Chapter 24

CHAPTER24

“What do you think, Mrs. Walters?” Isabella asked as she strode down the hallway with samples in her hand. “Henry was quite keen for the changes to be extended elsewhere.”

“I think it a wonderful thing, Your Grace. This old house has been too cold and dark for a very long time.” Mrs. Walters lowered her voice as she followed Isabella and glanced over her shoulder, clearly about to impart gossip. “Since the days of the late Duke of Sutterton, these corridors have been so dark. It will be nice to see light in them again.”

Isabella was made curious by the words. She’d heard Henry talk about his father once when they sat in his study together, and he had urged her to carve her own path when it came to her father. But not for the first time did she feel there were things to be learned about the late Duke. Even the housekeeper blushed as she gossiped, then turned her face away.

There is something more to the tale, there has to be.

“Then it’s settled, we will make changes,” Isabella said with a smile.

She held the sample of wallpaper up to the wall of the hallway. It was a softer color than the dark wood that surrounded them, made of cream and golden swirls.

“What do you think, Mrs. Walters?”

The housekeeper praised it and made a few suggestions. Isabella longed for Henry’s opinion, but he’d urged her to make the alterations alone, trusting her taste. He had left the house that day regardless, for he’d gone to check on his tenants and was then to visit Lord Hillson.

His absence from the house had made Isabella long for his return, so when a carriage arrived and a knock sounded at the front door, she quickly turned around, still grasping the samples in her hand. Hawkins hurried through the nearest doorway, adjusting his tailcoat, before he opened the door.

But it was not Henry standing on the other side.

Why is she here?

Mary strode into the house. She didn’t even acknowledge Hawkins’s presence with a smile or incline of her head but walked past him.

“Ah, there you are, Your Grace.” Her eyes found Isabella’s, and she hurried towards her. “I am so glad to have found you. Is Henry in?” She looked around in anticipation.

“No, he is not.” Isabella handed the samples to the housekeeper, who was standing beside her. “Thank you, Mrs. Walters. We will finish another time.”

“Of course. Shall I bring tea for the two of you?”

“No th—”

“Tea would be lovely,” Mary spoke quickly before Isabella could completely turn the offer down. Shared tea would mean Mary would stay for longer. “I am so glad to be back here again.”

Mary strode away from Isabella, heading towards the sitting room with her head held high. Taking off her spencer jacket, she flung it over a nearby chair, as if this house were her home.

Isabella followed and hovered in the doorway, with her hands clasped together in front of her. She offered no warm greeting, nor a welcome, yet Mary continued to talk and act at ease as if Isabella had offered such pleasantries.

“Between you and I, Your Grace, I am glad Henry is not here today.” Mary’s use of the Duke’s Christian name had Isabella wincing and shifting her weight between her feet uncomfortably. “I so long wanted the chance to talk to you alone.” She sat down on a rococo settee and patted the space beside her, encouraging Isabella to sit there.

Feeling like a guest in her own home, Isabella walked forwards but chose a different chair. She sat in the grandest armchair opposite Mary, wishing to make a statement. Mary simply shrugged it off and lifted her chin higher, pushing the loose blond curls of her updo backwards to reveal her full face.

“I wished for the chance to apologize to you personally.”

“Apologize?” Isabella repeated in surprise.

The Duchess could still recall Henry talking about the letter Mary had sent him the morning when they had each bathed in his chamber. That day, his brow had been wrinkled as he had tossed Mary’s letter into the fire and refused to reply to it.

He was unsure if she was sincere in her apology.

“What for?” Isabella prompted Mary, wishing to hear the apology in full.

“My behavior the other day.” Mary hung her head forwards, pretending to be demure, but it struck Isabella there was no blush on her cheeks, and she constantly glanced upwards at Isabella, as if checking how she was reacting to the act. “My closeness with your husband… it is not something I wished to cause a rift or any argument between you. I dearly wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.” Isabella was confused. She frowned at Mary, for all of these words could have been put in a letter and did not require her presence.

“I thought it wise you knew our whole history,” Mary said eagerly, then moved to the edge of her seat. She was no longer maintaining that act of demureness but lifted her chin high. “We were friends when we were so young. You know, when he had all those problems with his father.” She dropped her voice to a whisper as if conspiring with her. “Of course, you know all of those problems. He must have talked to you about them at length.”

“Of course,” Isabella murmured tightly.

We had but one conversation on the matter.

Before they could say anymore, Mrs. Walters returned carrying a tea tray. She placed it hurriedly down on the dumbwaiter table between them, and Isabella thanked her. Mary offered no such kindness, to the point that Isabella glared across the silver tray between them. Unwilling to let Mary take command of her own home anymore, Isabella moved towards the tray fast and poured two cups of tea.

“How did you meet?” Isabella asked, finding her curiosity won out.

“Our mothers were friends,” Mary explained, taking the proffered teacup from Isabella. “We used to play together as children, and we grew up, often side by side.” She giggled as if embarrassed. “You should hear the tales of some of the things we did together as children.”

“I’m happy not to hear them,” Isabella murmured, though Mary showed no signs of having heard her.

“You see, it was the keenest wish of our mothers that we two should marry someday.” Isabella’s hand slipped with the teapot. The Duchess narrowly avoided spilling the tea over the rim. “Oh, have I shocked you?” Mary seemed to take delight in Isabella’s reaction.

Isabella didn’t raise her eyes to meet the Marchioness’s gaze, not wishing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the shock she’d caused.

Henry never said. Not once. Why would he hide such a thing?

“It was my dearest wish we should marry,” Mary continued. “Yet, there were complications, things that made it an ill match. At first, Henry declared he had no wish to marry at all. Then, of course, there is his stance on children.” She sighed deeply and dramatically as if she were a great actress on stage and was trying to convey her emotions to a watcher sitting far away in the recesses of a building, rather than Isabella, who sat opposite from her. “Of course, you know all of that.” Mary nodded her head towards Isabella.

As she raised her teacup and took a sip, she held Isabella’s gaze the entire time, not once blinking.

She is riling me on purpose, trying to assess my reaction.

“His stance?” Isabella asked, finding she couldn’t raise her teacup.

She was not interested in tea, or any cake that Mrs. Walters had kindly brought up for them. All she could think about were the words Mary had said so openly.

“Well, when he explained his feelings on the matter, I knew a match between us wouldn’t do. That is when I met my husband, the Marquess of Paulbridge.” Mary smiled broadly. “He is a good man, though no Henry, of course.”

“Excuse me, Lady Paulbridge, you are jumping ahead.” Isabella sat forwards. “What feelings on the matter? You talked about children with Henry.”

“He made himself quite plain on that score.” Mary laughed, then abruptly faltered, staring at Isabella with wide eyes. “Goodness, do you mean to say he did not tell you?” She held a hand to her chest in shock. “My dear friend, then allow me to be the one to tell you, for it is cruel indeed for you to be in the dark.”

We are not friends, let alone ‘dear’ friends.

Isabella could see Mary was trying to cause trouble. It was plain as day, but she still wished to know what the Marchioness had to say.

“You know he had no wish to marry, do you not?”

“Yes, he said long ago he had no intention of being married,” Isabella muttered quickly.

“That is because he has no wish to father a child,” Mary said plainly. “Did he really never tell you about it?”

Isabella didn’t answer. She moved to her feet, leaving the tea unattended.

“I think it’s time you took your leave, Lady Paulbridge.”

* * *

“Well, Henry, I do not think I’ve ever seen you so happy. It is good to see indeed.” John clapped Henry on the shoulder as they walked across the long fields, heading back in the direction of John’s house, which was on the outskirts of London.

Henry couldn’t make his smile falter. It was naturally in place as he walked by his friend’s side, with a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

“I am happy,” Henry said with surprising contentment.

“You listened to my advice then?” John asked, elbowing him in want of an answer.

“Perhaps you’re able to give some good advice on occasion.” Henry playfully narrowed his eyes at John. “Forgive me for not taking it on board at first. You are usually always jesting, it is hard to realize when you are being completely serious.”

“Serious in this regard, I assure you.” John nodded firmly and gestured ahead towards the house. “Will you come inside before you leave? My wife would be glad to see you. She was talking the other day about inviting you and your wife around for dinner.”

“I’d like that dinner very much, but for now, I must leave.”

Henry checked his pocket watch in his waistcoat. The hours had passed so fast, and he wished to return to Isabella.

That morning, he had urged her to turn her redecorating to the rest of the house, and he was eager to hear of her planned changes.

“Thank you for the shooting,” Henry said as he passed the shotgun into the hands of the steward beside him.

“Think nothing of it and return soon.”

John stood on the driveway and requested Henry’s horse to be brought around. It was done within minutes, but as they waited for the horse to be saddled again, the two of them stood at the side of the driveway, deep in conversation.

At first, they talked about John and his happiness, how he had never thought he would choose one woman over another, yet how wrong he had proved to be. Eventually, the conversation moved on.

“I’m in love,” John declared plainly. “That is what it means, choosing one woman over another. I suppose I didn’t believe in the emotion at first, but that was me being a fool. Naturally, you’re the same.” He waved a hand at Henry.

“I beg your pardon?” Henry jerked his chin towards his friend.

“Come off it, Henry. No one can smile as much as you have done this morning and deny they are in love.”

“I never said I was in love.” Something about the very words had Henry feeling uncomfortable. He pulled at the sleeves of his frock coat and rearranged creases that didn’t exist. “I am fond of Bella, certainly, but that is all. Fondness and admiration can make for a happy marriage.”

“Certainly, but one that is as happy as this?” John gestured towards him. “Is it so awful if you are in love with your wife, Henry?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Henry didn’t know what to think or feel. These last few days, he had been so happy with Bella that he had not thought to put a label on it. They had made love with passion, and when they had been in one another’s company, they had either teased each other or talked at length about all sorts of subjects, especially her reading. She’d shown an interest in helping with his tenants, an interest that warmed his heart.

“I’m fond of her,” Henry insisted.

“You think that if you like,” John said with a smirk. “I know the truth.”

“You’re just causing trouble. I’ll take my leave before you say anything more.”

Henry shook his friend’s hand, then mounted his horse. Leaving quickly, he waved into the distance, but his entire way home, he thought of what John had said to him.

Am I in love? Is that what this feeling is like?

Henry had no answer to his question. He had never been in love before, so he couldn’t be certain that was what he was feeling.

When he arrived home, he jumped down quickly and passed the reins to the stable boy that was awaiting him in the courtyard. After thanking him for his good work, Henry entered the house via a back door.

“Bella?” Henry called, but there was no initial response.

He walked towards the hallway, where he found some samplers had been laid across a hall table, ready for redecorating. In the sitting room, he found a tea tray with two cups that had been half drunk, though the tray hadn’t been collected, as if Isabella hadn’t called for a maid or Mrs. Walters to take it away.

Curious, Henry checked the other rooms, where Isabella wouldn’t normally be. Opening the door of the great hall, he found her pacing up and down the room lined with suits of armor. He was strangely reminded of the night when Mary had come to see the two of them and Isabella had hidden in this space. With her hands on her hips now, she paced up and down, muttering something to herself and breathing so heavily that her cheeks were flushed.

“Bella?” he called again. She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Is something wrong?” He moved closer to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked bitterly. “Why did you never tell me that you have no wish to ever have a child?”

She knows.