Chapter 14 #2
“She has a natural warmth and patience that would have made her an excellent mother, much like the finest ladies of the ton.,” Lady Pembley continued smoothly, with the ease of someone segueing from one point to another while maintaining the tone of natural conversation.
“A large estate with a small child requires such peculiar instincts. Not everyone possesses them.”
She looked at Isadora, and Isadora looked back.
There it is. There is the reason for the visit.
Not simply to see the house. Not simply to call on the new Duchess.
But to demonstrate gently, graciously, over three cups of tea, that another woman knew him first, knew James’s habits and headaches and preferences, understood his tastes in theatre down to the plays she could almost but not quite name, and would furthermore have been very natural with the child.
It was, Isadora acknowledged privately, a very good plan. Executed with considerable skill. She would have admired it more if she had not been on the receiving end of it.
“I am very fortunate,” she said serenely.
She glanced toward the cradle, where Violet was stirring. She recognized the change in her breathing—the baby would soon wake up.
“She will want to be fed soon.” Isadora glanced back at her guests. “I am afraid our afternoons run according to the baby’s schedule at present, so—”
“Oh, we are in no hurry.” Lady Pembley waved a hand with gracious ease. “Please do not let us interrupt your routine.”
“Indeed,” Miss Caroline concurred warmly. “I am sure the nurse—”
“I prefer to be here when she wakes,” Isadora said mildly.
“Of course.” Lady Pembley smiled. “We would not dream of imposing. And as I was saying, Caroline has such a way with—”
“I think she is waking now,” Isadora cut in pleasantly but firmly. “I am so sorry. She does keep rather strict hours.”
Lady Pembley opened her mouth, but then she turned. Isadora followed her gaze to find James standing in the doorway.
His coat was slightly wrinkled, his color high from the outdoors. He had been out with the steward, she knew, walking the far fields since midmorning. He had not expected company; that much was clear in the single second before he registered what he was looking at.
His eyes flicked from Lady Pembley to Miss Caroline to Isadora, taking in the tea service in one quick, practiced sweep.
His expression did not change, but something behind it did.
* * *
James heard Lady Pembley before he saw her.
He stopped in the doorway.
His eyes found Isadora first, which was, he noted distantly, becoming a common occurrence lately. She was seated with her hands folded in her lap, her expression carrying pleasant attentiveness. Then he saw the Pembleys.
Lady Pembley was sitting on the sofa with Miss Caroline beside her, a fraction closer to the edge of her seat than was proper, her eyes trained on Isadora.
He surveyed the scene for one second, then stepped through the door.
“Lady Pembley,” he greeted.
They all turned to him.
“Your Grace.” Lady Pembley’s smile was warm and perfectly calibrated. “What a lovely surprise. We were just telling Her Grace how we are all pleased that Ashbourne has a master again.”
“I can imagine.” He stepped further into the room.
He did not look at Isadora again because he could feel her composure from across the room, and he needed another second before he could join in their conversation.
“What brings you to Ashbourne?”
“Why, to pay our respects, of course.” Lady Pembley spread her hands with the confidence of someone for whom the answer was obvious. “One simply does not allow a new duchess to wonder whether her neighbors intend to welcome her.”
“How thoughtful,” he allowed.
He looked at Miss Caroline. She was looking at him, her color slightly higher than normal.
“Ja—Your Grace,” she said, ducking her head shyly. “It has been some time. You are well, I hope.”
“Very well,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“You look well,” she added after a beat. “Ashbourne suits you.”
“I am finding that it does.” He paused, then turned to her mother. “Lady Pembley, you were saying you came to pay your respects.”
“Indeed.” Lady Pembley nodded. “And to say that we heard great things about the dinner last week. Lady Eversleigh told Mrs. Forster, who told me, that Ashbourne felt entirely transformed.” She smiled at Isadora. “High praise from Lady Ashfield, who does not distribute it carelessly.”
“She is very kind,” Isadora agreed.
Miss Caroline looked at James with a slightly strained smile.
“You always spoke so warmly of entertaining,” she said.
“Do you remember that evening at the Forsythes’ in March?
You said you intended to invite me—people over when the weather improved.
” She paused. “I thought at the time that you meant—” She stopped herself. “Well, here we are.”
The room went very still.
Here we are. Yes.
James glanced at Isadora, who seemed very interested in the pattern on her dress. He then looked back at Miss Caroline, at the careful brightness of her expression.
“I recall the evening,” he said simply.
“You were very… You were excellent company that spring.” Her voice softened.
He looked at her steadily. “Miss Caroline, whatever you think I said or think I intended in the spring, the situation has changed. I am a married man now.”
Her chin lifted fractionally. “I am aware of that.”
“Good.” He folded his hands behind his back. “Then we understand each other.”
Silence followed.
Lady Pembley moved into it swiftly.
“Well.” She set her cup down with a decisive clink. “We have taken up quite enough of your afternoon. Her Grace will think us terribly presumptuous, calling without prior notice.”
“Not at all,” Isadora assured her.
James looked at her. Not much was on the surface, but he sensed something underneath it.
The Pembleys rose. He did not offer to extend the visit, and Lady Pembley, to her credit, did not expect him to.
“Your Grace.” She inclined her head to Isadora. “Do come to Pembley when you are settled. I should like to show you the rose garden before the season is over.”
“I would like that,” Isadora replied.
Miss Caroline said her goodbyes. James heard her pause at the door, but he did not turn to look.
He glanced at Isadora. She was still in her chair, her hands still folded in her lap, looking at the window.
“Isadora,” he began.
“There is no need,” she said.
“I only want to—”
“James.” She turned her head to look at him. Her voice was even and pleasant, and cost her something. He was sure of it. “There is no need. Your past is your own. I have no interest in your previous… arrangements, or whatever they were. It is not my business.”
He studied her. “You are being—”
“Sensible,” she finished. “I am being sensible.”
The word landed with a slight edge that might have been entirely unintentional. He did not think it was entirely unintentional.
“We have agreed on what this is. I am simply… We should not forget that.” She held his eyes. “Our marriage is not real. It would be… It is better if we both remember that.”
A pause.
“You are right,” he said eventually, and her expression shuttered. “It is not real. And it is better… You are right that it is better if we remember that.”
He said it because she had asked for it and because she was right, and because the alternative was something he had not yet decided he was allowed to want. He said it with complete conviction, yet he did not believe a word of it.
Isadora looked back at the window.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
He nodded once and left.
He walked down the corridor without stopping, without looking back, thinking of her hands folded in her lap, her voice careful and distant as she said their marriage was not real.
He walked faster.
It did not help.