Page 38 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“ W hat’s this I hear about Isobel leaving for Brighton?” his mother asked, her color heightened.

Adrian barely had time to reconcile himself to Isobel’s loss when the dowager duchess came sweeping into the drawing room as though she owned it.

He sighed and pinched his nose. He’d had enough of explaining himself to people, and he already knew what his mother would think about the affair.

“She didn’t leave for Brighton,” he said. “Sit down.”

“What’s going on, Adrian?”

In as few words as possible, he explained the bare bones of their situation. The fact that Moreton was a danger to Isobel’s life, and by extension had threatened him, too.

“And so, I’m sending her away,” he finished shortly.

“It’s not safe for her to be here with me when Moreton is looking for any reason to find her and harm her.

And if she’s here, I’m going to be constantly worrying about her welfare.

This way, I can ensure her safety while focusing my full attention on stopping Moreton. ”

For a long moment, his mother sat silently.

“Oh, Adrian,” she said finally, a little sadly.

“There’s no need to sound like that. I’m doing what’s best for the both of us. Once this is over, she can return, or I will go to her, and everything will be as it should.”

“I knew there was something going on—and frankly, I didn’t find her mother’s desire for her to find an English husband plausible—but I didn’t know the situation was so dire.” She looked up at him steadily. “Did you?”

“Know the situation before I married her? No.”

“Would it have changed your mind?”

“I hardly know why that is of any concern.” He strode about the room, attempting to keep his composure. “I didn’t know, and now I do, and with Moreton targeting her and extending his threats toward me, it seemed prudent to remove Isobel from the situation.”

“What does she think about it?”

“Isobel?” He frowned at his mother. “She thinks she should be the one to stay here and fight, naturally. But we both know that this is for the best.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he snapped. “I can’t risk anything happening to her.”

“Marriage is not about one person making all the decisions,” she said softly. “Do not shut her out of your life.”

“For heaven’s sake—I am protecting her!”

“And is that how she sees it?”

Adrian clenched his jaw. After watching Isobel clatter away from him in that damn carriage, her face too pale and her body too weak from her excess the day before, he felt too raw for this conversation.

“I have explained the situation to her plenty of times,” he said, his voice clipped. “If she chooses not to see it, that is her problem, not mine.”

“Oh, Adrian.” She shook her head, looking even more sad. “Am I to take it that you are sending her away against her will?”

“She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said with a sigh.

“The girl who fled from Scotland fully understood the danger she was in. When she married you, she understood the danger she was in, I guarantee it. If she wanted to remain by your side, that speaks more of her affection for you than a lack of understanding of her situation.”

Adrian stiffened. “What are you saying?”

“What do you think, Adrian? The girl loves you. I can’t say if she did before your marriage, but you can’t deny a change has happened in the time since then. She loves you, and you sent her away.”

His chest constricted.

Love—it was impossible. They hadn’t been married long. A matter of days. Weeks. They had barely known each other before their marriage, even if he had been drawn to her, and after… Well, such intimacy came from being wedded, he was certain.

Even if his mother and father had never shown signs of sharing that intimacy. His father had been a dark man, thriving off the feeling of power and control—and ensuring his family bowed to his word.

Adrian inhaled sharply. “You don’t understand, Mother.”

“Don’t I?” She finally rose and came to stand in front of him. “I saw you as a boy. I was married to your father. Do you think I have forgotten what that man did to you?”

He twitched away from her all-seeing stare. “We don’t have to speak of it.”

“We do. Because Adrian, when I married your father, I loved him. Oh, I know when he died, I felt nothing for him. He took my love and he burned it, along with everything else of value.”

Finally, her implication reached him, and he reared back. “I am nothing like him.”

“You do not have his cruelty, and you are capable of so much more love. I don’t think he ever loved anyone or anything but himself.” She cupped his cheek. “But you have his need for control. I see it in your life and everything you have made of it.”

“I—”

“Listen to me, Adrian. I can’t tell you what to do. Heavens, I have known that for as long as you have been alive. You have always been determined to be your own man, and so you have been. For better or for worse. Mostly, it has been for better. As I said, you’re not cruel.

“But by taking away Isobel’s voice, by thinking you know better and acting against her will, you are fulfilling the legacy your father left for you. As a woman, we only have the power our husbands grant us.”

She let her hand drop and stepped back.

“I know you dislike the thought, Adrian. I know you care for her, even if you can’t admit it to yourself.

But if that’s true, you need to respect her autonomy.

Give her the power of respect and to make her own choices.

Often, those will align with yours. And when they don’t, listen to her.

Don’t erase her voice.” She stepped back again.

“Tread carefully, son. If you do not, she may never forgive you.”

Adrian could do nothing but stand in silence as she left him standing in the middle of the living room.

Alone.

Isobel reached Somerset Hall that evening.

The journey had been a miserable one, and she barely had the energy to look around as she entered the old building.

At once, the weight of Adrian’s legacy pressed into her. His father had burned one of his other, lesser houses, but this was his seat. The place all the Dukes of Somerset had resided since they were first awarded the title.

And now it was to be her home.

As Isobel was led to her rooms, she caught sight of a young stable boy lingering at the foot of the staircase.

He was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, with a mop of sandy hair and bright, perceptive eyes that flicked over her with something like curiosity. Unlike the stiff-backed footmen and the housekeeper, who had given her a wary but respectful curtsy, this boy had no reservations about staring.

She paused, tilting her head. “And you are?”

“Tommy, Your Grace,” he answered, ducking his head in an approximation of a bow. “I work in the stables.”

A stable boy, then. She was certain Adrian had no idea of his existence. A duke did not trouble himself with the names of those who tended his horses.

“Do you ride, Your Grace?” Tommy asked, surprising her.

“I do.” Her lips twitched. “Better than most gentlemen.”

His face split into a grin. “Aye, I believe it.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “If you ever want a horse saddled without too many eyes on you, just let me know.”

She considered him for a moment before murmuring, “And why would you offer me such a thing, Tommy?”

His grin dimmed, and he glanced at the housekeeper, who was still waiting for her to follow.

“Because you don’t look like the type to sit inside all day,” Tommy whispered, his tone blunt but not unkind.

Isobel felt something tighten in her chest.

Sharp boy.

She nodded once. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then, with one last glance over her shoulder, she allowed herself to be led into her new home.

The servants led her to her rooms, which had been readied for her arrival. An adjoining door led to the duke’s rooms, which were of course empty.

When everyone else had gone to bed, she took a candle and entered the room, pushing open the door and breathing in the stale air.

While she had no doubt Adrian had stayed here every time he came to the countryside, it was also clear he hadn’t been here in quite some time. Moreover, there were no personal touches to the room.

In fact, as she had passed through the house, it was as though there were no personal touches anywhere. He had seemingly erased whatever personality the house once had, and there was nothing left but a sense of duty worn smooth.

Isobel released a long, shuddering breath as she sat on the duke’s bed. Such pain had dwelled within these walls.

No wonder he had not wanted to make it a home. No doubt he hated the very thought of living here.

And yet, he had sent her here.

One day, perhaps, she would not feel the hurt from that betrayal quite so acutely. But for now, it lingered in her veins like the most acute poison.

She retrieved her candle and moved to her bedchamber, retrieving a letter she had received from her parents. It was obvious they had written it together, her father probably leaning over her mother’s shoulder as she wrote. Words of love and affirmation from them both.

We are so very proud of you, my darling , her mother had written.

You have done everything you set out to achieve and more.

And to think, you have married a duke! Remember, as with all things, marriage is not easy.

I know little of the Duke of Somerset, but he came into his title early and no doubt is accustomed to getting his way without resistance.

We know you, Isobel, and you can be outspoken.

We love your fiery heart, but in order to make your marriage work, you must learn patience.

Promise me you will give him every chance to do right by you and confide in him all your feelings.

If he is trustworthy, trust him, and you will see your investment rewarded twofold.

We love you, daughter of ours, and we trust you will make the right decisions.

Mother and Father

Tears threatened, and she sniffed them back.

She had received the letter the day after Adrian had decided to send her away. She hadn’t needed the advice, and it would not have served her well, regardless. She had trusted him with her most precious secrets, and he had repaid her with a lack of trust.

Still, her fingers lingered across more words, the reassurance her parents had sent her.

Adrian needed more patience than most men. Trapped here, in a place where his hurt bled through, she sensed it even more acutely. She had trusted him, but she had fought back at his first demand. She’d allowed hurt to consume her.

Perhaps their marriage was destined to fail, after all.

Or perhaps she should have done something differently.

How could she offer a man like that patience? First, he would have to offer her respect.

She blew out her candle and huddled under the covers.

How had everything gone wrong so quickly?