Chapter 3 #2
Their vows were brief, more formal than sacred, more a contract than a covenant. Fitting, given the circumstances. To all intents and purposes, this was a deal between two parties, one of whom happened to be impossibly handsome, wealthy, and influential.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the powerful man at her side. She had seen him only once in the days leading up to the nuptials, when he presented the special license and informed her of when to arrive. Perhaps seven or eight words had passed between them.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar announced.
Isla blinked, wondering if she had imagined the entire affair.
With any luck, I’ll wake in Scotland, and this will all be a dream.
There was no applause, no joyous cheering, only the hollow silence of the small chapel.
The Duke lifted her veil and placed a chaste kiss on her unscarred cheek, sending a shiver through her from the tips of her hair to her toes.
“If you will excuse me a moment, there is a matter I must settle with the vicar,” he said, striding through a small door to the back room with the clergyman, leaving Isla alone at the altar.
Eilidh was the first to reach her, wrapping her in a tight hug, her voice muffled against Isla’s shoulder. “Oh, Isla! Ye are a Duchess now. What use will ye have for yer little sister?”
Isla hugged her back fiercely. “We are family, Eilidh. Always. This will protect us.”
“I am afraid I will never see ye! What will I do without ye—”
Aunt Honoria descended upon her, pressing a quick kiss to Isla’s cheek that sounded like a tiny pop.
“There, my dear. You are the Duchess of Ealdwick,” she said, patting Isla’s hand reassuringly.
“Chin up! A proper front is everything. It’s done now.
Your brother and I will see to your sister’s future. ”
Yes, the quick ceremony is done… just what every lass dreams of…
There was no wedding breakfast to follow, no music, no merriment. Only the waiting carriage outside, to whisk Isla away to her new life.
Eilidh launched herself into a tight embrace, her small body trembling with barely suppressed sobs.
“It’ll be all right, Eilidh,” Isla whispered, holding her close. “I’ll ask His Grace to bring us back to London as soon as can be managed.”
“He is a decent man, dear. I have it on good authority,” Aunt Honoria murmured, her voice low. “But a duchess must never mistake kindness for patience. On your wedding night… remember this: a husband’s desires are not always gentle, and a duchess’s first duty is to endure.”
Isla’s cheeks burned. She averted her gaze, her face turning a fiery red. She knew the meaning of her aunt’s words. She had been so preoccupied, a myriad of thoughts swirling in her mind, that she had nearly forgotten her duty.
My duty…
“Well, well, the Duke of Ealdwick is now a taken man,” a cheerful, breezy voice broke through her mortification.
By process of elimination, she knew it was Kenneth Arnold, the Marquess of Murkwood, the Duke’s closest friend.
He wore a warm smile that reached his eyes, and his blonde hair was impeccably styled, catching the light with effortless brilliance.
She felt his gaze skim over her face for a fleeting moment, noting the scars, before it shifted back to the Duke.
“Nice of you to join us, Murkwood,” the Duke said as he rejoined them, having paid the vicar.
“My congratulations, Your Graces. I must say, you have a penchant for the unconventional. First a duel, and now a wedding ceremony. What will you do next?”
“Kenneth,” The Duke growled in warning, but the Marquess just laughed.
“You’re lucky, really,” the Marquess said. “Most wives do not come with a brother who threatens their husband with murder before the wedding. Terribly exciting for an old bore like you, my friend.”
“I prefer not to be surprised,” the Duke said dryly. “And I have little patience for theatrics, even for your amusement.”
“Shall I tell your new bride of the stories of your youth perhaps? There was one particularly amusing trip to France, and he—”
“That is enough,” the Duke snapped. “We have a carriage ride ahead of us and no time for chatter.”
The Marquess looked back at Isla with a shrug.
“I assure you, Your Grace, he is all bark and no bite. Mostly. I daresay, you’ll be a positive influence on him.
I have a good sense of these things,” he said as he lowered his voice with an eyebrow raised.
“I have half a mind to ask you for tips on how to tame a wild beast.”
Isla found herself liking the Marquess immediately. She laughed softly at his words, startled by the sound of her own amusement. There was a good humor about him, and the way he unsettled the Duke brought her a quiet satisfaction.
“Yer Graces. May you have a… happy union,” Callum said as he finally approached them, his arms crossed over his chest to make himself appear bigger, which was helpless next to the towering Duke. “A h-uile la sona dhuibh, ‘s gun la idir dona dhuibh! May all your days be happy ones!”
“I sure hope all our days are happy ones too,” Isla said as a tear prickled her cheek. “Mòran taing, Callum.”
After her Gaelic words of gratitude, she reached out and touched his hand, and all at once the rigid facade cracked. He pulled her into a fierce, brotherly embrace.
“I hope ye will be happy at Ealdwick, Isla,” he whispered into her hair. “And that ye will be proud of me. I will take good care of our sister, and our home when I return.”
“Always, Callum,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I am always proud of ye, little brother. Just keep yer cool and the rest will come naturally.”
“Easier said than done!” He said with a belly laugh. “But a point well taken sister. Dinnae fash.”
“I always worry,” Isla said, her eyes cast down at her feet. “That is the one thing we can count on.”
He pulled back, his eyes glinting with fresh resolve as he turned to the Duke.
“Ye will take care of her,” he said, the words a low-pitched threat, “as ye promised.”
The Duke, unfazed, simply nodded. “She will be cared for. I have assured you of this thrice now.”
“Indeed,” Callum said as he backed away.
“It is time we are off,” the Duke said sharply as they exchanged their final farewells, his voice leaving no room for lingering goodbyes.
He led Isla to the waiting carriage outside the church. With a single, measured motion, he assisted her inside, his touch as formal and controlled as his expression.
The door closed behind them, and the carriage rolled away, carrying them into the beginning of a new—and uncertain—chapter.
The silence in the carriage was thick, making the rhythmic clop of hooves pound in Isla’s ears. The village streets gave way to the open countryside, and she tried—unsuccessfully—to distract herself by watching the trees blur past.
Her stomach twisted with nerves. She wished she’d eaten before the ceremony; her mouth was dry, metallic, and the velvet beneath her fingers felt oddly rough. It was all too much, too fast.
Opposite her, the Duke sat like a marble statue. Utterly still, perhaps even holding his breath. His profile, sharp against the bright window, betrayed nothing of the thoughts behind his cold, icicle-blue eyes.
Every minute felt like an hour. Isla was not one for idle conversation, preferring family, long walks in Scotland’s rolling hills, or a good book.
Recalling the plot of Twelfth Night in her head, she realized it had been nearly an hour since leaving the church, and neither she nor the Duke had spoken a single word.
Finally, she couldn’t bear it any longer.
“You mentioned a son when we first met,” she said, her voice feeling a little too loud in the confined space after not using it. “The boy… he was not at the weddin’. Where is he?”
The Duke turned his head slowly from the window to meet her gaze, his profile a chiseled study in stone.
“I sent him to the manor with his governess as soon as the false rumor reached me. I did not know what your brother might do, and my son need not witness it. That is why we left for Ealdwick in such haste this morning.”
Isla’s shoulders stiffened. “Did ye truly believe that Callum would endanger an innocent child?”
“Your brother’s first course of action was to challenge me to a duel,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “It was a reckless act, and my precautions were justified. The only reason there was no duel is due to your…unconventional intervention.”
“Aye, perhaps his course of action was a bit reckless,” she conceded. “But his heart was in the right place. He wanted to protect his loved ones.”
A short, sharp scoff escaped him as he removed his gloves. “A bit reckless is an understatement. And it seems that recklessness runs in the family, given that you threw yourself in front of a loaded pistol.”
“If memory serves me correctly, and it usually does, ye complimented me on me courage,” she countered, a spark of fire in her emerald eyes. “Ye said it was a virtue.”
“It was. Back then,” he agreed, turning to face her fully then, the distance between them suddenly feeling much smaller. “But now you are my wife, and you must be more prudent. Especially when it comes to my son.”
“I would never endanger an innocent boy,” she said, her voice soft yet firm.
“Good,” he said, the single word a command.
He leaned back against the plush seat, and his next words were a cool, deliberate list of demands.
“Because this marriage is mostly for him, Duchess. You will care for my son, and you will tend to the household matters as a duchess is supposed to. In two weeks, we will return to London. We will make a few public appearances to show a united front and dispel any remaining gossip about me and your sister. And when that is all forgotten, we will attend the bare minimum of events and resume our lives.”
Isla’s chest tightened. “Ye speak as if I were a servant and not yer wife.”
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “This wedding ultimately is of your own making. You insisted on protecting your family. This is your chance.”
“What do ye mean?”
“My household and my son are now your responsibility. Legally, we are your family. In turn, you will be well cared for. I will guarantee you this compromise and I expect you to do the same for me.”
“I know how to conduct meself,” she fired back, her own pride rising to meet his. “I am still a lady. I ken yer late wife was a woman of great standing. I may nae be English, but—”
“I have never doubted your origins nor your suitability for my needs,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl.
He was so close now she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“I do not care if you are from Scotland, Salisbury, or Spain. I only want you to follow my rules. Your display of reckless bravery was reserved only for that moment. Do you understand?”
“I ken when to act and when to be cautious,” she told him, her breath catching in her throat. “I daenae need ye to—”
“You will obey me,” he cut her off, “as a wife must.”
“I will follow…” she corrected, her chin tilting defiantly as her heart began to race at a feverish pace. “Rules that are worth followin’.”
They were inches apart, the air between them thick. He lowered his head, and she could feel the faint brush of his breath on her lips.
“All my rules are worth following,” he said.
She inched closer without realizing it. “And how are ye so certain of that, Yer Grace?” she whispered.
“Because the reward I give,” he murmured, gaze locked on hers, “is worth every moment of obedience.”
She swallowed, her chest tightening. “And… what is this reward?” she asked, almost breathless, daring him.
She found herself inching toward him, like he was the last bit of sunlight on a cool day. It was a pull, both magnetic and frightening.
His eyes darkened fractionally, and for the briefest moment, the ice around him seemed to melt. “You will learn… but only if you prove yourself a very, very good girl.”
Her lips parted, and she sucked in a quiet breath, his words stunning the air out of her and sending heat across her body.
What were these sensations she was feeling? A shiver she could not suppress, a flutter in her chest, and an ache that had nothing to do with the morning’s nerves. She found herself inching imperceptibly closer, drawn by something in his presence she could neither name nor resist.
He remained statuesque, controlled, yet the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed the slightest satisfaction at her reaction. The air between them thickened, heavy like the stickiest honey.
Suddenly, the carriage jolted, lurching to a halt, along with Isla’s breath.
They both drew back at once, the charged moment broken as they sat back in their original positions.
The driver’s voice echoed from outside as he rapped on the carriage. “Your Grace, we have arrived at the gates! We will be at the manor entrance in a few moments. We made excellent time for this time of year.”
The carriage rolled down the stone road to Ealdwick Manor as the two once again sat in silence.
Isla gazed out the window and focused her attention on the landscape that unfolded before her.
This was to be her home. Towering evergreens lined the long, private road, their deep green needles swaying gently in the breeze. They stood in perfect contrast to the bright, open sky above, and she could only imagine how breathtaking it must be in summertime.
I didnae realize quite how much I missed the peacefulness of the country...
A wave of awe washed over her, followed closely by a quiet ache.
The scene reminded her so vividly of Scotland.
She closed her eyes for a moment and could see the frost-tipped trees blanketing the hills, smell the scent of pine in the crisp winter air, and feel the soft hush that prickled her skin just before snowfall like the Christmases back home at Dalrigh Hall.
Suddenly, the carriage came to a sharp halt, and the door was opened by a liveried footman from the Manor entrance.
The Duke of Ealdwick stepped out first. He turned and offered Isla a hand, his touch formal and remote, yet somehow hot under her skin. She took it and wrapped her fingers around his.
She stepped onto the gravel drive, her travel gown rustling softly in the cool breeze as she took it in.
A Dhé, beannaich an taigh, Bho stéidh gu stàidh, Bho chrann gu fraigh, Bho cheann gu saidh, Bho dhronn gu traigh, Bho sgonn gu sgaith, Eadar bhonn agus bhràigh, Bhonn agus bhràigh, she said to herself, reciting the Beannachd Taighe House Blessing.
God, bless this house, from foundation to stairs, from beam to side wall, from roof to upright beam, from ridge to basement, from floor-joist to roof-truss, between foundation and attic, Foundation and attic.