Page 24

twenty-four

S ilence dropped in the sitting room when Isabella gave the announcement.

After Anthony had so happily agreed to marry her, she hadn’t wanted him to leave his house and talk to her parents. He would arrange a meeting with Father to discuss her dowry and other things. Showing himself was a great sacrifice for him, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable on top of lying to him. The fact she genuinely cared about him and liked him only made her feel more guilty. Although to her credit, he’d brought up the marriage.

Mother seemed frozen with her needle halfway through the fabric of her work. Helen’s eyes remained wide and unblinking. Father watched her with his pipe hanging precariously in his mouth. They all seemed ready for a photograph.

Admittedly, she hadn’t done a good job at giving the news. Guilt gnawed at her without rest, fuelled by the vision of Anthony’s broad smile when she’d agreed without hesitation to his proposal. Also, her family weren’t aware of Anthony’s former intention of marrying her or of her secret meetings with him, so the news came unexpectedly.

“The duke wants to marry you.” Mother lowered her needlework.

“Yes.” Isabella summoned a bit of enthusiasm.

Father coughed puffs of smoke, putting down the pipe. “Why the hurry?”

“Because you’re leaving for the Americas, and I would like to share the wedding with you. The alternative would be waiting for too long, and Anthony doesn’t want a big wedding, given what happened to him.”

Helen finally blinked. “I don’t understand. He has never shown an interest in you, has he?”

It was time for a small confession. “Actually, he showed his interest in courting me before the incident, the night I danced the waltz with him. I meant to tell you, but then the incident happened. Anthony was recovering, and marriage was never mentioned again. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to marry me anymore. So I stayed silent. But now that he’s well and I don’t have a suitor, we can go ahead. A week from now, we’ll get married.”

So soon, yet so far away.

“You never told me you liked him so much,” Helen said, sounding hurt.

“You wanted to marry him. I didn’t think mentioning my interest was appropriate.”

Father arched his brow.

Helen rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what to say. The Dowager assured us the duke wanted to marry me.”

“Well.” Mother exhaled. “The duke has the last word. He chose Isabella, and she said yes. That’s all that matters.”

“Do you want to marry him?” Father asked, suspicion in his tone.

“I do.” Her hand covered her belly instinctively, and to be honest, Anthony was a good man.

She enjoyed his company and was ready to be a good wife to him. Maybe their relationship didn’t involve love or deep passion, but she couldn’t ask for more.

Mother smiled. “I’m happy for you, but we have a lot of work to do in a short time. You have to decide if you want to marry in white as the queen did, or if you want to wear any other colour. Light blue is in fashion although white and lots of lace are becoming predominant. Your choice.”

If only all her choices were that simple.

Helen slumped her shoulders. “You should be happy.”

Mother tapped Helen’s arm. “ You should be happy for your sister and show her your support.”

Helen narrowed her gaze. “I always do the wrong thing, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” Isabella said as Mother said, “Don’t be sour. It’s unappealing.”

“Are you happy?” Father searched Isabella’s face.

“Very much.” Relieved, mostly. Guilty, surely.

Father rose to hug her. “I hope you’re happy, darling.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, a lump forming in her throat. “Thank you, Father.”

* * *

Mother had been right.

In the following days, Isabella had done nothing but get ready for her wedding, for her new life, for the biggest deceit she’d ever put up.

A life she hadn’t planned, expected, or thought of.

There were so many things to organise, they postponed the wedding for another week. Lawson had assured her she wasn’t showing, but she could swear a small bump had appeared on her belly.

The only good thing about the frenetic visits to the modiste, the endless writing of letters and messages to friends and relatives, and the discussions about the wedding breakfast was that she hadn’t had time or energy to think about her situation. Or worse, about the fact she would lie in bed with Anthony in a matter of days to make him believe the baby she carried was his heir.

Every time her determination wavered, she thought of Mary in that horrible dark room and her small child.

She hadn’t seen Anthony, which was good because she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t tell him the truth if he smiled at her and told her how happy he was. She hadn’t seen the Dowager either, which was even better. The matron suspected the truth. Isabella was sure of that. The elder woman possessed the uncanny ability to see through people.

Lawson was her only anchor. The only one who knew everything.

The night before the wedding, Isabella kept tossing and turning in her bed. In the quiet of her bedroom—the last night she would spend in her bedroom—the doubts and guilt tormented her.

Perhaps she should tell Anthony the truth right after they were married. He would hate her, but she wouldn’t carry the lie for too long. How awful. No matter how she considered the situation, she felt guilty.

Her wedding dress—a beautiful ivory gown made of lace and satin—stood in a corner of the room like a pale ghost haunting her.

She covered her face with the pillow, cursing again that night. If she didn’t talk with someone, she would scream bloody murder. She left the bed to go to Lawson’s room.

“Lawson.” A sob escaped her. “What am I doing?”

Lawson stopped packing her clothes in a trunk and hugged her. “The right thing.” She let Isabella cry.

“He was so happy when I told him I wanted to marry him. He has no idea. When did I become such a horrible person?”

“If he never knows, he’ll never get hurt. Once you give him his heir, everything will be better. And the child is his nephew, his own blood.”

“I feel despicable.” She shivered, grabbing Lawson’s shoulders for dear life.

“The alternative is death. Lady Mary was lucky to find a job and people to help her, and yet she’s struggling. Other women aren’t so lucky.”

Lawson’s words were of little consolation. But the wedding was going to happen.

The most difficult part would be to be in bed with Anthony. Not because she didn’t find Anthony attractive, quite the opposite, but because she would need to lie to him again.

* * *

Oddly enough, on the morning of the ceremony, Anthony wasn’t terribly nervous.

He checked his reflection in the mirror after Wilson had finished helping him get ready and dressed—a rather long affair, for which he’d risen well before dawn, even though he’d travelled the night before to Windsor to be closer to the chapel.

The only matter that bothered him was whether he should let his hair cover the scars or not.

No hair, he decided. Isabella had told him she didn’t mind the scar. As for the guests, he would endure the stares and mutters. With Isabella at his side, he would face the scorn.

He barely left his bedroom before Grandmama walked over to him as if she were ambushing him.

“You look elegant.” She gave him a long, assessing glance.

“Thank you.”

She straightened his collar and brushed an invisible speck from his shoulders. “Have you thought about what I told you last night?”

“I’m going to get married today. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“That young lady isn’t ready to represent our family. ”

“Neither am I.” He covered the scars. He would leave that type of bravery for another occasion.

She didn’t desist. “I couldn’t invite all the people who should have been invited. Heavens, your brother is in the middle of the ocean. Not to mention that, given time and a proper strategy, the queen would have wanted to see you before the wedding. Her golden jubilee is coming soon. She’s busy.”

“Even if Isabella and I had a long engagement, I wouldn’t have wanted to invite all the people in Burke’s Peerage. I want a simple, quick ceremony with a small number of guests, and I want it now. And that’s it.”

She took his hand in hers. “I know I pressured you to get married, and I won’t deny that you need to produce an heir and a spare, but the incident taught me your happiness is more important. Are you happy? Do you want to marry Isabella?”

“Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “The incident taught me not to think too much about everything, and I like Isabella a lot.”

Exhaling, Grandmama patted his hand. “Let’s show everyone how proud we are to be the House of Beaufort.”

“Of course.”

The ride in the carriage and the pavement crowded with people triggered his anxiety. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt as the yells and bangs of that day, when he’d bled while stuck in the middle of an angry mob, echoed in his ears. He expected the people to assault the carriage at any moment. He wasn’t sure what frightened him the most—showing his face publicly or being stuck in a riot again.

“Is something the matter?” Grandmama asked.

“The crowd reminds me of that day.”

“You’ve been in a carriage after the incident and never had problems. Why now?”

“I’m nervous.”

“I’m not going to tell you not to be nervous. You should be. I am nervous. Having an unprepared, wild duchess in our family is going to be a challenge. She’ll humiliate us and cause trouble, mark my words.”

“Please stop.” He leant back into the seat. “Just for today, stop disparaging my soon-to-be wife.” His tone was more forced than usual, and Grandmama didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride.

In the church, he couldn’t stand still when he waited for his bride to arrive with the few guests. Every whisper or tap of the foot echoed off the high-vaulted ceiling of the chapel. The sunlight played with the stained-glass windows, casting a riot of colours on the Grecian columns. The sight was beautiful, but the guests had eyes only for him.

Apparently, his face was more interesting than the Panel of Kings.

His hair didn’t completely cover the scar, and surely people had speculated on what he truly looked like after the rumours about him being disfigured. As soon as Isabella was next to him, he wouldn’t care about anyone’s judgement.

Lady Montrose and Helen were sitting on the right side of the aisle while the left side was reserved for his relatives. Not many.

The music began, and he straightened. A white silhouette came into view against the backdrop of the sunlight pouring from the door to the church. He hitched a breath.

When Isabella appeared dressed in an ivory silk gown that exalted her raven hair and black eyes, all his twitches and fidgeting stopped. Her beauty captured his attention, making him forget about everything else. Even her father at her side disappeared.

She looked ethereal and beautiful, like a ray of moonlight, as she walked towards him, holding a nosegay of small white flowers. Her plush lips parted when their gazes met, and her steps faltered. Her chest heaved. The closer she came, the faster she breathed. He doubted her nervousness was only due to the ceremony.

He couldn’t say Isabella had the happy, bright countenance of a woman whose romantic dream was becoming true. She shivered, seemed to have lost weight in barely ten days, and had dark circles around her eyes. Her exhaustion might be caused by the intense two weeks they both had before the wedding and the fact her parents were about to leave.

But in case she had second thoughts about him, he wouldn’t hide who he was or how he looked, so he tilted his chin up to let his hair fall back. Helen gasped, and Lady Montrose put a hand on her chest.

Grandmama shot them a glare filled with outrage. Had they not been on consecrated ground, he was sure Helen and Lady Montrose would have been burnt by that stare. They regained their composure.

Isabella, instead, resumed walking towards him with new determination.

When she took his arm and they both faced the altar, he stroked her hand with his thumb to tell her not to be afraid. She rewarded him with a smile.

He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t do anything to upset her. All he wanted was to take care of her.