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I sabella left Dockerly Castle with a riot of emotions in her chest, and she had no idea how to deal with them. Patrick was charming, witty, and had the wildest ideas. Anthony was kind, kinder than she’d expected a duke to be. But being close to the Beauforts, and especially the Dowager, made her feel more inadequate than she ever did. She’d never cared about being adequate until she’d met the Beauforts.

No, that wasn’t true. Anthony and Patrick didn’t make her feel inadequate. Quite the opposite. The two brothers were very different, but both appreciated her for who she was. Patrick had her same recklessness, and she couldn’t deny she enjoyed his sense of humour and outrageous behaviour. Anthony was sweet and funny but sad. He carried an aura of sadness that worried her. Was every duke as burdened as he was?

The gentle rocking of the carriage didn’t cover the endless chatter of Mother and Helen. Father looked out of the window, his expression tense.

“The Dowager is on our side,” Mother said. “She assured me the marriage would happen. She likes you, which means you’re going to be a duchess, darling. She’s the one who makes all the decisions.”

Isabella shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Mother pressed her lips. “Oh, what do you know about it?”

Officially, nothing. Her encounters with the duke had never happened.

Helen nodded. “It’s a dream. I’m looking forward to becoming a duchess. I hope I can get married as soon as possible. I’ll be free…” As if realising she’d said too much, she cleared her throat. “The Dowager is right. Duchesses have power.”

“But do you like the duke?” she asked. “If you marry him, you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. Castle or not, your life might be miserable if you don’t enjoy his company at least a little.”

“Listen to your sister,” Father said.

“Don’t listen to your sister.” Mother waved dismissively. “Of course, Helen likes the duke.”

“Do you?” Isabella nudged her sister with an elbow.

Helen shrugged. “I don’t know him well. Certainly, I don’t share his tastes in hobbies and drinks, and he often asks my opinion on matters I know nothing about. He was quite insistent.”

“Opinions like what?” she said.

“Like fair wages, child labour, and other matters. I didn’t want to say something that offended or bothered him.”

“Why not? How can you have an honest conversation with your future husband if you don’t take the risk of offending him with your opinions?”

“I don’t know anything about fair wages.” Helen lifted a shoulder.

“I often discuss these topics at home, darling,” Father said. “Surely, you remember a thing or two I said.”

“Please, Benjamin.” Mother exhaled. “Your talking about politics isn’t charming. And Helen’s situation is not that simple. The duke won’t ask for his wife’s opinion on matters regarding politics or the social situation. Why would he? Whatever Helen thinks of those affairs, he won’t care anyway. I believe his questions were a test to understand if Helen was one of those women who meddled in her husband’s affairs. I’m sure she passed the test with flying colours.”

Well, Isabella hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Anthony, but he hadn’t struck her as someone who wouldn’t care about his wife’s opinion, and if she were his wife, she’d give him her opinion anyway.

“No one listens to me,” Father muttered under his breath, folding his arms over his chest.

“The duke is quite gloomy, though,” Helen said. “He’s a sad man.”

“He’s a duke. What do you expect?” Mother said.

Isabella was tempted to tell everything she knew about Anthony just to make them understand how vulnerable he was and to make them stop talking about him like that. But she wouldn’t betray his trust. “Patrick is more cheerful.”

Mother glowed. “I’m so happy for you. Patrick is a handsome gentleman.”

“He is, but we haven’t talked about anything serious.”

“No matter. We’re going to see the duke and his brother soon. The Dowager is going to organise a ball in two weeks,” Mother said, excited again. “She assured me Anthony will make his decision then.”

“Heavens.” Helen brought a hand to her mouth. “I can’t wait. We should start ordering a proper wedding gown from the modiste.”

“Absolutely, darling.”

Father rubbed his forehead, seemingly tired.

Isabella leant against the wall, not wanting to ruin Helen’s moment of happiness. It was too soon to order a gown, in her opinion. Anthony hadn’t seemed eager to make a decision. But then again, what did she know about dukes?

* * *

It took Isabella two days, between the carriage and the train, to arrive home, and the more she heard talking about wedding preparations, the more she wanted to scream.

In the two days of the journey, Mother and Helen had planned the engagement party, the wedding reception, the honeymoon, and the birthday party of Helen and Anthony’s first-born. Had it been another day of travelling, they would have even planned the heir’s graduation ceremony.

As she entered her house and removed her hat, she wondered why she was so bitter. Helen was happy. Mother was happy. Father was sort of happy. Isabella should share their happiness. Instead, her mood was as gloomy as London’s sky.

“My lady.” The maid took her coat. “While you were away, the parcel from Guatemala arrived and?—”

“The orchids!” She didn’t wait for the maid to finish and raced down the corridor to the conservatory.

The fatigue of the last days was gone by the time she barged into the glasshouse.

“Where are they?” She gazed around.

The gardener should have planted them. She beamed when she found the series of pots with the small plants in them.

“Are they?—”

Her heart took a dip to her stomach. The seedlings were wilted. A couple were etiolated—yellow and drawn out—but the others didn’t fare better. She touched the tender leaves with a fingertip. It was so easy to kill the seedlings. They were full of energy and life, but if they lacked sunlight or received too much water, they became limp and withered.

Instead, all they needed was space to grow and a gentle hand.

Two things that seemed difficult to come by.