Chapter 43

43

Lord Irlam arrived home late the following evening, and although he did not emerge from his bedchamber until noon on the day after, he sent the licence he had obtained at such trouble to himself to his cousin immediately upon his arrival.

Isabella knew nothing of this – the first she heard of her host's return and his success in laying hands on the necessary licence was late the following morning, when the Captain found her alone, pacing slowly along the Castle's gallery of paintings, looking at them but not seeing them. She had not suddenly developed a passionate interest in art or in Lord Irlam's ancestors, handsome though most of them were; she was avoiding her fellow guests, and Cassandra in particular. She knew eventually that she would have to have a conversation with her hostess about her trickery, but she was unable to face it just now. There was simply no space in her head to think of what she might say. She felt the desire to blurt out her feelings to Leo growing so strong within her that it drove almost all other considerations from her mind, and made her very poor company indeed. It occupied and obsessed her thoughts. But at the same time, she still hesitated. After all the upsets of the last few days, she did not think she could endure it if he refused to believe her when she declared her love. They were to be married tomorrow, and surely it must be best to wait till after then to speak. How could she stand in front of the altar with him and speak those loaded words again if some fresh estrangement, some new rejection, should arise in the meantime? It would be too painful, and yet because of her circumstances, she would be obliged to go through with the wedding, whatever happened. As would he.

They agreed to hold the brief ceremony in the Pendleburys' private chapel in the late morning, then celebrate, for want of a better word, over a nuncheon at the Castle, after which they would leave together for Winter Manor for a night's stay. It was, as matters stood presently, a painful farce – a pretence at normality and joy when the reality was far different. They would be alone there throughout the afternoon and evening, and what needed to be said could be said then, in privacy. Isabella feared that come tomorrow she would find another weak reason to put it off – she dreaded so much to see disbelief, even disgust, written on his face – but she knew all the while that it was vital she was completely honest with Leo before they reached Harrogate, before he left her there, before a breach was opened up that might never be healed. It might already be too late; she might not be able to convince him that her feelings were genuine. But good God, she had to try.

The hours seemed to rush by, as they had not last time she was married. ‘Last time she was married', a phrase she had never thought to say. Then, she had been nineteen and in a fever of impatience for the day to arrive, and the wait had felt long, though it had only been a few weeks. Now it was a much briefer time, and she wished it longer, or would, were it not for the secret of her condition. There was no time to order a special gown to wear, and she was glad of it. She would make do with one of her new day dresses. To be tricking herself out in finery like a virgin bride would be inappropriate. Last time she had worn… But no. She wouldn't even let it cross her mind. If she could get through tomorrow without thinking of that day in Harrogate, and Ash smiling down at her in his regimentals, loving her and confident she loved him, she would count it a small victory.

If she had been brave enough to tell Leo how she felt before, she'd be less apprehensive. She wished she'd done it, now. But it was too late. It would have to be afterwards.

She asked Lady Carston to be her supporter; she felt she needed one, and was not inclined to ask Cassandra. All too soon the next morning was upon her and she found herself waiting in her bedchamber, alone with Jane for a brief moment. ‘Are you sure you really want to do this?' that lady said, regarding her with an uncomfortably penetrating gaze. ‘This is not the time for confidences, but I can see you have been suffering, you are white as a sheet, and if you decide at the last moment you do not want to take this grave step, for whatever reason, I will stand your friend, you know, and help you if I can.'

‘Thank you, you are very kind. But I am resolved to do it.'

‘That wasn't exactly what I asked!'

‘I know it wasn't. Well, the plain truth is, I have no choice. I must do this, and soon.'

‘Oh dear,' said Lady Carston involuntarily, her expression one of sudden comprehension and almost comic dismay.

It seemed a long while since Isabella had laughed, but she could not repress a chuckle at that. ‘Quite,' she said drily. ‘But I want to, as well. Truly I do. It is just… a little complicated. But I have hopes that everything will resolve itself. I only need the courage to speak.'

‘Good gracious, you mean he doesn't know?' hissed her companion. The door was opening; it was a maid, for they were being summoned.

She only had time to whisper, ‘Oh, he knows that !' before they were proceeding together down the stairs, to where Lord Irlam, who was to give her away – there was after all nobody else suitable to do it at this most rushed of ceremonies – was waiting.

Just as they reached him, Jane said quietly, ‘You don't lack courage. Never think that. You are brave enough for anything. And all will be well, I'm sure.' She was touched by her words and blinked away a sudden tear as she took Lord Irlam's arm and pasted on a smile. It was time.