Chapter 40

40

They agreed during the carriage ride that they would separate immediately on arrival at the Castle, and Leo would seek out his mother and tell her his news – he would not, he reassured his betrothed, divulge the secret of her delicate condition yet, though it seemed likely that when at last they did reveal it to Mrs Winterton they would also have to admit that they had anticipated their wedding vows by a few weeks. Let Isabella and his mother come to know each other a little better before that revelation was made, he said, and she could see the sense of it. A mother's natural partiality for her son might lead Mrs Winterton to blame her completely for the illicit relations that she had engaged in with Leo, and since she had in fact been the initiator of them, she could hardly say that this was unfair. It could scarcely be considered ideal that a mother-in-law's first impression of her only son's bride should be that she was some sort of unprincipled, promiscuous hussy. Isabella did not feel that she was any such thing, but again, it was not a conversation she cared to have at this point in her life and with this particular woman.

When they reached their destination, an apparently casual enquiry by Leo to the butler confirmed that Lady Irlam and his mother had returned from their expedition and that his mother might be found alone in her sitting room; they exchanged significant glances, and Isabella went off to change. She would stay in her room, she decided, until Leo sought her out, since she certainly had no desire to encounter her hostess just now.

She summoned her maid, grateful as often before for her entirely incurious way of going about her duties, and changed her gown, then sat by the window, gazing out at the wintry landscape, where the lake showed grey as gunmetal under lowering skies, and the little temple folly stood out stark white against it. Now that she was alone, her mental and emotional turmoil could no longer be repressed, and she let the realisation wash over her.

She was in love with Leo.

After all her resolutions to be faithful to Ash in her own peculiar fashion for the rest of her life, after all her elaborate planning, she had fallen in love with the man she had taken to her bed. She had betrayed her dead husband at the first opportunity – not with her body, but with her heart. Was she really so weak that, despite all her vows to be unconventional and daring, she could not give her physical being to a man without persuading herself that she loved him? In her current confusion she could not say, but whether that was the cause of it or not scarcely mattered now: she felt what she felt. She loved him.

It had never for a second crossed her mind that she had the capacity to love again, and if anyone had suggested it to her she would have scorned the idea – had done so, with vehement tears, when Blanche mentioned it. And yet she loved him. Had loved him for some time, she now realised, and only today allowed herself to admit it. She'd been in love with Leo when he had declared his love for her, days ago, and she had been in love with him when he'd spurned her, here in the Castle – was it only yesterday?

It was true that nobody now alive would care that she had broken all her private vows of lifelong fidelity. There was no one to reproach her for it, not even in the slightest; she had Blanche's firm assurance, given of her own volition just a few weeks back, that she and Gabriel would be delighted if their sister-in-law found love again. Her own parents would be happy and relieved, even before they knew that they would have a grandchild after all. No, her distress was nothing at all to do with others; it was an intensely personal thing that she was now grappling with.

Isabella was deeply shaken. The need to come to terms with this revelation in her own mind was only one reason she hadn't said a word to Leo. There was another.

She was afraid he wouldn't believe her.

She had been so very adamant that she could never love again, and had so decisively rejected him when he had declared his love, that she was sure he'd struggle to accept this sudden change. Anybody would. Only yesterday he had almost begged her to concede that she would at least try to love him. And once again she had refused to budge, had not been able to move towards him even that much. If she now told him so unexpectedly that she loved him, had loved him for weeks, whyever should he credit it? Would he not think instead that she was lying, telling him what she knew he so desperately wanted to hear because she was frightened that he would abandon her and their child after they had married? Could he ever trust her, whatever she said, or must a doubt always linger in his mind, subtly poisoning their relations for years to come, possibly for their whole lives together?

How could she say it and make him believe it? She had not the least idea. It might, in fact, be impossible.

She wasn't sure she should say it. Not now, at any rate. They seemed to have reached some sort of temporary place of calm today, even though nothing had truly been resolved between them, after the trickery they had both been subjected to and the harsh words they had said to each other. Would it not perhaps be safer to bide her time, to tell him nothing until a little later? That seemed like cowardice, probably it was, but was it not perhaps also wisdom? Both things could be true. She could not tell, could no longer trust her own judgement where he was concerned. She was in utter turmoil.

Dear Mama, I'm in love, and what is more… She couldn't. She'd never so much as mentioned his name in any of her previous letters. She couldn't do it. She'd have to tell her something soon, but not today.

A short while later a maid came tapping at her door, sent by Leo with a message asking her to join him in his mother's private sitting room; she must presume he had shared the news with her and felt it was now time to receive her congratulations – whether genuine or feigned – and afterwards speak to everyone else. There was no point in waiting for Lord Irlam's return, as he would not be back until tomorrow or the next day, and then the wedding must be arranged with all possible haste.

She squared her shoulders and went downstairs.