Chapter 15

“Is my aunt established in her room?” Arthur asked Bartleby. “Does she have everything she needs?”

“Yes,” the butler assured him, “and one of the maids has been assigned to tend to her for the duration of her stay. Of course, she has her own lady’s maid with her, but it was decided that she would benefit from having someone familiar with the ways of our household as well. Was that the right decision?”

“Oh, yes,” Arthur replied. “That was a perfect thing to have done, Bartleby; I quite appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Bartleby said. “And do let me know if there’s anything else you think we should be doing in order to best tend to your aunt’s needs, Your Grace.”

“You may be certain that I will.” Arthur hesitated. “What of the Duchess?”

“What about her?”

“How is she this evening?” He hadn’t seen Isabella since their tea in the sitting room—he had missed the evening meal due to the fact that he had been working. “I wonder if it’s causing her undue strain to have someone she doesn’t know very well in the house.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind, Your Grace,” Bartleby said. “I don’t know whether you’re aware that I speak with her lady’s maid, Caroline, each day.”

“I assumed Mrs. Flowers would have taken primary responsibility for Caroline.”

“Yes, and so she does, but I do like to keep an eye on all the members of the household, just to make sure nothing is amiss,” Bartleby said.

“I know you do,” Arthur agreed. “I’ve always appreciated that about you, Bartleby—all the hard work you do to keep this place in good order. Believe me when I tell you that it doesn’t go unnoticed. So, you spoke with Caroline?”

“I did, and the conversation was very normal. There was no sign from her that anything unusual was going on. I believe that if the Duchess were having a difficult time in some way, Caroline would alert the rest of the staff. My belief is that the Duchess has been more than happy to meet your aunt, and that everyone is getting along very well.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you, Bartleby,” he said. “Your help in these matters is appreciated, as always.”

Bartleby nodded. “Have a good evening, Your Grace.”

Arthur watched the door of his study for a long time after Bartleby had left, wondering whether he should take his butler’s words at face value. It was tempting to allow himself to believe that all was well with Isabella—that she was taking the fact of having a houseguest in stride.

What he knew for sure, though, was that she had looked flustered after Aunt Olivia had introduced herself. Something had shaken her today. Even if she had been pleased to meet his aunt, there was something that wasn’t quite sitting right with her. And in that moment, Arthur knew that he couldn’t go to bed without speaking to her one last time. He had to make sure that she was doing all right.

How odd to find himself this consumed with the welfare of another person. Of course, he had never wished her ill in any way—he would have said that he had always wanted the best for her—but it wasn’t something he had done a lot of thinking about in the past. Now, though, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of her happiness that he couldn’t bring himself to go to bed without checking on her first. It certainly was a new feeling.

He hesitated outside her door. He had never visited her here before, and it felt like a strangely intimate gesture. Perhaps he should have her lady’s maid summoned so that Caroline could let Isabella know he wished to see her?

But that was such an involved process to go through. Surely it couldn’t be necessary to do all that just to pay a visit to his wife—and he didn’t want to establish it as a precedent. He should be able to see her. He was worrying about it because this was the first time he had done it, that was all.

He knocked at the door, and she said, “Come in.”

He opened the door.

She was sitting on the window seat. He saw at once that she was dressed in nothing but her nightgown, and he was filled with regret—he shouldn’t have invaded her privacy like this. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning away quickly. “I’ll go.”

“No,” she replied. She fumbled for a blanket and pulled it over her legs. “You don’t have to leave. You came here for a reason.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude upon your privacy.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do apologize. Truly.”

“You don’t need to keep your head down like that,” she said, and there was a gentleness in her tone that he had rarely heard in their conversations in the past. “I’m decent now, and I’m happy to see you. I’m glad you came to my room tonight, Arthur.”

He looked up at her.

She looked so beautiful and vulnerable like this, clad in nothing but the thin cotton of her nightgown, the moonlight on her face. He felt drawn to her, more deeply so than he ever had before. It was an ache now, a hunger. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her body against his, allow himself to relish in the feel of her. And the absolute torment of it was that there was no reason he couldn’t do that. They were married. It was beyond permitted—it was expected that they would have an intimate physical relationship with one another. And he knew she wished it, for she had asked him numerous times why he hadn’t come to her on their wedding night. She had even sought him out.

The only thing holding him back was his own reservations. His own knowledge that he didn’t want anything to distract him from his life’s purpose. He had to focus on finding the people responsible for his parents’ deaths—that was what mattered most. He couldn’t afford to take time away from that mission to focus on anything else. Not even on this.

He cleared his throat. “I came to check on you,” he said. “To see whether you were all right.”

“I’m fine.” She frowned. “Did you have reason to think I wouldn’t be?”

Now he felt a little foolish. He had really talked himself into the idea that something might be the matter with her—but what had he based it on? The fact that she had been slightly taken aback upon meeting Aunt Olivia? Who wouldn’t have been? Arthur had been a bit perturbed himself because Aunt Olivia simply hadn’t been expected. It wasn’t a bad thing, of course, but it made perfect sense that Isabella had been thrown by it.

And she had recovered quickly. That couldn’t be denied. Hadn’t she devoted herself almost at once to the idea of attending the Manford ball? She couldn’t be too troubled if she was looking forward to that.

He recognized an excuse he could use for his determination to come and check on her, even though he was aware as he said it that it wasn’t something she was truly upset about. “I wanted to see how you were feeling about the Manford ball,” he said. “My aunt made those arrangements so quickly and without really stopping to see how anyone else was feeling. I know that you said you wanted to attend, and you certainly may if that’s truly what you want. But I did want to make sure you weren’t feeling as though you had been backed into a corner about it.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I’ve always dreamed of attending a ball without feeling as if I was under my father’s thumb. He allowed me to go to them, but I was always expected to report on everything I had seen and done, and if I left anything out, I could count on my half-sister to fill in the gaps for me. Father was so strict that I never felt as if I was able to really enjoy myself at any balls or parties. It will be nice to attend one where that’s not the case.”

“I see,” Arthur said. He hadn’t realized that was the way her life had been though perhaps he should have—her father had made no secret of the fact that he considered her less than equal because of the circumstances of her birth. “Well, I’m glad to know that your desire to attend the ball is genuine. I would have hated to learn that you felt under some sort of obligation to attend.”

“Oh, no,” she said earnestly, looking up at him. “I know that isn’t something you would require of me.”

He moved farther into the room, approaching the window seat.

“You can sit down,” she said quietly. “I mean, if you want to. You can join me. The stars are beautiful tonight.”

He nodded and took a seat beside her on the window seat. It was small, not really made for two people, and he wondered whether this was the nearest they had ever been to one another. It might have been, given that they hadn’t danced together at their wedding. He wouldn’t have had to reach out, even, if he had wished to touch her—she was right there within his reach.

She gazed out at the night sky. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the sky.

His heart pounded. This wasn’t what he had come in here for. His intent had been to make sure she was all right, nothing more.

At least, that was what he had told himself. But was that really true? Now that he was here, he had to admit that there hadn’t been any real reason to believe she wasn’t all right. He was starting to feel as if that was just an excuse he had made to give himself permission to come and see her past the hour when they usually would have said good night to one another.

She turned away from the window and caught him looking at her before he was able to look away.

A blush colored her cheeks. She started to look away from him, but suddenly, Arthur found that he didn’t want her to. His hand came up—almost of its own accord, he certainly hadn’t planned to do this—and cupped her cheek, keeping her head turned toward him.

Still, she could have dropped her gaze—he would have been able to do nothing to prevent that—but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed herself to look him in the eye.

He could tell by the look he saw there that she knew he hadn’t genuinely feared for her well-being. Perhaps she had known that before he had realized it himself. She understood that whatever had led him here had been something else altogether. And that was a thought that frightened her as much as it did him.

He cleared his throat and rose from the window seat. “I shouldn’t stay,” he said.

She nodded in agreement. “I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow, though?”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” he said. “As always. And Aunt Olivia will join us as well.”

“I do look forward to getting to know her better.” She met his eyes once more. “It’s a rare person who can bring out such relaxation in you, Arthur. I’m eager to discover what her secret is.”

That made Arthur nervous—though, of course, as far as he knew, his aunt had no particular secret and had simply been dealing with him kindly, treating him as her own son. Could there be more to it?

Oh, what was he so worried about? There was nothing here for Isabella to discover.

Still, the idea of being known well by someone new haunted him long after he had left her room.