by Tamara Gill
As expected, Isolde came across Moore at the many events about town, but after their near kiss at Vauxhall, he seemed to be avoiding her. Not even when the opportunities had arisen for them to converse had he sought her out, if only to apologize for what they’d almost done. Not that she wanted him to speak to her. She was in London to marry a suitable, trustworthy gentleman. It was unfortunate that Moore encompassed everything she’d ever wanted in a husband, a lover. No matter how much she wished circumstances were different, they were not. He was married, and that was the end of it.
Isolde sighed. The thought of the near kiss left a fluttering in her stomach that had no right to be there. She ought to be ashamed of herself. He was married, for heaven’s sake, but it still did not stop her from thinking of him late at night when she was alone in her bed. Imagining the feel of his hands sliding over her flesh, of what his kisses used to do to her, the delectable, heart-stopping embraces for her only.
Tonight they were to attend Lord Kinruth and Anne’s home for a small dinner party of their closest friends, before those who were invited to Lord Wardoor’s Surrey estate left Town.
It didn’t take long for her carriage to arrive at her friend’s home, and with the chaperonage of Anne and Lord Kinruth, her mama had allowed her to attend on her own. Isolde found the freedom liberating, but it also reminded her that should she marry, she could attend most outings this way, if she liked. No longer would she have to ask for permission to go anywhere or do anything.
All her life, even now on the cusp of being on the shelf, she’d had to ask to do anything. The thought that it could change in the foreseeable future was exciting.
Dinner was pleasant and seated beside Anne, it was over before she wanted it to be. The men, as customary, partook in their after-dinner drinks, while the ladies headed toward the withdrawing room, situated on the bottom floor.
A small fire burned in the grate to take out the slight chill that had settled in the night air, and the women gathered in groups around the room to talk. Isolde sat on a golden settee and watched the ladies as they laughed and gossiped. She sighed, pining at the notable absence of Merrick. Friends with Lord Kinruth, Isolde had thought he would be here tonight. Certainly Wardoor was, but maybe Merrick had had a previous engagement.
The door to the room opened, and Isolde turned, expecting it to be the men joining the party, but instead Moore and Leonora entered the gathering. Much to her horror, a tremble of expectation shot through her, and she cursed herself as a silly fool for yearning for someone who was no longer, nor ever would be, hers.
Anne greeted the late guests warmly and the duchess, with a spark of insolence in her eye, looked Anne up and down. “Oh, would you look at our increasing waistlines, my dear. How vulgar of us to be out in Society with such ghastly bodies.” The words were spoken loud enough for everyone present to hear, and Isolde noted Anne’s embarrassed blush. Thankfully, Lord Kinruth walked into the room at that moment and greeted the duke warmly, before passing Merrick a tumbler of brandy.
Moore looked about, taking in the guests, and Isolde drank in the sight of him. His black unruly hair matched his dark hooded eyes that sent her stomach to tumble each time they met. Now that Merrick had told her the truth of what had happened all those years ago, Isolde found it hard to be indifferent to him. Her attention snapped to his lips, and she swallowed, realizing how much she wanted to kiss him. Wanted to feel the longing and desire that coursed through her body at his every touch.
As if sensing her interest, he turned, his gaze raking her form with a hungry intensity that left her breathless and ashamed. The look on his face reminded her of how he used to gaze upon her person, how much he had doted on her. He nodded in welcome, and she smiled a little in return, before trying to turn her mind back to the conversation going on around her.
“I am looking forward to your company at my country estate, Lady Isolde. I hope you’ll find my home to your liking.”
Isolde didn’t need to decipher Lord Wardoor’s statement or what he meant by the words, and as much as she was sure she would like his home, as much as any other, it was not likely to capture her heart, just as the man beside her would not.
“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, my lord. And I’m looking forward to seeing it very much.”
Wardoor started gushing about his estate and the improvements he would make should he marry, and Isolde stopped listening at the mention of his abundant lawns.
Watching the guests mingle about them, she noted Merrick didn’t seek out Wardoor to speak to him, but instead moved to the opposite side of the room with Lord Kinruth. She plucked a glass of champagne from a passing footman, hating that disappointment coursed through her each time he didn’t seek her out. He shouldn’t seek her out. Instead, he ought to concentrate on his marriage and how to amend Leonora’s ways.
“Will the Duke and Duchess of Moore be attending your house party? I know what close friends you are, after all.” Wardoor frowned, looking in Moore’s direction but didn’t deign to speak. So it was true, she had come between the two of them.
Isolde sighed, hating the fact. However, she could do little since Wardoor had taken it upon himself to look at her as a suitable wife. He was kind and pleasant looking, and was ready, from his own admission, to start a family. She would be a simpleton indeed, if she walked away from such an alliance. Her attention sought out Anne, and she watched a moment as her friend rubbed her belly, and longing overwhelmed her. Yes, as hard and painful as moving on would be, it was time she sought what she wanted most. A child.
“They are not attending. Another engagement elsewhere, or so the duke informed me.” Wardoor’s smile was brittle. “I know you have a past with the duke, but I do hope you’re willing to grasp a future when one’s offered to you with a gentleman you like, if not love.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, having not thought Wardoor would be so forward with his words. Hearing him state her struggles aloud and his willingness to be patient soothed her unease over the match. “You are right that I have a past with Moore, but that was many years ago, and he’s married now. And should I find a suitable husband and was offered marriage, I would seriously consider the proposal.”
The words were so clinical, so different from when Merrick had asked her to be his bride. Isolde hated them, so cold and without heart. She indeed had not moved on from Moore, would forever yearn for him in some way, but Wardoor need not know that. Nor was she looking for a love match. If she tried hard enough, the marriage could work.
Wardoor nodded. “And would you consider me, should I ask for your hand in marriage?”
Isolde studied him a moment. “You have not asked me yet, so I do not know.” Was she ready for him? A moment of panic assaulted her at the thought that he would ask her here, now, tonight.
He laughed, raising his glass in salute. “Well then, I may have to remedy that.”
Relief poured through her, and Isolde smiled in earnest. Thankful he’d not asked, after all. “Maybe you should,” Isolde said, clicking her own glass against his.
…
Merrick stood as far away from Isolde as was possible. The sight of her tore his heart in two. It was beyond absurd the emotional turmoil going on inside his body each and every time he observed her around Town. Something had to be done about it, and that thing unfortunately was to cut her off. Leave her to live her life as she’d asked and make the best of his life with his son. Whether he liked it or not, he was married to Leonora. Had he not been so cold and unforgiving toward her, would she have turned to others for comfort? Probably not. Not only had he let Isolde down all those years ago, but he’d let down his wife, as well. He’d failed as a husband, and he was the worst of men for doing so.
“I see Lord Barkley isn’t here this evening. My wife will be sorely disappointed.” Even to his own ears the disdain and venom in his words was evident. He ought to stop, and yet he couldn’t. It was so ingrained in him, almost like breathing, natural and automatic.
Lord Kinruth grimaced. “I pay no heed to gossip.”
Merrick scoffed. “You should, for in this case it’s true.” He paused, knowing his own hand had played his wife into the lifestyle she now lived. “I’m glad we’re here tonight. I wanted to pay my regards before I head back to Mountshaw estate.”
“You’re leaving Town?” Kinruth’s eyes widened. “The Season’s only halfway through. What takes you from us so early?”
“William, first and foremost. I want him to start schooling with a tutor I’ve hired. And there are some pressing estate matters that I should attend to.” Not to mention he needed to distance himself from Isolde, and quickly. If he stayed, he would fail at doing so. And no matter how much he wanted her, had almost stolen a kiss at Vauxhall, he would not break the vows of his marriage. Even after all Leonora had done to him, how she loved to make his life a living hell, he would not become what, so sadly, she had.
“But your steward can handle the estate, and a letter to your boy’s tutor asking him to come to London instead of Mountshaw will suffice. Surely there is no other reason for you to hightail it back to the country.”
Merrick stole a look at Isolde. “It’s for the best. I believe we’re soon to hear of a betrothal, and I think for my own self-preservation that I shouldn’t be here when that occurs.” Merrick ground his teeth as Isolde smiled at Wardoor. Whatever were they talking about that was so amusing? The blood in his veins chilled, and shame washed over him that he couldn’t be happy for one of his oldest friends at finally finding someone whom he could marry. And damn him to hell, that Merrick wanted her, too, married or not. “I cannot stay.”
Kinruth clapped him on the shoulder, understanding dawning in his eyes. “I comprehend what you’re saying. And I’m sorry, my friend. For whatever it’s worth, I do think Lady Isolde believes your side of events on the night before your wedding and forgives you for them. In time, we shall all look back on these days and laugh at how inane it all was.”
Merrick nodded, doubting that would ever occur, and it still did not change his circumstances. He drank down the last of his brandy and welcomed the burn to his gut. At least he had William, the most important thing in his life. “The duchess will stay on in Town, but from tomorrow, I will be away. You know how to contact me should you need to.”
“We look forward to your return.”
The time away from Town would be just what he needed. To move on he must rid himself of the melancholy that had plagued him ever since Isolde’s return. He was no good to his boy or estates the way he was, and with Isolde leaving for Wardoor’s country home, he could take the time to regroup.
“As do I,” he lied, smiling for good measure. With any luck, estate business would keep him away indefinitely, and he’d never have to return. That prospect was something to look forward to, but something told Merrick it was a dream that would not come to fruition.
Chapter Twelve
Lord Wardoor’s home was an Elizabethan designed manor, rectangular in shape with two circular Corinthian pillars that stood on either side of the entrance and reached all the way to the roofline. The family’s coat of arms was engraved on the stonework and stated a date of 1577.
The estate house sat on a flat piece of land with rolling hills surrounding it. It was a very pretty residence and, as the carriage rolled to a stop before the front door, she contemplated it as her possible home, where she would raise her children and watch them grow up and prepare for Seasons of their own.
Three footmen came out and waited for the carriage.
“We’re here.”
Anne’s excited declaration pulled her from her thoughts, and she clasped the squabs as they rocked to a halt. Stepping down, she took the chance to further inspect the gardens, and noted a vast amount of lawn surrounded by native plants and bushes. At least it explained why Wardoor had discussed his lawns at length the other evening. The gardens were not manicured or perfectly set out like the gardens at Dunsleigh. Here, the plantings had a cottage feel to them and yet, she wasn’t disappointed. In fact, it suited the home and made it feel warm and welcoming.
Lord Wardoor came out to greet them, his Hessian boots clicking on the stone steps. “Lord and Lady Kinruth, Lady Isolde, welcome to my home. I hope your journey was pleasant.”
Isolde dipped a small curtsy. “It was very pleasant, thank you.”
Anne agreed as he ushered them inside. A footman dressed in green livery took their gloves and coats before they walked into the front drawing room, a pleasant, yellow painted space with light wooden furniture that made it seem larger than it was.
She smiled at Wardoor. “Your home is truly lovely, my lord. I’m surprised you do not stay here more often.” Isolde sat down next to Anne who was busy pouring tea for them all. “Papa spoke of your estate before he passed away, and he said your stream has some of the best fishing he’d ever known.”
Wardoor chuckled. “It does, and if you fish, my lady, I’d be glad to take you down to the river’s edge, or we could take out the small wooden boat I dock at the boathouse.”
“I would like that very much,” she said, taking a sip of tea and welcoming the warm beverage. “We were raised in a home full of adventure. Not the most conventional for a duke’s residence, I suppose, but those days were fabulous and perfect for children.”
“Just as it should be.” He sat across from her and regarded her with benign appreciation. Well, it was certainly what she believed it to be, even though it was nothing like how Merrick often watched her, his gaze all but burning with pleasure.
The realization made her wonder just what married life would be like with Wardoor, a friend for whom she had no romantic feelings. Would they come to have those feelings over time, or would they eventually regret their choice, start seeing the other as a hindrance they never should’ve saddled themselves with?
While others who made up the party trickled in from their journey from Town, they spoke of inconsequential things. Then Lord Wardoor had them shown to their rooms and Isolde, too, took the opportunity to rest before dinner.
Her room was comfortable, if lacking in finery, but the house was of a different style to what she was accustomed, and one had to make allowances when making a marriage match. The walls were paneled and painted blue with paintings of people and landscapes. The bed was covered in a cream duvet that matched the material on the headboard. Her windows overlooked the lawn and rolling hills beyond, all of which she could see while lying down. She supposed it had a very French feel to its design, and the room was probably the best he had for his guests.
That evening, Isolde dressed in a chiffon mint-green gown with gold beading on the small shoulder cuffs. She stood before the full-length mirror and studied how the gown suited her dark hair and pale skin, but as much as she was happy with how she appeared, even she could see her eyes lacked vitality or excitement.
She was bored and it was only her first day…
With a sigh, she headed downstairs and found most people already seated for dinner. Lord Wardoor sat at the head of the table, and he gestured to a seat to his right. Her sister Alice, seated on the opposite side of the table, caught her eye and winked, grinning as she took a sip of wine. Isolde looked to see if Wardoor had caught her sibling’s action and was relieved he had not, but startled to find him watching her instead. She smiled and also took a sip of wine, hoping the feeling that she was doing something wrong would pass.
Lord Clifford, the Marquess of Nottingham, sat to her right and was very pleasant, if not a little older than the congregation. Isolde noted his attention toward her mama and liked hearing her parent laugh, her cheeks rosy with flattery. It had been a long time since she’d seen her so lively.
“I do hope you find my home suitable, Isolde. I would so like to have your approval of it.”
“From what I have seen so far, I do believe there would be very few indeed who would not approve. You have a lovely home, truly.” Even if she wasn’t quite certain that the home was for her
. Could she really marry without any deeper feeling than congeniality for her husband? A vexing thought told her that after all she’d been through, she could.
He smiled easily at her praise. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard to keep it from falling down around my ears, and I know it needs some improvements, but they will come in time. Would you care to walk the gardens after dinner? I have lamps scattered throughout the grounds, and my gardener ensures they’re lit every night when I’m in residence.”
Isolde noted Alice watching her, knowing her sister would’ve heard Wardoor’s request. Did she wish to walk with him, in the twilight, alone? The thought left her a little uneasy, and she took another sip of wine. She met his expectant, if not a little excited, gaze and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.” Isolde sat back as a course of turtle soup was placed before her. “But should we go outdoors? I would surely be taking you from your guests, and I wouldn’t wish to do so.”
Wardoor waved away her concern, spooning a healthy amount of soup into his mouth before stating, “You would not be. We will go outdoors for only a few minutes, and there will be others about, I’m sure. None of my guests will feel slighted, I assure you.”
She cleared her throat. “I look forward to it then.” Isolde ate the soup, which tasted more like chicken broth than turtle and did her best not to think about why Wardoor wished to walk with her…alone. But in reality, she knew why. His courting would naturally lead up to them being alone.
She’d known Wardoor for years, but now that the time had arrived that he could possibly propose, nerves assailed her. If she said yes, she would be doing so without any deeper feelings for the man than friendship. Isolde studied him a moment as he laughed and conversed with Lady Sewell to his right. He wasn’t vicious, had always been congenial with her. She supposed they could have a happy match. Initially, they might muddle along, but maybe in time, real affection would grow. It wasn’t an impossible dream.
With such a thought, Isolde shook any doubts aside. With marriage came children, and that, above all else, was what she wished for, and Wardoor promised both children and security. An alliance with him was better than pining for things she could not have.
