“Just a dream.” He lay back down, staring at up at a ceiling he could not see, as he tried to calm his frantically tripping heart. “Just a dream.”
* * *
Isabella Addison had scarcely seen a Friday as perfect as this one in her twenty years of living.
The rays of the early sun shone brightly through the curtains, dappling the forest-themed wallpaper with flickering shapes, bringing the mosses and twigs to life. The dawn sparkled with the chorus of birdsong and she flung the windows open, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of early morning.
Even the previous day’s relentlessly pouring rain had receded, the skies were blue, and she knew it would be a fine day. Surely, there was no lovelier place than London on a late spring morning.
Isabella breathed it all in, wondering what this day would have for her. Whatever it was, she was ready to face it with her whole heart.
After years of being misunderstood by people in her social circles, she finally had found someone who really saw her. Too many people around her were shallow and looked only on the surface. They were people who made frivolous statements about her even though they did not know anything about her character apart from her family title and the image that she projected in company.
Compared to many in their circle, the Addison family was quite liberal. Her mother never tried to pressure her into picking someone to marry even though some circles would have said she was inching past her prime.
The Addisons were of a more modern stock and fully believed in the right to choose—and that love matches were not just possible, but preferred. Therefore, she knew that to refuse or accept Emmanuel’s suit would entirely be in her hands. This made her father’s behavior ever more puzzling. Perhaps it had something to do with Emmanuel’s past—some dispute with his parents.
Even if that were so, they were dead and so her father needed to take a step back and let her live her life.
All of this, however, was quite far from her mind that morning. For today, one of her dearest childhood friends was marrying her own Prince Charming. They had shared schoolrooms and playrooms while growing up and today she was to marry a man she had chosen. Miss Caroline Ralston had been quite taken with Lord Alexander Barstow from the moment of their meeting at Lady Cowper’s Venetian Breakfast last season. Isabella remembered it vividly, as she had been present. Her mother did not insist she attend many ton events, but Lady Cowper’s Venetian breakfast was an exception.
She had watched as Caroline and Barstow tiptoed around each other for a month. They were hardly discreet in the silly games they played in an effort to grab each other’s attention—much to the kind amusement of their friends. They soon pulled themselves together and began to court. The announcement of their engagement had surprised no one. There was just enough time to plan a grand wedding before the end of the season.
Isabella could not have been happier for Caroline.
Caroline had appointed her chief attendant, which meant making sure the bride had the prettiest wildflowers for her bouquet, amongst other duties.
Chapter 15
Weddings and Marriages
Isabella took her responsibilities seriously, knowing how much Caroline adored the wonders of the countryside, having grown up mostly in Town. Thus, she rose as the sun did, pulled on a gay yellow walking gown and her half boots, and set out with her lady’s maid and two footmen, to the market, making every effort to keep her mind on the job at hand.
It was hard when she remembered that just yesterday they had encountered those flower girls from whom Emmanuel had bought daisies. They might have had more flowers if she had only asked. She decided that she could not be blamed for not thinking of anyone else when she was with him, however. He tended to consume her every thought, especially when he was so close, yet so far away, thanks to her mother and sister.
“Two bundles a penny, primroses!”
“Sweet violets, penny a bunch!”
The flower girls accosted them as soon as they came within range. Isabella left it to her lady’s maid to do the negotiating while she looked around, taking in the hustle and bustle of the market.
When she had her own household, she might have more occasion to shop for her household in this way. Like as not, her housekeeper or butler would do the honors but on her say so. It was curiously exciting to think about.
* * *
“I cannot express how happy I am that you have made it.”
Isabella jumped, wondering who that was. She peered into the foliage behind the arbor on which she had seated herself to read.
Oh, it was Lord Barstow.
She relaxed a little. Caroline’s betrothed and his family were using the estate as a base to get ready for the wedding. They lived in Surrey and had no house in Town—it was more appropriate than sharing a roof with his wife-to-be, who lived in the neighboring house.
He had been quite taken by the estate grounds. During the day, he liked to wander through the many walkways in the Gefferton gardens, his fiancée by his side when possible.
It was highly unlikely that Caroline was his current companion. Who could it be?
It was hard for Isabella to make the reply out since it was less audible than Lord Barstow’s own words. So she leaned a little closer, pressing her hands against the stringy vines of the trellises that hung over the arbor.
Now, of course, would have been a good time to make her presence known. However, if there was any trait that defined Isabella, it was her curiosity. So instead, she tilted her head and leaned a little closer to the voices.
“I worried that the letter of invitation would not reach you in time.”
She heard a soft chuckle. “I have been in Town for a while, doing my own courting. Indeed, your letter was fortuitously timed, as you have given me the perfect excuse.”
Her mouth drew slightly more open as the man spoke further—
It was His Grace, the Duke of Helmsfield.
Her heart clenched in reaction, and she bit her lip, straining to hear their words.
The traitorous pitter-patter rhythm of her heart, accompanied by the nauseating squeeze of her stomach, was mortifyingly familiar by now. Emmanuel was possibly the last person she had ever expected to attend her friend’s wedding.
She had had no idea he even knew the groom. Which, when she thought about it, was not really surprising—she did not know everything about the Duke of Helmsfield, after all. Here was a new tidbit to clutch to her bosom.
* * *
Emmanuel beamed at his friend. Seeing the joy in Alexander’s eyes, he had pulled him into a warm embrace, rapping his knuckles against his forehead for luck as he used to do when they were children.
From the moment Emmanuel had greeted him that morning, with the sun barely above the horizon—Emmanuel chased from his bed by lingering emotion from his dream—his spirits had lifted. Finding Alexander walking along the pathways of Mayfair had been a stroke of luck, for the truth was, he had not been aware of the letter of invitation to Alexander’s wedding. Indeed, before he met Isabella, he hardly ever bothered to look through his letters unless they pertained to business or family.
Emmanuel had missed his friend. He was also quite happy that Alexander had found a bride who deserved him.
“Well, I am glad all the same. It has been too long and you have been missed. That you are here to share in my happiness brings me great joy.”
Emmanuel nodded, “And I cannot wait to make the acquaintance of the lady who has reduced one of Cambridge’s most accomplished rakes to his knees.”
“Ah, when you’re a monk, I expect everyone looks like a rake to you.”
They both laughed and time seemed to stop and go backward as they fell into the banter of their student days. They had both attended Eton and then Cambridge, Alexander being one of the very few friends Emmanuel had made. They had drifted apart after university, when Alexander had bought a commission and had been deployed to Borneo.
Just for a second, the thought caug
ht in Emmanuel’s throat, trapped in a peal of laughter, the understanding that things had changed. Both of them were embarking on a hopefully happier phase of their life. He had cut himself off from so many people, perhaps it was time to reconsider that.
Alexander broke him out of his reverie by jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow. “And what about you, my friend, still rolling around in the mud at Helmsfield?”
Emmanuel almost blushed. His reputation as some sort of eccentric farmer annoyed him sometimes. He was not surprised that Alexander had heard something about it, and he knew how much his friend loved to make fun of him. How could he know what a sensitive subject the continued derision of the ton was? He gritted his teeth, turning away, hands behind his back.
“My apologies, my friend, I did not mean to discompose you,” Alexander had clearly noted his annoyance “I am so pleased to be here with you again. Are you happy?”
Emmanuel smiled, wanting to return the sentiment in full. “I am happy to be here with you, as well. And yes, I am happy. I too, hope to be married before too long.”
Alexander beamed, clapping him on the back. “That is indeed great news.”
“Yes, indeed. In fact, the lady I am courting is a daughter to the Viscount Gefferton.”
Alexander laughed. “What a small world.”
“Indeed.”
“Would you care to come with me to the house for breakfast, in that case?”
Emmanuel shook his head regretfully, “Ah, I am not expected, unfortunately. I am sure we shall see each other again at the ceremony.”
Alexander nodded. “You are right. It would stretch the bounds of propriety for a guest to bring a guest.” He laughed uproariously. “My time in Borneo has made me forget my manners.”
Emmanuel folded his arms and gave his friend and assessing look. “So you are back for good, then?”
“I would not be joining myself in matrimony if not. I find that that is supremely detrimental to the family one is trying to build.” Emmanuel nodded in full agreement with the other man. He still had but a vague idea of what shape his future would be. That was a matter for discussion with his fiancée. “That is true.”
Nodding, Emmanuel pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He had fled his home, not two miles away, hours ago, in an effort to flee his thoughts.
“It still must be one of the most frightening things you’ve ever done, marriage.”
“Oh indeed, terrifying.”
They both laughed.
Alexander regarded him somberly. “Will you let it stop you?”
Emmanuel’s look became pensive and brooding. “I should think not.”
Isabella barely let herself release a breath as she listened from behind the vine-covered arbor that hid her from their view. Until the two men moved away and their voices had faded into nothingness, she remained frozen and unmoving.
* * *
Miss Isabella Addison was not a coward. Quite the opposite—she dreamed of swashbuckling pirates on the high seas, imagining herself in their place. She was not without fear but she never let that stop her from doing anything she wanted to. Any bullying she witnessed would not be long tolerated in her presence.
Therefore, she did not understand why she was lurking at the edges of the ballroom like a wallflower. It was a combination of uncertainty and anxiety. Every interaction with Emmanuel before today had been previously planned and she had been prepared for it. However, to see him here, outside the context of their daily interactions, she found that she was unsure of how to act.
The wedding ceremony had been blissful and sincere—she was absolutely happy for the couple and that had eclipsed her earlier alarm at Emmanuel’s presence. He had been seated at the front of the church, which helped her focus on her duties and removed any chance that their eyes should meet across the room.
She was not so lucky at the wedding breakfast, where Emmanuel greeted her family warmly, even Sarah—probably because she was there with her husband, who had been his friend for ages. He took Isabella’s hand and bowed over it, his clear blue, penetrating gaze lingering on her riveting brown one for a moment too long.
Her heart would not be still—it was skittering and thudding as if she was the daintiest maiden. The feeling persisted throughout the meal, affecting her appetite. Even when she was not looking at him, she knew exactly where he was at all times.
The mere fact of his presence warmed her like the sun. When he rested his gaze upon her, she felt scorched.
Heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks as the meal progressed and she thanked the heavens when Caroline’s mother declared it was time for the ladies to retire to rest for the evening.
Now here she was, lingering behind the sweeping, velvet curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ballroom. She watched Emmanuel interact with the groom, his smile brighter and more animated than she had ever seen when he was speaking to anyone outside of herself. He pulled on his beard, looking quite pleased with himself, blue eyes twinkling. He was quite a sight.
“You look miserable.”
Isabella started at the sound of Caroline’s voice.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
Caroline laughed as she drew her arm through Isabella’s and pulled her towards two upholstered, claw-footed chairs that had been set aside for the dowagers to recline upon. Isabella sat with Caroline, smoothing down their gowns in silence, as the orchestra changed over from a waltz to a stirring country reel.
“Come now, this is my wedding day, I demand you enjoy yourself.”
Isabella gave her a pointed look. “I am fine.” She paused a second before adding, “It is simply a little surreal knowing that I might be where you are in a while.”
She could not help but look back towards the dancers. He was there again, on the other side of the ballroom, while a pretty young lady, with the most beautiful blue eyes—who had probably just made her debut—gazed hopefully up at him.
Isabella grimaced.
“He has eyes for nobody but you.”
Isabella felt the color suffuse her face. She licked her bottom lip, “How would you know that?”
Her friend took her hand, wrapping it in her own until Isabella looked up. Caroline’s face beamed with the joy of a newlywed. Hope and love radiated from her beautiful features.
“I know the look well.”
Isabella took a breath, suddenly desperate to know. “What does love feel like?”
Caroline’s mouth dropped open and her jade eyes were wide with surprise. “Oh my, I…” her voice trailed off, eyes far away and thoughtful, shining with emotion. Isabella knew she was thinking of her brand new husband. “For me, it’s a bubble of happiness when I think of him. I feel light and content when I think of him. I am no authority, Isabella. I am told the experience differs for everyone.”
Isabella fidgeted, exhaling sharply in despair. That did not describe her feelings at all.
“Did you just know or was it a slow realization?” she whispered, eyes on Caroline in anxious hope.
“It appeared when I least expected it,” Caroline squeezed her hand once more as she stood. “I must see to our guests, but I shall come to find you, later?”
Isabella nodded jerkily and smiled. It seemed she would not get the answers she sought tonight.
In a swish of pale gold skirts, the bride left, leaving Isabella free to keep watch on Emmanuel and the young lady still gazing hopefully at him. A new thought flitted across her mind.
Get away from him; he’s mine.
* * *
The ballroom looked the same as the one they had been returning from next door—he was having a little trouble separating memory from reality.
It could be because of meeting Barstow once again after all these years—the connection to his childhood. Barstow might be one of just a few peers who remembered Emmanuel’s parents. They had spent many a summer following his father, the late Duke, around Helmsfield Estate, as he explained how it worked
, how they were to relate to tenants, and instilling in them a sense of duty and responsibility. They were too young to comprehend fully the gravity of his lessons. They mostly spent the time chasing each other around the farmland, dodging the pigs, and trying—in vain—to get the head groom to let them ride the full-grown horses.
They had been young and innocent then. Now, however, they were fully-grown.
He was aware of Isabella watching him. She disguised it well, only risking a glance at him when it was apparent that his attention was elsewhere, but her gaze was like a heated brand—wherever it touched him, his blood boiled.
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 13
