Chapter 23

“You’re very quiet,” Isabella observed as the three of them rode home. “Didn’t you have a nice time at the ball?”

Arthur looked over at her. Isabella wondered whether the sarcasm in her voice was too obvious. She had meant to be somewhat subtle about it, but perhaps she hadn’t managed. She was angry, and maybe she had allowed her anger to show through.

“I suppose the real question is whether you had a good time,” Arthur said.

“It seems apparent that Isabella enjoyed herself,” Aunt Olivia pointed out with a smile. “You made a lot of friends tonight, didn’t you, dear? I saw how everyone wanted a turn to dance with you.”

Had that been a pointed comment? “I thought it would be all right,” Isabella said. “It was a ball, after all.”

“Oh, you thought right!” Aunt Olivia assured her. “That’s what balls are for, after all—dancing! And I’m glad you made the most of it.” She looked at Arthur. “I noticed that you didn’t seem to want to dance tonight.”

“I don’t enjoy dancing,” Arthur said. “You two are the ones who wanted to go to this ball, not me, and I allowed it. But you can’t be upset now because I didn’t want to spend my time dancing. You were both able to do plenty of it.” He focused his gaze on Isabella. “How many gentlemen did you dance with?”

“Six.” She kept her tone even—she wasn’t going to allow him to make her feel bad about this. “That’s how many asked me, and I wanted to dance.”

“Well, then, you did enjoy yourself.” He blew out a breath.

She couldn’t resist. “Did you think I wasn’t going to dance with anyone?”

“You made it sound as if you wanted to attend the ball to see it and maybe to see your sister.”

“And so you thought what, that I would just stand by the wall and wait until it was time to go? Watch it like it was a play or something but not be a part of it?” She shook her head. “And the moment we arrived, you took off to speak to your friend! You left me on my own!”

Aunt Olivia frowned. “Did you really do that, Arthur?” she asked. “I must say, when I told the two of you to go in ahead of me so that I could speak to Lady Everly in the garden, I never dreamed that you would abandon Isabella in that way.”

“I didn’t abandon her,” Arthur said. “I left her in the company of her sister. And I meant to come right back. We agreed that I would be right back, didn’t we, Isabella?”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Isabella said. “You told me to wait where I was, and then you walked away. I had no say in the matter.”

“Well, even so, you could have waited.”

“I didn’t want to!” Isabella said. “I came to the ball to have a good time and to dance, and you refused to dance with me.”

“I didn’t refuse.”

“You didn’t ask me to dance. Were you going to? Was it just that first dance you were sitting out, and perhaps you meant to ask me later?” She shook her head. “Don’t even bother saying anything. I know the answer to that question. I know because you just told us yourself, didn’t you? You said that you didn’t have any interest in dancing. In fact, you acted as though anyone who might have guessed or hoped otherwise was a fool.”

“I never pretended to be someone who would take an interest in dancing,” Arthur said.

“No, but I thought you might have an interest in my happiness,” Isabella replied. “I thought it might matter to you that I wanted to dance. But you never cared about that, did you? You only care about what you want. That’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

“I don’t see how you can say that after I took you out tonight in direct contradiction to what I would have preferred,” Arthur argued.

“If your concern in doing so was truly to make me happy, you wouldn’t have walked away from me as soon as we arrived,” Isabella said. “You wouldn’t be scolding me now for having enjoyed myself. You would have wanted to make sure I had a good time, and you wouldn’t have dreamed of letting me find out if you weren’t enjoying yourself. You would have found it much more important to ensure that the evening was what I wanted it to be! But of course, you didn’t do that. I don’t know why I ever believed you would. That’s never been the sort of man you are—putting someone else’s needs before your own.”

“How dare you speak to me like this?” Arthur asked.

Isabella laughed bitterly. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked. “Ignore me even more than you already do? Leave me even further out of your life? Isolate me further than I already am? I’m not frightened of you, Arthur. There isn’t anything left that you can do to make my life any worse. I know you’re not a violent man. You would never harm anyone physically. And other than that, there isn’t anything you can make me suffer that you haven’t already.”

Arthur was quiet for a long time.

Aunt Olivia looked from one of them to the other, as if stunned at what she had seen.

Then Arthur spoke. “You humiliated me tonight,” he said. “Everyone expected to see the duke and his new duchess, and instead, they saw a lady dancing with everyone but her husband. There will be talk.”

“That isn’t my fault,” Isabella argued. “I would have loved to dance with you, Arthur. I would have been overjoyed. But you didn’t ask me. And I can’t spend the rest of my life mourning the things you’re not willing to give me.”

“I see,” Arthur said. “Well, perhaps from now on, there ought to be no more balls for you.”

Isabella stared at him. “You can’t mean that.”

“I thought there was nothing I could do to you to make your life any worse,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“But apparently that won’t stop you from trying,” she said bitterly.

“Arthur, really,” Aunt Olivia murmured, “you must allow her to attend balls. She hasn’t done anything wrong, and there will be even more talk if the new duchess suddenly disappears from society. You are already a known recluse. Let her socialize. If you don’t, people will come up with all sorts of explanations to explain her absence, and I’m sure they’ll all be worse than the truth.”

Arthur stared out the window for a long time.

Isabella felt as if she couldn’t breathe. He was deciding her future as they sat there. She longed to say something, to plead her case in some way, but what was there to say? He had already heard everything she would have wanted to say for herself. All she could do now was wait for his verdict.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You’ll still be allowed to attend balls—but there will be no more dancing with other gentlemen.”

“That’s going to look odd,” Aunt Olivia argued. “If she goes to balls and never dances? Never accepts a request? People will stop asking, and eventually everyone will start to assume she’s simply undesirable. You don’t want people talking about your wife that way, Arthur. That will make you both look bad.”

Arthur let out a heavy sigh. “Very well,” he said. “Then you must always ask my permission before accepting a dance with anyone. That’s not too much for me to ask, I think, because I am your husband, and I ought to have some control over these things. I shouldn’t be forced to watch you disappear into the arms of other gentlemen every time we go out. If you dance with someone, it will be because I give my permission, and that’s my final word on the subject.”

“Arthur…” Aunt Olivia began.

But Arthur was already shaking his head. “No more objections,” he said. “No more arguments. I have the right to make these decisions, and this is my final answer.”

“Oh, you have the right to make all the decisions,” Isabella replied bitterly. “You make all the rules, don’t you? And all I do is follow them. But tell me, Arthur, where do you go when you disappear for hours at a time every day? You’re worried about me disappearing into the arms of another, but you’re always gone, and I’m not even permitted to ask questions about it. And meanwhile, all you had to do was ask me to dance with you and I would have been yours! Your need to control everything—that’s what makes my life such a misery. And I know there’s nothing I can do about it but go on living by these ever-increasing rules you choose to set for me because all I want is for my sister to find a happy marriage, and you may be her only hope of doing that. But on nights like this, I can’t help feeling that if there was any other way, I would take it!”

The carriage had come to a stop, and Isabella didn’t wait to be helped out. She opened the door and climbed out herself, hurried up the path into the manor, and was up the stairs by the time she heard Arthur and Aunt Olivia coming inside.

The ball had been enjoyable, but she should have known that this was what she would face when it was over. She should have realized that Arthur would have nothing but anger and criticism for her. She had allowed herself to believe that things were different between them now—that some sort of connection had been forged. But it was clear to her that she had put too much faith in that idea. Perhaps he had found her momentarily desirable that night in her bedroom or in the library, but that didn’t mean he cared for her. It was just a momentary thing.

And Isabella felt more convinced than ever that Arthur was seeing another woman when he left the house every day. It all added up. Why would he be so jealous unless the idea of betrayal was already on his mind? Why would he need to discuss business with Lord Henrough at a party if they had done so during the day? The more she thought about that idea, the less sense it made—he must have been talking to Lord Henrough at the party because they hadn’t spoken at any other time! It all made perfect sense. Perfect but terrible sense.

He was in love with someone else, and he would get away with it because he was a man. And she would be locked away in whatever little fragments of her life he decided to allow her to keep—when he had finished making rules upon rules to confine her.

It was all so dreadful, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Aunt Olivia had seemed ready to take her side, but even she couldn’t sway Arthur in the end.

Isabella wished desperately that there was something she could do. The worst part of it all was that, in spite of herself and in spite of all she understood about her situation, she still had feelings for Arthur. She simply couldn’t help it, as much as she would have liked to.

It would have been so much easier to despise him—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She still cared for him, and she still wanted him to care for her. And not only because it would have been more pleasant to have a caring husband. It was him she wanted.

And she felt farther than she ever had from the possibility of having him.