And so it was that she and Esme had put together a daring plan for escape as they had walked alone on the estate in the cool, early spring air.
And it was daring too, for it would require a certain amount of lone travel, something that Isabella had never done before. Furthermore, it would also require reliance on a long-forgotten family member who may, or may not, be on Isabella’s side in the thing.
Isabella knew that she would have to put her plan into action almost immediately. A second interview with her father had left her in no doubt that there was not a moment to waste.
“Now that you have had a little time in which to digest the information I gave you last week, I think it is time to discuss the practical arrangements for the wedding,” her father said matter-of-factly.
Their second discussion on the matter did not take place in his study but in the drawing room with her mother in attendance.
The Countess of Upperton sat meekly at one end of a pretty, lemon yellow couch, perched as if she dared not relax entirely. It was a demeanour so often used by Isabella’s mother that she thought it must be, more than anything else, habit.
Whilst Isabella knew that there was much to pity in her mother’s circumstances, she thought that there was more to pity in her own at that moment. The fact that her mother, she knew, would say nothing in her defense, made her quietly angry. Would there ever come a time when her mother would raise her head up for the benefit of her firstborn child? Isabella very much doubted it.
“I see,” Isabella said, knowing that there would be little argument to be had.
“You are to marry the Duke of Coldwell four weeks from now and so, I assume, there is much for you and your mother to discuss regarding preparations.” He smiled in a manner which seemed to jauntily dismiss what he likely thought of as the fripperies of female life.
Isabella wanted to scream; she wanted to stand up and overturn the oval mahogany table and listen to the satisfying smash of the teapot and crockery as everything hit the floor.
Why on earth would her father think that she would be excited about such preparations? He was condemning her to marry a monster, surely it mattered not what she wore. And if this Duke, this ruined, recluse of a man, saw fit to purchase a bride he had never met, she thought it unlikely that he very much cared what she wore either.
“I cannot think that there will be much to prepare,” Isabella said although she was careful to keep her tone respectful.
“Well, there will be your gown, my dear,” the Countess piped up meekly with a frozen smile on her face.
“Oh yes, my gown.” Isabella returned the frozen smile with one of her own. “Well, I am happy to leave such excitement to you, Mama.”
“As long as you understand that you will be well turned out on that day. I will not have you giving Elliot Covington any reason to turn you away at the last minute. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa,” Isabella said.
She wondered at the idea of having to make herself beautiful for a man whose face, it was said, was so disfigured that he could not be seen out in society. And yet still it was Isabella, the powerless woman, who had to make herself pleasing. It was she who must hope that the monster would find her attractive. How she despised the world she lived in.
Isabella had the beginnings of an idea and, as she let the remainder of the dreadful meeting wash over her whilst she kept silent, she knew that she would have to work on her plan immediately.
Although she had much of her plan worked out before she had seen Esme, to speak it out loud seemed to polish it and make it something more achievable in her eyes.
Isabella had a plan to run to Ireland.
The Countess of Upperton had, Isabella knew, an aunt who lived in Ireland. It was an aunt whom Isabella had the vaguest recollection of meeting once when she was a little girl. The lady had seemed quite elderly to her then, but she supposed that it was a facet of youth. When you were little, everybody seemed so much older.
Isabella could barely remember the woman’s face but had a general impression that she had been very kind and sweet. And, with no other family to speak of who would not give her away immediately, Isabella could think of none other to run to.
From the moment she had hatched the plan, Isabella had been in a highly agitated and nervous state. She had first to discover the exact whereabouts of her great aunt, which necessitated a clandestine search of her mother’s papers.
With a household full of quiet, nervous servants, to find an opportunity to search her mother’s room was no easy task. Her heart had thundered throughout the entire thing, and she wondered how, in the end, she would manage to go through with her plan if this simple task made her so nervous.
With the address secured and high hopes that her aunt had not moved to some other place in Ireland, there were other plans to make. Esme had procured a timetable of sailings from Liverpool to Ireland and had secretly passed her the paper, which had been folded so many times it was almost unreadable when she had opened it out. Still, she could see that there were regular sailings from Liverpool to Ireland and the timetable, tucked away inside her velvet drawstring purse, gave her quiet fortitude.
As far as making her way from her home in Hertfordshire to Liverpool, Esme had been of great assistance. Being free to make inquiries, Esme had sought out the best route to take.
“You will have to travel post-chaise from St Albans. There will be several changes to make on the journey, and it will take some days, but you will be in Liverpool before anybody thinks to look for you there,” Esme had said with some excitement.
Esme was the finest friend she had ever known. Despite the sadness that she was about to lose her friend to another country altogether, Esme was still determined to help her. She would rather see Isabella hundreds of miles away than have her in the same county, desperate and afraid in a marriage she did not want.
“St. Albans?” Isabella said, wondering how best to get there.
After all, she knew she could not take one of her father’s carriages, nor could she risk having a horse saddled on the pretense of taking an early morning ride.
Whilst this would not have been entirely out of the common way, Isabella knew that there was too much at stake to have a curious servant wonder why it was she was taking a small bag of belongings on her early morning ride. It simply could not be done.
“I can think of no other way of secretly going to St Albans but to walk there,” Isabella had said when the two of them had discussed the problem at length.
“It is but four miles away, and it would, in the end, very likely be the best solution,” Esme said thoughtfully. “But I do not think that it would be wise to walk it in daylight. You risk exactly the same exposure as you would in taking the horse, would you not?”
“Yes, any number of people might see me making my way. And any of the servants might see me leaving Upperton with a bag.”
“As uncomfortable as it might be, I think you might have to leave in the middle of the night. You must be ready to make your way silently out of Upperton Hall and into the darkness. It fills me with dread on your account, my dear, but I think it is the only way.” Esme looked dreadfully concerned.
“It is the only way, Esme.” Isabella reached for her hand and squeezed it hard. “Whatever am I going to do without you?”
“You cannot think of that now; you must not.” Esme blinked hard, and Isabella knew she had tears pricking her eyes. “You must think only of the plan and how best to execute it. The two of us will be friends always, have no doubt of that. Wherever you are in Ireland, I shall write to you every day.”
“At least we shall have that, Esme,” Isabella said brightly. “Which is likely more than I should be allowed if I am to stay and marry the monster.”
“You think it is likely he would not allow you to even correspond with me?” Esme seemed surprised as if she had not previously thought of such a thing.
“It is not a risk I am prepared to take.”
; “No indeed, nor shall you take it.” Esme became practical once more. “For you shall have courage and execute your plan perfectly.”
And yet, in the middle of the night, as Isabella crept down the main staircase with her small bag of possessions, she did not feel at all courageous; she felt terrified.
She had decided to come down the main staircase rather than using the back staircase, the narrow staircase used by the servants. Isabella thought it more likely that she might run into one of the servants at that hour than a member of her own family.
And the butler and housekeeper would never allow the rest of the staff to wander at will through the main part of Upperton Hall until it came five o’clock in the morning and their work began.
Still, despite the fact that she could not imagine who she would happen upon in the middle of the night on the main staircase, Isabella held her breath. She felt a little lightheaded, and her hands were cold and clammy, her grip on the small bag of possessions slipping just a little.
She had an awful feeling that the bag would slip from her grasp altogether and fall noisily down the rest of the staircase, alerting the whole household to her escape. But, in the end, it had not.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Isabella paused in the darkness, her eyes straining to see by the thinnest shards of moonlight. Her eyes began to slowly adjust to the gloom, and she could see no sign that she was anything other than alone in the great hallway.
And yet, she had the most awful feeling.
Isabella waited just a moment longer, determined not to panic or rush things. She could hear nothing, nor see any movement in the darkness. Quite why she had a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, she could not say, although she assumed it must be on account of her heightened excitement and nerves.
Finally, she stepped off the bottom stair and crept silently across the tiles of the entrance hall. The only thing she could hear was the rustle of her own gown as its hem slid across the floor. She paused for a moment, thinking even that amount of noise was too much. Isabella was but three strides away from the great door.
Her heart was beating so hard, and her breathing was so ragged, but she knew she must go on. She must get out of that house. Finally, she made to take the final steps, knowing that she could wait no longer.
“I think you forgot something.” The voice came from behind her, and Isabella almost screamed.
“Anthony?” she said and turned slowly in the darkness.
“Yes, it is.” Isabella and her brother had never been friends, and she wondered if there was any way to appeal to his better nature. “Surely you will need your timetable of the sailings from Liverpool to Ireland.” She could hear the amusement in his young voice; how cruel he sounded.
As he took a few steps towards her, Isabella could see that her brother was holding the much-folded little timetable in his hand. In her heart of hearts, she knew that he was not about to hand it to her and that he was there simply to cruelly taunt her.
“Anthony, you have been through my things to find that, have you not? You have been into my purse,” Isabella said reproachfully.
“Sister, I do hope you are not about to try to teach me about the rights and wrongs of such a thing when you yourself are clearly nothing more than a liar and a cheat who would see your family struggling in the dirt rather than do your duty.”
Isabella knew that her escape had been thwarted. There would be no appealing to her brother’s better nature, for that young man of just fourteen years did not have one. He was nothing more than a younger version of their dreadful father, and she knew it.
“So, you would also see me married to a monster to ensure that you have every luxury in life?” Isabella said, staving off feelings of pure hatred.
“It is your duty.”
“And what is your duty towards me? Or does nobody in this dreadful house have a duty towards my safety and happiness at all?”
“You are but a woman, Isabella. You do not have any right to expect such a thing,” he spoke with casual haughtiness.
He really was a very self-important little man.
“Then you will see why it is that I must leave,” she said and reached for the timetable, despite the fact that she knew he would withdraw it the moment he saw her move.
“You are not going anywhere, Isabella. I will not allow it.”
“You are but fourteen years, and you do not have a right to allow or disallow anything in my world,” Isabella said angrily.
“Why do you not understand that, regardless of your greater years, you are nothing in this household? I will one day be Earl of this great estate, and you will be nobody. You are below me, beneath me, and you always will be.”
Isabella turned and ran for the door. However, just as she reached for the great bolts which had been thrown across dutifully by the butler, she felt her brother seize her mercilessly by the hair and pull her backward.
Isabella did not scream for she did not want to alert anybody to the struggle which was taking place as she bravely fought off her brother. However, her brother yelled and barked until footsteps could be heard coming from all around.
The hallway quickly began to fill with worried-looking servants, none of whom would have done a thing to rescue her from her brother’s cruel treatment. And then, worst of all, she heard the booming voice of her father bellowing from the top of the great staircase.
“What on earth is going on?”
Chapter 3
As the carriage approached the edge of the Coldwell Estate, Isabella let her eyes fall to her lap. She had seen the tangle of trees and thick hawthorns surrounding the grounds and could not bear to look as they approached the thick iron gates.
She had seen the gates before; as a child, she had often peered at them in hopes of seeing something exciting. But she had always been thwarted, for there was nothing to see.
The driveway turned so sharply that an observer at the gates could see no more than a few feet of wide gravel path before it turned and was obscured by yet more thick, twisted hawthorns and extraordinarily tall leylandiis.
The estate really was cut off from the rest of the world, and Isabella wondered if she would ever pass out through the immense gates once she had entered. If she was to be a prisoner in that place for the rest of her life, then it might as well be her tomb, for her life was over.
“Good morning, Lord Upperton.” A man who had opened the gate approached the window of their carriage. “How nice to see you again.”
The man was certainly no servant, despite having unlocked and opened the gates wide with his own hands.
He was a well-dressed man, clearly a gentleman, and Isabella wondered for a moment if he might possibly be the Duke. He was very tall and broadly built, with the vaguest stoop to his bearing as if he were perpetually about to duck. He had pale blond hair, so pale it was hard to tell if it was graying, and pale blue-gray eyes.
But his face was certainly not ruined. It was not handsome, either, but there was no sign of the devastation she had come to expect. He was, perhaps, nearing forty years and so would have easily been the same age as the Duke.
“Ah, Maguire,” her father said shortly. “I trust everything is ready.”
“Indeed, it is, Lord Upperton.” The man nodded at the Earl matter-of-factly, not ingratiating himself to the man at all, despite the fact that he had just been spoken to like a servant.
Unless a man was of equal or greater title to her father, he spoke to them all in the same fashion. For a moment, in spite of her own fears, Isabella felt pleased to see a man who refused, albeit silently, to be cowed by the Earl of Upperton.
“Well, we shall ride on through to the Duke’s chapel and get on with things,” the Earl said and moved away from the window, leaning back in his seat and turning his head in the opposite direction from Mr Maguire before loudly thumping at the ceiling of the carriage with his cane.
How rude he was; how terribly rude.
However, Isabella had gre
ater worries on her mind than her father’s appalling attitude. Mr Maguire was clearly not the Duke, and so she knew that she still had to face the monster.
As the carriage rumbled on up the winding gravel driveway, Isabella was too afraid to look up. She imagined such a ruined place, a place full of cobwebs and fear and sadness, and she did not want to see it. She wanted to be herself just a few minutes longer and yet, as she looked down, all she could see was the gown that her mother had the seamstress make for her.
“My dear, it shall need to be fitted again. The seamstress is here, and she is waiting in the morning room. Come, I shall stay with you and make sure that everything fits perfectly.” Her mother had approached her with such a tone of lightness that Isabella simply stared at her dumbfounded.
A Beauty for the Scarred Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 2
