of Moranglia. Accompanied by their sister chapter of Cressida’s Handmaidens. Their banners waved briskly in the breeze, and sunlight glinted off armor.

“The duke did it,” Abigail said, clutching Izzy’s arm. “He convinced them to come back.”

“I suspect you had something to do with it, too,” Izzy said. “Sir Wendell obviously has his own reasons for returning. But it doesn’t matter why they came. It just matters that they’re here.”

A silly tear came to her eye. Even after everything yesterday, they hadn’t abandoned her. They were still here, still her friends. They still believed.

Doubt not.

The next few hours were a flurry of activity. Cook and the handmaidens were busy in the kitchen. The knights had another course in table service. Duncan whisked Ransom off for a bath, shave, fitted coat, and gleaming boots. Abigail expended nearly three-quarters of an hour and a great deal of patience on a quest to tame Izzy’s hair.

When the carriage wheels sounded in the drive, Izzy couldn’t even bring herself to look. Abigail had to do it.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s them. Now they’re here.”

“How many?”

“Two coaches. Three . . . No, four men in all.”

Four of them? Oh, dear. Only two would be the solicitors. The others must be . . . doctors, witnesses, assistants to the Lord Chancellor, perhaps?

She paced back and forth, just hoping everything was going well downstairs. Duncan would be greeting them, seeing them into the hall, and then it would be time for . . .

A knock sounded at the door.

Ransom.

“Are you ready?” He offered her his arm, and together they made their way down the corridor. “Don’t worry about anything. Just stay close to me.”

“Won’t they find it strange if I’m plastered to your side the whole time?”

His mouth tugged to one side. “Believe me. None of my solicitors will be surprised to find a beautiful woman plastered to my side. It will only bolster the impression that I’m my old self.”

His reputation wasn’t the source of her concern. She strongly doubted his solicitors were used to seeing him with women like her.

“Wait.” Izzy held him back.

“What is it?”

“I . . . I have to tell you something.”

“Hm. Right. That would be lovely, but perhaps it can wait until after this crucial meeting we’ve been preparing for all week?”

“It can’t wait,” she said, pulling on his sleeve. “There’s something you need to know. Urgently.”

Now that she had his attention, she almost lost her nerve. She forced herself to blurt it out. “I’m not beautiful. At all.”

His brow furrowed, and lips pursed as if he would ask a question, but the question seemed to just . . . get stuck there.

“I should have told you ages ago. You can’t know how it’s been weighing on me. It’s just . . . No one’s ever called me beautiful. No one’s ever made me feel beautiful. And I couldn’t resist enjoying it, even though it was all a misunderstanding. But you need to know it now. If we go into that room together, me draped on your arm . . . There will be no clearer evidence that you’ve gone blind. They won’t know what in the world you’re doing with me.”

“Izzy.” His hand swept up her arm.

She pulled away. “I’m not fishing for compliments. Truly. It’s important that you believe and understand this. I’m not beautiful, Ransom. Not pretty. Not comely. Not even passably fair. I’m exceedingly plain. I always have been. No man has ever paid me the slightest attention.”

“All right, then. So you’re not beautiful.”

“No.”

“Of all your layers and revelations . . .” His hands settled on her shoulders. “This is the deepest secret you’ve been keeping from me.”

“Yes.” She tried to reach for him.

His grip firmed, forbidding her to move. “Don’t.”

As he backed her up against the wall, words just kept spilling out of her. Useless, foolish words.