He shook his head. 'No, not this year, my dear, perhaps they can come when you have produced a child for them to dote on.' His arm was hard around her waist and she was firmly escorted inside. 'Go upstairs and change into your habit, I thought we could ride around the estate this afternoon. I know you explored the park yesterday, but I should like to show the rest to you myself.'
'I should enjoy that above everything, I shan't be long. Do we expect further visitors today?'
His eyes darkened and he lowered his voice so the ever present butler could not overhear. 'I thought you would be tired this afternoon and wish to rest.'
His meaning was unmistakable, there would be little rest involved of that she was quite certain. Despite her sadness at his high-handed actions she could not help smiling at the thought of what was to come. His lips curved and he dropped a light kiss on her brow.
*
The weeks passed in much the same fashion. During the day he was distant, always aware of his position, never letting down his guard for a second. However, when he came to her room at night he was her darling Alexander, and she lived with these moments. He was assiduous in his attentions and she prayed she would not conceive immediately. If his visits stopped because of her pregnancy she would have nothing to look forward to.
Maynard, the supercilious housekeeper, appeared punctiliously at noon each day with the menu but Isobel was not required to do more than read it. She had nothing to do apart from playing the pianoforte, painting water-colours of the grounds and reading her novels. Alexander usually rode out with her but during these rides she learnt little about the estate as they stayed within the park. Sometimes he was absent and she didn’t ask where he went. On the days he did not come to her at night he remained in his study drinking heavily.
When her monthly courses appeared for the third time things changed. Even his lovemaking became less passionate as if already he considered her incapable of producing the much wished for child. That it was her fault was indisputable. After all, had he not already fathered two children during his first union?
In October a group of his friends arrived for the shooting and hunting. They were mostly objectionable gentlemen and she did her best to remain aloof from them. She wrote to her aunt and uncle and heard that Petunia had accepted an offer from a young man who had limited prospects but unbounded love. Dearly she wished she could change places with her cousin, material possessions were nothing without affection.
Alexander removed to Town returning a few times each month to do his duty by her. The joy she had once found in his lovemaking was fading. Although he was still more relaxed in the privacy of her chambers he no longer seemed as approachable as he had in the beginning. It became painfully apparent that his sole reason for coming to her bed was to conceive a child.
As the festive season approached she asked Alexander what celebrations would take place at Newcomb. He shook his head. 'Nothing at all, Isobel. We attend church and give Christmas boxes to the staff— apart from that we have no traditions.'
'May I arrange to decorate the house? Could we not invite our neighbours? I know it is customary to leave a newly married couple alone initially, but more than six months have passed since we were married and still we have no visitors or invitations.'
'I thought you understood that I don't entertain here. The ball and garden party were exceptions to my rule. I organised the events for you in order to mark your wedding day. If you wish to mix then you must come to London for the Season.' He smiled sadly. 'It would appear there is no reason for you to be confined to the country.'
She flushed; there was nothing she could say. She was apparently unable to have children, small wonder he had little interest in her. To be saddled with a barren wife, after he had paid so much to get her, must rankle.
‘I’ve no wish to go to London, thank you. However, I have no objection if you prefer to be elsewhere at Christmas.'
His eyebrows shot up at her impertinent comment. 'There's nothing to keep me here, I shall do as you suggest and go to Town, and you must please yourself whilst I'm gone. I shall arrange for your allowance to be paid in coin in future. You have my permission to spend it as you wish.'
When his carriage left the next morning she remained in her bed chamber unwilling to appear before the staff with her blotched eyes and running nose. One thing she could do with the pile of gold he'd given her, was send for Mary and Sam. She was sure they could find themselves a cottage nearby and bring her beloved dogs with them. Being able to visit with them would give her something to fill her empty days.
*
Sam and Mary were safely installed in a cottage which could be reached by walking through Home Wood. It needed some repairs to make it habitable but these would soon be done. Ebony and Othello were overjoyed to be reunited with her.
'Mary, I shall come as often as I can to walk the dogs. However, I must be vigilant as Foster and Maynard, as well as the unpleasant girl who has replaced you, spy on me.'
'I'm surprised Lord Drummond did not refuse his permission for us to take the dogs. But he seemed happy for them to go and made no enquiries as to where we were taking them.'
'He obviously does not believe I shall ever return to Bracken Hall to visit, he and my husband must have come to an arrangement on that score.'
'Will you be requiring luncheon today?'
Isobel frowned. 'Rochester is bringing down a group of his friends for the shooting. The Season will be starting next month. Why could they not remain where they were?'
'You mustn't be tardy, the duke will wish you to be there to greet his guests when they arrive and you must change.'
'Indeed I must. I shan't be able to visit until he and his guests have gone. Take care of yourselves and my dogs.'
The wind was bitter. Sam had predicted there would be snow before the day was out. She prayed it would come soon and prevent the unwanted visitors from setting out from London. She no longer looked forward to Alexander's return for there had been no further glimpses of the man she loved— the tender and passionate lover who said shared her bed for the first three months of their union. The interludes they spent in bed were still most enjoyable, her body always responded willingly to his touch, but she believed he was no longer fully engaged in what they did.
She hurried in through the side door hoping to return to her chambers without comment. She was waylaid by Maynard, the usual supercilious sneer on her face.
'Your grace, I’ve been waiting for you to approve the menus for the visitors.'
Isobel stiffened and for once did not apologise. 'It's of no interest to me what you have been doing, Maynard. It is your duty to be there when I wish to see you not the other way round. Kindly remember that in future.'
The woman recoiled, unused to being reprimanded. She curtsied, her navy bombazine rustling noisily. 'I beg your pardon, your grace. When will it be convenient for you to see the menus?'
‘I’ve no interest in them, whatever I say will be ignored, so in future don't bother me with such trivia.' Isobel walked off wishing she had held her tongue,. Her duty was to view these things and Alexander would be most displeased when he heard. That he would know was certain, the staff at Newcomb were loyal to him, treated her as an interloper even after almost a year as their mistress.
She took the little used back stairs and braced herself for another confrontation. Cranford, the abigail Alexander had appointed, had taken to setting out her gowns without requesting permission to do so. Every morning Isobel felt obliged to insist something else was fetched, although if she was honest, quite often the ensemble selected by her maid was a better choice than the one she chose for herself.
Her bath was waiting in the small anteroom used for this purpose. She hastily disrobed glad that she'd forbidden Cranford to enter during her ablutions. Today the warm water failed to soothe her and she did not linger. Quickly donning the necessary underpinnings she stepped through from the bathing room to her dressing-room to see what had been put out
today.
'I thought the blue velvet afternoon-dress might be suitable, your grace. I don't believe you've worn it more than once and certainly not when there have been guests at Newcomb.'
Isobel prepared to argue but was too dispirited. 'It will do. Please dress my hair plainly, no ribbons or feathers.'
In silence she sat whilst her hair was arranged to her satisfaction, raising and lowering her arms when necessary. After collecting her cashmere shawl she left her apartment without a second glance at herself in the mirror. What did it matter if she looked her best? Alexander no
longer noticed and he was the only gentleman she wished to approve of her appearance.
She was standing dutifully in the freezing entrance hall when the party arrived. Alexander strode in first and smiled briefly before removing his caped coat and tossing it to the waiting footman.
'My dear, that's a most becoming gown. The weather has deteriorated and I thought we might have to abandon our trip. However, we are here now, but I doubt there'll be much shooting.'
'Did any of the wives accompany the gentleman this time, your grace?'
'Unfortunately, this visit was arranged too quickly to allow the ladies to join us. It might be better if you did not dine downstairs, but that's entirely up to you.'
Her heart lifted; perhaps this gesture showed he still thought of her a little. 'Thank you, my lord. I would much prefer to remain apart when there are no ladies present.' The gentlemen would drink too much and behave accordingly—far better to be safe in her apartment until they left. There was something she needed to tell him, but now was not the time as, accompanied by a flurry of snow, the gentlemen poured in.
She retreated halfway up the grand staircase, from there she curtsied and bid them welcome before hurrying back to the sanctuary of our own chambers. Her dinner was brought to her on a tray, as always it was beautifully cooked but stone cold. The kitchen was so far from the main part of the house she rarely ate a meal that was more than warm.
The mantel clock struck nine. If she slipped down now maybe she could find Alexander in his study and tell him she was unavailable tonight. Her monthly course had arrived that very morning. He usually timed his visits better; she was regular as clockwork so it was easy for him to avoid the few days she could not welcome him to her bed.
There had seemed no necessity to change so she was still wearing the blue gown from the afternoon. The wall sconces were lit along the wide passageway and there was no need to carry a candlestick at Newcomb unless one wished to go downstairs when all the staff were abed.
The noise coming from the drawing-room gave her due warning what to expect if she encountered any of the inebriated gentlemen within. A footman stepped out and bowed.
'Is the duke in his study?'
'I believe him to be in the billiard room, your grace.'
Botheration! She could hardly go there to speak to him, she had better write him a note and leave this in his dressing-room. Hopefully he would not be so foxed he could not read it when he retired. She was about to return when a gentleman holding two glasses of wine staggered out from the drawing-room.
'Your grace, have a drink with me. We missed your lovely presence this evening.' He wove his way towards her. She could not get past him. Several other guests appeared in the doorway to watch the confrontation.
'Thank you, sir, but I’ve no wish for a glass. If you’ll kindly allow me to pass, I wish to return to my apartments.'
He leered at her and thrust one of the glasses into her hand; she had no option but to take it or allow it to smash onto the tiles. She waited, her expression icy, for him to move. To her horror he lurched forward and with his free hand attempted to touch her face. Her reaction was instinctive. She flung the glass of wine into his face. This was enough to stop him momentarily. Dodging past the spluttering gentleman she shot up the stairs before he could do her more harm. The whoops and cheers that followed made her fear they would decide to give chase.
Breathless she tumbled into her sitting room and for the first time since she had arrived here she locked the doors behind her. She rang for her maid, the sooner she was safely in her bed the better. 'I shan't require you again this evening, Cranford.'
She settled back with the latest novel from Hatchards and became immersed in her romance and quite forgot that she had left her external doors locked.
****
Alexander heard the shouting and came to investigate. According to his cronies Isobel had thrown a glass of wine over Bartram for no other reason than that he had failed to move aside quickly enough to please her.
This was unacceptable behaviour. He'd already had to smooth the ruffled feathers of his housekeeper because of her incivility. Tonight he would make it clear to her he would not tolerate breaches of etiquette.
His head was thumping— he couldn't recall exactly how many bottles of claret he'd drunk over dinner or how much brandy he'd consumed since then. Drink numbed the senses, dulled his disappointment with his wife, and helped him to accept that he would never have another child to cherish. He paused, leaning his burning face against the wall for a moment. He closed his eyes expecting to see an image of his beloved Eleanor, instead a picture of Isobel filled his mind. He rubbed his eyes angrily. No—he would not let her creep into his heart. He had no room for love in his life.
He tried her parlour door. He rattled, but it refused to budge. This door was never locked, it must be jammed for some reason. He walked along the passageway and tried to enter Isobel's bed chamber. This door also did not move. Furious he hammered on the panel. He would not be denied entry to any room in his own house.
He heard the patter of bare feet told on the boards. What was the matter with her? Did she not have a maid to do these things? The key turned but the door was not opened. At least his wife had the sense not to appear in the passageway in her night clothes. He stepped in and glared at the young woman who was staring nervously from beneath the bed covers.
'Alexander, I came down to tell you that I am not available this week.'
God's teeth! Is that why she thought he was here? He felt a flicker of remorse that this lovely young woman was reduced to hiding in her bedchamber in her own home. 'I know that, I am not a simpleton. I am quite able to keep note of the date. I came here to discuss the matter of your
behaviour downstairs.'
'That man was going to touch me. Would you wish me to stand there and let him do so?'
He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts—she was quite right. He had not given the incident sufficient attention. He did not doubt her veracity one minute. 'No, of course not. But in future you won't respond in that unacceptable way. It will be the talk of the town, I dislike having
my good name brought into disrepute.'
If he did not remove himself hastily he would cast up his accounts on her carpet, this would not enhance his attraction. Momentarily he was ashamed by his lack of control.
'I apologise, Alexander, it won't happen again. You don't look at all well. I wish you did not drink so much, it is ruining your health.'
Her comment hit a raw nerve. This was the outside of enough. How dare she criticise him. 'Madam, let us get this quite clear. If something similar occurs again don't expect me to be so lenient.'
He gulped, he must get to his own room before he disgraced himself.
****
Isobel watched him go and her heart twisted. Her husband was no longer the man she had fallen in love with. He was gambling heavily as well as drinking too much. How long would it be before he was unfaithful? As she curled up under the covers she prayed his threat was an idle one, something he would regret when he was sober. She good forgive his drunkenness, but if ever he mistreated her she would hate him. All hope would be gone. She would let him go to the devil anyway he chose.
Chapter Six
When the unwanted house guests and her husband departed, Isobel thanked God that the snow had not been enough to deter them from returning to London.
With luck he would remain in Grosvenor Square until the end of the season and leave her in peace. She consoled herself by writing long, quite inaccurate and untruthful, letters to her cousin Petunia and her parents.
Mama no longer enquired if she was increasing and appeared to have accepted the disappointing situation. Papa no doubt worried that Alexander might demand his money back as his wife had failed to fulfill her part of the bargain. Her only solace was riding and having her faithful friends close by. She visited them more frequently as time passed. Indeed, Sam and Mary's cottage was more a home to her than Newcomb.
The summer she spent alone, Alexander away on the continent so his man of business, Mr Hill, informed her. It was some consolation that the younger members of staff, those that had not been working at Newcomb forever, were now eager to serve her and she was slightly more at ease.
October came around again with the news that two dozen or more guests were expected. There would, this time, be several wives accompanying the gentlemen. It would be pleasant to have someone to talk to, other than Mary. Several times she had been tempted to send out cards to the nearby houses but did not like to go against her husband's wishes in this matter.
She waited nervously in the vestibule to greet him. It had been more than six months since he'd been home. Had he changed as much as she? When Foster bowed him in her eyes widened in shock. Who was this stranger shrugging off his top coat? She scarcely recognized him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face puffy and unhealthy and she was certain his hand had been unsteady when he'd held it out.
Curtseying deeply in order to avoid the necessity of meeting his eyes— she must school her features and not let him see how dismayed she was. 'Welcome, your grace, it's been too long since you came home.'
She straightened to see him staring at her as if he could not quiet place who she was. He nodded. 'You have lost weight, Isobel. It does not suit you.'
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