Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “He asked your father for one of your gowns so that the seamstress might be able to make up one that would fit you. And if there are any alterations to be made, the seamstress will return and give you a proper fitting.”

  “Oh, I see,” Isabella said, dumbfounded.

  For a moment, she thought that the effort that the Duke had gone to was extraordinarily thoughtful. However, her optimism quickly turned to dust as she thought that having everything she needed might mean that she need never leave Coldwell Hall again. Everything was so confusing.

  “Which gown would you like to wear, Your Grace?” Kitty opened the second door to the wardrobe out wide.

  “I think, for today at least, I shall wear this one.” Isabella pointed to one of her own gowns, a neat but practical gown in a very pale green.

  Isabella did not want to antagonize the Duke by choosing not to wear one of his gowns, but neither did she want to immediately go out of her way to appease him. If she was to spend a lifetime with such a man, she did not want to begin as her mother had done. She wanted to maintain something of herself, her individuality, and if it turned out to be the wrong thing to do, she would deal with the consequences as they came.

  “What a lovely colour. It suits your pale skin and dark hair perfectly,” Kitty said, laying the dress out on the bed and admiring it genuinely.

  Kitty had Isabella ready in no time and seemed to enjoy herself thoroughly. Isabella thought that she must have been a very good lady’s maid when she had attended the previous Duchess and was glad to see that the woman was enjoying the reprisal of her old role.

  “Thank you, Kitty. How very skilled you are.” Isabella looked at her hair in the mirror.

  “You do have such lovely hair, my dear.” Once again, Kitty’s absent-minded familiar tone in her address of the new Duchess was comforting, almost motherly.

  “What am I to do now?” Isabella asked uncertainly.

  “Well, I am to take you down to meet Mr Crawford Maguire.”

  “Maguire? Oh, he is a tall man with the pale hair who opened the gates to my father’s carriage yesterday.”

  “Quite so.” Kitty smiled. “The Duke thought it best that you speak with Mr Maguire so that he might be able to answer any questions that you have. Perhaps then, with some of your questions answered, you might feel a little more comfortable here.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  As fearful as Isabella was of leaving the room, she was equally desperate to step out through the open door.

  Kitty led her along a wide corridor, its walls adorned with some of the biggest portraits she had ever seen. The corridor was wide and gave a true sense of how large Coldwell Hall must really be. There were many doors and many rooms, and she wondered if she would ever come to know the place properly; if she would ever feel it to be her home.

  She walked smartly down the immense main staircase behind Kitty and marveled at how ornate the glossy woodwork was. As she continued down the stairs, she could not help reaching out and running a finger down it, feeling the smoothness.

  Arriving in the entrance hall was quite unforgettable. It was almost the size of the small ballroom back at Upperton and so grand it took her breath away. There was an ornate, life-size horse carved beautifully from wood and, sitting atop it, was a full suit of armour staged to look as if there truly was a man inside it.

  There were shields everywhere and great plaques containing swords and spears as ornaments on the oak-paneled walls.

  It was quite a display, and it gave her the feeling, just for a moment, of being inside a medieval castle, a place ever ready for an attack from the outside.

  Isabella continued to follow Kitty for what felt like an age, turning this way and that down long corridors. Eventually, they arrived outside a partially open door, and Kitty paused.

  “I do not think I shall find my way back to the room,” Isabella said, feeling suddenly nervous and not really wanting Kitty to leave her.

  “Don’t worry; I shall come back for you.” And with that, Kitty laid a comforting hand on her forearm.

  “Thank you,” Isabella said and took a deep breath before tapping gently on the door.

  As Kitty clipped away down the corridor, the door opened, and Crawford Maguire smiled down at her.

  He really was very tall, although he did not seem in any way intimidating. His gray-blue eyes looked down upon her kindly, and she felt her nerves instantly soothed.

  “Do come in and take a seat,” he said as he ushered her into the room.

  It was a dark wood-paneled room with many shelves, all littered with books. There was a rich oak desk, the largest she had ever seen and equally double the size of the one in her father’s study.

  Crawford Maguire bypassed the desk and showed her to one of two large, high-backed armchairs by a wide, low window. Isabella looked out, trying to get her bearings, and thought she must be in a room which looked out over the east side of the estate.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took her seat.

  “I trust you are feeling better? Your head?” He looked at her with kind concern.

  “Yes. The lump is very much smaller; I thank you.” Isabella resisted the urge to reach up and check.

  “And you have recovered from … the shock?” He spoke cautiously, but he need not say more; it was clear he was referring to the Duke’s appearance.

  “I did not mean to cause offence,” she said quietly.

  “Of course.” He smiled. “It is just the way of things.”

  “I do not understand what I am to do next. I mean, am I to stay in my room? Am I allowed to walk freely?”

  “You are not a prisoner, Your Grace.”

  “Then I may leave?” she said defiantly.

  “I do not know quite how to answer. You are a married woman now, and you must ask your husband such a question.”

  “Then I am a prisoner,” she said sullenly.

  “Elliot recognizes how difficult these early days will be for you. He is not without compassion.” Crawford smiled.

  “Indeed,” she said and thought the two men must surely be long-acquainted if Crawford Maguire could speak of the Duke in terms of his first name.

  “And he would not wish to force you into his company.”

  “Then what am I to do?”

  “All he asks is two hours a day. Two hours in which to sit and talk in the drawing room every evening.”

  “I see,” she said uncertainly.

  “The rest of the time is your own to spend as you see fit.”

  “Am I free to walk the grounds?”

  “Of course, you are.” He laughed.

  “And the Hall?”

  “Anywhere you wish. Nowhere is out of bounds to you, Your Grace.”

  Isabella chewed thoughtfully at her bottom lip; this was not what she had expected at all. And the idea that she might explore at will gave her a childish sense of excitement, almost as if she were being allowed free range in another’s home.

  But, of course, it was her home now too.

  “And you may direct the servants in any way you wish. Perhaps you would like to address the cook about menus and the housekeeper about any other matters. They are good staff and very attentive. I believe you have already been approached by Kitty in respect of the position of lady’s maid?”

  “Yes. Kitty has been most kind.”

  “She is a very fine woman.” He smiled warmly, and Isabella wondered if she might not find much in common with Crawford Maguire along the way.

  “So, I must spend just two hours with the Duke daily?” Isabella wanted it confirmed.

  “Yes, in the evening. Kitty will advise you of the time each day.”

  “And I may keep to my … my own room?” Her cheeks flushed hot to have to discuss such a thing with a man she barely knew.

  “Yes, of course. The Duke has hopes that you will find it most comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Isabella tried to hide the sweeping relief; she did not want this
man to know how she dreaded laying with the Duke.

  “I am here most days, Your Grace,” he began. “And I keep a chamber here and this study. If you have any problems or questions, I can generally be found somewhere on the estate or in the Hall.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and sensed that their meeting was drawing to a close.

  When she finally made her way out into the corridor, she was pleased to see Kitty waiting for her.

  Kitty had been right; she did feel a little better.

  Chapter 6

  Kitty came for her later that day to tell her that the Duke would receive her in the drawing-room at seven o’clock.

  “Will I see the Duke every evening at seven o’clock, Kitty?”

  “No, I think the time will change here and there along the way.”

  “Am I to dress for it?”

  “Just as you would normally, Your Grace.” Kitty smiled. “You look so worried, and you have no need, I promise. The Duke is a good man and very fine company. Once you come to know him, I am sure you will be greatly impressed.”

  Isabella felt a little sad, thinking how upsetting it must be for Kitty to think back to when the Duke had been a boy, his face unspoiled.

  “I am sure that I shall.” Isabella was anything but.

  When Kitty finally led her down to the drawing room, a room she had yet to enter, Isabella’s nerve almost left her completely. Although her first day had eased the fear a little, and Crawford Maguire had done much to make her feel more secure, the memory of that dreadful, ruined face came back to her with full force.

  Her fear was suddenly so great that Isabella wanted to run away.

  “The gown suits you very well, Your Grace.” Kitty seemed to sense her nerves.

  “Thank you. It is a very fine gown.” Isabella looked down at herself.

  She had chosen to wear one of the gowns the Duke had arranged to be made for her, deciding against any sort of open rebellion on their first evening, despite her earlier determination. Her fear was riding high enough without adding to it with her own petulance.

  “Kitty, I am terribly afraid,” she whispered desperately when they arrived outside the drawing-room door.

  “Have courage, my dear.” Kitty, motherly once again, took her hand. “You will come to know him, and your fear will dissolve. Please believe me, you are perfectly safe.”

  Kitty opened the door before Isabella had time to turn on her heel, and she quickly ushered her in.

  “The Duchess, Your Grace,” she said in a warm tone.

  “Thank you, Kitty,” he replied as he rose to his feet. “Do come in, Isabella.”

  His voice was very deep and smooth indeed, and Isabella wondered if it had sounded so in the cool, spartan little chapel.

  “Thank you,” Isabella said meekly as she walked slowly into the room.

  “Thank you, Kitty,” the Duke said, dismissing his servant most pleasingly and politely.

  Isabella dwelled hard upon it, thinking it best to concentrate upon points in the Duke’s favour. He obviously liked Kitty, as did she. So, a point in the Duke’s favour.

  “You walk as one on her way to the gallows, Isabella,” he spoke in a tone which was neither antagonistic nor amused.

  Isabella wished she could read at least a little something from it but could not. She looked nervously towards him and realized just how poorly lit the room was.

  It was early spring, and the darkness was beginning to fall outside. The curtains had been drawn, and pale lamps cast an orange glow everywhere, without truly lighting the place.

  “Should I sit?” she asked meekly.

  “Please do,” he said. “Perhaps you would care to take the chair I have set for you there.” He pointed to a high-backed armchair with a side table next to it, upon which stood one of the few lamps.

  “Thank you.”

  Isabella made her way to the chair and noted that the Duke stood sideways on to her, not turning his head, even when it would have been easier to do so.

  The moment she sat down, he sat also. The glow from the lamp on the table lit her area well, but somehow made the Duke, just a few feet away, seem cast into darkness. She could only just see him.

  His chair, although not far from hers, was set a little sideways on also. Even when her eyes began to adjust to the gloom, she could see only the unspoiled, handsome side of his face.

  “How is your head, Isabella?” he began.

  “I am recovered, Sir. I thank you.”

  “Elliot,” he said in a somewhat stiff tone.

  “Elliot,” she parroted.

  “I am sorry that you were not better prepared for yesterday’s ordeal.”

  “I … I …” Isabella hardly knew how to answer.

  She could not agree and confirm that it had, indeed, been an ordeal.

  “You are embarrassed.”

  “I do not know what to say.”

  “I have lived with my own dreadful appearance for many years, Isabella. You shall not offend me by referring to it.”

  “I see.”

  “We are married, after all.”

  “We are.”

  “I realize that this is very difficult for you. You must miss your home terribly.”

  “No.” She spoke so vehemently she could hardly believe it.

  “You do not miss your family?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “You seem angry with them.”

  “I am.”

  “Because you are here now with me, and you blame them for it?”

  “I do not know how to answer you truthfully without giving offence.”

  “I am not trying to trick you. You may answer truthfully.”

  Isabella stared over at him through the gloom for a moment. She could make out his handsome, strong profile well now that she had acclimatized to the darkness, although she could not see his green eyes, or at least the one on the left side of his face, the only one facing her.

  Instead, it looked dark, almost black, giving him an ever more brooding appearance.

  “You cannot think I was pleased to be forced to marry a man I did not know; a man I had never met before my wedding day.” If he were going to give her the opportunity to speak freely, she would take it lest she never have another chance.

  “A man so disfigured that the children of the county tell stories about him to thrill and frighten each other,” he said in a flat tone.

  “You are angry, are you not, that I fainted away?”

  “Not angry, no.”

  “You must surely be displeased in some way.”