Isabel woke feeling none the worse for wear the next morning. She had slept the entire night through, and when she opened her eyes, she immediately had a sense of vague expectation. Then the events of the previous day flooded her mind. The mists of sleep vanished entirely and she sat bolt upright. Marcus had returned! He was back in London. And he hadn’t been ignoring her for a month – he had been out of town the whole time.
She hugged her arms around her middle and took a deep, calming breath, and pulled the bell to summon a maid. The door opened ten minutes later, and a housemaid entered the room, carrying a tray of tea. She placed the tray on the bedside table.
“Good morning, my lady. Must I open the curtains?”
“Good morning, Ellen. Yes, please do, and then send Simmonds up here immediately.”
“Yes, milady.”
Isabel sipped the hot tea after Ellen had left the room and waited impatiently for her maid to arrive. She wanted to make an effort with her appearance this morning. Perhaps her new cambric jaconet muslin…
Simmonds entered the room five minutes later, and she said, “Are you ill, my lady? I was ever so concerned when Ellen told me that you wished to see me urgently.”
“I am quite well, thank you. I am just tired of lying abed and I want to get dressed.”
Simmonds eyed her narrowly, and then gave a brief nod of her head.
“I want to wear my new gown.” Isabel flung off the silk counterpane, and climbed out of bed.
“Indeed, my lady. I was thinking the very same thing.”
Her maid brought the morning dress out, and Isabel smiled happily. It was perfect. The white gown was fastened down the front with cotton ball tassels, and a flounce of lace decorated the hem, appliqued with a narrow border of embroidery. It had long full sleeves, confined at the hand with intricate needle-work, and a falling collar, trimmed with blond lace.
Simmonds slipped it on over Isabel’s petticoat, and tugged so that it settled correctly, before placing a cap, composed of white satin and blond lace, and decorated with a wreath of flowers, on Isabel’s hair. She tied its celestial blue riband under Isabel’s chin, and stepped back to admire the effect.
Isabel opened her rosewood jewellery box, and took out her pearl cross on its gold chain, and fastened it around her neck, before putting on her blue kid slippers and twirling in front of her maid. “What do you think, Simmonds?”
“You look beautiful, my lady – and so very happy.” Her eyes were suspiciously bright.
A few hours later, Isabel sat reading in the drawing room, when the door opened and Marcus entered. Her mother and Cousin Maria had gone out on a morning call, and for once her mother had raised no objection when Isabel had told her she preferred to stay at home.
“Of course, my dear,” she had said, taking Isabel’s hands in hers and pressing them briefly, before giving Cousin Maria a speaking look, and hurrying off.
Isabel rose awkwardly as Marcus drew closer. A sudden shyness overwhelmed her, and she didn’t know what to say to him. He reached her side and took her hands in his.
“You are recovered?” he asked, carefully examining her face.
“I am very well, thank you. I had a good night’s sleep and am much restored. I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble yesterday.”
“That is a unique way of putting it. Why did you run away from me, Isabel?”
She sighed, and waved a hand towards the sofa. “Please be seated, Mr Bateman.”
“Are you going to answer my question?” he asked, as they both sat down.
His face was grave, his gaze steady, and Isabel looked away. How could she best explain? “Well, the thing is, I hadn’t heard from you in over a month, and I thought you had decided that you – um – that you…”
“No longer desired a connexion with you?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe my feelings run so shallow that they would dissipate over the course of a month? What do you take me for, Isabel? I told you I was going out of town.”
She sat up straighter. “You didn’t say you were going for a whole month! When day after day passed with no word from you, naturally I started to think the worst.”
“I seem to have developed a habit of rescuing you from dangerous situations,” he said pensively. “We will have to do something about that… but first, there are a few matters we need to discuss.” He paused, and then said in a quiet voice, “I have a part of my life that I have not shared with you due to its secret nature.”
“I have started to suspect as much.”
He nodded. “I work for the Foreign Office, and have been investigating illegal slave trading. Captain Wetherby and his son have been under our investigation for some time, which is why George invited them to his house party – so that I could become acquainted with them, and earn their trust in order to find out more about their illicit dealings.”
Isabel stared at him. “So that is why you were so friendly with them! I have always wondered.” A crease formed between her brows. “Those papers that were hidden in my trunk – they were something to do with the slave trade?”
“Indeed. My man told me Wetherby’s valet was planning to leave his service shortly. I spoke to him at Chernock Hall, and asked him to search his master’s room for any documents. He was eager to assist me – for remuneration. He must have taken the papers, and hidden them in your trunk in the box room. It is a pity he didn’t hand them over to me before he absconded.”
“He probably ran away because Mr Wetherby kicked up such a fuss. What – what has happened to Mr Wetherby?”
“After I found you on the road, I took him to the authorities in Whitehall, before setting out in his coach to Bristol. Those papers are damning, and could assist us in getting a conviction in a court of law. I pretended to be Wetherby’s man of business when we arrived in Bristol in order to gather more evidence on his associates.”
“Mr Wetherby’s coachman didn’t make any objection when you took the coach?”
He shrugged. “His coachman was quite happy to assist me when I offered him a job, after informing him that his master was in trouble with the authorities. I believe Wetherby to be a harsh master. He does not inspire loyalty in his servants.”
“How are the Wetherbys linked to the illegal slave trade?”
“Captain Wetherby has been deeply involved for a number of years. He used to fit out slave ships in Bristol prior to the trade becoming illegal in 1807. However, we have suspected for some time that he has been evading the restrictions. He still owns slaving vessels, and although he cannot fully equip them in British ports any longer, he has been fitting the ships out in Bristol and loading the slaving gear – the shackles and so forth – just beyond British waters.”
He sighed harshly and stared ahead. “Thousands of Africans are still being exported as slaves, and the ships which transport them are frequently British ships, flying under a Spanish or Portuguese flag, with fraudulent registration certificates. As Spain and Portugal have not yet outlawed the slave trade, the British slave traders get away with it.”
“So those papers in my trunk were fraudulent registration papers for an illegal slave ship?”
He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, and faced her. “Yes. Captain Wetherby makes a tidy sum fitting out slave ships, not just for Antigua and Jamaica, but for the French slave trade too. His ships pick up slaves in Africa for the French slaving colonies, as the French trade has been severely disrupted by the war. That is why the Foreign Secretary urged me to intervene. Parliament has banned British ships from carrying slaves to the French colonies. It is treason to assist France in this manner while we are at war with Napoleon.”
“This is horrific! Do they not have consciences?”
“They care for the money, my dear, and for numerous people in this country, the slave trade is their livelihood – from the workers building and fitting out the ships in Bristol and Liverpool, to the British manufacturers producing the items the slave traders barter on the West African coast in exchange for human beings. Slavery has contributed hugely to the wealth of this country.”
Isabel shook her head. “It is wickedness! The whole of society seems to be linked to it in some way.” She sighed. “Is it even worth trying to effect change?”
He studied her thoughtfully. “Most people are ignorant of what goes on in the slave plantations. If those of us who do know educate them, we will make a difference, even if it is gradual. Cherny is using his platform as a Member of Parliament to petition for the abolition of slavery, and you are boycotting slave-grown sugar and cotton and writing pamphlets… If we all work to make a difference, eventually it will result in change.”
Isabel nodded, but said nothing.
Marcus put his thumb under her chin, and tilted her face upwards. He kissed her briefly on the lips. “You care so deeply, my love.”
She gazed up at him. “You – you called me ‘my love’, yesterday, when you rescued me from the river.”
“Well, of course I did.” He raised his brows. “I thought you knew I loved you.”
“You never said it in so many words.”
“Well, I am saying them now. I love you, Isabel.”
Her eyelids fluttered down. She couldn’t quite take it in.
“The polite thing to do when your – er – lover has expressed his feelings for the first time is to reciprocate.”
“Oh – yes, yes, of course. I love you, Marcus! Only – it was so delightful to hear you say so that I was quite speechless!”
He drew her into his arms, and kissed her again. When at last the tender kiss ended, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her slightly away. “Are you quite well after your dip in the river, my dear?” he said, studying her face. “I do not wish my embraces to – er – overwhelm you, if you are still recovering.”
Isabel sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder. “No, indeed. I feel more than well. But your embraces are always overwhelming, Marcus, whether I have just been submerged in a river or not.”
He chuckled and drew her to her feet. Taking her hands in his, he looked at her thoughtfully, and said, “Love is one thing, my dear, and marriage quite another. You had some very decided opinions against marriage when we spoke about it last. Are you still of the same mind?”
Isabel chewed her bottom lip. “I still think marriage is an institution which traps women,” she said eventually.
“Even when you have found a man it may be quite – ah – exciting to be trapped with?”
“It – it is not that exactly. It is hard for me to reconcile myself to the idea that I will no longer have my own income if I marry, or my own home. And I have recently renovated my kitchen at the Dower House at Axbridge Park!”
His shoulders shook with poorly suppressed laughter. “My dear love… your new kitchen is preventing you from accepting my marriage proposal?”
“It is a very fine kitchen,” she said, with dignity. “I recently modernised it. It has the latest James Walker kitchen range in it.”
He shouted with laughter, but after a while the mirth faded from his face and he took her hands in his and said seriously, “I know I laugh, but I am fully aware that you have tasted independence and do not wish to give it up. But if we are to be in the traces together, we have to work as a team, my dear, otherwise we will land up in a ditch.” He searched her face. “You understand? There is not much space for independence in marriage. But independence is not the same thing as individuality, my love, and I promise to respect your individuality as well as your mind if we marry – to esteem your opinions and to value them as my own.”
“You will?”
“I will. And I am vastly wealthy, my darling. I will give you enormous amounts of pin money every quarter and you can squirrel it away, and then, should I ever become a Bluebeard, you will have the means to escape from me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Marcus!” she said, chuckling.
He got down on one knee then, and taking her hands in his, he looked up at her and said simply, “Would you like to become the wife of a Marcus, rather than a Marquess, my dear? Will you accept my hand in marriage?”
She tugged at his hands and he rose, and then she flung her arms around his neck. “I can think of nothing I would like more than to become the wife of a Marcus.” She reached up and kissed him on the lips. “You can be quite absurd sometimes.”
His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her closer. “You will no longer have a title,” he warned.
“I will be delighted to simply be Mrs Bateman. It has a wonderful ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm… Speaking of rings –” He drew back. “I remember how fearful you looked when your mother was saying her vows to Cherny.”
She was silent for a while, before saying, “I – I was thinking about that obey clause in the vows – and how I had been forced to obey my father, and then my husband, and how stifling it was. I do not thrive when I am held too tightly – I do not mean in the physical sense, but in other ways…” She exhaled quickly. “I am not sure if I am making sense?”
“I understand your meaning, my dear,” he said. “I will remember that, and I will do my best not to clip your wings. And now, my little love,” he said, pulling at her cap. “And now…” He frowned suddenly. “Why are you wearing this ridiculous thing on your head? I can’t take it off.”
“Ridiculous?” she said. “I would have you know, kind sir, that this cap is in the first stare of fashion.”
“It is nonsensical. All it succeeds in doing is covering your glorious hair, and it is impossible to remove.” He tugged at the riband under her chin.
Isabel fiddled with the knot. “Simmonds has tied it very securely.”
His eyes narrowed. “If I did not know better I would think your faithful handmaid is plotting against me.”
She giggled. “Oh, not at all! You won Simmonds over at Chernock Hall when she overheard the sad story of your elopement with your lady love. She was standing in the larder and heard every word, and now she believes it was wicked that you were sent abroad when you were such a very young man. Under Simmonds’ starchy exterior beats the heart of a romantic. A strait-laced romantic, of course. But a romantic nonetheless.” Her brow creased. “Although she has made it impossible for me to take this cap off.”
“Never mind that now, ma belle.”
He pulled her closer, and Isabel relaxed into the circle of his arms. But when she looked up at him, the smile faded from her lips. “Why did you take so long to return to London?”
“The weather hasn’t only been bad here, my dear. The road to Bristol was impeded by snow and I was stranded there for weeks after I had completed my investigation. Eventually, I had to hire a sleigh.”
Isabel snuggled against him. “It was the longest month of my life.”
He kissed her once again, and she became so lost in his embrace that she was a little disorientated when he raised his head. “I would like to marry you soon, my love. Are you agreeable to that?”
She hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “Yes. Yes, of course, Marcus.”
“There is no need to be afraid.”
“I – I’m not afraid.”
He looked at her searchingly, a question in his eyes, a question which Isabel wasn’t quite ready to answer yet. And when he left an hour later, after informing her mother and George of their happy news, the reality of the decision she had just made suddenly bore down on her. She was a little afraid. Not of him, of course, never of him. But she had viewed matrimony in such a negative light for so long that it was difficult to change her feelings about it instantaneously.
* * *
The day of their wedding dawned bright and clear, and when Simmonds pulled the curtains open, sunlight streamed into Isabel’s bedchamber.
“What a beautiful day, my lady.” Simmonds beamed at her.
Isabel sat up in bed and smiled. After a freezing February and March, April had arrived with far more temperate weather. To be getting married with the sun actually shining, was not something she had even dared to hope for a couple of weeks ago.
“It bodes well for your wedded life, my lady,” her maid said, bustling around the room.
Isabel took a sip of her tea. “I cannot believe I am getting married today, Simmonds. It feels as if I am in a dream.”
“It won’t feel like a dream for long, my lady. Not when you put your beautiful gown on.”
When Simmonds slipped the wedding dress over her head a short while later, Isabel blinked at her appearance in the mirror. The blue and white figured silver tissue gown was trimmed with a rich silver border, which was charmingly interspersed with embroidered silver patterns, orange blossom, and cornflowers; while the body and sleeves of the dress were elegantly trimmed with lama and silver blond lace.
It was so strange to be dressed as a bride again. Her previous wedding day had been filled with desolation. Her heart had been heavy, and she had found no joy in the occasion. But today… today she was marrying Marcus.
Mindful of his dislike of caps, Isabel had opted for a wreath of rose buds and leaves as her head dress, and Simmonds placed it carefully on her stylishly arranged hair. A few golden curls had been allowed to escape onto her cheeks, which were flushed with excitement.
“No rouge is necessary to give you a bloom, my lady,” Simmonds said with satisfaction, and she nodded happily. It was all becoming real.
Isabel, her mother, George, and Cousin Maria travelled to St. George’s together in their large family carriage. After they had alighted in front of the church, and stood in the road, her mother squeezed Isabel’s hands and kissed her on the cheek.
“I am so happy for you, my love. You look just as a bride ought to look.” She glanced away. “The expression on your face when you married Axbridge still haunts me to this day. You shall never know how sorry I was… how sorry I still am…”
She wiped the tears from her eyes, and Isabel embraced her. “Do not weep, Mama,” she said quietly. “Please don’t.”
Her mother sniffed, and accepted the handkerchief George pressed into her hands.
“I will weep tears of happiness in the church, my love.”
“Those are acceptable, Mama! Tears of sadness are not. It – it has all worked out for the best, you know.”
Her mother nodded, and after Cousin Maria had kissed Isabel on the cheek, the two ladies went into the church together, leaving Isabel to walk down the aisle on George’s arm.
The first person she saw on entering the church was Lady Kildaren, who inclined her head regally, a delighted smile on her face. Isabel beamed at the old lady and various other family members who caught her eye. And then she saw Marcus.
He stood at the front of the church, looking straight at her, and the gravely questioning expression on his face made the breath catch in her throat. They had not spoken of her fear of marriage again, and she had assumed Marcus had dismissed her qualms, as he had shown no indication of unease during their short betrothal.
But clearly he had known she still harboured some reservations about the matrimonial state, otherwise he would not be looking at her like this – as if he were afraid she may yet change her mind…
She approached the altar where the rector stood, and took her place beside Marcus, who turned to take her hand formally in his. However, instead of focusing her attention on the clergyman who waited to start the ceremony, Isabel urgently pressed Marcus’s hand, and when he looked at her inquiringly, she stood up on her toes, and whispered in his ear, “I love you so much, Marcus. I am not afraid – not anymore.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and she became lost in the tenderness of his gaze until the clergymen cleared his throat and said in a reproving voice, “Dearly beloved…”
Isabel kept her eyes on the rector as he intoned the beginning of the wedding ceremony, and the words which had once seemed so ominous now filled her with joy. Because Marcus was her dearly beloved. And that made all the difference.