Bound by Honor (Book 1 in the Legacy of Love Series)

Chapter 7: Secrets and Scandals

The letter arrived on a quiet morning, sealed with the crimson wax of Lord Haverton's family crest. The sight of his unmistakable seal sent a ripple of unease through Isolde, but she kept her face impassive as she broke the wax, her fingers betraying only a slight tremor.

"Lady Marborough," the note read in Lord Haverton's unmistakably meticulous script, "Your presence is required at Haverton Hall at your earliest convenience. Matters of grave importance to your standing demand our attention."

Isolde's heart raced. She read the note twice, weighing its careful wording, each line concealing as much as it revealed. There was no warmth or formality in his tone, only the chill of obligation and, perhaps, a hint of warning. She knew Haverton's methods well enough to understand that this was no ordinary meeting—it was a summons she dared not ignore.

The journey to Haverton Hall was grueling, matching the inner turmoil that churned within Isolde. She set out just after dawn, her cloak drawn tightly around her to keep out the chill that clung to the morning air. As the estate slowly disappeared behind her, the weight of her departure settled heavily on her shoulders, each turn of the carriage wheels marking a step deeper into uncertainty.

The landscape was as cold and barren as she felt, fields stretching endlessly in muted greens and browns, winter's chill still clinging stubbornly to the earth. Trees loomed overhead, their bare branches weaving dark patterns against the pale sky, mirroring the tangled thoughts that clouded her mind. She barely noticed the gentle rocking of the carriage as it wound along the narrow country road, too preoccupied with the warning implied in Lord Haverton's summons.

Her hand tightened on the letter she held, its edges creased from the hours she had spent turning it over, reading and rereading the curt lines as if they held some hidden message. But there was nothing ambiguous about Lord Haverton's intent. The gravity of the situation was all too clear.

The carriage rattled over a series of stones, jostling her out of her thoughts. Her gaze flickered to the small slit of window, catching sight of the estates that lay between her and Haverton Hall. Once, she had found comfort in the lands that formed the Marborough estates, each village and manor representing the life she was meant to uphold, the responsibility she had accepted when she married Edwin. But now, as the scenery passed by, she felt only the confines of a life that had steadily become a cage. The walls of Marborough were built on duty, on sacrifice, and lately, on secrets that now seemed poised to destroy her.

The memory of Lucien surfaced unbidden, filling her mind with warmth despite the cold that seeped through the carriage. She could almost feel his hand in hers, the weight of his gaze on her, the words he had whispered with an intensity that defied her will to forget. Her heart clenched as she thought of him lying in that bed, recovering slowly, painfully. She had spent every night by his side, knowing full well that with each hour she stayed, she was daring fate to punish her. And now it seemed that fate, in the form of Lord Haverton, had come to collect.

As the journey wore on, the initial resolve she had mustered in leaving the estate began to waver. Lord Haverton's influence was formidable, his power in court well known, his loyalty to Edwin's political future unwavering. She knew that if he had even the slightest proof of her impropriety, her life would be torn apart with ruthless efficiency.

She tried to imagine what he might say, how she might defend herself, but the words eluded her, leaving only a hollow ache of dread in their place. What defense was there, really, against a crime of the heart? She could deny the rumors, but what would that cost her? Would she abandon the truth entirely, become little more than a lie herself?

The carriage jostled again as they crossed a narrow bridge, and Isolde forced herself to breathe deeply, willing the cold air to steady her thoughts. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart beneath her palm, as if she could calm the storm within her by sheer will alone.