Chapter Twenty-Three
Six weeks later…
Snow had fallen overnight, and a white dusting covered the sweeping lawns of Wolvesley Castle.
The temperature had not risen above freezing for several days and long shards of ice had transformed the fountain into something both beautiful and forbidding.
Esme could not ignore a twist of unease in her stomach as she gazed through the latticed window of the ladies’ solar.
“Will she still be able to come?”
Her mother smiled serenely. “The snow is not so very deep, dearest. I am certain the Felsham carriage will find a way through.”
Esme nibbled at her fingernail. “She should have set off sooner. We might have known snow would fall this close to yule.”
“’Tis hardly a surprise.” Morwenna stepped away from the window with a shiver, drawing her fur cloak over her shoulders. “You know, you could have had a springtime wedding.”
Esme pursed her lips as she sank down onto the plush window seat. “We didn’t want to wait that long.”
“We are all very aware of that,” Morwenna commented. Her tone was dry, but a flicker of amusement danced behind her eyes.
Esme leaned forward and touched her mother’s arm, concern flooding through her.
“I’m sorry. Has it all been too much? A wedding coming so soon after Tristan’s babe and the news of Rory Baine’s passing.
” She shook her head, her blonde plait falling over one shoulder. “I should have known better, Mother.”
“Nay, child. A wedding is a happy occasion. And none happier than when the two people involved love one another as much as you and Adam.” Morwenna sat down beside Esme and held her hands out toward the fire.
“I do love him.” Esme’s heart lifted as she snuggled closer to her mother. “And I long to be his wife.”
“Which you will be, in just a few hours.” Morwenna’s eyes filled with emotion. “To think my youngest child is about to be a bride.”
“Only if Isabella is here,” Esme interrupted her. “I love Mirrie, and I’m grateful she is with us. But I will not marry without at least one of my sister’s present.”
“Oh Esme.” Morwenna cupped her daughter’s face with her palms. “I hope you never change.”
A log crackled in the fire whilst Esme processed this. “Is that really true?” Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her hair.
“Of course.” Morwenna frowned.
“At the last ball, you reprimanded my so-called indifference.” Esme folded her hands across the simple woolen day dress she had donned that morn. “I have long imagined that you and father both wished for me to change.”
Morwenna’s pink lips hung open. “Change how?”
“I do not know.” Esme shrugged. “Mayhap to grow wise and sensible, like Frida. Or kind and good, like Mirrie.”
“You are already wise and sensible and kind and good.” Morwenna put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “Your father and I only ever wanted you to be happy, truly happy, as we have been.”
Esme breathed in her mother’s familiar citrussy scent. “Then you have your wish, for I could not possibly be happier.”
The two women smiled at one another in the pleasant solar before Morwenna held up her hand.
“What’s this? I think I hear a carriage approaching.”
“Isabella,” Esme squealed, kneeling on the window seat so she could see as far out of the window as possible. Sure enough, a stately carriage pulled by two chestnut horses was making slow but steady progress toward the keep. Relief washed through her. “Now everything will be perfect.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Morwenna rose to her feet and reached up to check her silvery blonde hair. “I shall go down and greet your sister. You should go to your chamber and prepare for the ceremony, my dear.”
“But, Isabella,” Esme protested.
“I shall send her up to you.” Morwenna’s voice was firm. “She can help you dress. What could be more perfect than that?”
It had been almost two winters since Esme last laid eyes upon Isabella, who had once been her closest friend and confidant.
She could hardly believe that the straight-backed woman who walked uncertainly into her chamber was the same girl who had danced about the keep, charming everyone in her wake.
When Isabella removed her veil, Esme all but gasped at how drawn and weary looking her beautiful face had grown.
Were it not for her thick, golden hair and familiar blue gaze, Esme might have thought her an imposter.
She swallowed her dismay and smiled as brightly as she could manage. “Bella. I’m so glad you’re here.” She darted across the room and flung her arms about her sister, who felt as frail as a little bird in her arms.
“I am so glad to be here.” Isabella hugged her back, fiercely. “’Twas a most taxing journey, but I have arrived in time to see you wed and that is the most important thing.”
Esme nodded, unable to speak for the swell of emotion in her chest. “Can I ring for refreshment?” She thought mayhap some warmed wine would put color back into Isabella’s cheeks. As it was, her peacock-blue gown was the brightest thing about her.
Isabella waved her offer away. “Mother said she would send something up. But in truth, I am not hungry. We stayed at a comfortable inn last night and I ate my fill at dinner.” She crossed the chamber and stood before the window, perchance avoiding Esme’s sharp eyes.
Her sister had always been slender, but now the bones of her collarbone were protruding above the lace-trimmed neckline of her expensive gown.
“You look tired.” Esme could not help but speak the truth, but she regretted it almost immediately. “Was your bed at the inn not so very comfortable after all? Mayhap the mattress was lumpy?”
She was rewarded with a small smile over her shoulder.
“It was not lumpy.” Isabella turned fully to face her sister and leaned back against the window ledge.
Outside, the sun had emerged from behind the winter clouds and its soft rays crowned Isabella with a halo of light.
“Tell me about the man you are to marry.”
The request was quietly asked, but Esme still blushed furiously.
How could she profess such full-blooded happiness before a sister who seemed washed out with weariness?
“His name is Adam,” she began.
“That much I know,” Isabella interrupted, carefully lifting Esme’s wedding gown so she might sit down on the bed. “Come.” She patted the coverlet beside her.
Esme took her seat and, after a moment’s thought, took hold of her sister’s slender hands. “He makes me very happy,” she said sincerely. “I love him more than I ever thought possible.”
“I can see in your eyes that you speak the truth.”
“I do.” Esme nodded vigorously.
“But what kind of a man is he?” Isabella crossed her long legs at the ankle. “How did you come to meet?”
Esme divined that her titled sister was carefully avoiding asking anything about Adam’s wealth or status.
“He is a warrior,” she answered, bluntly.
“A knight?” Isabella sounded hopeful.
“Nay.” Esme recalled that night at Ember Hall when she had asked the very same question. “He served a Scottish laird. Callum’s father.” She glanced at Isabella to ensure she was following. “In fact, Adam and Callum grew up together.”
Isabella nodded, but Esme could tell this meant little to her. She had only met Frida’s husband on one occasion and all the family had born witness to her surprise at Frida’s choice.
Not that Isabella had voiced her disapproval out loud; she was far too well-mannered for that.
But from her own choice of husband, Isabella had made it clear to the world that title and status meant all to her.
She was the Countess of Felsham; mistress of a grand castle with great wealth at her disposal.
But looking at her now, Esme was far from sure that this choice had made her sister happy. And that was hardly surprising.
Happiness, Esme had learned, was found in smaller pleasures than castles and coin chests.
“Adam taught me how to wield a sword, up at Ember Hall,” Esme said, smiling at the memory. “Do you recall how we once petitioned father to allow us to learn?”
“I do.” Isabella’s full lips curved into a smile that transformed her, fleetingly, into the beautiful woman once heralded the ‘Rose of England’. “Tristan and Jonah had lessons. But we were never allowed.” Isabella twisted a heavy ring around her finger. “I was exceedingly envious.”
Esme nudged her with her shoulder. “I could teach you, if you like.”
Isabella’s laugh was like a peal of bells, but it ended abruptly. “I would like that very much. Alas, I must return to Felsham on the morrow.”
“As soon as that?” Dismay filled Esme’s voice. “I thought we might spend some time together.”
Isabella arched her eyebrows. “I do not think your new husband would like that. Forsooth, he will want you all to himself, once you are married.”
“He has already had me, all to himself,” Esme replied without thinking. She clasped a hand to her mouth as her cheeks pinked all over again and Isabella’s blue eyes opened wide with shock.
“Esme.” Isabella seemed to fumble for words. “I hardly know what to say.”
“You need not say aught.” Esme collapsed backwards onto the high mattress and swung her legs, suddenly feeling carefree.
“In a matter of hours, we will be man and wife, and all will be respectable between us.” She glanced sideways at her sister and could not help giggling at her frozen expression.
“Bella, I never knew you would be so prim and proper.”
Isabella swallowed and Esme noted with surprise that her sister was beginning to blush. “’Tis not that.”
“What then?” She sat up leaned closer in a show of sisterly closeness.
“’Tis just that I never dreamed of doing such a thing for pleasure.” Isabella shrugged her slender shoulders, fixing her gaze on the patterned rug on the floor. “Instead of duty.”
“Duty?” Esme wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Or to conceive a child.” Isabella’s voice wobbled, making Esme concerned for her all over again.