Chapter 12

One day, at a loss for what to do, Isabella decided that she would spend her day tidying the place up a little.

“You don’t need to do that,” Caroline said, frowning at Isabella as she began in her own bedchamber. “It isn’t your duty, Your Grace. If you tell me what needs to be tidied, I’ll be only too happy to take care of it for you.”

“Oh, let me,” Isabella argued. “I haven’t anything to do, alone in this big house all day.” She had tried a few pursuits—taking to the library to read books or the conservatory to play the piano—but both activities had ended up making her feel more lonely than ever. They seemed only to reinforce the fact that she had no one to talk to about the things she read and no one who could listen to her music. She couldn’t help thinking that if she had grown old in her father’s house as a spinster, the way she had meant to, at least she would have had him to talk to.

It was a sorry state of affairs indeed if she found herself missing her father. She couldn’t believe things had come to this.

Caroline nodded her agreement that Isabella ought to do what made her happy and withdrew, but the work of cleaning her own room didn’t take very long, probably because Isabella hadn’t been living here very long. She hadn’t had occasion to touch most of her things yet.

She decided to branch out to the rest of the house and look for something else to clean, but she soon saw that that mission would be more difficult than she had anticipated. Naturally, she couldn’t be of much use in the kitchen or the dining room, and the library and the conservatory were always kept immaculate. There were spare bedrooms that were covered in dust from disuse, but it was impossible to imagine herself asking for a duster. She felt sure that the staff would have stopped her there, refusing to let her go that far. What could she do?

The idea hit her as she was wandering down an upstairs hallway—Arthur’s study. She had been inside only a few times, but she had seen how disorderly it was, and she knew that she could assist with that. It would be easy. And it would be a lovely surprise for him to come home and see his things put into better order. In fact, maybe it would open the door to an easier relationship between the two of them. Maybe he would be so grateful for her help that he would…what? He wouldn’t take her to his bed for that, and she wouldn’t want him to, but maybe…maybe they would be able to find a way to be friends. Maybe they would at least learn how to live together in peace. It would be a start.

She knew how to clean, of course. Maybe other ladies wouldn’t have known where to begin, but Isabella had often done this work for her father or Rosalind when she had lived with them, and she quickly lost herself in the familiar tasks. She tucked papers into folders and piled them neatly in the corner of the desk. She put Arthurs pens away in his drawer. She took the jacket he’d left in his chair and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. She opened the curtains that she had only ever seen pulled shut—she even opened the window to allow a bit of air into the room. This place would be much nicer when she was finished with it. She was confident of that much. Arthur wouldn’t be able to fail to notice the work she had put in, and she was sure that he would be grateful.

The day slipped by quickly. She was exchanging the nearly-burnt-out candles for fresh tapers when the door burst open behind her, startling so badly that she dropped one, and it cracked in half on the floor.

It was Arthur, of course, and he was raging. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Isabella stood her ground, not about to let him make her feel small. “I’m cleaning this room,” she said. “And if you’d take a minute to look at it before you started scolding me, you’d see that I’ve done a wonderful job. It’s much tidier than it was.”

“Tidier! Is this some sort of joke?” he asked. “I didn’t bring you here to be a chamber maid. Why are you tidying anything?”

Isabella folded her arms across her chest. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked him.

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t bring me here to clean. All right, fine. But you didn’t bring me here to do anything a wife would do either. I understand that all you really want is a prop. You want someone you can point to and say, this is my wife; I am married. You want to be able to show society that you’re spoken for so that they’ll leave you alone. But you also brought me to your house. I’m not just a doll that you can bring out when you need something to show off and then put away on a shelf when you don’t need me.”

He shook his head, flabbergasted. “This is your defense for coming into my study uninvited? That you’re not a doll?”

“I don’t think I need to defend myself for coming into your study,” she told him, keeping her chin up. She was certain that she was right about this, and she wasn’t going to allow him to make her feel as if she had done something wrong when she hadn’t.

“Why would you be welcome in here?” he demanded.

“Three rules,” she said. “You told me there were three rules, and that if I obeyed them, I could do whatever else I wanted. Isn’t that what you said?”

She saw that he looked flustered. “Well…”

“You did say it, didn’t you?”

“I did, but…but you should have…”

“I’ve obeyed your rules,” she cut him off. “I’ve stayed out of the attic. I haven’t asked you any questions about where you go all the time, even though you are never home. I never interrupt you when you are working. I’ve done everything you asked. But none of your rules was that I couldn’t come into your office.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you not to come into my office,” he said. It seemed as if he was starting to recover his composure.

She wasn’t about to let him get away with that. “You as good as told me that I could come in here,” she argued. “The rule was that I couldn’t interrupt you at work. If the door was open, you said, it was all right to come in. And the door was open.”

“You know perfectly well that I meant when I was inside.”

“Arthur, you told me what the rules were for my life here, and I’ve obeyed them,” she said. “I’ve done everything you have asked me to. You’re the one who keeps changing things. You’re the one who’s made it impossible to live this life. You’re gone all the time, and I have no one to talk to. I haven’t seen my sister since the day of our wedding because you and I are supposed to be in our honeymoon period—except that we aren’t enjoying that because you’re never at home, and I’m always alone! All I can do is keep to the rules you give me, and I have, but then you come home and scold me for breaking a rule that isn’t one of the ones you gave me to follow. You keep changing the way I’m supposed to live. How am I ever to find my footing, Arthur?”

He sighed. “I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“Are you angry with me for the curtains, as well?”

“I think you overstepped by changing them without asking me first.”

“Then what am I allowed to do? What can I do without consulting you about it? Am I to sit around the house all day, waiting on you to come home and knowing that you won’t until long after sunset?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Arthur said again.

“You can’t just keep telling me that you don’t know what to say. You have to figure out what to say. You and I may not be a conventional husband and wife, but you are still my husband. You have to treat me like your wife in some ways, at least—I’m not just a piece of property to be done with as you will.”

“I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” he said. “I haven’t treated you like property.”

“Perhaps not. But I came in here today intending to do something kind for you, and you’ve been nothing but cold to me about it.”

“I need you to stay out of my office when I’m not here,” he said. “Just as I stay out of your bedroom when you aren’t in it. Some things are private.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I can do that—but you mustn’t be upset with me for not having known that was what you wanted since you didn’t tell me.”

“Very well,” he replied. “As long as it doesn’t happen again.” He turned to go.

“Wait a moment,” Isabella said.

He looked back at her.

She hesitated. This hadn’t gone the way she had wanted it to, of course—she had been hopeful that he would appreciate what she had done here, and he clearly hadn’t. But if nothing else, she had gotten his attention, and she wasn’t ready to let go of it. She wanted to make the most of this moment, to get him to treat her differently than he had thus far.

“I won’t come in here again,” she started, “but I don’t want to be left alone as much as I have been. I want to be treated more like…more like your wife.”

He sighed. “We spoke about this, didn’t we?”

“We did. At length. And yet, you don’t seem to appreciate the fact that this is my life we’re talking about,” she said. “So, you don’t want a wife in the traditional sense—that’s fine. That’s your choice. But I need more in my life than what you’ve given me so far.”

“What do you want?” he asked her.

She swallowed. It made her nervous to make this request of him. She remembered how Mrs. Flowers had seemed frightened of him.

But there was something about the way he looked at her, even now, that made it worthwhile. He was frustrated with her, she could tell that, but he was also…what?

Intrigued. That was the best way she could put it into words. He seemed intrigued by her, as if the ways in which she was challenging him were more interesting than they were frustrating. As if she was a puzzle that he wanted to figure out.

All her life, people had looked at Isabella as if she was less than what she knew she really was. Arthur was the first person who had looked at her as if she was more.

And that was captivating. It made her feel as if her blood was singing. She wanted him never to look away.

“I want you to have breakfast with me,” she said.

He blinked. “Breakfast?”

“Every morning. I know I can’t ask you where you go or what you do all day. But I can ask you to share a meal with me before you leave. Breakfast each morning. I don’t think that’s so much to ask, really.”

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse her. That he might say she was wrong—it was too much.

But he nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “Breakfast each morning. I can agree to that. We’ll begin tomorrow.”