Chapter 4 #3
Isabella went to leave, but the Duke was there, offering his hand to her. It was unexpected, and yet, she took his hand once more and let him lead her out of the carriage, only to have the hold dropped as soon as she got her footing.
He led her to the front of Rochdale Castle, and before she took in the number of staff lined up at the front steps, she stared at the dark manor, walled by steel gates that they had already driven through.
A sweeping courtyard with a fountain stood proudly, but there was no mistaking the looming estate beyond, turreted and grand.
“You have an impressive estate, Your Grace,” she found herself saying.
“It is also yours now,” he said as he gestured for them to go onward.
First, she was introduced to the chambermaids, whom she would see often regarding her rooms, and then there was the butler, introduced as Mr. Ashley.
Following him, the housekeeper stepped forward. She was young for her position, not yet graying at the temples.
“This is the castle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Tisdale. She will be your port of call for any needs you may have,” the Duke introduced.
Isabella went to greet Mrs. Tisdale properly, but was caught off guard by the yapping of a dog at Mr. Ashley’s side.
“And who is this?” she asked, excited at the sight of a bloodhound that gazed up at her with deep, brown eyes.
“This is Morris,” Mrs. Tisdale told her before the Duke could, but Morris only growled at the housekeeper.
“Now, boy,” the Duke said, leaning down to give the dog a ruffle behind his ears. “This is your new mistress. You will abide by her commands, yes?”
Compared to his former growl, Morris merely sat down properly and gave another yap.
“Good.” He straightened abruptly, brushing his hands on his coat, and shot Isabella a sidelong glance. “He’ll obey you. Don’t push him… too much.”
“I’ll be fine, Your Grace,” she murmured. “I am very fond of dogs.”
“Morris isn’t very fond of people.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’m sure Morris and I can come to an understanding. Isn’t that right, boy?”
The dog tilted its head at first, then sniffed around her.
The Duke’s brows furrowed, and Isabella also noticed that the housekeeper blinked in surprise.
“I have business to attend to,” the Duke said flatly. “Ensure the Duchess is shown to her chambers, Mrs. Tisdale.”
The housekeeper curtsied. “Of course, Your Grace.”
With a final nod at Isabella, the Duke strode into the castle, leaving her in the care of Mrs. Tisdale.
The housekeeper beamed at her. “Your Grace, welcome to Rochdale Castle. I shall show you to your chambers and get you properly acquainted with Emily, who will be your lady’s maid.”
Isabella’s head spun with so many new people to learn the names of, even as she nodded her assent and then followed Mrs. Tisdale inside.
The interior of Rochdale Castle was as dreary as its exterior. Most of the curtains were closed, sending deep swaths of darkness throughout the hallways.
“It is not very… bright in here,” Isabella noted as she was led up one staircase and down a lengthy hallway.
“It is as the master prefers,” the housekeeper answered with a small smile. “One grows accustomed to it.”
“I am sure,” Isabella said, uncertain.
Wickleby Hall had been flooded with light, and she was not used to such dimness. However, when her chamber door was opened, she found her own room bathed in the late afternoon light because the curtains were thrown open.
“His Grace wished to have them open for you,” Mrs. Tisdale said, noting how Isabella looked at the curtains with appreciation.
“He was right,” she quietly agreed. “I have often enjoyed watching sunsets.”
“You will be able to see plenty of such things with the landscape here.”
Indeed, Isabella drew to the window, looking out at the sweeping countryside. In the near distance, she could see low roofs that suggested Rochdale Village was not far at all.
She smiled to herself. Anywhere could be a nightmare come to life, but if there was a pleasant enough view, then it became bearable.
A soft whisper of footsteps had her turning to find a blonde-haired woman dressed in a maid’s uniform, who curtsied to her.
“Your Grace, this is Emily. She will be your lady’s maid. Should you need anything, call upon her. For anything regarding the estate, do find me. I will never be far. Once you are bathed and prepared, I will return to give you a tour of the estate.”
Isabella nodded at the housekeeper before Mrs. Tisdale departed.
Left only with Emily, whose freckled face reminded Isabella of Hermia, in a way—a small, strange comfort—Isabella allowed herself to exhale and breathe easier than she had in the longest time.
“I have prepared you a bath, Your Grace,” Emily invited, gesturing to the adjoining bathroom. However, Isabella’s attention was caught by the dark wooden door near her bed.
“Where does this lead?” she asked, curious enough to draw near to the door. Her fingers ghosted over the doorknob.
“It connects your room to His Grace’s,” Emily told her, and Isabella immediately retracted her hand. “For privacy, for… well, for whatever you please.”
Enough was suggested by the comment, and Isabella put more space between herself and the door.
“Thank you, Emily. I think I shall have that bath now,” she said, smiling tightly, trying her best to ignore the sort of privacy the door would allow in normal circumstances.