Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Are those the only reasons why you and—” she paused. She had never been entirely comfortable referring to Isabella’s husband by his given name. “Charles,” she managed, on an outward breath, “lay together?”
Isabella sat so still that Esme feared she had offended her. But at last, she gave a small nod.
“Though I have not yet managed to conceive a child,” she said flatly. “And time is running out. My husband has been confined to bed these last weeks. He is not well. And his nephew, his current heir, has no fondness for me.”
“But you do not need to conceive a child,” Esme declared, grasping her sister’s hand once again and trying to inject some warmth into it. “You are the Countess of Felsham.”
Isabella laughed bitterly. “Only until my nephew becomes earl. Then I will be naught and no one. A widow without a child has no place in the world.” She crossed her arms over her belly and crouched forward as if she was in pain.
Esme gazed at her blankly, unable to comprehend the weight of sorrow on the shoulders of a woman who had always gotten everything she wanted in life.
She swallowed hard, realizing for the first time that Isabella must have nursed these sorrows, in secret, for many years.
“Whatever happens, you are the daughter of the Earl of Wolvesley.” Esme’s voice was firm. “You can come home, any time you please.”
“Nay. There is no place for me here, either.” She held up a hand to silence Esme’s protest, her rings glinting in the sunlight.
“I know that Father and Mother would welcome me. But what am I to do, year after year, whilst the rest of you have families of your own.” Isabella’s voice broke and she sprang up from the bed to stand near the window, clearly reaching for her composure.
“Isabella, I had no idea you were so unhappy.” A knock at the door made Esme startle, so deeply was she drawn into her sister’s tale. “Come in,” she called.
A round-cheeked serving maid walked reverently into the chamber and laid a heavy tray on a side table. “Mead and honey cakes for the bride and her sister,” she said, smiling brightly.
“Thank you, Molly.” Esme summoned a smile for the maid who had served their family for many years. Molly wasn’t to know that her words had struck a wrong note.
But she was quick to read the situation. “I’ll leave you, milady.” She bobbed into a small curtsy.
As Molly left the chamber, Isabella dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
“Forgive me, Esme. ’Tis not right that I bring you low on your wedding day.
We should talk of brighter things.” She walked over to the tray, poured a goblet of mead and held it out toward her. “Let us make a toast to you and Adam.”
Esme accepted the goblet and drank deeply, but she could not forget the sadness in her sister’s eyes.
“Things could have been very different for me,” she said suddenly. “Not so long ago, I thought my future lay with Crispin de Gough.” She winced as the taste of the sweetened mead turned sour in her mouth. Just saying his name made her nauseous.
Isabella looked at her over the rim of her goblet. “The knight sworn to father—”
“Who betrayed the King,” Esme finished for her.
“And you had a fancy for him?” Curiosity filled Isabella’s voice.
“More than a fancy.” Esme pulled a face. “Though I should say no more than that. I believe I have shocked you enough, this day.”
“Mercy, sister.” Isabella placed her goblet back on the tray with a small shake of her golden head. “It seems much has happened in these last months.”
“Much indeed. Which is why I know that things can change.” Esme looked at her imploringly, “Do not give up hope, Isabella.”
Her sister smiled, but it did not meet her eyes. “What will happen to Crispin?”
“He is under house arrest at Windsor.” Esme picked up a slice of honey cake but found she had no appetite for it.
“Ye Gods.” Isabella put a hand to her chest. “Will he be put to death?”
Esme shook her head. “Father says ’tis unlikely. Crispin’s line is long and noble. His father will secure some arrangement with the King.”
Isabella nodded slowly, before straightening her shoulders and fixing Esme with an appraising stare. “We have chattered enough, I believe, on all subjects but the most pressing one. What are you to wear for your wedding?”
“My dress right here, laid out on the bed,” Esme laughed.
“I am surprised you are not already wearing it.” Isabella picked up the silken gown with utmost reverence and hung it on the door of the closet. “’Tis beautiful,” she said.
The dress was pale green and studded with small pearls. As testament to the season, it had a fur-lined hood and a full skirt which swept the floor.
“I have learned that there are more important things than pretty gowns,” Esme replied. “I would marry Adam wearing a sack and still be happy.”
Isabella put her hands on her hips and frowned with mock severity. “Well, I for one would not be happy about that.”
“Seriously, sister.” Esme went to join her at the closet, threading their arms together. “Happiness is not the preserve of others. It is out there somewhere, waiting to be claimed and enjoyed. By you,” she added, with a nudge of her elbow.
“Well, I shall be sure to look out for it.” Isabella was brisk as she studied the gown. “But for now, let us concentrate on turning you into a bride fit for this man who has made you so very happy.”
*
Great boughs of pine had been strung from the rafters of the chapel, so Adam breathed in the scent of yule as he stood by the altar, waiting for the ceremony to begin. His breath plumed ahead of him, for the chapel was high-ceilinged and draughty, but this only heightened his sense of anticipation.
He had dared to dream. And now his dreams were coming true.
Beside him, Jonah gave a small cough, pulling his sumptuous cloak of emerald green closer over his shoulders.
“The final guests are arriving. This is perchance your last chance to make an escape,” he commented, drily.
Adam clapped him on the shoulder, knowing that the slender man was a lot stronger than he looked. “Why would I do that, pray tell? I am about to become the happiest man in England.”
Jonah nodded, a small smile playing about his lips. “I am just making sure.”
“And I am exactly where I want to be.”
He spoke the truth, although Adam was careful not to raise his gaze further than the first family pews.
Beyond them, all the way to the back of the chapel, sat the great and good of the English nobility, wrapped in silk and furs, flashing with jewels, and no doubt exclaiming to one another over Esme de Neville’s startling choice of husband.
Upon waking that morn, Adam had been unable to quell a faint hope that the snow would keep at least some of these guests away. But the brightness of the sun—together with the lure of Wolvesley Castle—had brought them all out, in their finery.
“I thought we were to have a small wedding,” he had murmured to Esme, a sennight prior, as she and Morwenna deliberated over seating arrangements.
She had gazed up at him, bewildered. “This is small.”
Standing in the chapel, Adam took a deep breath and focused on the intricate detail of the frescoes on the opposite wall. He would not allow any doubts, insecurities or other people, to spoil the wonder of this day.
Jonah cleared his throat. “I am sorry that ’tis I stood beside you, not Callum. I am but a poor substitute for the friend you have known since childhood.”
His words were heartfelt; Adam could see as much in his blue eyes.
He grasped his arm. “I am glad you are here, Jonah. In fact, I am honored by it. ’Tis no small matter, to be accepted by the mighty de Nevilles.”
Jonah inclined his head. “’Tis no small matter to see my sister so happy.” He glanced down the aisle as if looking for a glimpse of Esme, but there was so sign of her yet.
Adam knew this without looking; every fiber of his body was strained with awareness as to her presence or absence.
“I will remain a while here at Wolvesley; to give you and Esme some time alone at Ember Hall,” Jonah continued.
Adam’s heart leaped at the prospect of having his wife all to himself, but he shook his head. “Nay, you do not have to do that. Ember Hall is your home, and that should not change. Esme and I are only looking after the place until Frida and Callum return.”
“You know better than I that Callum will be required in the Highlands for a long time yet. He is the Laird of Kielder and has duties there.” Jonah’s voice was low. “Your arrangement benefits all and I do not seek to spoil it.”
The sound of fretful crying made all eyes swing to the second pew, where Mirrie rocked her new baby son in her arms. Comforted, the babe went back to sleep, and Mirrie and Tristan exchanged a look of relief.
The babe had been born on the night of the first frost. He was a strong, healthy boy with a lustful cry and a hearty appetite. His name was Lucan, after his grandfather’s older brother.
Adam turned back to Jonah. “After today, you will be my brother. I never had a brother before, but I am certain my mother would instruct me to share whatever I have.”
Jonah’s face was momentarily transformed by a wide and genuine smile. “Your mother must have been a wise woman.”
“Aye, she was.”
Adam swallowed a lump in his throat. His humble parents would have been overjoyed to see him here. Not because of the wealth of Wolvesley; but because he had found a woman he loved—and been accepted by her large and loving family.
He thought back to the day he first met Esme. He had sat by the window at Ember Hall, all but struck dumb by the beauty and vivacity of the golden-haired girl who teased her siblings and mimed a sword fight.
So much had changed since then.
Nay, everything had changed, since then.
Esme’s brightness had banished the darkness inside him. She had shown him the light, and he would never deviate from it again.
A commotion by the double doors saw the congregation rise to their feet.
Jonah straightened his shoulders. “This is it.”
Adam had no words to reply. His gaze was fixed on Esme as she appeared in the holly-strewn doorway, on the arm of her proud father. She was resplendent in green silk, with her long tresses of hair swept high on her head. When her eyes met his, she smiled, and a feeling of warmth washed over him.
Aye, I am exactly where I want to be.
Tears of joy brimmed in his eyes as he took Esme’s gloved hand from Angus and escorted her on their final steps to the altar.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered to her.
She squeezed his hand. “That is because I am so very happy.”
“I will make sure you are always happy, my love,” he promised.
And so he did.
THE END