Chapter 13
Thirteen
Isobel leaned back in the carriage, staring at the ring on her finger, her stomach still turning. She had done it. She had married the Duke of Foxdrey.
Letting out a deep breath, she looked out the window as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Duke of Foxdrey’s London house. Her new house in the ton.
This is not real.
The house towered behind the gates that led to the street. The stone was a stunning white, tall columns stretching up to hold the lattice above the front steps. Large windows offered views of stunning gardens.
The door to the carriage opened and the Duke of Foxdrey stood there with his hand out. There were people gathered around the carriage, lining a path to the house. They smiled and laughed, whispering to each other as Isobel slipped her hand in his.
Cheers went up as she stepped out of the carriage and onto her new property for the first time. Her heart slammed into her ribs as she was led to the house, the Duke not saying a word.
Why is he so silent? It’s unlike him. Is this another ploy to drive me wild and have me begging for even a small sliver of his attention?
The Duke finally looked down at her as they climbed the stairs to the front door, staff lining either side of the porch with trays of refreshments.
Isobel’s stomach growled, but at the same time she didn’t think she was going to be able to stomach much food. She was the Duchess of Foxdrey.
Do Duchesses faint in the gardens at their wedding breakfast?
Lifting her head high, she made eye contact with each member of the staff, smiling and nodding.
She wanted them to like her. There was nothing worse than having a horrible person looming over the rest of the house and only interacting with them to berate them.
She had learned as much while living with Father, watching the way he treated those who worked for him.
“This way,” the Duke of Foxdrey said, leading the way down a hall and into a massive dining room.
Tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling on one side, and through another set of huge doors, she could see a ballroom that was almost entirely lined with windows. It looked like a home out of her wildest dreams.
“Our table is over here. Your family and my cousins and their families will be sitting with us.” The Duke’s tone took on a stiffness that didn’t seem to be present during their other encounters.
Isobel bit the inside of her cheek. “Might we have a moment alone?”
A little life came into his eyes as he looked down at her with a smug smile. “Are you ready to beg me?”
“Actually, I think I will be fine without that conversation,” Isobel snapped, though she was more annoyed at herself for conjuring images of their last kiss.
She bristled, though she tried to hide it, her irritation mingling with disappointment. She had only asked for a few minutes alone with her husband—was that too much to expect? Instead, she followed him, the heat in her chest making it harder to act composed.
If there was a moment the two of them had alone, there might be a repeat of the kiss. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when they kissed, but she knew that with her nerves running as high as they were, she might not have the self-control she had before.
It both terrified and excited her.
The Duke led her to the table and pulled out her chair. “Come, sit.”
Isobel sat down, allowing him to tuck in the chair, her stomach tying itself into knots as other people started to filter into the room. Joan hurried over with a smile, finding her seat beside Isobel and sitting down.
“Your veil is boxed and with your trousseau,” Joan said with a smile before glancing around the room. “I can’t believe this is your house now.”
“I hardly believe it myself.” Isobel pressed a hand to her stomach. “Do you think it’s normal for the bride to feel like she’s going to be ill?”
Joan laughed and reached beneath the table, taking her hand and squeezing it tight. “I know this is terrifying for you, but he seems like a good man, especially with the way he was making you laugh before the ceremony.”
Isobel glanced to her side, but the Duke of Foxdrey was gone.
Her new husband was off on the other side of the dining room with a glass in his hand and a blonde man at his side.
Her brows pulled together as she watched the two of them laughing together, thinking it a bit off he had already abandoned her.
Perhaps his intention is to sit down once the food is served.
“I don’t think you’re breathing,” Joan said, giving her hand another squeeze. “You’re going to get through this.”
“Father might not.” Isobel nodded to their father, noting the way he was stumbling around the other tables in the room, clapping his hand to one man’s shoulder even though she doubted he knew the person.
Joan grimaced and reached for her glass of water, taking a sip, her hand leaving Isobel’s. “I hope he will not urge others to ridicule our family on your wedding day.”
“I doubt he knows how to do anything but bring shame upon us all.” Isobel sat a little taller as some of the staff started making their way into the room with large trays of food. People took their seats, finding the slips of paper with their names on them at each table.
The food was served, the room mostly silent, though the sound of forks and knives on porcelain and whispered conversations broke it up every now and then.
And though the food was on the table, the Duke of Foxdrey still didn’t return to her. The seat beside her remained empty as he stopped to talk to nearly everyone at each table. He laughed with other people, leaning closer and whispering, not once looking in her direction.
Isobel tried to focus on eating, but each time she tried to cut a piece of sausage and bring it to her mouth, a foul taste rose in the back of her throat.
I’m not meant to be here.
“You’ve got that terrified look in your eye,” a woman said as she moved from the other end of the table and slipped into the seat beside Isobel. “I remember my own wedding breakfast and I’m sure I wore the same expression.”
Isobel put her fork down, grateful that she no longer had to pretend to be eating.
“It looks like the jilted bride became the Fox’s wife,” another woman whispered as she passed by the table, her gaze connecting with Isobel’s for a moment before she looked away.
"How desperate she must have been," another voice murmured nearby. "To go from being left at one altar to rushing toward another so quickly."
"Well, what choice did she have?" a third woman said, not bothering to lower her voice. "With a father like Lord Leyton, gambling away every penny, she had to take whatever offer came her way. Even from a man like that."
"I heard he only married her to salvage his reputation. Poor thing probably thinks it's real."
"At least she got a title out of it. Though I wonder how long before he returns to his old ways. A leopard doesn't change its spots, after all."
"Give it a month. Two at most. Then she'll be just another neglected wife while he goes back to his club and his women."
The words landed harshly, each one finding its mark with cruel precision.
The walls seemed to be shrinking around Isobel and causing her breath to come in shorter bursts.
The woman sitting beside her pinched the back of her hand lightly. The sharp little pain shocked her out of her panic, bringing her back to the room and letting her take a deep inhale.
“Thank you for that,” Isobel said, her voice wavering just a little as she noticed how many people were looking at her and then turning to each other and whispering.
“My breakfast was just like this too. There were people judging me everywhere I looked,” the woman said, a note of annoyance in her voice as she stared at a pair of whispering women, her eyes narrowing. The women looked away.
Isobel swallowed hard, fighting past the urge that told her to run from the room. “Did it ever end?”
“Oh yes, my Ramsay threatened them quite well. You would not believe what an angry Scot threatening a room will do to those who wish to tear you down.”
“While I’m a fan of the idea, the thought of threatening your guests sounds oddly foreign.” Isobel smiled, thinking about the look the Duke of Foxdrey would produce if she started threatening people. “It could be effective though.”
The woman laughed. “Did you know my cousin was avoiding me until the marriage?”
“The Duke is your cousin?” Isobel’s cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. He didn’t introduce me to anyone here. I must admit that the people I know are limited to my father and my sister.”
“And now me.” The woman grinned and reached for a glass of water, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Eleanor Brooking, Duchess of Stormglen. You may call me Eleanor though, since you and I are to be family and I suspect you will need an ally while dealing with my cousin.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Isobel.” Isobel forced a smile of her own, even though her entire being felt like it was on fire from the humiliation of yet another jilted bride comment being made at a table close by.
“Do not worry about the opinions of the people gathered here.” The Duchess of Stormglen hummed and glowered at another woman. “You should scold Andrew for leaving you alone like this. How dare he leave you on the day of your wedding to fend for yourself against the ton?”
Isobel bristled a little, looking around the room only to see her husband talking with another simpering young lady.
I wonder if I should castrate him as a precautionary measure.
While she wanted to believe that he would remain faithful, she was no stranger to his reputation. Though, she wished to believe he would keep his word.
“I don’t need his help,” Isobel said, turning her attention back to Eleanor.
The look Eleanor gave her was skeptical at best. “Are you certain? I know that this can be difficult and navigating the ton is odious at best some days.”