Chapter 39

39

Isabella leaned back against the door, suddenly unsure if her legs would continue to support her. She had not the least idea what was going on, and nor, it seemed, did the Captain. He had risen instinctively to his feet upon seeing her, and said, ‘Lady Ashby – Isabella! What are you doing here? I don't understand. Are you unwell?'

‘There has been some inexplicable mistake,' she replied weakly. ‘May I sit down?'

‘Of course,' he said. His face was white and grim, but he was – she ran her eyes over his tall frame again to be sure of it – entirely unhurt. More than that, she realised as her wits returned with agonising slowness, he very plainly had not sent for her, nor had he expected her.

She sank into a chair that was set before his desk and said, ‘I was told that you had been injured, that you had sent for me. I was told that there was a message…'

He looked at her, frowning. ‘A message from me? I sent none. And as you can see, I am unharmed, there has been no accident or mishap of any kind. I don't understand this.'

‘I assure you, nor do I.'

‘Was it a written message you received?'

‘No. I was told that one of your grooms had ridden over to the Castle in search of me, that you were hurt, but not so seriously that you were unable to ask for me. A carriage was put to and I came at once, in the gravest apprehension. But now I see that it was not true. I am so confused I can barely think straight.'

‘You came alone?'

‘Nobody else was present in the Castle. Lord Irlam has gone to London, Lady Irlam and your mother were out, Lady Carston is unwell and keeps to her chamber… It was Lady Irlam's abigail who gave me the message.'

‘Kitty?'

‘Yes, that was her name. A tall woman with curly brown hair. I'd never seen her before.'

‘I think you have been tricked, Lady Ashby,' said the Captain slowly.

She put her hand to her forehead. ‘That… How is that possible? Why would anyone do such a cruel thing?'

‘I think it must have been Cassandra,' he said.

‘Good God, for what purpose?'

His voice was dry and cold. ‘When I left the Castle yesterday, I felt obliged to tell my cousin Hal of your condition. Of the… situation we find ourselves in. I could not abuse his hospitality by just departing in haste with no explanation, as I am sure you can appreciate. He knew I cared for you, of course – I'd told him that weeks ago, but until yesterday I had told him nothing more. When he knew all, he very kindly offered to go to London to obtain the licence on my behalf, and I accepted his offer. He must have told his wife at least part of it. And this is her response.' He saw her expression and said, ‘I'm positive she didn't intend to be cruel – I expect she is matchmaking, trying to throw us together.'

‘We are to be married as soon as it can be arranged. We have little choice in the matter, after all. If she knows that, which she surely does, why would she need to meddle further?'

‘I expressed myself badly. I'm not sure there even is a word for what she is doing. I assume – no, I am sure – she knows that we are to be wed, but also is aware that things are not as they should be between us. Perhaps she thought if you believed me to be in danger, you might be brought to realise that you cared for me and would be sorry if you lost me. After all, she doesn't know you very well.'

That stung, as she supposed he meant it to. ‘You mean it was all a deliberate deception? That everyone absented themselves on purpose, and by agreement, so that I was obliged to come alone? I can scarcely credit it!'

He shrugged. ‘I cannot say if Lady Carston and my mother are privy to the scheme. Cassandra may have suggested an excursion without telling anyone the real reason behind it; that seems quite possible. I doubt she'd tell Bastian.' His smile was wintry, a little twisted. ‘I am sorry you have been put to so much unnecessary trouble. But why did you come?'

She was astonished he could even ask. ‘I was told you were in pain, I could not know how much, and asking for me. Of course I came!'

‘You must have been in very great anxiety if you feared I had taken a mortal injury. You would be in such a terrible fix if I were to die before we can wed. You could have hoped, of course, that I might linger just long enough so that we could marry, then conveniently die; that would suit your purposes most admirably. I am almost sorry to disappoint you.'

She gazed at him without speaking, horribly wounded by his words. ‘How can you say such foul things?' she whispered at last. ‘I know I have hurt you, and I am truly sorry, but I do not think I deserve this. I am plainly unwelcome here, and I will go.' She rose, and made her way to the door, though sudden tears were almost blinding her, but when she reached it she turned and said fiercely, ‘I wish with all my heart I did not have to marry you. You have said you love me, but anyone would be forgiven, if they heard you speak today, for thinking that you hate me. I wish I had the courage to refuse your understandably reluctant offer, believe me. But for the sake of our innocent child, I know I must not, despite my own feelings.'

He crossed the room to her side in a few long strides and took her by the shoulders, saying raggedly, ‘I'm sorry too. Isabella, I am. I didn't mean it, not really. I knew it was a terrible thing to say even as the words were leaving my lips. But when I saw you here so unexpectedly, just for a moment I thought you'd come to tell me you'd realised you did feel something for me after all. And the disappointment made me an unconscionable brute. I gave in to that cruel impulse when I should not have done. But I could never hate you. Please don't think I do.'

She was still weeping hard, and looked up at him, silent save for the hiccupping sobs she was entirely unable to control. He uttered a muffled curse and took her in his arms, and she did not resist him, laying her head on his broad chest and bawling into his coat without restraint. He held her close and stroked her hair, murmuring inarticulate endearments. When she raised her head at last, she knew she must be a sorry spectacle indeed, but he did not remind her of it, but rather took his handkerchief and wiped away her tears with a tenderness that set fresh droplets spilling from her eyes again. ‘I don't think I deserve to kiss you after my unforgiveable behaviour,' he said, ‘but I would like to.'

‘I don't know why you want to, Bear,' she sniffed, ‘when I have treated you so badly.'

‘If that is so, I redressed the balance a little just now, did I not?' he said. He was still holding her close and neither of them made any move to pull away. ‘I'm so sorry. It seems we have the power to hurt each other very gravely, even without the well-meaning interference of others.'

She was still shaken, still not far from tears, and she found she was tired of talking. Talking just made things worse. It seemed a long time since she had been in his arms, and despite everything that had passed between them she was aware of the flare of dangerous excitement that always kindled whenever he touched her. She took his face between her hands and said, ‘Do you still want to kiss me?' Perhaps he already regretted saying such a thing.

It seemed he did. He pushed his hand through his blond hair, disordering it, and answered sadly, ‘My dear, I do, God knows I always do, but I beg you will put it down to a moment of weakness. I should not have said it, and I am sure it is best if we do no such thing. Kisses, with us, so often lead to caresses, and to love-making, do they not? And I am not yet grown so desperate for a pale shadow of the love I crave that I can contemplate such a thing.'

His words chilled her to the bone. ‘You have been happy enough in the past to take what I offered you, without love. Are you really saying that you will marry me, but never touch me again?'

‘I was deceiving myself before. It is perfectly true that you never promised to love me – you have always been honest, you said explicitly that it could never be. But I had hope, false hope, and now I have none. Don't think I blame you, Isabella, but do me the courtesy of admitting that you can see it is not the same, now that I know the painful truth.'

There was no answer she could make to that. She could see. And since she had repeatedly told him, told herself, told others even that she did not, could not, would not love him, she didn't know why his words, his coldness and his weary resignation, should hurt her so very deeply. The future that stretched before them was so bleak. But they neither of them had any choice, as he had said, and so she took refuge from dangerous emotion in practicalities.

‘I should go back to the Castle,' she said, making him no direct answer, leaving his words hanging between them. ‘It is most improper, that we should be alone together like this.' Even as she said it, she knew it was ridiculous, and she could not blame him when he reacted to her statement with a wintry smile.

‘Will you come back with me?' she said when he did not speak.

‘Do you want me to, Isabella?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I know it is hard for you – please believe me when I say that I do understand that – but I think we should go back directly and tell everyone that we are to be married. Lady Irlam knows already, plainly, and it is unfair, I think, to leave your mother in ignorance when others know. If she should hear by some mischance, she will be distressed and puzzled, and rightly so.'

‘That's true, and I must tell her first, in private, before we announce it to others.'

‘Of course you must.'

He did not question her further; perhaps he too thought they had reached some sort of unspoken truce, in which they dared not say more in case they wounded each other horribly again, or perhaps he was simply dazed by all that had happened, by the raw intensity of their encounter and the unwelcome truths that had been spoken. He sighed and said, ‘You're right, we should go. I need to pack some clothes, if I am to return with you. Will you wait here for me? I won't be long.'

She let him go, and went across to an old, tarnished mirror that hung in one dark corner of the room, standing on tiptoe to tidy herself as best she might so that she could face the servants after her bout of weeping. It did not take long at all until she looked sufficiently respectable again, at least if she were not inspected too closely, though of course she was not, with his child inside her and her mind and heart in turmoil. She now appeared much less agitated, in fact, than she had been when she had arrived here, believing Leo to be hurt, perhaps very seriously. She hadn't been at Winter Manor very long – it seemed incredible. She was desperate for some solitude, and for the space to think, but she knew that he'd be back soon and there was the journey, alone together in a parody of intimacy, to be endured.

He returned in a few moments, looking immaculate, though perhaps a little weary. She was weary too, and in a sad state of confusion. Once again she resolved to speak of practical matters, as if walking on very thin ice above a yawning chasm. She thought he must feel much the same, for he made a greater business than he need of telling her that he had ordered the Pendlebury carriage to be brought up. When he had finished, she hurried into awkward speech. ‘Leo, I do not know how I am to face Lady Irlam, after she played such a trick upon me – upon us. Will she not expect me to mention it? Or is it better I do not?'

‘I was thinking about the matter while I changed,' he replied in the same spirit. ‘It is undeniably a little awkward. I believe in the end you will be obliged to speak to her of it, but perhaps not today. We will have enough to do if we are to announce our betrothal, and perhaps it will do her no harm to wonder a little whether we mean to allude to her actions or not, and if so what we intend to say. And if you are angry – which would be understandable – it must certainly be better not to speak to her in the heat of it. You might say something you would later regret. Matters are difficult enough without that, it seems to me.'

Was she angry? She certainly had been when he had told her what he believed had happened, and she had acknowledged the truth of it – for if Lady Irlam's maid had deliberately lied to her, which undoubtedly she had, who else could have set her to do it but Cassandra herself? It did not seem to Isabella to be the sort of scheme a man would invent, and so she tended to absolve Lord Irlam from involvement; it was quite possible, since he had left for London early that morning, that he knew nothing at all about it. ‘I might,' she said. ‘I am not angry now, I don't think, but I can imagine I might become so again if we spoke of it. You're right – let her worry over it for a time. It will do her no harm.' The way they had both been deceived seemed almost unimportant now.

The butler came in then to tell his master that the carriage was at the door, and they departed in it. If any of the servants – Leo's, or the Pendlebury coachman and footman – thought it somewhat odd that a lady should arrive alone in extreme distress, and then go straight back to the Castle a short while later, accompanied now by Captain Winterton, who had only returned home himself less than a day ago, they did not betray any sign of it. They must, she supposed, imagine that they were witnessing the rumblings of a lovers' quarrel and reconciliation, and their subsequent marriage would serve to confirm this assumption. When her condition began to show, rather sooner after the wedding than it should, they might perhaps put two and two together and conclude that they held the key to the situation, and in a sense they would be right – but there was nothing she could do to prevent that, and just now she had far more pressing concerns to occupy her mind.