by Tamara Gill
Her mother sighed, facing her, her features brooking no argument. “We are not the only families staying, due to the distance his estate is from London. You will act civilly and like the lady you were raised to be. Now, I do believe we’re nearly there.”
Looking out the window, Isolde watched the large oaks that lined the drive pass by before the house came into view. Being back here brought forth all the emotions she’d bottled up and packed away. She wasn’t ready to see it again, a home she’d adored, along with the man, knowing they could never be.
As the carriage pulled to a halt, it was only the liveried footmen that came out to greet them, their welcome warm but tone very somber. Isolde followed her mama into the house, once more in awe at its grand size, beautiful furnishings, and spacious light rooms that had always reminded her of Dunsleigh and were so different from her future home at Wardoor’s.
Merrick strode from the library; dark circles lined his eyes and a haunted look was set across his features. Isolde studied him a moment and, even knowing the marriage between him and Leonora was not a happy union, she could tell he was emotionally spent. That there was a cloud of suspicion about the way Her Grace had died also didn’t help.
“Your Grace.” She curtsied, and his attention snapped to her, but his eyes remained guarded.
“Lady Isolde.” He bowed and greeted her family in turn before summoning the waiting staff to show them to their rooms. “When you’re settled, we have a light repast set out in the drawing room.”
The moment the invitation was offered he turned on his heel and walked back to the library, shutting the door firmly in their faces.
“Come, my dears. Let us get settled and venture down for a cup of tea. I’m in desperate need of one.”
The room allocated to her was thankfully different to the one she’d had the last time she’d stayed here. This room faced the front of the house, and she watched the guests who arrived to pay their respects. Black carriage after black carriage rolled to a stop. She recognized most of them, people she’d been introduced to but not socialized with much, due to her time away in Scotland.
She looked up toward the hill where the mausoleum stood and thought about her childhood friend. To think that Leonora would be laid to rest tomorrow evening in the cold stone structure left an ache in her chest she’d not thought would occur. It was all such a waste. Life could be so cruel. To take someone so young, well before their time, was wrong.
The dinner bell rang out below, and she quickly changed before heading downstairs.
Dinner that night was a morose affair, talk was muted, and His Grace bid them all a happy evening but didn’t partake in the meal itself, instead opting to lock himself away in the library again.
Thankfully, the dinner service was short. After the many hours of travel, she was looking to rest and to remove herself from her current companions, as their talk was depressing, at its best.
And tomorrow would be worse.
And it was.
The sight of little William, holding his father’s hand as tears streamed down his chubby cheeks, brought tears to her own eyes. Isolde looked at the coffin as it was carried into the vault and forgave Leonora and prayed for forgiveness herself after their many hurtful words over the past few weeks.
She swiped at a tear, surprised at how emotional she was toward a woman who had been so unkind to her. She looked up to the sky, remembering the fun they’d had together as girls. The mischief of their games, the seriousness when having their maids do their hair like the ladies who graced the ton—even if they’d still been in pigtails.
The Leonora from only days ago was not the girl she’d loved and would forever remember. Opium had taken that girl from them, and Isolde was ashamed that she hadn’t done anything to help her overcome her addiction. She should’ve stepped in and made her see sense. Should have pushed their past differences aside and been her friend.
“Come dearest, it’s over.”
She started at her mother’s words and turned for the carriage. She noted Merrick placing William in his carriage before he walked back toward the mausoleum. He stood alone, rain marking his overcoat as he watched the doors close and lock.
“Funerals are so sad, makes you not want to attend even your own,” Alice said, stepping into the carriage and sitting beside Isolde.
Isolde frowned, wondering at times if Alice had any sense. “That is something none of us can escape, I’m afraid,” she said.
“I don’t want to be entombed in a wall or buried. I hate confined spaces. I want to be free as a galloping horse, to blow in the wind, and feel the rain on my face.” Victoria climbed up into the carriage. “That is what I would wish for.”
“Unfortunately, a corpse lying out in a garden wouldn’t be the done thing.” Isolde placed the carriage blanket over her and Alice’s legs.
“If you burned me, it would be.”
“That is enough talk of death and what you want done with your bodies.” Their mother sighed. “Sometimes I’m at a loss with you girls.” Victoria patted their mother’s hand, not saying anything further on the subject.
“May I be excused from dinner tonight, Mama? I would prefer a plate in my room,” Isolde asked, not wanting to attend another meal like the night before. Tomorrow they would leave, and the terrible churning in her stomach at being so close to Merrick and not being able to give comfort would cease. She looked out the window, swaying a little as the carriage rocked toward Mountshaw. With time, Merrick would be well again, not this devastated shell of a man he seemed to resemble. It was not her duty to worry over him. She had her own future to carry on with. Especially now, as she was to wed Wardoor in a few weeks.
“Of course. In fact, any of you may cry off dinner. I doubt we’ll be missed, and no one wishes to socialize, in any case.”
By the time they arrived back at the estate it was dusk. Isolde made her way to her room and ordered water to wash. With soup for dinner and a little bread, her bed beckoned, and yet, no matter how much she tried, how many times she adjusted her pillow, nothing would allow her to sleep.
Wrapping a shawl across her shoulders, she left her room, made her way downstairs, and toward the library. The house was eerily quiet and dark; only a lamp beside the front door burned low on a turned-down wick.
The library door was slightly ajar, and she walked into the room, lighting a lamp just inside the door with the small candle she carried. Blowing out her candle, she picked up the lamp and held it toward the bookcases. A shadow appeared near the fire surround, and she stifled a scream.
Merrick stood before the darkened hearth, his foot idly kicking at the charred bits of coal. His shoulders were hunched, and had she not entered the room, he would’ve been standing there in full dark.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t know you were still up.”
He didn’t turn and greet her. In fact, he didn’t react in any way at all. Isolde walked into the room a little, unsure if she should stay or go. “Are you happy for me to find a book to take up and read? I find that I cannot sleep.”
“A fatigue we both suffer from, it would seem.” With one last kick at the coals, he walked to the nearby chaise lounge and sat, resting his head against the back of the chair. “You may take whatever book pleases you.”
“Thank you.” She walked to the shelf directly before her and grabbed the first novel she found, not caring what it was about. Turning to leave, the pallor of his skin and the empty decanter of brandy on the sideboard caught her eye. Isolde frowned and, striding toward the lounge, sat next to him. “When did you eat last, Merrick?”
He shrugged. “Yesterday.” He paused. “I think.”
Standing, she rang the bell before sitting back down.
“What are you doing?” Merrick sat up, looking at her for the first time. Bloodshot eyes with an unfocused stare gazed back at her. “When I ask when you ate something, I don’t mean of a liquid kind. You cannot survive on brandy.”
The butler entered
the room, the collar of his jacket at an odd angle, and Isolde could see he’d failed to pull on a waistcoat in his haste to attend them at this late hour. The servant bowed. “You called, Your Grace.”
“No,” Merrick said, sagging back onto the seat. “I did not.”
“I did,” Isolde said. “Please prepare some food for His Grace. He has not had his dinner this evening.” The butler smiled a little, his shoulders slumping in relief, before leaving quickly to do as she bid. They didn’t speak as they waited for the late repast, and in no time at all, a plate of sandwiches was set before them with a fresh pot of steaming black coffee that smelled divine and strong.
Isolde prepared a plate and placed it on his knee. “Now eat and do not argue with me.”
“When did you become so authoritative?” He nibbled one corner of the sandwich, his face turning up in disgust.
“I grew up, I suppose, and with age comes bossiness.” She smiled at him and poured them both a cup of the sobering liquid. Not sure what to say, she ate a sandwich, too, if only to give her something to do. “You must go on, for your children’s sake, at the very least. Leonora would’ve wanted that for you.”
Deep frown lines marked his brow, and he placed his plate on the side of the lounge. “Should they one day learn the truth, they’ll never forgive me.” He sat forward, staring absently into the fire. “Hell, I don’t forgive myself.”
The despair in his tone tore at her heart, and she hated seeing him so despondent. “Tell me what happened, Merrick.” He didn’t speak for a long moment, just continued to stare at his cup of coffee.
He ran a hand across his jaw, and the sudden action startled her before he said, “And you’re wrong. Leonora wouldn’t care a kipper what we thought or how we reacted to such a tragedy.” He shook his head, disdain crossing his features. “Hell, she would think it a lark and be offended that not more people are here to pay their respects and not enough tears were shed.”
Isolde could understand what he meant, but he was wrong. “You’re talking of the Leonora we all know now, but had she been thinking clearly, she would mourn the loss of her young family. Just as much as you shall mourn the loss of her from your life. You must believe that.”
He cringed. “I killed her, Isolde. Though I may not have physically harmed her, emotionally, I did.” Merrick swiped at a tear, and Isolde remained silent, sensing he needed to gather his thoughts. “If you must know what happened, it started after I had seen our new daughter to ensure all was right with her care. I visited Leonora soon afterward, and we argued. I said things I will forever regret.”
“What did you say?” Isolde placed down her coffee, folding her hands in her lap.
“I told her of the house I had purchased for her use and that as soon as she was able, I would have her removed to live there permanently. I notified her that her time with the children would be limited going forward.”
Isolde couldn’t fault him in regard to the children, but being told she was no longer wanted, so soon after giving birth… “I gather she didn’t take your news well.”
“You think I was too harsh?” He looked at her then, and a slither of unease coursed through her at his wretchedness. Merrick seemed ragged and worn and nothing like the cultured duke he normally was. “She threw at my head the fact that only William was mine and laughed that Lily was not. I warned her not to try to slander their names or she’d feel my wrath tenfold.”
So it was true. Leonora had been having an affair, and the child she’d just birthed was not Merrick’s. Relief poured through her, followed closely by guilt at even thinking such a thing and at such a time. “You said yourself that Leonora wasn’t in a right state of mind. You must try to remember that when these dark thoughts attempt to sway you. And given time, I’m sure Leonora would’ve grown accustomed to living separately from you.”
She certainly had.
He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes, it was no secret that our marriage was a disaster, that she was addicted to opium, and preferred the bowels of London to her family. But she refused to leave and said as much before the accident.”
“What happened that made her fall, Merrick? Please tell me.”
“Our argument continued, before all the staff, most of who were watching, albeit surreptitiously. I was standing in the foyer, Leonora on the first floor landing, when she started down the stairs. Her foot caught the hem of her shift, and she tripped. I was too far away and couldn’t catch her.”
Tears welled in Merrick’s eyes, and Isolde wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to help him in any way she could, but she refrained. “It was an unfortunate tragic accident, Merrick. Please tell me you don’t blame yourself.”
“I was dismissive and cruel and my final words…hell, I will not even say them aloud. Everything I touch I hurt.” He met her gaze, his eyes haunted and bloodshot. “I’ve hurt you, Leonora, my children… All of you, I’ve injured beyond redemption.”
“Oh no.” Isolde would hear no more of that, and taking his hands, she started to rub the chill out of them. “While I have no doubt things were said by both of you that are regretful, things that were cruel and edged with a pointed dagger, neither of you were to know what was going to happen. I will not let you blame yourself for this, Merrick. I will not.”
He slumped back onto the settee, weariness covering him like a cloak. “I should have helped her as you suggested. I should have done it years ago. Instead, I scorned her, ridiculed her, and turned my back without a thought of what I was doing. Leonora was the woman who ruined my life, and not one day since we wed had I allowed her to forget it. Had I done right by my wife, none of this would’ve happened, and she would be alive today.”
“You are not responsible for her actions, Merrick. And this was an accident, no matter what was said.” Isolde grappled for words, but what could one say to someone who was determined to see no point other than his own. And perhaps, today of all days, Merrick needed to loathe himself, hit the lowest point a person can hit before picking himself up and moving on with his life. “I believe Leonora’s trickery on the night before our wedding did stem from her love of you. I didn’t see it at the time, and perhaps I didn’t want to admit to myself that my friend had feelings for you, but I can see it now, looking back. Everyone makes choices in life, and they’re not always what we wish them to be, but that’s life. Leonora chose to live as she did, and while I will admit that part of the blame is yours, she, too, is responsible.”
“I’ve acted contemptibly,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t deserve happiness because of how I treated Leonora. If I had any sense, I’d lock myself here at Mountshaw and never return to Town.”
They sat, both lost in thought. Isolde had never seen Merrick so low before and, in all truth, she didn’t really know how to help him. Other than to listen. “Did Leonora say who the father of your daughter was? Do you know the man?”
Merrick pulled away and, without meeting her gaze, leaned forward to rest his head in his hands. “I’ve never met the gentleman.”
His answer was curt, and something in his tone told Isolde he didn’t want to talk any further on the subject. She stood, pulling him to stand. “Come, you must get some rest. I have no doubt you’ve been greeting the dawn these past few days and not with a clear mind.”
He conceded and followed her to the door. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe some sleep will be of help.”
“I’m sure it will.” Isolde reached for the door and Merrick held it closed, pinning her somewhat between him and freedom.
“Is it true that you are betrothed to Wardoor?”
The breath of his question shivered down her neck, and with it came the smell of alcohol and coffee. She turned to meet his hooded gaze that burned with so much pain that her own eyes welled.
“Yes. We’re to be married after the banns have been called.” She took a calming breath that in no way reassured her shot nerves. “I have not asked, but I wondered why Wardoor was not here. He is on
e of your oldest friends, Merrick. I had thought to see him present.”
“He had other business matters to attend. No doubt organizing the banns.” Sarcasm laced his words.
Isolde frowned. “I’m sure that’s it.” Not her, and that Wardoor’s courting of her had severed a rift between the two friends, so much so that her betrothed hadn’t attended his closest friend’s wife’s funeral.
“It would seem congratulations are in order.”
Her grip on the handle increased as he swayed closer than he ought. “I’m sure he’ll make me very happy,” she said, hating that she, too, was adding to Merrick’s pain.
“Will he?” The question dropped between them, shattering her calm.
She swallowed, reminding herself that Merrick wasn’t thinking clearly. He was mourning and upset. “I believe so.”
He didn’t reply, just watched her for a long moment, the air in the room crackling with a tension that left her heart pounding and her legs like jelly. “Get some rest, Merrick. I promise you tomorrow will not be so dark if you do.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow, are you not?” he said quickly, halting her departure yet again.
“We are.” She nodded, turning the handle. “There is much to do in Town.”
His attention flicked away from her for a moment before returning with an intensity that scared her. “I wish you so very much happiness, Isolde. You are the best person I know, and I hope you’re always content.”
A lump formed in her throat, not only at his good-bye, but the day in general. It was a day she longed to escape from. Too much sadness. Too much heartache. “I know you do.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek, lingering too close to him, feeling the prickling of his stubble against her lips, the smell of sandalwood on his skin, and the warmth of his body. All that she loved and everything that she’d lost.
Longing tore through her hot and wild. What she wouldn’t give to throw herself at him, to have him kiss her, if only once more in her life. To feel the passion and feed the desire that so often overran her body and soul but was never quenched.
