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twenty-five

T he ceremony was done in a matter of minutes, or at least so it’d seemed to Isabella. As she’d walked along the aisle with her father to join Anthony, there had been a moment when she’d meant to flee, for Anthony’s sake. But then he’d shown his scars to everyone, and Helen’s gasp and Mother’s mutters had bothered her so much she’d marched on to show him her support.

Her bravery hadn’t lasted long. Not because she didn’t believe Anthony was a good, kind man. He was, and exactly for that reason, he didn’t deserve the deceit. However, if everything went well, her baby would grow up in a good, happy family and not in an orphanage, ending up in a workhouse when he was thirteen, or worse, being branded as an illegitimate child.

The wedding reception was brief as well. The Dowager barely spoke to her, and she was happy about that. When the guests left and she said her goodbyes to everyone, the frenetic whirlwind of activities of the past few days came to a grinding halt.

No more appointments, people to talk to, or things to do.

The wedding was done. She was Anthony’s wife.

Now there was only her, Anthony, and her lies.

Since her parents would leave soon, she would travel to London in their carriage while Anthony rode with the Dowager.

Her hands trembled when she sat with Mother, Father, and Helen in the carriage, ready to go.

The footman opened the door. “My lord, Her Grace.”

The Dowager swept into view, tall and proud in her austere gown. “I would like a word with my new granddaughter.”

Muttering, “Of course,” her family filed out of the carriage.

Father lingered for a moment before exiting.

Isabella stiffened when the Dowager sat in front of her in a swish of silk. The carriage suddenly turned small and crowded.

“Fear not,” the Dowager said, “I only want to talk to you.”

“Isn’t that what highwaymen say before they thwack you?” She let out a nervous laugh.

The Dowager didn’t crack a smile. “I expect nothing short of perfection from you. You will not put us to shame. You’ll be the duchess my grandson needs.”

She didn’t say anything. As nervous as she was, she would say something silly. And the Dowager would find any reply inadequate, anyway.

“Remember my words.” The Dowager left the carriage, taking her ominous words with her.

Isabella had barely time to realise the reality of her new life during the trip back to London. She didn’t listen to the chatter about the wedding reception or the worst hat among the guests. Her mind was stuck on her imminent, unavoidable wedding night.

When Father hugged her in front of Gloucester House, she couldn’t contain a sob.

He patted her back. “There, there, darling. Don’t be upset. You’re going to be a great duchess, and I’m proud of you.”

His kind words only caused her to cry harder. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be so sympathetic.

“We can postpone our journey,” he said, “and stay here for a while with you.”

“Oh, Benjamin, we can’t.” Mother wiped Isabella’s tears with a handkerchief. “Everything is ready, and Isabella isn’t a child. You’ll be fine.”

Helen hugged her as well in a surprisingly tight embrace. “I’ll visit you.”

After another round of hugs and kisses, she was ready to go. No, she wasn’t. She kept tormenting her hands and her skirt.

Lawson sat next to her as she rode to her new home.

“Lying with a man is easier than it seems,” Lawson said.

“I know.” She touched her belly. “But this is Anthony. I’ve never been intimate with him.”

“Don’t complain and let him do everything, and remember a lady who rides regularly doesn’t bleed on her first night. He won’t suspect anything. Just lie back, and he’ll do the rest.”

An hour later, after a bath and a change of clothes, she lay in her new, enormous bed, caressing her belly. Everything about the room was large and impressive. Every detail—from the porcelain vases on the table to the expensive Sheraton furniture—reminded her she was now part of the ancient House of Beaufort. An intruder. Worse, a thief.

Her legs were sore, her head hurt, and guilt was killing her. Now that she was married to Anthony, instead of deceiving him further, she might tell him the truth. Or maybe not. She should wait a few days…no, waiting would be worse. She groaned inwardly. Her head would burst with doubts.

Lawson, finishing a few chores around the room, distracted her.

“It’s done, Your Grace,” Lawson said, folding a blanket. “For better or worse, it’s done.”

“What if I tell him the truth tonight?”

Lawson stopped folding clothes. “What good would it bring? His Grace will want to know who the father is, and how do you think he’ll react knowing that his own brother is the reason for this hasty marriage? His Grace might decide to send you away, or worse, hate the child and send it away from you. Or he might ask for an annulment. After tonight, when the marriage is consummated, you won’t need to worry. The baby will be safe from poverty or scorn. That’s the only thing that truly matters. The child will become a duke or a respected lady, and above all, it’ll be next to its mother as it should be.” She squeezed Isabella’s hand. “If you don’t care about yourself, care about the child. For the child’s sake, endure your guilt.”

“Heavens.” Isabella covered her face with her hands. “I’m not sure I can…seduce him.”

“You won’t have to do anything. He’ll come to you tonight. All you’ll have to do is lie down and stay quiet.”

After Lawson left, Isabella slid under the covers and stared at the door that separated her room from her husband’s. The light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls and the door, giving them a demonic look that sent a chill to her bones.

She wasn’t afraid of the act itself. Quite the opposite. When she’d been with Patrick, the tumble had been extremely pleasurable. But tonight was different. Tonight, she had to guarantee a future for her child. At least after tonight, she wouldn’t worry about the future of her child anymore.

She took a deep breath and waited.

* * *

Anthony hugged Grandmama again. For a woman who rarely showed affection, she was particularly caring that night.

“You look pale.” She searched his face. “You must be tired. I’m exhausted.”

“It was a long day.”

She kissed his cheek, the ruined one. He guessed she insisted on kissing his ugly cheek only to make a point and prove to him she didn’t find him repulsive.

“Good night, darling.” She paused at the door as if wanting to add something else. But then she waved at him and left.

When he was blissfully alone, he reclined in the armchair. The day hadn’t been tiring per se , but the tension of being under everyone’s scrutiny was exhausting.

Wilson came to help him out of his clothes, wash, shave, and don his dressing gown.

After that, he had no more excuses. It was in his right to visit his wife tonight. He wanted to. But there was no hurry, and he didn’t know if she was ready. Still, he ought to visit her. Ignoring her was rude.

He loitered in front of the door, wondering if he should leave her alone, but he simply wanted to hold her. From the moment the reception ended, he hadn’t been alone with her.

His pulse quickened when he pulled the connecting door open. The air in her bedroom was warm and smelled of roses like her. Only the fireplace and a lamp on her nightstand illuminated the room. She sat bolt upright on the bed. Her long braid fell to her waist.

“Anthony.”

From her tone, he couldn’t understand if she was relieved or worried.

He sat on the bed next to her, wishing to hold her. Just hold her. “Do you like your room?”

She pulled up the cover to her chin. “It’s beautiful.”

“You can decorate it as you want. You don’t have to keep the old furniture or drapes. You can get rid of anything you don’t like.”

She nodded, shivering. “Thank you.”

He scrubbed the back of his head. “I’m not ready for a honeymoon yet, but if you want, we can visit my estate in the north. It’s beautiful in summer.”

Another curt nod.

“Isabella.” He gently took her hand; it was cold. “Please look at me.”

She obliged, and there was no mistaking the fear in her wide eyes. She wasn’t ready. In a way, neither was he.

“I’m not a beast. I’m not going to jump on you. Don’t be afraid of me.”

“I know. I’m nervous. That’s all.”

“No need to be.” He kissed her hand before releasing it. No hug then. “Good night.” He stood up.

She grabbed his hand with the desperation of someone drowning. “Don’t leave.”

Puzzled, he sat down again. She tugged at his hand until he leant closer to her.

“What is it?” he asked.

She slid her arms around his neck and hugged him. The cover slipped down, and the sweet softness of her body pressed against his. He held her, caressing her back until she stopped shivering.

“You can trust me,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“Why are you so scared?”

No answer.

“You must be tired.” He straightened, getting away from her. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She gripped his hand again. “Can’t you stay? Please.”

There was a quiver in her voice he didn’t like.

“Of course.”

He tucked her in the bed and stroked her head. She snuggled closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. Even though he was tired, he couldn’t sleep but listened to her soft breathing in the darkness. The turmoil bothering him was finally silent. He smiled because his wedding night couldn’t be more perfect.

There was no hurry, and he could wait.