Chapter 22

22

Captain Winterton crept away from Isabella's chamber in the early hours of the morning, long before the chilly autumn dawn broke. She staggered out of bed and relieved herself in her chamber pot when he had gone, but she simply didn't have the energy to take out her list and cross off the items, eight (a) and (b), nine, and seven again. Sixteen, briefly, but she'd already said that didn't count. She was far too tired to write to her mother, and not at all in the right frame of mind besides.

She ought to sleep, she needed to; her body, languorous and deliciously sore and sated, asked nothing better than to slip into deepest slumber. But her brain was buzzing like a bee trapped in a glass. Her thoughts were jumbled, fragmented, and she tried, incorrigible list-maker that she was, to bring some order to them. Whirling, disordered, uncontrolled thoughts frightened her. She wouldn't have it, the new assertive Isabella wouldn't.

She was thinking, inevitably, about Ash. About the last time she had wrapped her legs around a man's waist and taken him into her, and moved against him in urgent union as he spent himself inside her welcoming body. It was different, of course, in all sorts of ways. And that was good, that was the point. She didn't want ever to obliterate the image, the feel of her husband, of the rough, familiar, comforting texture of his military jacket against her cheek, of his murmured endearments as he held her and loved her for that last time that neither of them had known would be the last. Tears sprang to her eyes now as she remembered it, and perhaps they always would if she lived to be ninety, but perhaps – perhaps – the pain was a little less sharp. She liked to think it was. It was no longer her last time, anyway, and that must count for something. She would make sure it did.

She had so many new memories now to sit beside the old ones. Physical sensations, extraordinary ones, but more than that. She'd mounted Leo, ridden him, taken her imperious pleasure from his more than willing body as she straddled him. It was hardly the first time she'd done such a thing; it was one of the more obvious positions for sexual congress between a short woman and a much taller man. Especially for a short woman with large, sensitive breasts and a tall man who warmly appreciated them. But the physical release she found now was inextricably linked with this new thing: with her command and Leo's submission.

It was, she realised now, a great responsibility that she had so lightly taken on. It wasn't about his feelings for her – he didn't and couldn't love her, they both knew that, and thank goodness for it – but it was no small thing, having someone who'd obey your every lightest whim. She needed to make sure that he really wanted to do everything she ordered him to do. He had so far, she was sure of that, but… She could dimly see, exhausted as she was, even as sleep tugged at the edges of her thoughts and blurred them, that two people with such a bond could let it lead them to some dark, dark places. He wanted to be commanded; he didn't want to be hurt. Or did he? Did he want her to be cruel, physically, emotionally, and if he did, would she fulfil those wishes? Would she enjoy fulfilling them? And if she did, what would that say about either or both of them? It occurred to her – and it was an unsettling realisation to hit her on the edge of oblivion – that it wasn't quite as obvious as it first appeared, who was truly in charge.

She slept at last, but her dreams were unsettling – arousing, too, which unsettled her more, though she only recalled scraps of them when she woke. Isabella was glad to take her breakfast in her chamber that morning, and glad to dawdle over dressing and coming downstairs. She wrote her duty letter to her mama, too, describing the uneventful journey, what she had seen of the Castle and its grounds, and most – but perhaps not quite all – of its current inhabitants. She did not rush over it. If by the time she had finished the gentlemen had gone riding again and she was too late to join them, on this occasion that would suit her very well.

They had. Most of the party had joined them, too, including, rather surprisingly, Mrs Winterton – but she was a countrywoman, after all, Isabella supposed, and there was no reason why she shouldn't take exercise on horseback. She found Lady Carston alone in the morning room, looking rather pale and leafing through an Edinburgh Review in a desultory fashion. Isabella imagined for a moment that Lady Louisa had gone out too, but when she mentioned it, her companion laughed and said, ‘Louisa, riding! I wish I might see it. I am sure she would have you understand that she could – not in the theoretical fashion of Lady Catherine de Bourgh if you are acquainted with that lady, but really. Her nephew tells me that she is a most accomplished rider, as indeed they all are in the family. She merely chooses not to display her skills. Louisa's idea of healthy exercise is leaning over and reaching for the third volume of a novel. She is in bed still, reading.'

This comment naturally led to an animated discussion of the works of the lady author of Pride and Prejudice , as perhaps its utterer had intended. Isabella had been fortunate enough to read and enjoy that work, and Sense and Sensibility too, but had not known that there had been not one but two new volumes from her pen since. Her ignorance was not, perhaps, surprising, given all she had experienced in the last eighteen months. She was resolved to be open about her situation and told Lady Carston why exactly the omission had occurred.

That lady regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Of course,' she said. ‘I knew I had set eyes on you before. I saw you briefly in the street in York, the day the Duke and Duchess of Northriding were married, but we were not introduced, and I had forgotten it till now.'

Isabella grimaced. ‘I did not see you. I am afraid I was in no fit state for introductions that day. I had not realised Gabriel was betrothed, even, and it came as a great shock to me to see him with his bride. Do not think I blame him – he wrote to my parents to tell them and asked them to tell me, but the letter did not reach us in time.'

‘That's most unfortunate. No wonder you were taken aback,' said her companion comfortably. ‘I understand that he had previously cherished a fixed intention never to wed.'

‘That's true, but it does not excuse my behaviour. I can only say that I was ill at the time, and was overset. But the shock was a salutary one because it helped with my recovery.'

‘How so?'

‘I realised, even in the brief moments I saw them together, that Gabriel was in love with his bride, and she with him. Once I had overcome the pain that seeing him married must inevitably cause me, because of his great resemblance to my late husband, I was so glad to know that I had not been responsible for turning his life upside-down. A weight was lifted from my shoulders that day.'

‘I collect that you mean,' said Lady Carston, ‘and forgive me if my frankness causes you discomfort, that you feared he would be obliged to marry, greatly against his own wishes, because he had no heir after your husband passed away?'

‘You put it very delicately, and I promise you it causes me no discomfort. I mean that after Ash died, and his young cousin John too, Gabriel had no heir because of my failure to provide one.'

‘That is a heavy burden for any woman to bear. Or any man, for that matter.' She hesitated, then said, ‘I believe I should tell you – it is no great secret, but perhaps it is a matter that people do not generally speak openly of in company, and so I collect you have not yet heard – that Georgiana is with child. I'm sure she wouldn't mind me letting you of all people know, since you too are a Mauleverer. She knew, I think, before she left London, but she has only written to share the news with her family in the last day or so. The letters were here when we arrived.'

Isabella found that tears stood in her eyes. But they did not sting. ‘I am so glad,' she said simply. If she had ever held any foolish dreams that a son of hers would succeed to Northriding one day, they were long gone. ‘I am very happy for her, and for Gabriel. I like her very much, and I can see that they are perfectly suited to each other.' She was thinking as she spoke of a certain house in Mayfair, which Georgiana had introduced her to; there could be no doubt, in the light of such private knowledge, that she and Gabriel were very well-suited indeed.

‘Indeed they are,' said her companion with what she could only interpret as a naughty glint in her brown eyes. It was an expression she had observed on the faces of others when speaking of Gabriel and his bride, and Isabella could only imagine that it was connected somehow to the most irregular circumstances of their marriage, the full truth of which she did not yet know but hoped to learn one day. ‘In fact,' she went on, ‘Georgiana has written to me of you.'

‘Really?' she said with profound unease. This was what she had feared when coming here; this was most unwelcome news.

‘She betrayed no confidences,' said Lady Carston, hurrying to reassure her. ‘I will tell you exactly what she said: it is simple enough. She said that she liked you, and wished she had had a chance to spend more time with you. She said that she thought you stood in need of a friend, and for Mauleverer family reasons that she did not propose to explain, Cassandra might not be best placed to be that friend. And finally and most intriguingly she said that you and I might find we had a great deal in common if we should come to exchanging confidences. We were both, she said, and she underlined the significant word, of a somewhat unconventional nature.'

‘Oh,' said Isabella.

‘Oh indeed,' her companion replied. ‘Now, Georgie knows all my secrets and I know hers – or most of them, at any rate, for there are some things that even very good friends do not speak of – and I must presume she knows yours too.'

‘She knows how matters stood a few weeks ago,' said Isabella mysteriously, conscious of being annoying.

‘I can't endure it,' said Her Ladyship with a comical grimace. ‘I will tell you. It will be fairly obvious that this must go no further, though indeed the first part of it is no more than the gossip of the ton, or will be soon enough. I too am with child.'

‘Congratulations!' said Isabella politely, rather puzzled. There was nothing so terribly shocking in this news, coming from a woman not long entered into matrimony.

‘Thank you. Congratulations are indeed in order since I married expressly for the purpose of conceiving.'

‘Oh…?' said Isabella again.

‘I have lived with Louisa for ten years or more. Not as her companion, but as her lover.'

‘I thought so!' cried Isabella, unable to stop herself. ‘I thought you were. I meant to ask Leo, but I forgot…' She halted, horribly conscious that she had betrayed herself.

Lady Carston smiled in a knowing sort of a way, but did not pick her up on all she had so carelessly revealed with one word out of place. ‘I didn't leave Louisa,' she went on. ‘Lord Carston, who is my very good friend, knew of my deep desire to have a child and offered to marry me. We agreed that once I had conceived, assuming I did, I would return to my life, and my love. And here we are.'

Isabella was silent for a moment, digesting all she had just heard. She had liked to think herself unconventional; why, she was a mere amateur compared with this woman.

‘You have made your life exactly as you wanted it…' she said slowly.

‘Not quite. Women can't; there's always a cost. I am now, according to the law, a femme couverte. I am legally Carston's property, and my child will be too, essentially. He is not the man to exert such power, or I would never have married him. But the stark fact of the law remains, and I loathe it.'

‘There is always a cost,' Isabella repeated. There was nothing she could say to that. ‘Why did he agree? I understand why you were prepared to enter into this arrangement, but what of him? What does he gain from it?'

‘Apart from the obvious thing?' Jane said, smiling.

‘He doesn't need to marry to get that,' replied Isabella with robust good sense. ‘No man does!'

‘No,' agreed Lady Carston, her head on one side as if considering. ‘But he likes it well enough. So do I, if I'm completely honest. I thought I might – is it not shocking? – and I do. Which is just as well, after all. You don't necessarily have to be in love with someone to go to bed with them, you know, Lady Ashby. Imagine the revolution on the day more women realise that, and choose to act on it to fulfil their own desires instead of the desires of men! But seriously, he's a good friend. The best of friends. He wanted to help me; he knew how much it meant to me. If he has other motives – to make himself feel young, perhaps, and virile – I needn't be indiscreet enough to enquire into them.'

‘Goodness,' said Isabella. ‘The Duchess was right! We do have a great deal in common.' And leaning forward, she poured out her story, or most of it, into her companion's ears. She didn't feel it necessary to dwell on the half-formulated worries that had tormented her early this morning as she fell asleep; those really were private. And Cassandra's name, Leo's unrequited love for her, she withheld, as seemed only prudent under Lady Irlam's roof. But she shared the rest of it, including the strange nature of the bond she and the Captain shared.

‘I see why Georgiana wanted us to talk,' said Her Ladyship when she was done. ‘We are quite alike. We're using men for our own ends. They're good ends, or so we believe; ends that are necessary for both of us. But that's what we're doing. And enjoying it.'

‘I don't like to think of it like that. But yes, I suppose we are.'

‘You asked me what Carston gets out of our arrangement, but I could also ask…' she said, and trailed off delicately.

‘It's plain to see!' Isabella protested.

‘You just said to me that no man has any difficulty obtaining that.'

‘Not like this,' she said with complete certainty. ‘This is different, though indeed neither of us knew it would be.'

‘I'm sure you're right. Yes, he is a lucky man. You have granted him an enormous favour, after all. When you are finished with him, he will be able in future to… explore his proclivities fully, as he might never otherwise have done. I expect there are places,' Lady Carston said thoughtfully.

Isabella expected that there were places, too. She'd been to one of them, although she hadn't really been looking; she wished now she'd paid more attention. Perhaps when she returned to London…

But she wasn't returning to London. She was going back to Yorkshire as she had promised, and she would stay there. A week or two, or a little more, and all this would be over, though it seemed much too soon as she thought of it now.

‘You're right,' she said, and repeated, ‘There's always a cost.'