Beauty and the Wolf

by Marina Myles

  The wind felt cold and refreshing. Draven provided a sturdy anchor as she strolled. When she noticed how the wind blew his coattails askew and flushed his cheeks, her pulse leapt. She forced her stare away as they meandered beneath a giant elm that must have been a sapling centuries ago.

  Draven took a turn sliding a glance her way. His expression turned thoughtful while he gave her a long history lesson on Thorncliff Towers. Patience was a side to him Isabella hadn’t seen before and she didn’t know how to interpret his newfound kindness.

  They had nearly completed a circle around the house when Isabella noticed a barn house at the edge of the headland. While she and Draven chattered on, Mrs. Eaton came streaming out of the structure carrying the hem of her skirt.

  “Lady Winthrop! Come quick!”

  There was no time to ask questions. Isabella lifted her own skirts and followed the housekeeper inside the barn. Draven was right behind her. He clutched her shoulder as they came to stand in front of a rabbit yard. Alice was there, leaning over the side of the low fence wearing a genuine look of concern. She pointed to a female rabbit, a doe, lying within the pen that was writhing in pain.

  “We came to check on the animals and discovered that this poor rabbit is the only one left,” she said. “The door to the barn was left open last night. The other rabbits have mysteriously disappeared.”

  The wolves, Isabella thought. “Thankfully this doe survived,” she said. “She looks pregnant.”

  “She is,” Mrs. Eaton replied. “But she’s havin’ a hard time givin’ birth. She’s ill. Maybe losin’ the others made her sick.”

  “We’ve tried everythin’ to help her,” Alice interjected. “But we don’t know what to do. Since ye were a governess, m’lady . . .”

  “I don’t know if that experience will help, but I did have a dog growing up,” Isabella informed them. Miss Blue had been the Farringtons’ English Springer Spaniel. A magnificent canine with shining fur, Miss Blue had been loyal and playful. Sadly, she died shortly after Isabella’s mother passed away. “I assisted when my spaniel birthed four puppies,” she offered.

  Draven had been standing silently by as the women conversed, his arms crossed. But the more he looked at the pathetic rabbit curled up in a ball, he became more sympathetic and he released his arms and sat on his haunches. “Is it the end for the doe?”

  “I don’t think so,” Isabella said.

  From the look of the hole dug within the yard, the animal had made a typical birth-giving nest. Shallow and cup-shaped, the hole was inches away from the weak rabbit. Isabella, who was still weak herself, climbed over the low fence and stepped inside the yard. She peered into the nest and saw that it was coated with tufts of the doe’s fur. She didn’t know much about rabbits, but she did know that bunnies were born without fur. Her heart tugged. The pregnant animal had plucked its own fur in anticipation of caring for her babies.

  “She needs to squat over the nest,” Isabella said quietly.

  Picking up the limp rabbit, she stroked its back and talked to it gently. Mrs. Eaton and Alice were watching her with empathetic eyes while Draven’s expression held a cool disdain.

  “What if it has a disease?” he asked.

  “You don’t ask that when you eat Mrs. Tidwell’s stew,” Isabella replied sternly.

  Draven made no comment as she tried to coax the doe to stand erect enough so that it could start pushing. Under normal circumstances, the rabbit would have bit her. Now it looked at Isabella with gratitude in its vulnerable state.

  Making a mewing sound, the female began the birthing process. Isabella started to sweat as she knelt before the nest. After twenty minutes, her arms grew weary. Her head ached and her vision grew distorted enough to make the landscape tilt to one side.

  “She’s nearly there,” she said. “But I can’t hold her anymore. Will you take over for me?” She shot a look at Draven who had distanced himself from the scene.

  He put a hand to his chest. “Me?”

  “Yes. This will take a while and you have strong hands.”

  “I don’t know—” he sputtered.

  “Go on, Master Draven,” Alice encouraged him with a smile. “The poor rabbit is too weak to do ye any harm.”

  Exhaling, he took off his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves up. He stepped intrepidly inside the yard and took the doe from Isabella. At first, he held it at arm’s length like it was something contagious. Isabella had to smile at how awkward he was with the quivering animal, but he managed to show a degree of tenderness at the same time.

  After thirty minutes, the doe gave birth to seven adorable, closed-eyed bunnies.

  “You did a first-rate job, yer lordship!” Mrs. Eaton cried.

  Draven smiled as he let the housekeeper and Alice step in and take over the care of the exhausted female and her offspring.

  “Wasn’t that amazing?” Isabella asked.

  “It was bloody fantastic.” His face lit up while he put his jacket back on. “I’ve never been a part of something like that before. However, I’ll never eat rabbit stew again.”

  She laughed. Then her smile faded. “I hope the doe will survive for her babies now.”

  “I hope so too. The ability to give birth is truly a miracle.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

  They walked away from the house and came to sit on a knoll that overlooked the bay. Isabella plucked at an arched vine while Draven’s broad shoulders bunched as his arms dangled over his drawn-up knees.

  “It was a good thing you knew what to do with the doe, Isabella. You have kind instincts.”

  “Thank you.” She looked beyond the bluff to the encroaching tide.

  Does Draven think I’d be a good mother? Am I pregnant right now?

  She put a hand to her belly as she studied her husband’s symmetrical profile. From this angle, his features were more exotically handsome than classically so. She gave a little smile as his charcoal lashes curled lushly against his eyelids and his dark, shimmering hair flapped enticingly in the breeze.

  Instead of fighting the impulse to touch the fluttering strands, she reached over and threaded her fingers through them. He locked eyes with her and smiled.

  “You impressed me with that rabbit today,” she said. “Did you ever have a pet growing up?”

  “Never,” said Draven, taking her hand. “The closest thing I had to a pet was a bird I caught by the beach. It was a young seagull, but it managed to burst out of the lame cage I made for it. I suppose it wasn’t right for me to imprison it in the first place.” His palm grew moist despite the chilly air. “Just as I was wrong to insist that you stay here forever.”

  “Caring for someone means giving them the freedom to make their own choices.”

  “Said like a true governess.” He chuckled to lighten the mood.

  She put her hands on her hips and feigned offense. “I should put you over my knee for that.”

  He slid closer and kissed her seductively. “You can put me over your knee anytime.”

  She blushed. “There you go persuading me again.”

  He held her close as the salty sea air swept over them. “I just had a brilliant idea.”

  “What is that?”

  “We should throw a party to celebrate you being alive and well.”

  Isabella drew away. Draven made her heart speed, but she still felt inclined to protest. “Joyous celebrations hardly fall under the Winthrop style.”

  “Poppycock,” he said. “I can throw one hell of a fête as well as the next aristocrat.”

  “It doesn’t seem like something you’d enjoy.”

  “You mean: why would I want to throw a party when I loathe people?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “I’ll do it for you. A ball will show all of London Society that I’ve received you with open arms—to dispel your current reputation. It will also be a send-off to my mother. An announcement as it were, telling the world that soon she will be living in London.”

  Isabel
la took in a breath. “Helena agreed to leave here?”

  “Not yet. But she will when I discuss it with her.” He continued to hold her hand and a thrill raced along her skin.

  “I’ve heard that Helena is uneasy in the presence of a large group,” Isabella said, putting a hand to the bandage on her forehead.

  Draven gave her a mischievous wink. “All the more reason to throw a party.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for something like that.”

  “Come now. Aren’t we supposed to be curing you of your serious ways? Besides, a party shall be an excuse to spoil you. You deserve a dress made from the finest material in England. I am picturing you in gold.”

  She finally smiled.

  “I think a gathering is just what we need in this house—to take our minds off the recent chain of events,” Draven went on.

  “And the details of this celebration . . . ?” she asked, giving in.

  “It will be a ball grander than any before it. With mountains of flowers, oceans of candles, and rivers of champagne. It will be the reception we never had the chance to indulge in.”

  “Our wedding celebration was rather pathetic.”

  “Thanks to me.” Draven smiled sheepishly.

  “We’ve been married for over two years,” Isabella said. “Is it proper to throw a party like this?”

  “‘Proper’ is a notion I threw out the window long ago.”

  Isabella let out a laugh. “Said like a nobleman with the means to scoff at convention.” She paused. “Very well. Have your party. I would protest more, but I suspect you’ll do what you want anyhow.”

  “You know me too well.”

  “Shall we tell Helena?”

  “Let’s get you inside so you can rest some more,” Draven instructed. “I will inform her about the ball, among other things.”

  Draven pulled a chair up beside his stepmother while she was eating her nuncheon. When he told her of his plan, Helena met the news with an open mouth.

  “After this celebration,” he explained further, “I’ll have Alice accompany you to the Mayfair house. Once you’ve established yourself, you must hire a new staff.”

  “Why are you asking me to leave now, Draven?” she said.

  “If I have any chance of keeping Isabella as a wife, I must do all I can to convince her to stay. That includes allowing her the privacy she deserves in her own household.”

  “Just say the words.” Helena scowled. “You’d be happy if you never saw me again.”

  Draven answered her by crossing his arms defiantly.

  “Very well. I’m not an invalid,” she retorted. “I’ll be perfectly capable of taking care of myself in London. Furthermore, I do not wish to remain where I am not wanted. As for this frivolous celebration, you must keep the guest list to those I insist on inviting.”

  “You are agreeing?”

  She offered him her most ruthless smile. “I would have left long ago. But you never asked.”

  Draven’s face turned as red as a ripe cherry.

  After his stepmother took a sip of her Earl Grey tea, she stood and placed her napkin on her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I have correspondence to read. I’ll be in my room.”

  Draven stayed in his seat after Helena left, pondering his next move. He had one more thing to do in his attempt to permanently capture Isabella’s heart. And it meant searching the entire house on his own.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Isabella climbed the main staircase to the second floor.

  Nine days had passed since her ordeal in the secret passageway. Though it had been a horrendous affair, something positive had come from it: she’d gotten a glimpse of Draven’s attentive side.

  He had spent nearly every hour of the day with her lately. Fussing over her. Entertaining her. And he’d been nothing but kind and docile.

  With her head buried in a book, Isabella continued along the corridor. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Wheeling around, she stared into Draven’s face. Bright-eyed and unusually enthusiastic, he had his black hair tucked back at the nape while his freshly shaved face gleamed like a swatch of silk.

  As dashing as he appeared, Isabella was mostly struck by the clarity he emanated—as if any signs of his madness had completely vanished.

  He took her hand and led her into her chambers without saying a word. After he directed her to the upholstered window bench, they sat. She breathed in whiffs of his toilette water and leaned against him, as excited as a schoolgirl.

  Draven said nothing as he caressed her hand. When Isabella opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her by placing a single finger to her lips.

  She studied the expression in his ebony eyes. There was something decidedly different about him today. It was a keen sense of purpose she had never seen in him before.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I found your amulet.”

  Her shoulders rose. “What did you say?”

  “Your amulet. I’ve found it. And you’ll never guess where it was.”

  “Where?”

  Unclenching his strong jaw, Draven plunged into his story. “First let me say that I was more than a little upset when your father accused me of stealing your necklace. Besides the fact that you claimed it has no real monetary value, I would never take something from you that holds a sentimental place in your heart.”

  Isabella eyed him skeptically, yet nothing but genuine concern stared back at her.

  “I was determined to locate it for you,” he said. “I searched this household from top to bottom by taking out drawers, moving furniture. I even checked inside pockets of clothing that didn’t belong to me.”

  “And?” An anxious lump blocked Isabella’s throat.

  He looked at her from the corner of his eye, as if it would soften his next words. “I found it in your father’s room.”

  She sat in silence for a moment, completely stunned. “What?”

  “I know it sounds preposterous, but it was there, in his bedside table drawer, plain as day. And now,” he said as if he were at odds, “I’m returning it to you.”

  Flabbergasted, Isabella watched as he withdrew the amulet from his waistcoat pocket. For a moment, the necklace’s stone glimmered in the air before he draped it across her bosom and clasped it behind her neck.

  She touched the lapis. Its surface felt familiar and comforting. “When did you search my father’s suite?”

  “When he went into town early this morning.” He paused. “Isabella, I’m very sorry to be the bearer of this sort of news.”

  “But there must be some sort of logical explanation for the amulet being there! Maybe my father found it earlier but hadn’t gotten around to telling me yet.”

  “Perhaps,” Draven said. He took her hand and traced the fine veins on its surface.

  She leaned against him. “Do you think I should confront my father?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s allow him the benefit of the doubt. If he gives up his search of the amulet, we’ll know he’s hiding something.”

  “I don’t understand why he’d steal it in the first place.”

  “Has your father ever asked you to return the amulet to him?”

  Isabella thought for a moment. “Just after he arrived here, he offered to take it and have it cleaned and restored.”

  “What was your answer?”

  “I told him I preferred it exactly how it was.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s anyone’s guess as to why he confiscated it.” Draven paused. “Bella, I know you love your father. And I know how relieved you were when you brought him back home after his accident. But I suspect he may be suffering from dementia based on amnesia. I’ve read a great deal about it in a medical journal written by a doctor in London.”

  “Amnesia?” She squeezed his hand for stability.

  “Yes. The physician’s name is Nicholas Van Sant. After conducting a barrage of interviews and countless exams, this doctor concluded that a severe blow to the head can e
rase one’s memory and alter one’s personality drastically.”

  “Papa has seemed quite different to me,” she admitted. “He’s lost sections of his memory and I never remember him being so stern. On the other hand, there are times when he is exactly as I recall.”

  “It’s not your father’s fault,” Draven said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve secured an appointment for you with Dr. Van Sant. During your meeting, you may ask any question you like. Perhaps you’ll learn how to help your father. However, keeping your appointment will mean traveling to London for a day or two.”

  Isabella smiled and overlapped his hand with her free one. “Thank you so much.”

  He frowned. “Just promise me you shall return.”

  She smiled. “I shall return to tell you what Dr. Van Sant said.”

  “This must be very difficult for you.”

  Draven had no idea just how hard it was for Isabella. But a bright spot shone this day. The fact that he had hunted for something so precious to her while showing real concern for her father was exhilarating. “You searched this entire house for my amulet?” she asked. “You did that for me?”

  His hot stare met hers and the fortress she’d constructed around her emotions began to crumble one brick at a time.

  “I’d do anything for you, Isabella,” he whispered.

  She snuggled into the curve of her chest and sighed. “Draven?”

  “Hmm?”

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  She sat up and looked at him. “I’m learning to trust you again, so there is something I must know. Promise not to get angry?”

  He reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Ask me anything.”

  “Was it you spying on me during my bath? When I first arrived?”