Chapter Fifteen

 

The days became a week, and those became three, and each day the routine Isabel followed was unchanging. In the morning, she wrote at least one letter—typically to one of her sisters or her mother to assure them that she was happy in her new home—and then she would meet with Mrs. Atkins, the housekeeper, to discuss whatever household business that needed discussing. Laurence had been happy, if not a bit surprised, how quickly she had taken on her role as duchess; however, Isabel reminded him that she had been married before and, although her husband had not been titled, they still had several servants and therefore she knew her duties. Of course, he had apologized profusely, which she had accepted without hesitation. Who was she to be angry with the man for something so trivial?

Once her morning tasks were complete, she breakfasted with Laurence, and as he worked in his study, she strolled through the gardens or returned to her room to read. At night, they dined together and then went to the drawing room to chat about their day and to have an evening drink of some sort.

Although she made every attempt not to, Isabel could not help but think often of Scarlett Hall. She missed her childhood home and wished to be there with her sisters. Granted, it was only a few miles away, but now that she was married once again, it might as well have been in Scotland for all the chance she would have to visit. Laurence seemed to sense her melancholy, for he offered to accompany her if she chose to go riding, but she declined, complaining that her stomach was queasy. Then he had asked her to join him while he painted; however, she refused such an invitation, as well. What could she possibly understand about the intricacies of painting? Furthermore, why would she find such an activity entertaining? He could have his painting; she would eventually find some sort of activity to consume all the extra hours in her day, she was sure of it.

As she sat in the field just beyond the garden that overlooked the cottages in the valley, Isabel’s hair fluttered in the light breeze. She had taken a blanket and spread it upon the grass beneath a large shade tree, which allowed her to remove her bonnet. In her hand she held a glass of wine, the bottle lying open beside her.

Closing her eyes, she harkened back to a time when she and Arthur shared a bottle of wine together on a day much like this soon after they were married. They spoke of their future together and everything beautiful that was to come.

Isabel sighed. Those dreams ended before they began, and the hurt from that time still remained with her.

“May I join you?”

Isabel gave a yelp and opened her eyes to find Laurence standing over her.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you,” he said with a laugh.

Isabel smiled. “Not at all. I was lost in my thoughts, is all. Please, sit.” She indicated an empty space on the blanket.

“I hope you do not mind,” he said, holding up an empty wine glass.

“Of course.” She poured wine into his glass. He had such a kind smile that warmed her heart, and she found his company a pleasant change from the routine that had fallen into place.

“I received a letter from Harriet today,” he said as he swirled the liquid in his glass. “She is offering me a chance to apologize.” He chuckled and then took a drink of his wine. “She does not know it as of yet, but she will be waiting a while, for I will never send it.”

A sharp twinge of annoyance entered Isabel. Even after three weeks, she had still not recovered from her vexation that he had placed the blame on her for wishing Harriet to leave. Mentioning it, however, would do no good; therefore, instead, she said, “As I said before, I respect and will stand beside you whatever choices you make.”

“And I appreciate that,” he replied.

For a moment, they did nothing more than sip their wine, until Laurence asked, “What do you think about when you are out here?”

She sighed as a gust of wind whipped her hair into her face. Laurence reached over and pushed it aside, and she thought her cheeks would burn his hand if he touched her. What a silly thought!

How could she answer such a question without hurting him? He was so kind and had made no demands on her thus far, and she hoped he would not. Ever. It was more than she could ask, she knew, but she hoped this freedom would last for as long as possible.

“It is nothing,” she replied. “Simply the thoughts of women.”

“You miss him,” he said, and her heart skipped a beat. “Arthur.”

“Laurence…”

“I understand. I have not experienced the loss you have, but he was a good and strong man. It would only be proper to miss him.” Isabel could not mistake the sadness in his voice, which only tormented her heart all the more.

“I am married,” she said quietly, “to you. That is all that matters.”

“Then why do you hide from me?” he asked. “We are to take the smallest of steps in this relationship, and I am willing to do so. However, besides taking meals with me, you either escape out here or retire to your room.”

Isabel wished to explain to this man the roiling feelings within her, yet how could one put them into words? And yet, the agony she felt at being unable to articulate what was on her heart only increased her overall melancholy.

“I do not escape from you,” she replied finally. “You must believe that.”

Laurence sighed. “I do not believe you an outright liar, but I cannot help but believe you are not speaking the full truth. That day we went riding together? Before we were married? I know you enjoyed that outing. I just find it odd you do not wish to do so again.”

Isabel placed her hand on his. “If you wish to join me tomorrow, I would be happy to go riding with you.”

“I only wish you to be happy,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I am doing what I can to make that possible, but I cannot do it alone. I need your help.”

The pleading in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings, and at this moment, she wanted nothing more than to please him, even if it meant doing something she did not wish to do. “Tomorrow, then,” she said with a smile, “you shall teach me to paint. Unless you no longer wish to? I would not blame you if you did not. I know I have been…difficult.”

“You do not need to do that just to appease me,” he replied. “And you have not been difficult. Our marriage was sudden, and you clearly did not want it, but I will do whatever it takes to please you.”

Why this man tried so hard to make her happy, she did not know, but she could not help but recognize how exceedingly gracious he was to her. If he wished her to paint, then she would allow him to teach her. Not only would she learn, but she would appear to find great joy in doing so.

“I do wish to learn,” she replied with a smile. “I must admit, it was your paintings that kept me from agreeing before.” When he gave her a confused look, she added, “You are a gifted painter. How will I ever compare?”

He laughed. “I am no great master, but I believe you have the capacity to be.”

“Is that so?” she asked in surprise.

“Indeed. You have a strength about you, a strength that can be transferred from the brush and onto the canvas.”

“In that case, I look forward to it.” What he was doing for her was more than she could have ever expected, and a desire to do something for him rose inside her. “I have a favor to ask of you, as well.”

“Whatever you desire,” he replied.

“An invitation came today to a party my mother is planning for Juliet on Friday. She will be eighteen—a very important age—and friends and family are coming together in order to celebrate.”

“That is wonderful,” he said. He hesitated, his hand moving to his leg. “I wish I could attend, but a prior engagement for business has been arranged for some time now…”

Isabel took his hand in hers and smiled. “No one will judge you, I promise. Certainly not I nor my sisters.” She could see the reluctance in his eyes. “Attending a party for one’s birthday is much like painting.”

“Oh?” Laurence asked with clear amusement.

“Indeed. You must take the strength from within and transfer it when you appear among the guests. And you, my husband, have that strength. I believe you will be the most welcomed of guests.”

This made Laurence laugh, and Isabel felt a sense of relief wash over her when he agreed to attend the party.

And as they continued to talk as the sun lowered in the horizon, Isabel found that her worries were not as great as they had been before Laurence had joined her for that glass of wine.

***

For the first time in a month, Isabel returned to Scarlett Hall. As she stood looking at the building that was her childhood home, she found it all the more magnificent than ever before. The sun shone, its rays warming the dark gray stone and gleaming off its many windows. She closed her eyes and imagined her father returning home from one of his many business trips and she, as a young child, rushing out the front door to throw herself into his waiting arms.

He always returned bearing gifts, as well. A small trinket, a sweet known only to a local village, and although she always cherished whatever he brought her, it was seeing him again that lifted her spirits.

However, her father was dead, and she was no longer a little girl.

“Isabel?” Laurence asked, interrupting her thoughts, and she opened her eyes once again. “Is everything all right?”

She went to respond, but the front door opened, and her sisters burst through, squealing as they bounded down the steps to greet her. Juliet was the first to wrap her arms around Isabel, followed by Hannah.

“Oh, we have missed you so!” Juliet cried.

“I have missed you both, as well,” Isabel said with a laugh. “And the most happiest of days to you,” she added as she brushed back a curl that had fallen from Juliet’s many hairpins.

The door opened again, and Isabel thought she would faint when she saw who stepped out.

“Nathanial?” she gasped. Where was the young boy who would follow her around the house? In his place stood a young man of thirteen, his wavy blond hair and perfect smile staring back at her. Then he rushed down the steps and into her arms. “I cannot believe you are here! I have missed you terribly. How is school?”

He laughed as he stepped back from her embrace. “School is going well enough,” he replied. “And I missed you, too.” He glanced around at all of his sisters. “I have missed all of you. It is so good to be home.”

“Are you not enjoying school?” Isabel asked as she threaded her arm through his. “They are not mistreating you, are they?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Nathanial replied. “I just miss being home is all.”

Isabel knew how he felt. She remembered spending time at Mrs. Downs’ School for Young Ladies when she was Nathanial’s age, and she could not wait to return home. Hannah and Juliet had been lucky enough not to be forced to live away from home after their parents realized that they could teach their daughters what they needed to know themselves without the extra cost of a boarding school. Isabel did not hold any grudges for being forced to spend time away from her home and family, but it had taken her several years to recover from her annoyance her sisters did not have to go through what she had been forced to endure.

A clearing of a throat made them all turn to where their mother stood at the top of the stairs. “We have a guest; behave accordingly.”

Isabel gasped. How could she have forgotten Laurence? Shame washed over her as she turned and smiled at him. “I am sorry,” she said. “I suppose I have missed my family more than I had thought. Nathanial, this is my husband Laurence Redbrook, Duke of Ludlow. You remember him, do you not?”

Nathanial gave Laurence a deep bow. “I do. Congratulations on your marriage. I’m sorry I was unable to attend; I had exams.”

Laurence gave a hearty laugh. “I remember those days,” he said merrily. “I understand that you are attending Eaton; that is the same school I attended in my day. Is Master Greenbriar still teaching mathematics there?”

“He is,” Nathanial replied with a grimace. “As a matter of fact…”

Isabel smiled as the two conversed about their school experiences, and soon everyone made their way into the house. However, when her eyes met those of her mother, Isabel’s smile faded.

“I am glad you came,” her mother said. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

Isabel nodded. She had nothing to say to this woman, so she went to move around her, but her mother placed a hand on her arm. “I know you are angry with me. Please do not be.”

“Today is Juliet’s birthday,” Isabel replied, her voice rimmed with ice. “There is nothing more to discuss beyond that.” It pained her to speak to her mother in such a manner, but the hurt inside was too great to push aside. If they discussed what her mother had done, it would not be today, for to do so would only ruin Juliet’s day, and Isabel was not willing to allow that to happen.

If it makes you feel any better,” her mother said as they stepped into the foyer, “all the debt was paid off yesterday. Scarlett Hall has been saved, and you are the person who saved it.”

Isabel narrowed her eyes. “Then see to it that you do not bring about ruin again,” she snapped. “Unless you plan on selling either Hannah or Juliet in order to cover those debts, as well.”

Her mother winced, and Isabel felt a sense of satisfaction. However, the sensation was short-lived, for regret replaced it almost immediately. To be so hurtful was not in her nature, and she knew she should apologize to her mother.

Before she could do so, Nathanial called out to her. “Isabel! Please hurry. I want to have a piece of cake, but Hannah won’t let me.”

“I am coming,” she said. She took one last moment to glance at her mother and then hurried to the drawing room, leaving her mother—and the bad memories—behind.