Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Iam sorry, but your mother said what?”
Isabella sighed, tightening her hold on Mary’s arm as they walked through a small park near Mary’s townhouse.
She had taken a carriage there the next day, unable to face her husband, and the shame that came with her bold actions—and the rejection that had followed.
“That I ought to have begged Lord Stanton to take me back,” Isabella ground out, annoyed all over again at her mother’s words.
The visit had been somewhat overshadowed by her moment with Oscar, but thinking of the day in its entirety now sent a wave of humiliation through her.
She swallowed it back.
“That is the most nonsensical thing I have ever heard,” Mary hissed. “He was the one who left you! What did he call your impending wedding? A mistake?”
“Indeed, he did. So, for a mistake so great it forced his absence from the altar, I am glad I am the one to carry the burden of not fixing the situation.” Her dry tone was biting, her irritation flaring uncontrollably.
Her mother had always chided her temper and the way she was not always afraid to speak her mind, trying to school her into the flawless meekness of a diamond.
And Isabella had obliged, pretending to be the quiet, gentle flower that her mother wanted her to be. When she was at home, though, and her mother wasn’t around, she was free to bicker with her sisters.
It has been a while since I had to worry about controlling my rare bouts of ill temper, she realized.
But the thought was quickly followed by a humorous acknowledgment that, compared to her husband’s boldness, her own was hardly anything to be concerned about.
Except for when it made her do foolishly vulnerable things, like sit on his lap and kiss him.
“I know I ought to respect your mother—”
“Oh, you do not,” Isabella laughed. “She has not done a great deal to garner respect. I only do so because she is my mother, and my siblings have always been taught to keep the peace above all.”
“Regardless, I am very unhappy with her right now. Not to mention that Lord Stanton disappeared! So even if you had wanted to approach him about your abandoned wedding, he hardly gave you the chance.”
“My thoughts precisely.”
Around them, Hollowtree Park was bright with rose bushes and low-hanging flowering trees that swept petals around the pathways below. Summer was not yet on the cusp of autumn, but the breeze toyed with the blooms.
Isabella had the strangest thought of how the Duke might look with fallen, pink petals scattered in his dark hair.
The image of that was enough to chase her annoyance for a moment.
“There is another thing,” Isabella found herself confessing. “Something I am rather confused about.”
Mary halted her steps, her eyes lighting up. “It has to do with your husband.”
“You surely cannot know that!”
“I surely can, for your voice changes whenever you are about to speak about him.”
Isabella scowled, huffing. “He… kissed me yesterday, after my parents left.”
“Oh, Isabella!” Mary squealed, laughing. “Oh, this is wonderful!”
“It is most confusing,” Isabella argued.
“For the kiss was passionate, more passionate than I could ever imagine a kiss being. But then…” Even as they slowly walked, linking arms, she wished to move faster, to match the pace of her thoughts.
“And then he pulled away and left. We have not spoken a word to one another since. But how can he want to kiss me in one moment, and then not in the next?”
“Are you a good kisser?” Mary asked.
“Mary!” Isabella gasped. Frowning, she added, “I had not thought of that.”
What she thought of instead was that she had felt his arousal beneath her, that he had sought friction against her, and then he had left.
Isabella had learned some ways of intimacy through Hermia, and she had found Sibyl’s more recent acquisition of…
intimate romance books and had been enthralled at the idea.
Most ladies would have been scandalized, and although Isabella had felt some embarrassment at her eagerness to learn, it had indeed piqued a heated curiosity in her.
Only, it seemed she would not get to explore such things, not if her husband didn’t want her.
“I should not be confused,” she said resolutely.
Her eyes remained fixed on the park, on the others promenading early that morning.
In the distance, she swore she saw a familiar face but discarded the thought. Her mind was wary, and she didn’t even trust her own thoughts, let alone her eyes.
“After all,” she continued, “His Grace made it clear that our marriage was for practical purposes. I agreed to that. I cannot push him to want me, even if…”
She trailed off, her shoulders tightening.
“Even if you want him?” Mary questioned, her mouth turning up at the corners mischievously.
“It is all right to have such desires, Isabella. Heaven knows enough women do, but we feel as though we cannot speak of them. After all, we are there to create heirs, but I know that the act of that can be much more than a clinical, distant affair.”
Isabella’s eyes went back to the familiar face as her friend spoke, and her heart dropped.
No, not him.
It really was who she had thought.
Her stomach clenched as Lord Stanton strolled up to her, his smile wide and as charming as she remembered it. He was dressed in a combination of butter-yellow and navy, and the sight was much too jaunty for Isabella’s mood.
“Oh, no,” Mary whispered, finally seeing Stanton approaching. “Quick, let us turn around and pretend we have not seen—”
“Lady Isabella,” Lord Stanton greeted loudly once he was within earshot. His arms were already parting as if to embrace her, but she hastily stepped back, jostling Mary’s side. “My, my, it has been some time, no?”
“Good morning, Lord Stanton,” she returned her greeting, her voice clipped yet polite. “I hope you have been well.”
“I have attempted to be, certainly,” he laughed, and she bristled. “It turns out that one is not very well when one’s other half is absent.”
He let his eyes linger on her knowingly, his mouth quirking in a suggestive way she had once found rather handsome.
It was as though they shared a secret, one that she was being invited on, but now she only thought he looked foolish.
“Well, when you find that other half, I do hope you feel better,” she answered. “Lady Mary and I were just leaving.”
“So soon?”
“Indeed.”
“You must walk with me,” he implored.
Crushed beneath his top hat, the peak of his blonde, thick waves of short hair caught the sun, but she did not swoon for him the way other ton ladies did. To her, he looked…boyish, almost. Soft.
“We must not,” she answered, smiling falsely. “Lady Mary has plans.”
“And your own?”
Isabella smiled wider. “I shall be returning to my husband.”
“Ah.” Lord Stanton glanced around, setting his hands on his hips with a short chuckle. “The Duke of Rochdale. A most admirable husband. Had I known that was your next option, perhaps I would have shown up at St. Peter’s Church that morning just to save you from being a beast’s duchess.”
“Lord Stanton,” Isabella ground out. “I will ask you only once to refrain from calling him that or speaking of your own mistake.”
“I know, I know. I was merely trying to make light of what I did. I have regretted it every day since, Lady Isabella.”
“It is Your Grace now, Lord Stanton,” Mary chipped in, her eyes narrowing on him.
“Of course, my mistake.” He did not sound very regretful at all, not of anything.
Still, he locked gazes with Isabella, and she watched how the charm overtook his face even deeper, and it made her stomach roll with irritation.
She did not have the patience for this.
“Your Grace, I am terribly sorry for the poor way I left things between us,” he said. “It was a coward’s behavior, and I live with my own shame. I am sorry. Yet I cannot be truly sorry, for I see how being a duchess simply becomes you. You are… different.”
Isabella held his gaze for a long moment, her smile polite, her composure unshaken.
“Yes,” she said evenly, “I am different. I learned that one survives being left at the altar not by mourning what is lost, but by recognizing what one deserves.”
Her words landed sharper than a slap, though her tone remained cool, even gracious.
Taking Mary’s arm, she inclined her head. “Come, we are finished here.”
But before they turned away, Isabella glanced once more at her former fiancé. “And Lord Stanton? Do take care with your next engagement. Not every lady is as lucky as I was to find her freedom rewarded with better fortune.”
With a sweet smile, she finally pulled Mary away from him, leaving Lord Stanton staring after them both.
Over the next two days, Oscar threw himself into work, trying to distract himself from everything he was not saying to Isabella.
Namely, the fact that he had gone to ask her twice now to dine with him, and both times he had been unable to.
Then there were the incessant thoughts of Stanton anywhere near his wife, hating the fact that she had a history with him at all. The jealous possession raged through his waking hours, haunted his dreams, and Oscar was restless with it all.
She was his wife, and yet he could not even ask her to have dinner with him.
Every time he saw her, he thought of the hurt flashing on her face after he had pushed her away following their kiss.
It sent him backward, distancing himself from her so he wouldn’t cause such a reaction.
It was half a protection of not wanting to see the horror on her face and not wanting to hurt her.
But he sat now in his study, his pen hovering above the letter he was writing.
He wished to make a business proposal to a marquess in a nearby village. Although the ton had their opinions of Oscar, men saw the business angle he provided them with. They could endure such beastly appearances for the sake of money, and Oscar used that to his advantage from afar.
“It seems that the thunderstorm will not let up,” Mr. Ashley noted, setting down the glass of brandy Oscar had requested.
He was half tempted to order his butler to leave the whole decanter and a glass, but he wanted to keep his mind clear.
“Indeed,” Oscar agreed without looking up.
As if on cue, thunder rumbled through the countryside outside. Moments later, it was followed by a flash of lightning. He stopped, thinking of Edmund’s questions from a while ago.
You do not know her favorite wine, or what she does indoors when it rains?
“What is Her Grace doing at the moment?” Oscar asked, telling himself he did not truly care.
“She was reading in the library the last time I saw her,” he told him. “Shall I call her for you?”
“No need. Is she… all right?”
Mr. Ashley eyed him all too knowingly. “If I may suggest, Your Grace, you always could seek her out and ask her. It is a terrible day to be stuck indoors, and I fear Her Grace grows restless easily.”
Oscar didn’t answer, and the butler left. He was left staring at the brandy set on his desk, half considering doing what his butler had advised. Shaking his head, he went back to his work instead.
But not even a half-hour later, the door to the study creaked open.
Oscar was already prepared to berate whoever dared to disturb him without being called to do so, but the words died on his tongue when he faced Isabella. She appeared slightly paler than usual.
“Good afternoon.” Her hands were tucked behind her back, and she rocked on her heels, as if unsure of whether she could enter the study. He didn’t think to tell her no, not like he would have at the start of their marriage. “How is work going?”
“Well enough,” he told her.
“I have been reading,” she said. “And… and I was thinking, for there is a description in the book of a study. I did not see a lot of my father’s study, so I thought I would come in here. One must fully picture a scene to enjoy it, no?”
“You… came here to enrich your reading experience?”
Isabella’s mouth curled into a smile as she hummed her acceptance. Only, her composure broke momentarily when another clap of thunder echoed outside. Her head jerked to the window, and he noticed the tremble of her shoulders.
“Well,” she said quickly, “I have envisioned it now, so I shall leave you.”
“Isabella—”
His wife had already scurried out, and Oscar swore he heard a shaky breath coming from her.
Trying to ignore her reaction, Oscar turned back to his work—only to be disturbed once more by Isabella pushing the door open. His eyes flicked to his pocket watch. It had not even been another full half-hour.
“One cannot work without a sweet treat,” she insisted, holding aloft a tray of chocolates. “And if you have already eaten, I am a firm believer—thanks to Hermia—that one cannot eat a meal without following it up with a sweet dessert afterward.”
“And are you a believer in dessert before a meal?” he smirked at her.
“According to Alicia, there ought to be no rules at all,” she insisted. “So, I will indulge, and you may join me, or not.”
She held the tray up happily, plucking a chocolate from it and popping it into her mouth. Part of him withered uncomfortably at her remembering that he had a sweet tooth, and he feared it might just be the way into his softer side.
Right as she moved to offer the tray to him, more thunder roared over the hills outside, and lightning flashed through the window. Isabella yelped, startling so hard the tray almost clattered to the floor.
“Isabella,” he finally said, knowing she would not put her pride aside. “Isabella, would you like to stay in the study?”
“No,” she answered. “You have made it clear company is not what you want this afternoon.”
“Isabella.”
“I am fine. I only wished to offer you chocolate.”
“Isabella. Sit with me in here.”
Before she could protest, he stood up from his desk and set the tray of chocolate onto his desk, forgotten in the face of the promise of spending time with his wife.
He often denied himself, but he had long given up on being able to focus on work.
He gestured to the chessboard that he had alongside the right-hand wall.
“Do you play?” he asked.
She nodded, smiling knowingly. “Rather well.”
Oscar did not ask her outright if she was afraid of the thunder; he didn’t make her admit it, but he offered her a veiled comfort to distract her.
He would feign his own fear or boredom if it would help her.
There was a voice in his head that sounded vaguely like Edmund’s that insisted he cared about her.
His own voice wasn’t as loud as he wanted it to be against the argument.
As they took a seat opposite one another across the chessboard, Oscar fixed her with a satisfied smile.
“We will play,” he said slowly, “but with a twist.”