The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(68)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Garrett tossed back his third brandy. Brooks’s was quiet this afternoon. He’d holed up in a club chair in a corner and ordered drink after drink. He’d been attempting to read the paper but he’d been looking at the same paragraph since he’d arrived. He was preoccupied, preoccupied by Isabella Langford and what she’d shown him.

She’d left the drawing room earlier and returned a few minutes later holding a letter.

A letter from Harold.

As soon as he’d seen his friend’s familiar bold scroll on the parchment, an ache formed in Garrett’s chest. It was as if the bullet that had torn through his shoulder ten years ago was an open wound again.

Isabella cleared her throat and handed him the letter. “This is addressed to you.”

“Me?” Garrett’s heart jackknifed in his chest. “How could that be?” He squinted at the date on the top. Years ago, when they’d been together in Spain.

Garrett searched Isabella’s face. “Why am I just now seeing this?”

“Harold wrote it to you, but he sent it to me,” she replied softly. “He asked me to give it to you in the event that he…” Her gaze dropped.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Garrett made his way to the large window at the front of the drawing room. He took a deep breath and bent his head toward the letter. His eyes scanned the page.

Upton,



If you are reading this, the worst has happened. We’ve shared many awful days together, my friend, and there’s no one else I’d rather die next to. You’re a good patriot, a good soldier, and a good man. If you find your way home, please take care of Isabella and the children. That is my dying wish. I could think of no better man to be in my stead. I must know that my family is taken care of. Always. They mean everything to me. I know you will do right by them. You have my eternal thanks.



Yours,



C. H. Langford

Garrett rubbed his thumb across Harold’s familiar signature. He still missed him. He folded the letter and slid it into his inside coat pocket, pressing it against his shoulder. A crushing weight settled over him as the import of the words he’d read hit him square in the chest. Harold had wanted Garrett to take care of his family.

Why in the hell hadn’t Isabella given him this letter long before now?

“There’s something else,” Isabella whispered.

“What is it?” Garrett had asked quietly.

Isabella took a deep breath. “I am with child.”

Garrett’s brows snapped together and his head jerked up to face her. “What?”

She pressed a handkerchief against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll be ruined if I don’t marry quickly.”

Garrett stepped closer to her and searched her face for the truth. “You weren’t planning on telling me that before now? What about the baby’s father?”

“I’m sorry, Garrett. I’m desperate. I don’t know where to turn. The baby’s father is not in a position to marry me, and I wouldn’t have him if he was.” She turned away abruptly on a sob, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth.

“Isabella, I—”

Her voice shook with her tears. “The children and I will be outcasts. We’ll have to leave London.” She turned and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Garrett, you must save us. We need you. Please.”

The import of her words pressed on Garrett’s stomach. He felt as if he were going to retch. Isabella was asking him to make the ultimate commitment to ensure she and the children were taken care of for good, safe from scandal.

His thoughts turned to Jane. Did he love Jane? Yes. But Jane obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Despite what Cass had told him, Jane didn’t love him back. What sort of man of honor would he be if he ignored this letter from the grave? Turned Isabella away? Let her family fall to ruin? Even if he continued to provide them with an income, they would be treated like outcasts. Harold’s children would have no hope of good futures.

Sometimes, what you wanted to do and what you should do were two entirely different things.

He helped Isabella up to sit next to him on the settee. “Why are you just giving me this letter now?”

Isabella cast her gaze toward the floor. She seemed so sad and small and vulnerable. “At first, I needed time to grieve. I spent years in disbelief. I know it sounds senseless, but I actually believed Harold might walk through the door one day.”

Garrett nodded grimly. “That must have been hell for you. I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him. “I know you don’t love me. I know it’s an enormous thing to ask you to raise another man’s children, but we could be happy together. Our feelings might develop, over time.”

Garrett watched her carefully. Isabella wasn’t stupid. There would be no false pretenses between them. Successful marriages had been based on far less than a promise to a friend to whom one owed one’s very life.

Garrett grimaced. The parson’s noose tightened around his neck.

*

Garrett’s meeting with Isabella had been several hours ago, and after three brandies at the club, marriage to her still didn’t sound like a good idea. He’d have to drink fifty bloody brandies to wrap his mind around it. He hadn’t given her an answer, yet, but it was hardly something he could think about for weeks. She was with child and the sooner a marriage took place the better for her reputation. But there was something else to consider. If the child was a boy, he would be named Garrett’s heir, the future Earl of Upbridge. However, if Harold Langford hadn’t saved his life, the title would have gone out of the family, to a distant cousin, and there was always the chance the child would be a girl.