Chapter 7

“That gown would have looked much better on me,” Rosalind said. “You look silly, Isabella. Why didn’t you tell Father to let you wear the pink one I offered you? It would have been much better. You would have fit in it well, too.”

Isabella knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t have fit in the pink gown. She would have had to make alterations to it—and she’d have had to do that on her own because her father wouldn’t have provided a seamstress after having offered to buy her something new. This whole conversation was just another of Rosalind’s constant attempts to outshine her.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to take such a beautiful gown away from you, Rosalind,” Isabella said sweetly. “It was so kind of you to offer it, but I couldn’t have deprived you of it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have minded,” Rosalind said. “I’d be happy to be rid of it because then maybe Father would buy me something new.”

Isabella had to turn away so that Rosalind wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. It was just so obvious that all she cared about was what she could get for herself—she wasn’t even good at pretending that other people mattered to her.

“I think this gown is nice,” she said. It was a pale blue with embroidery on the bodice, and Isabella thought it was the loveliest she had ever owned.

“It matches my eyes,” Rosalind pointed out, “not yours.”

“That’s all right.”

“You know, Father agrees that it ought to be me marrying the Duke and not you.”

“Does he?” Isabella asked mildly.

“Oh, yes. He’s sure the Duke will regret his choice and come back in a year’s time asking for an exchange. Of course, he won’t receive it.” Rosalind laughed. “Father would never give me in marriage to someone who didn’t have the sense to ask for me first! Even if he is a duke. Your duke will never have me now. I’d want nothing to do with him.”

She said all this very quietly so as not to be overheard because the Duke himself was sitting to Isabella’s other side, and no matter how disdainful Rosalind might want to act toward him, Isabella knew that she wouldn’t be willing to openly disrespect him. She would be too fearful of tarnishing her own reputation by acting that way—and she would be right to fear it. No one would think highly of a young lady who spoke ill of the Duke today, on his wedding day, even if he was the subject of gossip much of the time. People would expect that he should be treated with courtesy on this day at least.

Isabella had noticed that she was receiving similar treatment. Not many people would have come to her wedding breakfast, she thought, but of course, everyone wanted to attend the reclusive Duke’s and to see the lady he’d deemed worthy to be his wife. They knew of her, but now, she had become an object of curiosity to them. Now she was someone they wanted to stare at and whisper questions about.

But the questions would wait until later, behind the closed doors of their own homes. No one was whispering about her here. They were smiling respectfully, beaming at her as if she was one of them. A cherished daughter, a member of society who had celebrated a debut with them and who everyone had watched grow up and wondered about her future. The whole thing was completely make-believe, of course. That wasn’t who she was to them at all. But for today, for one day, they would deal with her politely and respectfully.

Only the members of her own family couldn’t seem to do it. Rosalind had been making pointed comments all day, and while her father had been respectful and welcoming to his guests, he had barely spared a glance for Isabella. It was clear to her that he wanted nothing more than to have this day over with.

Well, that was fine with her. She wanted the same.

She glanced over at the Duke, who sat to her other side. He hadn’t been particularly social today. He’d barely spoken to Isabella although he had told her at the church that she looked lovely in her gown. It hadn’t sounded like he meant it. Or rather, she hadn’t felt as though he had looked at her at all. It seemed to her more as if he was saying what he thought a gentleman was supposed to say to his wife on their wedding day, just as everyone else here was behaving the way they ought to and playing a part. She found herself wishing that he would look at her.

If only she had been seated next to Felicity! It was so hard to accept the fact that when this celebration ended, she would leave her sister behind and go off to Windhill Manor to live with the Duke. It had been her own plan to do this, but now she found herself questioning the decision. Was she really ready to go off and live with a man she hardly knew?

The answer was easy, of course. For Felicity, she would have done anything.

The meal came to an end, and the plates were cleared from the table. All the guests rose and made their way toward the ballroom where there would be several hours of drinks and dancing before the party came to an end. Isabella rather wished that it would just end now. As hard as it was to face the prospect of her new life, it was even harder to sit here waiting around for the inevitable to happen.

Felicity was at her side now, her arm linked through Isabella’s. “Are you and the Duke going to dance?” she asked eagerly.

“Perhaps. He hasn’t asked me,” Isabella said.

Rosalind appeared at her other side and sniffed. “He isn’t going to ask you to dance,” she huffed. “He’s marrying you for whatever reason—I can’t be sure—but it’s clear that he doesn’t want to dance with you. If he did, he would already be over here. He would already be asking you.”

That,Isabella had to concede, was likely true.

“Of course, he’s going to ask her,” Felicity said, but unfortunately, she sounded rather worried. “What sort of gentleman wouldn’t ask his wife to dance on their wedding day?”

“I don’t know, but it’s sure to be quite the scandal.” Rosalind sounded positively delighted now. “I’m glad I didn’t marry him, Isabella, and I’m sorry for you! Who would want to be married to someone so heartless? I mean to say…I can see why a gentleman wouldn’t wish to dance with you, but it’s your wedding day, and I would have thought he would do it anyway, no matter how he might feel about it. How embarrassing.”

Isabella, who hadn’t felt embarrassed at all, was displeased to find that she suddenly did. How dreadful to discover that her half-sister’s words had gotten under her skin! She knew she couldn’t let Rosalind see the effect she’d had.

She sought out the Duke—the man who was now her husband. He was standing in a group of gentlemen, and they were clearly talking, but he looked to her as though he would rather be anywhere else. She frowned, surprised at the sudden desire she felt to go over to him and intervene, to say something that would pull him away from the group of people he was standing with. If he didn’t desire their company, he shouldn’t have to put up with it.

But then, he had made it clear that he didn’t want her company either. He hadn’t spoken a word to her during the meal. And he ought to be standing by her side now, but he wasn’t.

“I don’t know what kind of trick you played on this man to persuade him to have you as his wife.”

She looked up. Her father was standing beside her, a scowl on his face.

“I didn’t trick him,” she said, knowing that it was the truth. “I lied about being engaged to him, and I expected him to deal angrily with me. It was his own choice to do otherwise. But I never lied to him, and I think you must know that, Father. How could I have? He could never have believed that we were engaged.”

“All I know is that it should have been Rosalind,” her father said.

“Oh, don’t say that, Father. I don’t want that old duke.”

“I know you don’t think highly of him, Rosalind, but he is still a duke,” the Viscount said.

“Maybe he is, but he’s shown himself to have terrible taste. It would reflect badly on me if he did want me now, so I’m certainly glad that he doesn’t.” She sneered at Isabella. “Who can understand why anybody would choose her? I can’t.”

And now, there came another voice, this time from behind them, and it was one Isabella had only heard speak a few times so far. One she still didn’t know very well at all. “You think I have terrible taste, then?”

They all wheeled to see the Duke standing there.

Rosalind’s cheeks colored. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said quickly. “I only meant?—”

He held up a hand. “No, I know what you meant,” he said. “You question my ability to choose my wife successfully, isn’t that it? You think I’ve made a poor selection.”

“It’s just that I know my half-sister better than you do, Your Grace,” Rosalind said. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to demean you by saying that, but it is the truth.”

“Perhaps. It’s also true that she’s a duchess now,” the Duke said. “You owe her more respect than this. I won’t have my wife spoken to in this manner, especially not on our wedding day of all days.”

Isabella was stunned. Was he going to pretend, now, that he cared about her? After he had already made it abundantly clear that he didn’t? Did he really think anyone would believe that act?

“Your Grace,” the Viscount said, “you must forgive my daughter.”

“It isn’t just your daughter. I heard the way you spoke to my wife. I will overlook it this once, but I expect you to treat her with regard from now on because she is the Duchess of Windhill. Whatever you may think of the circumstances surrounding our marriage, the marriage itself is a fact, and I insist that it be honored.”

The Viscount nodded. Isabella couldn’t help feeling a little thrill watching the Duke put her father in his place. It was about time someone did!

He turned to her. “Are you ready to go?”

“My things…”

“They’ll be sent over for you, of course.”

She felt a surge of reluctance. Was this really it? Was she about to leave her home for the last time? This place had never been much of a home to her, of course, not really, but it had been hers. It had been the source of all the memories of her childhood. It was where she had lived with her mother. And it was where Felicity would go on living when she was gone, on her own with no Isabella to look after her.

But this was the necessary next step if they were to have the lives Isabella wanted the two of them to have—the lives she knew her mother would have wanted for them.

And besides, the Duke was right. She was his wife now. She had come too far to turn back.

“Let me say goodbye to my sister,” she said, looking around for Felicity. “Then I’ll be ready.”

“That’s fine,” the Duke agreed. “You go and do that, then, and I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

“What a strange man,” the Viscount murmured as the Duke strode off. “Leaving before the wedding party has even ended! No wonder he’s the subject of so much gossip.”

Isabella knew her father was right. But right now, she felt very much on the Duke’s side. The party hadn’t been enjoyable.

Maybe when they got home, things would start to feel a bit better.