Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

A rchibald didn’t realize his mistake until he was halfway home.

He usually bathed and changed clothes as soon as he arrived home. The problem was, he was now sharing a bedroom with Izzie. This meant that if he continued his previous routine, she would see him in all his dirt, not only looking but smelling like a blacksmith.

It was crucial that she never see him this way. Izzie seemed to have romanticized the idea of him being a blacksmith, but she had only ever seen him when he was washed up and dressed in fine clothes to attend some ton entertainment. Were she to see him coated in coal soot and smelling like he’d been lifting cannons all day, she would realize what a terrible mistake her marriage had been. Hell, it was considered déclassé for the daughter of an earl to marry a banker or a barrister. But to marry a man who worked at an iron forge? Not merely running the business side of things but supervising the heavy, filthy work that took place on the factory floor? It was absolutely unthinkable, and it did not matter one iota how rich this work had made him. He was a thousand miles beneath her.

Archibald had, therefore, brought a change of clothes with him to Nettlethorpe Iron that morning, resolving to wash up in his office and return home in his finery. He only had a wash stand and basin there, but he was just going to have to make it work.

Unfortunately, old habits were difficult to break, and at the end of the day, he had climbed into the carriage the same way he had for years without remembering to perform his ablutions first.

Stepping into the foyer, Archibald peered around nervously as he took off his hat and handed it to Giddings. He did not see any sign of his wife.

Striving for an air of normalcy, he asked Giddings, “Were there any attacks on the house today?”

“None, sir.”

“Good. How is Lady Isabella?”

“Well, sir, so far as I can tell. She had a number of callers this morning who stayed through luncheon—her mother and sister, Lady Lucy, as well as Lady Diana Latimer and Lady Griselda Saxe-Mecklenburg.”

That was good. Archibald was glad she hadn’t been alone all day. “And, uh… where is she now?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Last I saw, she was visiting Mr. Nettlethorpe.”

Archibald looked up sharply, dread pooling in his stomach. “With Grandfather?”

As usual, Giddings’ expression was completely neutral. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Archibald muttered, already turning toward the stairs.

He took them two at a time. Now, he had two things to worry about. What would Izzie think about his low-born grandfather? Even worse, what might his grandfather be telling Izzie about him at this very moment? His grandfather was one of the few people who actually understood the engineering projects about which Izzie seemed strangely curious. Not that John Nettlethorpe was the loquacious sort, but if Izzie peppered him with questions, who knew what he might reveal?

What does my grandson do in his workshop all day? Oh, yes—he makes screws. ’Tis his proudest achievement and life purpose—making screws .

He hurried into his bedroom. “Jack!” he boomed. “Where are you?”

His valet strolled leisurely out of Archibald’s dressing room, shoe-brush in one hand and a tin of boot blacking in the other. “Well, would you look who’s chosen to grace us with his presence?”

Glad to see the tub was full and waiting, Archibald all but tore off his jacket and shirt. “I need a clean change of clothes.”

“You certainly do.” Jack wrinkled his nose as he retreated into the dressing room.

Archibald spent the next ten minutes washing with all possible haste, ignoring Jack’s mutterings about how he’d been unable to perform his job for the past three days on account of being locked out of the room. “Although I suppose there wasn’t much to do,” Jack added waspishly. “Doesn’t seem you were wearing much in the way of clothes.”

Finally, he was clean. He had managed to dodge disaster today, but he must remember to get cleaned up at Nettlethorpe Iron from now on.

Having made it out of the frying pan, it was time to leap into the fire. He hurried down one floor to his grandfather’s tower room to try to avert the next crisis. He knocked softly at the door before pushing it open.

The first thing he noticed was that his grandfather was asleep. The next thing was Izzie, seated at a small writing desk someone had moved into the room. She perked up as he entered and began gathering the papers she’d been working on in silence.

Archibald rubbed the back of his head as they slipped into the hallway. “How was your day?” he asked, because that seemed like a more normal greeting than, “ Just how much did he tell you about the screws ?”

She smiled up at him. “It was nice. Lucy and Diana came over this morning, along with my mother and Lady Griselda, and they all stayed through luncheon. After they left, I decided to look in on your grandfather, and he was awake!”

Cold sweat broke out on the back of Archibald’s neck. “And how did that go?”

He had tried to make his voice nonchalant, but some strain must have showed on his face, because Izzie laughed. “We got along swimmingly. We chatted for a few minutes, and he mentioned that the worst part about dying was that it was so dull. I offered to read him my book, and he accepted.”

Archibald was struggling to wrap his head around the image of his plainspoken grandfather listening to a story about a duke living at the bottom of a well, pretending to be a ghost, while naked pirates fenced in the background. “How did he like it?”

“Fairly well, I think. He was chuckling.”

That was high praise, indeed. His grandfather wasn’t much of a chuckler. Archibald tugged at his neckcloth, trying to sound casual. “And did you discuss anything else?”

“No. He told me to stop after an hour as he was starting to nod off. I asked him whether he minded if I wrote in his room while he slept, as it was hard to find a quiet spot around the house. He replied, ‘ Lord, is that the truth ,’ and told me to go ahead.”

Archibald couldn’t hold in a smile. He knew his grandfather was referring to his parents, who could talk the ear off a brass monkey. John Nettlethorpe had never understood his own son and was equally baffled by Archibald’s mother.

“It’s true that I need a quiet place to write,” Izzie continued. “And I figured that if I use his room, I’ll be on hand when he awakens to keep him company.”

“I appreciate that,” Archibald said, meaning it. To be honest, his grandfather’s remark that dying was dull stung. He felt bad about leaving his grandfather alone for such long stretches, but when he had offered to spend more time at home, his grandfather had replied that it would be a greater comfort if Archibald made sure the business he’d worked all his life to build didn’t founder.

John Nettlethorpe did not find the company of his son or daughter-in-law soothing, and when Archibald had tried to hire a nurse to sit with him, he’d complained that he didn’t want people fussing over him. He was perfectly capable of ringing for a footman if he needed something. But, in spite of his bluster, Archibald wasn’t surprised his grandfather was bored and lonely.

He seemed to like Izzie, though—goodness only knew that John Nettlethorpe would have banished her from his room had he found her annoying—and even if this development was unexpected, Archibald was grateful for it.

“Well, I’m glad you found a good place to write.” He offered her his arm. “Dinner will start in about an hour. Why don’t we—”

She seized his arm rather than looping hers through it. “Wait. While we’re here”—she smiled brightly, gesturing to the locked door before them—“perhaps you could show me your workshop!”

Archibald’s heart tripped. “My… my workshop?” He tried to chuckle, but it emerged sounding forced. “You wouldn’t want to see that.”

“I assure you, I would.” She laughed, and unlike the strangled sound he had made, hers was bright and sparkling. “As much as I’ve enjoyed discovering the house’s Gothic flourishes, I think I’m even more curious to see what you’re hiding on the other side of that door.”

Screws . Mostly just screws . “Oh, er… There’s nothing very interesting in there. Just a few odds and ends. You wouldn’t want to see it.”

She frowned. “If there’s nothing much to see, why not just show it to me? It won’t take a minute, and it will assuage my curiosity.” She squeezed his forearm, her lips twisting upwards. “I’m Pandora, remember?”

Oh, he remembered, all right. The problem was the metaphor was a little too apt. Just like Pandora’s Box, he would never be able to shut the door again once Izzie learned what a dull fellow he really was.

A drip of sweat had just started to make its way across his brow when the solution came to him in a flash. “I had some news today. About the men who tried to kidnap you. An arrest could be made as soon as tonight.”

She gasped. “Tonight? Truly?” She gave a shaky breath at his nod. “I hadn’t even dared to hope.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful news.” Placing a hand on the small of her back, Archibald guided her toward the stairs. “Let’s go somewhere so I can tell you everything.”

He brought her to their bedroom, where they sat facing each other on the bed. Archibald related everything he had learned in his meetings that morning.

“MacDonald,” Izzie said. “I think that was it—the name I heard in the dark walks. Do you really think he could be arrested tonight?”

“It all depends on when he decides to transfer the next shipment of guns. They want to catch him in the act, if possible. I’ve arranged to have significant manpower watching the dockyards. I want to make sure he doesn’t slip through our fingers.”

“Significant manpower.” Izzie gave him a wry look. “That you’re paying for, I imagine.”

“Of course.” He studied her a beat. She looked… frustrated. “What of it?”

She blew out a breath. “I feel like I’ve caused you a lot of trouble.”

He made an incredulous sound. To be fair, depending on how long this stretched on, it was conceivable that he might wind up spending hundreds of pounds on guards for the house.

But in exchange, he got Izzie as his wife .

It was the bargain of the century, as far as Archibald was concerned.

He touched her cheek. “I would pay a lot more than that to secure your safety. And you’re not trouble. You’re…”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say the best thing that’s ever happened to me , but he couldn’t quite bring himself to utter the words. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he and Izzie were headed toward a place where she would welcome such a declaration from him. But whatever this was that was blossoming between them still felt fragile, and he didn’t want to risk crushing it by asking for too much too soon.

“Not trouble?” The indignation in Izzie’s voice was offset by the corner of her mouth, which was twitching, and the way she looped her arms around his neck as she crawled into his lap. “I will have you know that I am a tremendous amount of trouble,” she said, pushing him back on the bed.

His last words before her lips descended on his were, “I daresay I could use more trouble in my life.”

They were late to dinner.