Chapter Twelve

 

Isabel opened her eyes after falling into an exhausted nap, and for a moment, she forgot she was no longer in Scarlett Hall. Memories of the day’s events, however, flooded her mind, accompanied by a sadness at how much her life had changed and a curiosity at what her life would be like from this day forward.

She rose, glad to see the sun still high over the horizon, and she was thankful she had not slept the day away. Then again, what would she do now that she was in a new home? With a new husband?

Sighing, she splashed cool water from the pitcher on her face, and the sleepiness dissipated. Reinvigorated, she dressed, arranged her hair, and then left the room. The house was eerily quiet as she made her way down the shadowy hallway, and she stopped before one of the portraits. The former Duchess of Ludlow had been a beautiful woman, and Isabel remembered the few times she had spoken to her. Not only was she lovely, but she was also kind to those around her, and her wit had been entertaining. Laurence, she realized, was very like his mother in those ways.

“Do you remember her?” Laurence asked, causing Isabel to start. “It has been so long, I sometimes forget what she looks like until I see this painting.”

“I remember her quite well,” Isabel replied. “I was just thinking what a kind woman she had been.”

Laurence nodded. “My father would say that she held her title so well that no other should be allowed to be called Duchess.” He smiled and shook his head. “At the time, I did not understand what he meant. Now, I do.” He turned to Isabel, the smile remaining. “I believe you will fill the role perfectly.”

“I will try,” Isabel said, her cheeks aflame.

“Now that we have rested, I believe it is only proper to introduce you to your new home.”

Isabel smiled. “Thank you. That would be nice.” And she was surprised when she realized that it was true.

She followed Laurence to the first door. “This is the room I had when I was young, but I had it redecorated when I moved into the suite down the hall. Now, I call it the Blue Room, and it is reserved for guests.” He sighed. “Not that any guests have used it, for there have not been any in quite a while.” He frowned, shook his head, and then opened the door.

Isabel peered into the room. Indeed, it was a blue room. The striped wallpaper, carpet, bedding, and window trimmings were one shade of blue or another. It was a lovely room, in all honesty. “Is this where your sister sleeps when she visits?” she asked.

“No. Her room is in another part of the house. She claims this is too small for her, although her room when she was younger was of the same size as this.”

“She does not stay in her childhood room?” Isabel asked in astonishment. “I would never give up my bedroom at Scarlett Hall to be used as a guest room. Where would I stay when I go to visit?”

He chuckled. “If she had it her way, she would appropriate my room for herself. But no, she insists on being as far away from me as she can manage, so she confiscated the largest in the west wing.”

He shook his head as he closed the door behind them and continued down the hallway. Three more rooms, all named for the color that dominated the room, followed. At the end of the hall were a set of double doors, and he swept them open. “This is my room.”

If her bedroom was large, his was massive and had a clear masculine taste in the décor. The large bed had deep brown drapes that hung to the floor. A large dresser held a flawless mirror and a pair of wardrobes lined one wall. On the floor was a round rug with splashes of orange and rust mixed with the brown.

“Is this the brown room?” she asked teasingly.

He laughed. “No, but perhaps we should name it as such.”

Along one wall was a large window and another set of double doors. “A balcony?” she asked in shock.

“Oh, yes. One of my favorite places.”

“May I?” she asked as she indicated the door. She imagined what she could see from such a wonderful location would be lovely.

“Isabel,” he said with a warm smile, “this is your home now, too. Never ask where you may tread, for it is all yours as well as mine.”

Smiling, she opened the doors and stepped out onto a wide balcony the held an ornate wrought iron table and a set of matching chairs. “What a marvelous view,” she gasped as she walked over to the iron baluster.

“I could not agree more. I often find myself staring off from here for hours.”

“And no wonder,” she replied. “I could do the same myself.”

“Then join me whenever you please.”

She gave him a smile. How kind this man was! He did not force himself upon her, nor did he set expectations, and for that, she felt great relief.

With reluctance, she followed him from the room and down the main staircase to the drawing room. “Of course, you have been here,” he said.

She nodded. “I have. It is a lovely room.”

They visited a study that he clearly used as an office and a library filled with books on all sorts of subject. However, it was the ballroom that left her in awe.

“Oh, Laurence, it is magnificent!” she said as she walked out to the middle of the room. It had tall white pillars and gold walls trimmed in white. Wall sconces lined both sides of the room and two grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The wooden floor had been waxed to a bright sheen, and she could easily envision herself spinning in such a lovely place. Then she turned to him. “Your home…our home is beautiful.”

“I am glad you believe so,” he said with a chuckle. Then he glanced around as if in search of eavesdroppers. “May I share a secret with you?”

Isabel could not help but giggle. “Of course,” she replied, lowering her voice, as well.

“You must not tell Harriet,” he said, his face solemn. “She would not understand, and I do not wish to explain myself to anyone, but especially not to her.”

Isabel thought the comment odd. He was the duke. Why would he have to explain himself to anyone, including his sister? “I promise.”

“This way, then,” he said.

They walked to the far corner of the room, and Laurence placed his hands on one of the panels. With a wink, he lifted it, and to Isabel’s surprise, it swung into the wall.

“A secret passage?” Isabel gasped.

“It is,” Laurence replied and then stepped inside.

Isabel paused. “It is very dark in there,” she said, doing her best to search out Laurence and seeing only the vague outline of his body and the white of his cravat and the lace on the cuffs of his coat.

“Do not be afraid. I may not be able to chase after any ghosts, but I will do my best to fight them.”

Isabel could not help but laugh, and she took the hand that he thrust through the opening. Once inside, Laurence closed the panel. With her hand still in his, he led her a dozen or so steps forward in complete darkness. Then she heard a scratching noise, and a door opened, light streaming into the passageway. She had to squint against the sudden light that came from a large window.

“This is my secret room,” he said. “Only you and a few trusted servants know about it.”

Isabel looked around as Laurence opened the drapes. The window looked out into the garden. However, it was not the view that caught her attention but rather numerous canvases that dotted the room. Two easels sat in different places, one facing the window and one away. And leaning against every space along the walls were various paintings of landscapes, animals, houses, parks, everything imaginable.

She walked over to a painting of a horse in a field. “You painted these?”

“You speak as though I have committed some offense,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh, not at all!” she said as her eyes soaked in the artwork. “These are quite good.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “It would not bode well for people to know my secret, but it is something I enjoy doing quite often.”

Isabel turned and smiled at him. “Well, your secret is safe with me. You are a talented artist.”

“You are too kind.” He paused. “Do you paint?”

“I?” she asked with a laugh. “No. I have no artistic abilities whatsoever. My father brought in a tutor once when I was young to teach me to play the pianoforte and they both gave up after a month when I still could not play the scales.”

He chuckled. “I will keep that in mind in case I ever think of asking you to play.” He gazed at her. “If you would like, I can teach you how to paint. I promise you will learn at least the basics in much less than a month.”

His offer was kind, but Isabel had no interest in taking up any activities, least of all painting. The idea was even less appealing than playing the pianoforte had been. It all seemed so…intricate. However, he appeared so beseeching, she could not get herself to turn down his offer right away. “May I think on it?” she asked. “I still feel overwhelmed by the day’s activities.”

“Of course.” He looked down at her and smiled. “It feels as if you have been here for years.”

Isabel said nothing. What could she say? ‘Actually, I want to return home to my mother’? No, she could not hurt him in such a manner.

“Well, we will need to dress for dinner soon,” he said, returning to close the drapes once again.

Isabel followed him down the dark passage and the brightness of the ballroom. She was glad for the tour, for it helped her take the first steps in seeing Camellia Estates as her home. She was also glad dinner would be served soon, for she found for the first time since yesterday that she was hungry. Although the morning reception after the quick ceremony had offered a fabulous array of choices, she had been much too nervous to eat a bite.

As she dressed for dinner, she considered his offer to teach her, although she found it kind, she decided she would leave him to enjoy his favorite pastime alone. It was not that she did not enjoy his company; however, spending too much time together might bring about false feelings that would only end in heartache.

This was something she had learned firsthand.

***

Laurence closed the book on which he was unable to focus and placed it on the table beside him. His hand went to his leg of its own accord, and he rubbed at the ache that was a constant part of his life as he thought on the day’s events. He had not been surprised when Isabel retired once everyone had left Camellia Estates after the wedding breakfast, but he was disappointed when she refused to join him for a drink in the drawing room after dinner.

He took a sip of his brandy as he thought of the other disappointment he had endured after dinner. Isabel had refused his offer to teach her to paint, and he found that refusal to be more devastating than the other. Sharing his pastime with her had been a difficult decision, but she was now his wife, and it would be unfair of him to keep any secrets from her. Painting was the one activity that he could enjoy because of his leg—so many others required either physical strength or a prowess he did not possess. It also gave him the opportunity to transfer all his emotions from his heart to the canvas.

“This is only the first day,” he mumbled into his glass. There were more days to come, and therefore, he would remain patient. Her reaction to learning of how he amused himself had been genuine, he was certain, and that led him to believe there could be hope she would change her mind in the future. As long as she was happy in her new life, that was what mattered to him the most.

The door opened, and Harriet entered the room, her skirts swirling around her ankles. “Margaret is such a bore,” she said in exasperation. She already had a glass of wine in her hand.

Laurence recognized the look on her face all too well; she was about to unleash her disdain for her friend.

And indeed, she did. “Even her husband is a bore. All he enjoys doing is reading.” She glanced at his book with disgust. “Much like you.”

“There is nothing wrong with reading,” Laurence said. “It is exciting to go on adventures and not even leave the house. You can also learn all sorts of new things. For example, there are new animals discovered in foreign lands…”

Harriet waved him off with annoyance. “I do not really care, if you must know.” She glanced around the room. “Where is your new wife? She has not left you already, has she?” She threw her head back and laughed as if her words held great humor. “I was only teasing. But the question remains; where is she?”

“She has retired early. Preparing for the wedding and then the day’s events have left her overtaxed.”

Harriet clicked her tongue. “I still do not understand why you did not leave for a honeymoon.” Then she glanced down. “Is it because of your leg?”

Laurence downed the remainder of his drink. He hated to admit, especially to Harriet, that part of the reason he rarely made an appearance in public was because of his leg, and that included going on a honeymoon. The other reason they remained home rather than traveled was because he did not wish to put Isabel in a situation that was unnecessary. “We will take a honeymoon at a later date,” he replied. His sister did not need to know every intimate detail of his and his wife’s plans.

This seemed to appease her, for she leaned back into the sofa. “It is a shame she is in bed already. I did wish to see her again.” She sighed. “I suppose there is tomorrow.”

“There is,” Laurence replied. He picked up his book once again and opened it the page he had been reading earlier, hoping Harriet would take it as a signal that he wished to be alone.

However, his ever-selfish sister ignored the gesture. “Have you arranged for her to buy new dresses yet? Or jewelry?” Laurence glanced up from his book but did not speak. “I can see by your look you have not considered it.”

“I have not. If she wishes to buy a new dress or jewelry, I do not care. But she has not made any mention of it.”

Harriet stood and walked over to the liquor cart. “Laurence?” she asked as she poured herself a healthy measure of sherry. “Do you remember our mother?”

Laurence heaved a heavy sigh and closed his book “Of course I do. What about her?”

“Do you recall her wearing dresses of the finest fabrics?”

He nodded. What point was she trying to make?

“How about her fingers or her neck? Were they bare?”

“No,” he replied, not hiding his impatience. He did remember that their father never spared the smallest expense when it came to their mother, but what did that have to do with Isabel? “What does all this mean?” he demanded.

She handed him a new glass of brandy. “You are fortunate I am willing to take the time to look after you,” she said as she returned to her seat. “If you were left to your own devices, you would destroy our family name within six months of this wedding.”

“Speak plainly,” Laurence said, tired of her beating around the bush. “What is it you are wanting Isabel to do?”

His sister took her time to reply, swirling the sherry around in her glass before giving a dramatic sigh. “You cannot have Isabel as your wife and duchess walking around without jewelry and fine gowns. That is, unless you do not care for her as Father did for Mother.”

“I do want the best for my wife,” he argued. He thought again about how his father acted toward his mother. The truth of the matter was, his father allowed his mother free rein to buy anything she wanted. He sighed. “I will send Isabel to town tomorrow. There she can buy whatever she pleases.”

Harriet groaned. “You are such a fool,” she said. “Her father might have been a baron, but that does not mean that she had access to the kind of money a duchess has. How will she know which gowns to buy or the best jewelry to match? Then there are the hats, gloves…”

“All right,” Laurence interrupted. “However, you know I prefer not to go into town. Would you be willing to accompany her? That is, if she is willing to go shopping.”

After several moments of what appeared to be careful consideration, Harriet replied. “I did promise Margaret I would call on her again tomorrow, but Isabel is now my sister-in-law; I would like to see her succeed.” However, she still appeared to be contemplating her decision.

Laurence nodded. “Please,” he said, hoping he would sway her decision.

“Oh, do not beg,” Harriet replied. “You have done enough damage to our family already. It appears it will be up to me to save the day once again.” She downed the last of her sherry and placed the empty glass beside her empty wine glass on the table. “Then I am off to bed, for we will have an early day tomorrow.”

“I appreciate you offering to accompany Isabel,” Laurence said. “Being newly married cannot be easy for her.”

“By the way,” she said, stopping at the door, “my funds are low, and it will be difficult for a woman to help another and suffer the embarrassment of being unable to buy a dress for herself.”

“You may put it on my account,” Laurence said with a sigh.

“Thank you,” she said with a wide smile. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Goodnight, Laurence.”

When she was gone, he opened his book once more, but his mind kept returning to the words Harriet spoke. His sister could be, and had been, cruel on many occasions, more so since his parents died. Yet, although he wanted to rebuke her often, she had those moments when he appreciated her candor.

Then his thoughts turned to the times when she was not as helpful, and he knew her accusations were true. It was his fault his parents were dead, and he had his disfigured leg as a constant reminder of that fact. He had destroyed their family, and he hoped one day Harriet would forgive him. For now, however, he cared only for Isabel and what she thought, for if she was able to look past his sin, then perhaps, in that, he would find forgiveness.