Chapter 7

CHAPTER7

“This is for happiness,” Susan murmured, thrusting a white daisy into the posy. “And this is for faithfulness.” Next, she tried to press in a chrysanthemum.

“Perhaps take that one out,” Isabella said, unable to rouse herself from her seat, even though she was dressed and ready for her wedding day. “I do not believe my husband intends to keep to such a vow of faithfulness.”

“Well, we can keep it in here for now.” Susan forced a smile and pressed the chrysanthemum into the bouquet.

Irene stepped in front of Isabella and offered her hands. “Time to stand, Sister,” she whispered. “Come on, now. You’re reminding me of the first day I was to go to an assembly. I was so nervous I didn’t want to go. Do you remember what you did?”

“What did I do?” Isabella asked softly.

“You took my hands like this.” Irene took both of Isabella’s palms and drew her to her feet. “And you reminded me that I was still healthy and happy. Nothing was really wrong in the world. It was only my own fears that made my life so worrisome.” Irene smiled and fiddled with Isabella’s loose curls. “You need not worry so much, Sister. I believe your life will be a good one with your husband.”

“I envy your optimism.” So captivated by her sister’s kindness, Isabella drew Irene forwards and embraced her.

“Wait for me!” Susan called on the other side of the room.

Isabella laughed and opened one of her arms. Susan put down the bouquet and ran towards her sisters, ready to be enveloped. The three of them stood there for some minutes in silence, just holding onto one another.

Eventually, Irene was the first to pull away, revealing a few tears in her eyes. “Oh, I am being silly. I will still see you all the time. It is just the end of an era.” She hurried away to get a handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes.

“I know what you mean.” Isabella found there were tears in her eyes too.

Irene produced another handkerchief for her sister, and she dried her tears.

“You look beautiful,” Susan said softly. “Come, look at your reflection.” She took Isabella’s hand and drew her towards the standing mirror at the side of the room.

Isabella looked at her feet for some time, reluctant to see her face. She had never felt beautiful. She wasn’t like her sisters who were much more petite than her and certainly had an elegance she could never muster. It had been a secret fear of hers if she ever got married that she might trip on the church aisle and fall flat on her face.

That might just happen today.

“Look, Isabella,” Irene pleaded and tapped Isabella’s chin, urging her to look up.

Isabella smiled a little at the reflection she found there. It had been difficult to produce a wedding gown within just a few days. With their father lacking the funds, Isabella had made her own gown by using two old ones.

Made of cream and golden silk, it was a startling light dress. The brocade around the bust and the empire waistline was embroidered with detail Isabella had taken off one of her old gowns. There was an underskirt of cream chiffon and an overlay of golden lace with a small train that trailed behind her.

“Quite beautiful,” Irene said with a sigh. “I am sure your husband will think so too.”

I am not so sure.

Isabella took the bouquet that Susan offered her, finding one thought that occurred to her more than any other at that moment, and it was a strange one.

I am marrying a man who took such little notice of me that he could not remember at first that we had met twice before.

Her peace with her sisters was soon disturbed as Andrew knocked on their door. He hurried them all out of the room and down the stairs, into the carriage that awaited them. Rather foolishly, he seemed intent to be the perfect picture of a kind father and repeatedly offered his hand to Isabella.

She never took it, not once.

As the carriage pulled up outside the church, their father’s conversation changed.

“At least married to a duke, your fortunes will change, Isabella,” he said, looking eagerly out the window and at the church.

The yellow-stone building was a plain one on the edge of town, for the Duke of Sutterton had said they needed a church out of the way, in order not to attract interest in the ceremony.

“There will be funds now,” Andrew continued to mutter. “For debts…” He said the words so quietly, lost in his own world, that Isabella wondered if he’d realized he’d said them out loud.

Isabella waited until her sisters stepped down before she took her father’s arm, pinning him to the spot in the carriage.

“What is it?” he asked, his brows furrowing.

“Let me make myself clear, Father. You may have run your own finances into the ground because of your need to spend on your courtesans and your debts –”

“This is no way for a young lady to speak!” Andrew was outraged, his nose and cheeks turning purple as he tore his arm from her grasp.

“If you didn’t want it spoken about, then you shouldn’t have behaved in such a way,” she said with a small smile. “You have destroyed your own state of comfort, but I will not have you harm the Duke’s. If you try to make a plea for his money, I will fight you all the way.”

Her words had clearly startled him, for as she stepped down from the carriage, he did not follow her at first. When he took her arm by the church door, his arm was stiff beneath hers. He no longer offered a kindly touch as he had pretended to do in the carriage.

As the church door opened, Isabella swallowed, feeling her nerves grow so much that her fingers began to tremble around the bouquet. There wasn’t even organ music as she walked down the aisle. Her eyes darted around the church, finding it was sparse in every way. There were no flowers and very few guests.

Her own family were the only ones on her side, and on the Duke’s side, there was Lord Hillson and his betrothed, along with a couple of other people who sat in the front row. Isabella recognized one or two of the faces, but she thought nothing more of it. Her focus was on the duke, who was standing at the altar.

At first, he didn’t turn to look at her, not until Lord Hillson elbowed him. Slowly, Henry turned round.

When their eyes connected, Isabella could have fooled herself for a brief second that she was looking at the man she had danced with all those years ago. He actually smiled at her. There was nothing sardonic or mischievous in his smile. It was genuine. She found herself returning that look, yet it didn’t last with either of them for long.

As she reached the altar, Lord Sinclair gave her away to the Duke. He seemed so eager to get the task done that he rushed it and hastened to the pews afterwards.

Henry’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at Isabella, showing he had seen it all. Slowly, he placed her hand on his arm. It was such a tender touch, light compared to all the touches during that night they had met in the garden.

Her mouth felt dry.

Who are you really, Your Grace? You seem like two entirely different men to me.

Henry drew her towards the priest, a little distance from those who sat in the pews.

As they waited for the priest to say a prayer with his back turned towards them, Isabella whispered, “Are you certain about this, Your Grace? If you wish to turn back now, you can.”

Henry angled his head towards her, his eyes wide in surprise.

“I’m not the best of men, Isabella, Lord knows that, yet neither am I a demon walking this earth. I gave you my word, and I intend to stick to it, just as I do not intend to see you ruined.” With these words, he faced forwards, ready for the ceremony to begin.

Isabella was so stunned she could not summon a response. She thought only of the sentiment of his words, and one other thing.

He dropped my title. He called me Isabella.

* * *

Henry opened the carriage door and stepped down. As he turned to face his wife, she stalled in the doorway. Isabella’s chin jerked up to face the house, and her body froze, with her hands pressed to either side of her. The position showed off the fine gown and the neckline in a rather flattering way. He groaned inwardly and turned away from her.

She is too tempting.

“I forget this place can elicit such reaction,” Henry murmured, standing beside her and waiting for her to move.

It had been a strange day indeed. They’d married that morning, with the ceremony stilted, cold, and with little cause for celebration. The few friends and family who had gathered barely wished them well. John was the only one who managed to wish the Duke well.

In the carriage, Henry had scarcely uttered a word to Isabella. He’d simply reiterated the need for them not to have a wedding breakfast.

“This is hardly a celebration, is it?” he had argued.

Isabella hadn’t disputed his words.

Now that they’d arrived at the Duke’s house, it was all beginning to feel very real to him. Not just the idea of being married, but that Isabella was his wife.

“This is my new home?” Isabella muttered in amazement.

“You’re going to close your jaw, or would you like some help with that?” he teased and leaned back through the doorway of the carriage.

He tapped her chin once, making her mouth close. At first, she didn’t pull away from his touch. She seemed to realize all at once how still she was and then jerked away from his hold.

“It’s a house, nothing more,” Henry pointed out.

“This is not a house. This is a… castle!” She waved a mad hand through the doorway.

Henry returned his focus to the Tudor manor. He could see what Isabella meant about the architecture being more akin to a castle in places. The red and white brick frontage was built on top of old rampart ruins. The mixture of grey stone against the red bricks spoke of its age.

“The dukedom goes back a long way,” Henry explained quietly. “It was something my father was always keen on. ‘A home should befit the man, Henry. That means a duke can have nothing less.’” he scoffed loudly as he repeated his father’s words. “By right, that man should have lived in a hole in the ground then.”

Isabella flicked her head towards him in surprise.

“What does that mean?”

“It hardly matters.” Henry wasn’t going to go into great depths about what his father was like. “It’s a fine home, I know that well enough, but I don’t have to like it very much. Are you ready to see it up close?”

He offered his hand to her. Gingerly, she took his hand, though her fingers barely touched his, and she flinched again as he helped her down from the carriage.

The Duke cast a quick glance at the footman, who was now removing her portmanteau from the back of the carriage. Seeing he was far enough away so they would not be overheard, Henry stepped closer to Isabella and whispered in her ear, “You jerk at my touch?”

“I didn’t.”

“Of course not,” he said sardonically. “And the King doesn’t expect all his servants to bow.”

At his words, Isabella frowned a little. “Are you always this sarcastic?”

“About as much as you, from what I know about you so far.” At his words, she smiled a little, though she appeared to fight that smile by pressing her lips together. “You can smile in my company, you know. I’m not wholly bad company.”

“You forget the last time I indulged your company alone.” She removed her hand from his and stepped down the driveway.

Her face was still an expression of awe as she gawked at the house.

“Maybe that night in the garden is not the best moment to judge me by,” he argued hurriedly as he followed her.

“You think not?” She laughed at the idea. “A rake half undressed in a garden? Quite an apt way to find you, I should think.”

“Isabella?” When he reached her side, she flinched, as if he had touched her again. “Firstly, let us discuss this.”

Henry glanced at the footman. Seeing him walking close by, He moved to stand very near Isabella. She stiffened at the movement.

Why does she do that? Does she actually think I would hurt her?

“Discuss what?” she asked hesitantly.

“You jumping as if I have burned you with a candle flame.” Henry shook his head, frowning. “I will not touch you, Isabella.”

“What do you mean?”

Her brows furrowed deeply that it crinkled her expression. The Duke had so often seen those fair features contorted into anger or frustration. He wondered what it would be like to see her truly laughing, giving way to happiness and joy.

“You seem scared of me,” he replied. “I have no idea why—”

“None?” she asked, her tone now ironic. “I wonder why…” She turned and tapped her chin in thought, wandering in the direction of the house. “Rakes hardly make the finest of husbands, do they? And from what I have seen of your appetites,” she said, glancing at him, “you hardly hold back from your desires. Who cannot control themselves at a ball?”

“Isabella?” When his use of her name only made her walk on towards the house, he tried something else. “Bella?” His new name for her had her pausing on the spot, her fine shoes scuffing the gravel beneath her. She turned to face him, her wide eyes showing her surprise. “Well, that got your attention.”

“I’ve never been called that before.”

“Never? Hmm, I quite like it.” He closed the distance between them. “Let us make a few things clear so there is no more confusion between us. Firstly, I will not touch you. Ever.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her head tipped back, and her arms folded across her chest. Henry was instantly distracted. Her gown was a fine one indeed and flattered her curvy figure. Her crossed arms accentuated the neckline of her gown, and he groaned and lifted his head to look her in the eye.

This is a hard resolution to make, but it is one I must keep to.

“This will be a marriage in name, and nothing more. That is resolution one between us.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her reaction. She simply mirrored his look, lifting her eyebrows, though she said nothing. He continued towards the house, with her at his heels. “The second thing I wish to discuss between us is how we address one another. This house was beholden to formality, unnecessary curtseying and addresses for many years. You will call me Henry, and you will not curtsy to me.”

“Henry… you surprise me,” Isabella murmured. “I thought dukes were fond of such… deference.”

“I am not such a duke.” An image appeared in Henry’s mind of his father. For many years, that man had demanded his wife curtsied to him every day and addressed him as ‘Your Grace.’ Henry would not be his father. “In return, I will call you Bella. I quite like it. It rather suits you. Do you have any objections?”

“No.”

The smallest of smiles appeared on Isabella’s lips as they reached the front stairs of the house. He wondered if she secretly liked the name, but he didn’t feel he knew her well enough to ask.

They walked into the house, where the conversation abruptly finished between them. Henry waited as Isabella paused in the hallway. She turned around, staring at the mahogany panels, the white molded ceiling and the bright sunlight that shone through the windows.

She finds it beautiful.

“Anything else you would like to discuss?” Henry asked, clearing his throat and drawing her attention back to him.

“There is one thing I do not understand.” Isabella flicked her head back and forth, clearly making sure that the footman had hurried off and there were no other staff members around. “In our initial meeting, you made plenty of comments,” she began slowly. “Now, you are telling me you will not demand I share your bed?” She held out her hands in surprise. “I heard men have needs.” She didn’t look pleased as she said the words. “Is that not true, after all?”

“As you have seen, such needs can be satisfied in many different places.” At his statement, he didn’t miss the curling of her lip. She clearly took no pleasure in what he had to say. “It may shock you to hear this, but I ask for nothing from you.”

“Nothing?” she spluttered in surprise as he practically circled around her. “You reject my dowry and now… this too?”

“Yes.” He stilled, meeting her gaze. “It’s a marriage in name only. There will be nothing more between us, of that, you have my vow, and I do not intend to break it.”