Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“This is the new Duchess of Ealdwick,” the Duke announced to the staff, his voice carrying an undeniable authority. “You will treat her with the respect befitting her station and help her in acclimating to life at the Manor.”
Ealdwick Manor was an imposing sight, its grey stone facade rising grandly against the blue afternoon sky.
There were large windows that gleamed in the sunlight, and ornate gargoyles on the top.
Her eyes were drawn down to the line of servants who stood assembled at the entrance, their faces a mixture of curiosity and stoicism.
The Duke, his hand still linked with hers, led her up the steps dutifully, and a chorus of respectful curtsies and bows followed.
But as they neared the large, gold front door, Isla caught a few lingering stares directed at her face. One of the maids quickly averted her gaze, a fleeting look of pity in her eyes, while a footman’s brow furrowed in confusion.
A hot wave of self-consciousness washed over her, and she instinctively raised her hand to cover her face, pretending to wipe away a stray hair.
Suddenly, a small, bright figure burst from the grand front doors.
It was a handsome boy, no older than six.
His dark hair was a mess of tight curls, and his blue eyes shone with excitement.
There was no mistaking, the eyes were the same hue as the Duke’s.
Isla’s gaze immediately fell to his legs, and she noticed a subtle but distinct limp as he ran.
“Papa!” he squealed, launching himself into the Duke’s arms.
The Duke released Isla’s hand, and his posture, which had been so stiff, softened only a fraction. He looked down at his son, his hands hovering over the boy’s back as if unsure what to do.
The child, undeterred, simply hugged him tighter around his legs and looked up with a wide smile. Isla noticed the sweet freckles under his bright blue eyes and the way he teetered from side to side, so excited to see his father.
When he finally pulled away, the Duke cleared his throat and gestured to Isla. “Oliver, this is my new wife. Duchess, this is my son, Oliver.”
Oliver’s excitement faded as he took in Isla’s face. He tilted his head this way and that, his gaze frank but innocent. Isla knew the curiosity of a child, and Oliver’s attention was not unkind.
“What happened to your face?” he asked finally, his voice soft as a whisper.
The Duke’s posture stiffened instantly, his jaw tightening.
His hands clenched into a rigid clasp. “That is utterly disrespectful, and I will not tolerate it,” he said, his voice sharp and uncompromising.
“How dare you speak of another’s appearance in such a manner? Apologize to the Duchess immediately.”
“Nay, nay. It is refreshin’ to have someone ask and nae just stare like I am some elephant in the room.
It is quite all right, Yer Grace,” Isla said, her heart melting at the boy’s honesty.
She knelt, bringing herself to his level, ignoring the disapproving look of his father.
“I was out huntin’ with me faither, a long, long time ago, when I was a wee lass. We were chasin’ a wild boar, ye see.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “A wild boar? Was it a scary one?”
“It was very scary, aye,” she said, a gentle smile on her face. “It wanted to hurt me brother and sister, but I didnae let that happen.”
“Did you fight it with a sword?” he asked, his voice full of wonder. “Or maybe a bow and arrow?”
She chuckled softly. “No, no sword, no bow and arrow. I just got in its way, and it got a bit upset with me.”
“You mean, you used yourself as a shield?”
“I suppose I did.”
“That is very brave. Say, where are you from, Duchess? Your accent is most exotic. Is it of Edinburgh? This all sounds terribly exciting!”
“Oliver!” the Duke’s voice cut sharply through the air. He stepped forward and gently but firmly lifted Isla from her kneeling position to meet his gaze. “That is enough questions for the Duchess.”
Oliver blinked, the eagerness in his eyes faltering slightly at his father’s tone. The boy opened his mouth as if to argue, but a shadow of caution crossed his face.
A tall, severe-looking woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun stepped forward. “Her Grace has had a long journey and needs rest. Come along, Lord Oliver,” she said, sidling close. Her voice was firm but not unkind. “There will be time to get acquainted at a more proper hour.”
The Duke’s eyes gleamed sharply as he nodded. “You heard your governess. Now, go on.” His tone left no room for discussion.
Oliver’s shoulders slumped, the bright curiosity in his azure eyes dimming.
He hesitated, glancing between Isla and his father, as if trying to gauge the right course of action.
The governess bent slightly and whispered something in his ear.
He sighed, cheeks flushing, and gave a small, hesitant bow to Isla.
“It was really… nice to meet you, Duchess,” he murmured, voice almost lost in the quiet.
Then, limping slightly, he allowed himself to be guided back into the house, his governess hurrying to keep pace beside him.
Isla squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing on the Duke. “You were too stern with him. He was only bein’ a child and asking questions. I meant what I said, it was nice to have someone take an interest instead of just starin’ like I am some pariah.”
“How I choose to treat my son is my business, Duchess,” he replied, his tone frigid.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the house, leaving Isla standing alone amongst the servants on the steps, the cool breeze ruffling her hair.
His dismissive words rang in her head as she remained frozen on the steps.
She was shocked by his abruptness, the way he had so easily dismissed both her and his own son.
Surely, he had been cold in their few interactions, but she expected more in this moment from the Duke.
Moreover, she was rudderless without him in front of the vast manor, unsure of what to do and whom to seek out.
The Duke of Ealdwick was a most curious beast. One moment, he was a fierce, commanding presence, taking her hand; the next, a cold, unfeeling stranger.
I suppose I will have the rest of me life to figure me husband out…
A tall, older woman in a severe black gown and a crisp white apron stepped forward from the line of servants.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice soft and proper. “I am Mrs. Callahan, the housekeeper. May I show you to your quarters and arrange for a tour of the manor and grounds after you have had time to freshen up?”
Isla tore her gaze from the spot where the Duke had disappeared. “Thank ye, Mrs. Callahan,” she said, her voice a little unsteady. “That would be most kind. Say, Callahan? Are ye from Ireland?”
“My husband’s side, Your Grace. I am as English as Buckingham Palace, and Mr. Callahan’s family moved to England in the late 1500’s.”
Well, there goes that common thread…
As they entered the manor, Isla’s eyes swept over the vast marble foyer, the white walls were adorned with portraits of solemn-faced ancestors and elaborate tapestries, and a grand staircase that seemed to climb to heaven itself.
It was a beautiful home to rival any palace.
Yet, Isla felt it was more like a museum, as if no one lived there.
It made her long for Dalrigh Hall and its worn floors and echoing laughter.
Mrs. Callahan led her up the stairs and down a long corridor on the second floor.
“These are your chambers in the West Wing,” she announced, opening a heavy mahogany door with a gold knob. “They adjoin His Grace’s, with a door in-between.”
The room was a dream. She was instantly taken by the sheer space of it, how vast it was, and filled with elegant, gilded furniture.
It was decorated in soft green fabrics, and alpine paintings adorned the walls.
There was a large, white marble fireplace on the opposite end of the four-poster bed and a large set of windows with a vanity, settee, and desk.
Yet, for all its comforts, a pervading silence made it feel impersonal, as if one could hear a pin drop. She would need to send to Scotland for portraits of her family and other touches of home to make it her own.
A young woman with a pleasant, unassuming face stood by the hearth. “This is Margie, your lady’s maid,” Mrs. Callahan explained. “She will see to your personal needs. I will of course assist you with manners of the household.”
Margie curtsied deeply, and Isla offered her a small, kind smile. She could not be any more than seventeen years old. Mrs. Callahan gave one last, sweeping glance of the room and a nod before leaving them alone.
“Miss Margie, would ye mind helpin’ me out of this gown? It feels rather restrictive,” Isla said. “The weddin’ ceremony, and then the carriage ride… I am desperate to relax!”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Margie nodded and got to work, her hands efficient as she undid dozens of tiny buttons. As she finally unlaced the stays, Isla took a deep, shuddering breath of relief.
“Thank ye,” she said, stretching her shoulders. “And please, just call me Isla when we are in private.”
Margie’s lips thinned into a fine line, but she did not reply. Instead, she pointed to a door leading to a separate dressing room. “I will draw you a hot bath, your grace. Would you like lavender or pine salts?”
“Aye, pine would be great. I am quite taken with the beauty of the manor this time of year, and cannae wait to see it dusted with snow.”
“It truly is a sight!” Margie said with a small clap of her hands.
“Aye, that is somethin’ to look forward to. Could I also trouble ye for a hot cup of tea?”
“But of course, Your Grace,” Margie said as she set off to procure a cup.
Margie returned with tea and made quick work.
Before Isla knew it, she was lowering herself into an oversized teak tub in a lovely bathroom adjoining her room.
She savored the steaming water and aromatic salts that soothed her aching bones.
She had not realized just how stiff her muscles were, not only from the travel but also from the tension she held inside.
She grabbed a bar of fresh soap from a side table, which also held foreign fineries, such as serums, oils, and powders, that Isla could only imagine uses for.
As she ran the bar over her skin, she felt relaxed, washing her body slowly and taking time to savor it.
She grabbed a cup of fresh water from a nearby basin and rinsed herself, lowering her body under the water and holding her breath one last time.
Aye, I could get used to this part of me new life at least, Isla thought as she pulled herself out of the tub and reached for a plush towel.