Chapter 37

37

Isabella didn't realise that Captain Winterton had left the Castle until dinnertime. He didn't appear at nuncheon, but that hardly surprised her. She was merely glad not to be obliged to face him over that meal, after the raw emotion of their interview. It had been bad enough before – it would be so much worse now. It wasn't as though she could blame him for his reaction, even though she hadn't expected it. She'd been selfish, she realised. Horribly selfish. She hadn't known he loved her until it was far too late – he'd lied to her about that, but she could understand why. He had been protecting himself, and she of all people could sympathise with the need for that. But there was no denying that her plan, which had seemed so clever and sophisticated when she first thought of it, had led inexorably to this catalogue of disasters.

They had no choice but to marry – well, he had a choice, he could repudiate her, turn his back and say that her child was nothing to do with him and she must deal with the consequences of her actions as she saw fit. She realised now the position she had so naively put herself in: not only had she no recourse to law to seek her unborn child's rights, unless she wished to see her reputation and that of her family torn to shreds and whispered over in every tavern in England and beyond; she had also laid herself open to blackmail for the rest of her life. But she knew Leo well enough to be sure that he'd never do anything of the kind. He was far too good, angry and hurt as he was. He'd marry her, whatever else happened.

He hadn't uttered one word of blame, either, and she could imagine many other men saying it was all her fault. That she'd been criminally irresponsible to believe on what seemed now like flimsy evidence that she was barren, and to convince him of it besides. (Her own father was a good man and a loving husband, but her mother still often found herself held responsible for things large and small that she'd been completely unaware of until that moment.) After all, it was her fault, all this – not the pregnancy, but the circumstances in which it had occurred. She had created them, with what she could not help but see now as breath-taking carelessness.

She was trying not to think about the life that lay ahead of her. She shouldn't object to it and wasn't sure why it filled her with unease, with a cold sort of dread. If she had shared her new secrets with Lady Carston – though she had not the least desire to do so – Isabella was sure that Jane would have congratulated her with ruthless practicality on how well things had worked out. She'd wanted sexual experiences for her own reasons – well, she'd got them. She'd wanted a child and thought it impossible – now she had the chance to be a mother, against all hope and against all the odds. How lucky her choice had been! The Captain would marry her, give her the protection of his name, and make no further demands on her. If the child in her belly proved to be a girl, and Captain Winterton wanted a son, as well he might, that too could be arranged in the fullness of time, if she agreed to it, and why would she not? She could imagine Lady Carston saying drily that the creation of this child appeared to have been at once distinctly agreeable and alarmingly easy for both parties – what could possibly prevent them from doing the same again? She'd made it very clear that she hadn't wanted a husband to replace Ash, a man to share every aspect of her life with – and if Leo could not bear to contemplate an ordinary sort of a marriage for excellent reasons of his own, well, why should she care? She could go back to Yorkshire, live with her parents as she had always intended, with the welcome addition of a child. A legitimate child, with a father and a secure future. There might be gossip about the absence of her husband, but Lady Carston – in exactly the same case herself – would tell her robustly to face it down. Many couples lived apart, for reasons that should be nobody's business but their own.

Why, then, was the idea not more attractive to her? She should be pleased, surely. Sorry she had hurt Leo, who did not deserve it, of course, but otherwise happy on her own account. There were no difficulties in her path now that she could not overcome. Why was she not soberly delighted? Because undeniably she wasn't.

Perhaps it was the shock – of the unexpected discovery of her condition, and of Leo's reaction to it. It must be that. Time would pass, the memory of Leo's pale, hurt face would fade, and she would gradually come to feel calmer, and look forward to the future with confidence and hope. She couldn't seem to feel either of those pleasant emotions at the moment, but surely they would come.

She spent the day doing nothing in particular in company with the other ladies, and if any of them were aware that there had been a further and more serious estrangement between Lady Ashby and the Captain – or if they so much as suspected anything at all about the earlier falling-out – they did not show the knowledge on their faces or betray it in their words or actions. Mrs Winterton was no less friendly to her than she had ever been, though perhaps a little subdued today. The hours passed slowly.

Lord Irlam drew Isabella aside before dinner, and said, ‘I have something to tell you, ma'am.' She looked at him in sudden alarm, but did not speak, and he went on expressionlessly, ‘My cousin Leo asked me to say that he has been obliged to return home this afternoon, but that all is in hand, and he will return in a day or so. There is no need to worry.' His face was a mask, and the message was cryptic, but surely he must know what it signified to say that everything was in hand. The pair were as close as brothers, she had realised, and in any case, the hurried wedding would be public knowledge soon enough, so there was no reason Leo should not have told his cousin. If he had, it was plain that he had not attempted to present the engagement as very cheerful news, a matter for celebration and congratulation, which argued, she thought, that he had simply revealed the stark truth about her unfortunate condition. The Earl did not reproach her for her conduct towards his cousin, but his manner could hardly be described as warm; she supposed it was no wonder. He must think she had treated Leo terribly, even that she had deliberately trapped him, which was so far from the truth – she could have no real idea precisely how much he knew, and certainly dared not ask. She murmured her thanks, and if she had thought to ask anything more so that she might understand him better, she had no opportunity, for he bowed punctiliously and moved away directly to engage his brother in conversation. Nothing occurred in the course of dinner or afterwards to enlighten her any further, and once again she slept badly.

When Isabella left her chamber late the next morning, she found the Castle strangely deserted of its other inhabitants. Although she would not have welcomed company in her present uncertain state of mind, it was all the same disconcerting to find everyone absent. If she had been a person who regularly gave way to wild imaginings, she might have thought that she was being shunned by her hosts and fellow guests; the idea crossed her mind, but she dismissed it as egregious folly. It must be pure coincidence, surely, that Lord Irlam had gone to London on business, his brother and friends were out shooting, Lady Carston was a little unwell – nothing serious, she was assured – and keeping to her chambers with Lady Louisa to tend to her, and Lady Irlam and Mrs Winterton had set out to visit an elderly dependant at the furthest limits of the estate. They couldn't all be avoiding her because they knew the truth and hated her. Impossible!

It was ridiculous to feel sorry for herself when she was perfectly comfortable; surrounded by luxury, in fact, with a well-stocked library at her disposal and well-trained servants to cater to her every whim. Isabella took up one of the novels that Lady Carston had recommended to her and which she'd missed because it had been published when she was unwell last Christmastime, and sat down to read it with determined attention. It would be a relief, if she could manage it, to lose herself in the doings of imaginary others for a little while. It was unlikely, she thought, that the dilemmas of fictional characters, however ingeniously devised by the very skilful lady author, could approach her own in intensity, or for that matter provoke her to dwelling any more than she was already on her own bizarre and unique situation. The book, if indeed she could concentrate on it, must offer an escape, which was just what she needed.

An hour or so passed, and Isabella, rather to her surprise, began to lose herself in the affairs of a wealthy young lady who was pleased to think herself a matchmaker with the right to meddle in the romantic lives of her acquaintance. She was so absorbed that when the door opened she started, and regarded the woman who entered the room with blank surprise for a moment.

It was not the housekeeper, Mrs Allen – she'd met her on her arrival – and it was not usual for female servants to wait on residents of such a house as this in the public rooms. A maid brought her breakfast to her chamber, but the downstairs portions of the Castle were the domain of the liveried footmen and the butler. This woman, who was tall, buxom and powerfully built, was a complete stranger to her, despite her respectable dress and air of assurance.

‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you, my lady,' she said, curtseying correctly, ‘but a message has arrived, and given the nature of it, I thought I'd better bring it to you myself rather than leave it to one of the footmen. I'm Lady Irlam's maid, ma'am, and was nurse to His Lordship and the other children once upon a time. I'm Kitty Oldcastle.'

This was all most odd, and Isabella felt a sudden pang of foreboding. She could hear that her voice was trembling when she said, ‘I can't imagine what message could concern me… Is it bad news?'

‘Yes, my lady, I'm sorry to say, from Winter Manor, and the groom was asked to seek you out most particularly, only he was a little bashful and found me instead, as was only natural, him being my own nephew. There's been an accident, seemingly, and I'm to ask you to come at once.'