Flaming June

by Emma V. Leech

  “Then don’t marry her, lad. Suits me,” Jack said, folding his arms as they watched Henry pacing the length of the kitchen and back with increasing speed. His fingers clenched in his hair, which Isabella noted still looked matted and filthy. He’d made no effort to wash or shave in the past twenty-four hours. She would not marry him looking like that.

  He stopped all at once, his huge chest heaving as his eyes slid to Isabella.

  “No other way?” There was pleading and panic in his eyes and it seemed odd to see a man of his size quaking at the idea of having to leave his home and stand before a few people who were new to him.

  She shook her head in response to his question, holding his gaze and wishing she knew how to chase the terror from his deep, brown eyes. They seemed to be looking to her to do just that, but she didn’t know how.

  “We can’t get a special licence, Henry. We don’t have contacts high up enough in the church and it would take too long.” Not that Isabella thought they’d help such an odd couple if it were possible. “Even if we did, there would still be a priest, and another witness,” she added, realising it would change nothing but the location. “If we are to marry, you must endure that.”

  He stared at her, breathing hard.

  “Jack will be there,” she said, casting around for ways to reassure him. “And then I’ll stay.”

  “You’ll stay,” he repeated, as Isabella forced herself to take a step closer to him.

  She pushed away thoughts of France and a new life. That would not be for some time, when the child was old enough to travel with her without too much difficulty. For the next year or two, her life would be here. She accepted that.

  “Yes, Henry,” she said, holding his gaze. “I’ll stay.”

  He let out a breath and then swallowed. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” she agreed, watching a new expression creep into his eyes, determination.

  Henry nodded.

  “Tomorrow.”

  He left, closing the door behind him, and they didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.

  ***

  There had been little packed for her in the carpet bag Middleton had thrown at her feet. A simple day dress would serve to get married in, though. It wasn’t as though she wanted anyone to see her. The material was growing tight across her expanding waistline and her pelisse would no longer fasten.

  “You’ll need new things,” Jack observed, scowling a little as he noticed her stomach pushing through her pelisse.

  Isabella nodded. “Can he afford such expenditure?” That her curiosity burned to know about the financial state of the place was obvious. She hadn’t dared ask just yet, but she wanted to know she wasn’t marrying into penury.

  Jack snorted, returning a scathing expression. “He’ll manage it,” he said, a knowing look in his eyes that made Isabella flush to her toes. “But don’t get any ideas. His father gave me the power to manage his money and the estate, and a marriage won’t change that. You can count on the fact I checked. You’ll not get a penny ‘less I say so.”

  Staring at the man in shock, Isabella discovered she was less surprised by his words, which were only natural, and far more so by Jack himself. His clothes appeared good quality, but showed signs of wear, as did his boots. They ate simple, frugal fare, and she’d observed no signs that the man drank. He was not using Henry’s money for his own ends, then. Was the man a saint, or was it a brilliant act? Surely he dipped into the funds a little? She’d never known a servant that hadn’t … though, thinking about it, that was her mother speaking. Isabella’s personal staff had never stolen from her. They wouldn’t dare.

  Any further conversation on the matter halted as footsteps sounded on the stairs and Isabella turned to see Henry coming down. She caught her breath. It couldn’t be the same man.

  It was impossible.

  She had never seen such a handsome man in all her days. If he attended a ball, he’d have women throwing themselves at his feet so fast he wouldn’t have been able to move. Until they realised he wasn’t right in the head, at least. That did not detract from the beauty of him, though.

  He moved down the stairs with slow, steady steps. The suit was of the finest quality and cut to perfection to show massive shoulders and powerful arms. The sight of the material that clung to his thick, muscular thighs made Isabella suck in another breath, though she would need to exhale soon. He looked like a duke, like a warrior, until you looked into his eyes.

  He glanced at Jack, anxious and seeking reassurance, and the man nodded at him.

  “You look right fine, Henry,” Jack said, patting him on the shoulder. “Your father would be proud of you.”

  His eyes slid to Isabella next, such an uncertain, vulnerable tint to the brown that her heart ached for him. What a man he might have been.

  “You look very handsome, Henry,” she said, smiling at him. There was a flicker of pleasure in his eyes that surprised her, but it disappeared as fast as it had appeared when Jack moved to the front door.

  Henry stiffened, his broad shoulders taut, his breathing growing faster.

  “You sure you want to do this, lad?” Jack asked, giving Henry a narrow-eyed look that suggested he’d be overjoyed if they cancelled the whole affair.

  For a moment, Henry stood still, frozen, and Isabella thought perhaps he would bolt. His eyes found hers again, though, and whatever he saw there seemed to make his mind up. He took a deep breath and walked out of the front door.

  The carriage ride to the church was brief, thank heavens, as Henry seemed to sink deeper into himself the further they went from his home. At least with no banns being read, no one would know about the marriage. They’d not be before an audience. Isabella watched, concerned as Henry pressed himself into the corner of the carriage. He seemed to be trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Needless to say, it wasn’t working. He stared, his gaze intent, at a thin piece of blue ribbon, which he turned and twisted around his fingers in a series of elaborate moves. Isabella watched him covertly, noting that the moves were not random, but a series of complicated turns and twists repeated over and again. Once he finished, he would smooth the silky fabric between his fingers and start over.

  “It’s a lovely colour,” Isabella said, making him start as she spoke to him. “The ribbon,” she added, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut as his intense gaze focused on her instead. He said nothing for a moment, but held her gaze. It was unnerving.

  “Kingfisher blue,” he said, his stare unwavering. “Ultramarine, azurite, smalt, Egyptian blue … cobalt.” He stared at her a moment longer and she felt once more she was being studied. “They’re in your eyes.” Henry turned his attention back to the ribbon, leaving Isabella feeling a little off kilter. Strange as the fellow was, it was the most wonderful compliment she’d ever heard.

  Getting Henry to set foot in the church was the next hurdle, and one that Isabella doubted they’d get over. He paced before the big oak doors, agitated and sweating despite the freezing temperature, while the priest gawped at him with growing misgiving. The stony-faced fellow cast dubious glances between him and Isabella, who had been trying to hide the swell of her stomach.

  Jack was doing his best to talk Henry into a state of calm and giving him every opportunity to change his mind. Taking him home seemed to be at the top of Jack’s list right now. Isabella couldn’t blame him. Whatever it was Henry was enduring, it was upsetting them both and she could not help but feel compassion for such a tortured soul. She turned to the priest, furious that a man of God could not feel such empathy for a fellow creature in pain. Instead, the man looked disgusted and even rather afraid.

  Despite her condition and her shame, Isabella put her chin up and remembered who she was.

  “My fiancé just needs a moment to himself,” she said, her voice dripping contempt. “I suggest you take yourself inside and leave him in peace. At once,” she added, her tone giving him no doubt he’d regret it if he didn’t move. She rec
eived a look of equal revulsion as the priest sneered at her belly, but he left them alone.

  Isabella snorted, she and Henry were in the same boat now, both outcasts. She turned back to find Henry and Jack both staring at her. It occurred to her then that only his father and Jack had ever defended Henry before. He looked calmer now, his eyes fixed on hers. There was no time to lose, and Isabella walked towards him, determined to get this done. She took his hand.

  “Come along then, Henry. If you want to marry me, we must repeat the words to the priest.”

  Henry stared down at his large hand engulfing her far smaller one, the long fingers curled around hers. He sucked in a breath, loosening and tightening his fingers around hers, as if to assure himself it was real. He looked up at her, warmth and trust in his eyes. Her touch had captivated him, given him confidence, and Isabella experienced a strange sensation at the sight. She felt suddenly protective of him, which was outrageous in the circumstances. It must result from her pregnancy, perhaps? She’d heard it did odd things to a woman’s emotions. She held his hand tighter anyway, giving him a little tug of encouragement. Henry continued to stare at her and followed her inside.

  Chapter 6

  “Wherein Mr and Mrs Barbour are an odd couple.”

  The wedding breakfast was not what Isabella had imagined for herself.

  By the time they returned to Barcham Place, Henry was a sweating, shaking heap. He disappeared, leaping from the carriage before it had even stopped and running into the woodland like the devil himself snapped at his heels.

  Isabella looked for Jack, who jumped down from the driver’s seat and gave her a grim smile.

  “He’ll be back soon. Just needs to calm his head. Bit of an ordeal for him, that was.”

  She nodded and accepted Jack’s hand as he helped her down. “It could tell. Why, though? What is it he’s so frightened of?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not sure frightened is the right word. I think …” He paused, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair, frowning. “I don’t know what goes on with the lad, truth be told, but…” He stopped again and looked at her and Isabella realised he was wondering whether to let her into his and Henry’s confidence. She was surprised and gratified when he continued. “You saw that painting of his father, right?”

  She nodded, wondering where this was going, but kept her mouth shut, eager to hear more.

  “Look at it again,” he said, his voice becoming rather awed. “Really look at it and study the detail. See the different flecks of colour in his eyes, his every eyelash defined, the folds of his cravat, the texture of silk and embroidery on his waistcoat. You can even feel what William was feeling, can’t you?”

  Isabella smiled, though it was a sad expression as she remembered the warmth and amusement in the man’s eyes, and the overwhelming sense of sorrow. “He loved his son, and he knew he was dying.”

  Jack nodded, his expression stark now. “The detail is staggering,” he said, sounding so full of wonder that Isabella’s throat tightened. “You’ve not seen some of his big canvases, but when you do, you’ll understand better because I think it’s how Henry sees the world,” he said, the words simple but giving Isabella a glimpse of what Henry experienced. “There’s so much detail, so much to take in, it overwhelms him. You add a couple more people to the mix, too much noise, too many emotions, and he can’t endure it.”

  “I didn’t realise,” Isabella said, wondering why she was apologising, but accepted the sense of guilt.

  Jack shrugged and moved back towards the horses. “No one ever does. His father and me are the only ones who ever saw his genius. His father reckoned he was too good for this world, that he needed protecting.” He gave her a narrow-eyed glance and Isabella nodded, knowing she was being warned.

  “You do a fine job, Jack,” she said, her voice quiet, the words sincere.

  Jack paused, glancing at her, and she knew he was wondering if she was as sincere as she sounded.

  “Put the kettle on, then,” he muttered over his shoulder. “I’ll see to the horses and then we’ll celebrate. I … I bought a fruit cake,” he said, the words a little grudging as he gave her an awkward smile. It was rather endearing.

  “Thank you,” Isabella replied, walking through the elegant doors of the grand building that had once been the finest in the county. Her home.

  ***

  One benefit of pregnancy was that there was little point in worrying over her figure. Isabella’s mother had watched everything she’d eaten like a greedy hawk, waiting to snatch it from her if she thought she was over indulging. She wasn’t to eat anything that might put weight onto her slender bones, and Isabella often fought pangs of hunger and dizziness. It only added to her irritation and bad temper. The food at Barcham Place might leave a deal to be desired, but it was plentiful.

  After three cups of tea and as many slices of crusty bread spread thick with butter, they cut the cake. Isabella had protested that they should wait for Henry, but Jack had just laughed and said he wouldn’t care a jot so long as they didn’t eat it all.

  In fact, that was harder to do that she might have imagined. As Jack had bought and not made the cake, it was good. Isabella eyed a third slice with chagrin.

  “Go on, lass,” Jack chuckled, catching her longing expression. “Put some meat on your bones.”

  Isabella snorted and reached for it with a sigh. “That seems to be taking care of itself, I assure you,” she replied, the words tart but holding no heat. She smoothed a hand over her stomach as she chewed on her third slice. Today she’d given her child a name and a home and she need not fear that she’d be made destitute. Perhaps the world was gossiping about her, but hidden away here, she need not know about it. Her life was drastically different from what she had hoped for, but she was free of her mother’s vitriolic presence and she was too pleased to be alive to find fault.

  They both looked up as Henry came in. There were bits of twig in his hair and he looked a little rumpled now, but he was still astonishingly attractive. If she had ever been fanciful enough to dream about being swept off her feet by a handsome prince, he would have looked like Henry. Isabella stared at him, the piece of cake suspended before her mouth. She wished that she could paint like he could. Beauty like that deserved recording.

  He looked between them and then sat down, looking a bit awkward and staring at the cake, and then back and forth between her and Jack.

  “It’s all right, we’re peaceful. Enjoying a cuppa and this fine cake.” Jack’s voice was soothing, and Henry’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Would you like cake, Henry?” Isabella asked, and discovered the air sucked from her lungs as the man shot her a pleased smile. Good Lord. She had never seen him smile before. It was a devastating expression that stole her breath. The man had the talent of a genius, the face of an angel, and the emotional capacity of … of she didn’t know what. A child? An imbecile? She didn’t know. For the first time, she found herself curious, though, wanting to know the answer to the enigma that was Henry Barbour, her husband. The realisation that he really was her husband hit her hard and she almost dropped the plate she was passing him. He took it, smiling and lowering his eyes to the cake she’d given him. His eyelashes were thick and long, hiding those warm brown eyes.

  “That carpet bag,” Jack said, startling Isabella, who was watching her beautiful husband with rapt concentration. “That all the stuff you left with?”

  Isabella turned back to him and gave Jack a twisted smile. “I didn’t leave, I was ejected, and that thrown at my feet.”

  Jack frowned, a dark expression that surprised her. “They really turned you out of doors in your condition, in the middle of the night? In this weather?”

  “They did no such thing,” Isabella replied, amused and touched by his indignation. “My mother did it, they just obeyed her.”

  “No wonder you grew up to be such a little bitch,” Jack said, shaking his head as Isabella choked on her cake. “Not like you ha
d a chance to be anything else, I reckon.”

  She stared at him, the furious retort that was hovering on the tip of her tongue losing its impetus as she considered his words. There had been no malice in his tone. Isabella reached for her tea, her hand shaking a little as she took a sip. Her anger at Jack slid away, replaced with something far hotter that burned with fury as she thought of her mother and the life she’d endured. She had never been given affection, never played with, never told she’d done well or she looked pretty or that her mother was proud of her. Emotion built in her chest, making her heart pound and her eyes prickle.

  “No. I didn’t have a chance,” she said, the words angry as she put the teacup down with a clatter. Henry jumped out of his skin. “Sorry!” she exclaimed, reaching out to place her hand on his before he could bolt, or she had even thought about her actions.

  Henry stilled, eyes wide and staring at her hand, and then letting out a breath. Isabella flushed a little, withdrawing her touch as Henry returned his attention to the cake. She let out a breath of her own, relieved, and then turned back to find Jack staring at her in astonishment.

  “Well, I’m buggered,” he murmured.

  ***

  The deal that Henry would marry her, and in return he could draw her as much as he wanted, began the next morning.

  Isabella woke and stretched, luxurious beneath the covers. She had plans to set Jack to work on her room today, but felt toasty warm snuggled under the blankets, the fire still blazing. That someone must have come into the room to keep it going was disturbing, but probably not as much as it ought to have been. Her priorities were changing.

  She’d gone to sleep late, half afraid that Henry might appear and demand his rights as her husband, but he’d never come. She wondered if he even knew what happened between men and women? Was he a virgin still? That intriguing thought was still in her head as she opened her eyes and came face to face with the man himself.

  She screamed.

  Henry leapt from the bed, dropping his drawing-board, paper, and pencil, and backed off, looking so much more terrified and appalled than Isabella herself that she forced herself to calm down.