Chapter 6
Sebastian ducked his head through the doorway, making his way down the hall. He had to switch hands with the paper to dry the damp.
What the devil am I supposed to say or do with a wife?
He remembered the jests he had made with his friends when they married. Tristan, however, was the morose and sharp sort of fellow who needed a wife to liven him up. And Julian needed one to steady out his wild ways. Perhaps Ronan would take one as well someday, but he…
There isn’t anything I need. A wife only gets in the way of everything going on. How am I supposed to manage my projects and charities and estates and boxing on top of keeping an eye on a wife?
Turning down the next hall toward the stairs, he spotted his housekeeper about to cross his path. He gave her a nod with, “Mrs. Maple.”
She inhaled sharply with a cautious smile. She paused to curtsey. “Good morning, Your Grace. Well, are you?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Then she very carefully edged her way around him so they wouldn’t touch. He glanced at her over his shoulder, wondering if she did that because of his size or because of his title. Did every servant try to avoid their master?
He didn’t track much of that with those he hired in the townhouse.
It was there he often ate in the kitchens with his staff, frequently prepared his own baths, and didn’t mind how or where they worked so long as the place was tidy.
When Tristan had caught two of his footmen pausing one day to play pool, he’d talked about it for weeks like a marvel.
Which is why I brought Isabel here. She’ll be more comfortable here in a house full of proper servants. Even if the servants are clearly uncomfortable around me.
Maybe he would leave sooner, Sebastian decided on his way to his study. He passed another two servants, both who flinched and ducked their heads like they thought he might attack them.
It was an unnerving experience for everyone.
He didn’t know most of the household here, at least not very well.
His visits here were infrequent. It had been his father’s favorite house during his time, and the man had never cared to have Sebastian around.
Not before his mother’s passing and not after his return after years spent in the gutter.
No, that was his father’s preferred language. The gutter. For Sebastian, he had preferred to call it his years of freedom.
Dangerous and perhaps a little feral, compared to polite society, yes, but at least I had been free.
And now he was back in this cold prison for reasons he was beginning to doubt. Shaking his head, Sebastian hid himself away in his study––a smaller room compared to the proper study his father once used––until he needed an escape.
Making his way outside, he avoided the common paths to make his way over to the stables. The smell of fresh hay and horses was immediately comforting. His footsteps picked up until he entered, immediately pausing.
“Aye, and so I was telling ‘er that she didn’t need to worry about such a thing,” one of his stableboys was saying to another. “But what d’you know, she still made me that pigeon pie. What about that?”
The two of them chortled until one looked up at Sebastian and froze. He poked the other, who glanced back and froze. Immediately, the two of them shrank away.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” they said meekly.
“No need. Carry on. I’ll be going for a ride,” he responded, moving slowly as though not to frighten them more.
It didn’t seem to work as they shied away. Irritated, he let out a snort before giving up. The change of speed only scared them more. The young lads didn’t look familiar to him, he noted, but they must have been brought on with his arrival and the addition of six horses.
What does the village say about me, I wonder? That I’m a beast? A monster? That I beat people? Good lord, people have too much imagination.
London was easier with a swathe of people from all over the world, so he was less likely to have people staring or to suffer from needless gossip. He thought about going back and simply hiding out for a while. It would be easy. He knew the shadows and he knew where polite society never appeared.
“This is ridiculous,” he told his horse once he reached the stall.
The large horse huffed back in his face before pawing at his clothes. Grim, the only name for such large black horse, always knew what to expect. Sebastian had crept into the kitchen for two crabapples, which he now offered to his horse.
It didn’t take long to saddle Grim. He always stood at attention, eager to stretch his long legs. Soon, Sebastian was in the saddle and racing across the wild grounds.
Gardens and a maze surrounded the large estate house. Beyond that, however, were the wild grounds of England. He passed through the glen, the wild greenery a soft sea waiting for him and Grim. Beyond them would be the cliffs leading to the ocean and then France.
It was the air that Sebastian wanted. He charged his horse forward at a gallop as though they were ready to take on the world. Fresh air filled their lungs, freeing them from the filth and restraints of everything else.
Once they were both slathered in sweat, Sebastian brought them around the house. He slid from the saddle to walk the rest of the way. The stables were insight when out of the hedges emerged Isabel.
Everyone stopped.
“Oh.” She looked between him and the horse. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
Because I said I was busy, didn’t I?
“I needed a break between the paperwork. Grim here was kind of enough give me the race that I needed. We weren’t fit for company, so we went together.”
Her eyebrow raised. “You named your horse Grim?”
“It was a fitting name.”
“If you wanted to be macabre about it, yes,” she mused quietly almost like she was speaking to herself.
His lip twitched all the same. Isabel studied the horse for a minute before turning to him.
That gave him a moment to look at her in turn, wondering if she was afraid again.
There were moments when he was certain she was fearful.
But then sometimes she apparently made jests.
“I enjoy a gallop myself on occasion. Perhaps some time I can join you?”
Sebastian blinked several times in surprise. He scrounged for a comment before saying, “The other horses cannot keep up.”
“And Grim cannot go just a tad slower?”
Beginning to feel like she wanted something from him, he decided it was time to take his leave. He tightened his grip on the reins and started to move past her. “That isn’t the type of exercise he requires. It’s best if it is just the two of us.”
“If you insist.”
There was something about her tone that made Sebastian look back. She seemed to have a sharper tongue than expected. But when he peered over his shoulder, she had disappeared among the hedges again.
Grim snorted and tugged on the reins, eager for drink and oats. So Sebastian forced himself back to the stables while he mused on his wife. Then he was taking a bath and back in his study before evening struck.
The next couple of days fell into a disjointed sort of pattern where he and Isabel would occasionally run into each other. It was difficult to know what she was getting at with her questions and comments. So he brushed her off and carried on.
And then he began to notice noise in the halls.
One morning, he passed the library to find Isabel on her knees with the chambermaid where they together were cleaning up the fireplace.
The servant said something that made Isabel laugh.
Not in a polite way, but a belly laugh that caught him by surprise.
Her head fell back and her long hair shook; it was a hearty sound that rang through his ears the rest of the day.
The next afternoon, Sebastian went to retrieve more crabapples for his horse only to find his wife elbow-deep in flour while chattering about floral pastries with the kitchen staff.
They didn’t take many meals together, but Isabel thanked every servant, especially the cook, for everything they ate.
He knew their names and he kept out of their way. Except that did nothing for him with the servants. Apparently, talking to them was the way to soften them up. Irritation burrowed deep inside his skull as he began to hear laughter on a more regular basis.
Only it silenced whenever anyone spotted him.
“Oh, what a lovely idea, Your Grace,” cheered Mrs. Maple while a footman and Isabel were switching out a portrait for a landscape painting in the front parlor one morning while Sebastian was passing by. “You have such an eye for beauty.”
Isabel chuckled, a sound that made him slow down. He couldn’t resist peeking his head further inside for a better look. It helped that no one looked his way. Beginning to feel like an outcast in his own home, he studied everyone curiously.
“You’re too kind, Mrs. Maple. I’m only a hobbyist.”
“Do you paint as well?” The maid asked eagerly. “Mary told me about the miniatures in your bed chamber. She said they’re utterly lovely.”
He perked up, wondering for himself now.
A warm blush washed over Isabel. “Thank you very kindly, Anne. They are indeed. I painted them five years ago as my final assignments from my tutor. It’s my family. I always meant to gift them, but I couldn’t resist holding onto them.”
We’re family now, aren’t we?
Immediately, Sebastian dashed the sudden hope away.
He had never been painted in his more recent years.
There was a family painting from when he was still in leading strings.
His steward had made the recommendation when he took on the title, but it didn’t seem likely anyone would actually wish to remember him.
“We’ll have to find you a space someday so you can paint here as much as you like,” Mrs. Maple reassured Isabel. “We don’t use half enough rooms.”
“Enough rooms are used, I think. I don’t want to create more work for anyone. There is the small garden parlor on the next floor, with all the windows and small balcony, but it is hardly the season for that,” Isabel added with a dramatic sigh. “We’ll merely have to wait until spring.”
The servants chuckled. “It’ll be lovely when we do it. Whenever you like, Your Grace,” Anne added politely.
It almost felt like the women in there were all friends. Sebastian knew Isabel had only been here a total of five days. And yet that had been enough for everyone to come to adore her.
Because, after all, everyone else was much easier to love.
He quietly excused himself before he could ruin anything for them. Ducking his head down the hall, he avoided the next turn when he saw two servants at the end. He took another set of stairs to avoid anyone.
Instead of going to his study, however, he went right instead to find the garden parlor. He’d nearly forgotten about that room.
It was indeed closed off as expected. Dusty, too, since it was never used. Large windows were installed for natural light but there were no plants. Only empty pots and covered furniture.
Making up his mind, Sebastian began to tidy up. He shook out the curtains and lifted the sheets on the furniture. Those were used to dust grime off the walls, then he rearranged a few pieces to create more space here. Space enough for an easel.
A quiet knock sounded just as he was finishing there. Turning, he half-hoped it was her. Then he scolded himself when it wasn’t.
“Mrs. Maple.”
“I thought I heard something here. May I come in, Your Grace?” He nodded. She offered a tentative smile before making her way through, eyeing the walls and then putting her hands on her hips. “Fine work, Your Grace. Very fine. I didn’t know you liked to clean.”
He remembered the corner he kept in a small room in the mews of Convent Garden that he shared with several other children. “Cleanliness is important. I don’t make much of a mess when I’m here, do I?”
“No, Your Grace, you do not.”
“Very good. I don’t wish to,” he added suddenly. “I never aim to be a bother.”
Tilting her head, she studied him for a moment. It let him note the gray in her hair and the wrinkles around her eyes. He didn’t know her age. Perhaps his mother would have been this age if she had lived longer.
Mrs. Maple told him, “You’re hardly a bother, Your Grace. We are glad for your presence.” He couldn’t help but snort and raise an eyebrow. “It is… unnerving, perhaps, but we are glad of it. And I’m glad of what you have done here,” she added helpfully. “What inspired you?”
He paused. He couldn’t give the truth or else she would know he had been eavesdropping. “There is no reason. I was wandering and recalled this room. It’s refreshing, isn’t it? Perhaps the duchess might care to use it for… whatever inspires her,” he said as casually as he could muster.
It didn’t seem to be enough for Mrs. Maple. She pursed her lips together like she was trying not to smirk. “That sounds like a very fine idea, Your Grace.”
“My mother loved this room,” he found himself saying defensively. “I thought another duchess might feel the same.”
That softened the woman. “I remember. Your mother was a wonderful lady, God rest her soul. She’s still missed very dearly. I’m sure Her Grace will be grateful for use of this space. I will let her know it’s available whenever she is ready. Would that be acceptable?”
“Yes. I mean, if you like.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “I’ll go now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He nodded and hastened out at once.
What was happening, he didn’t know. He felt his ears burning and he couldn’t stop thinking of Isabel.
This house didn’t feel as cold and dark as it had upon their arrival.
She was influencing the household and even him in ways he didn’t rightly understand.
Years of estrangement and dread were unraveling under the roof here and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
Should he stop her? Or was he supposed to surrender?