Chapter 31
Isabel sighed heavily as she closed the door to Stefan’s chamber, her attempt to discover the reason for the lovers’ quarrel between him and Kassandra thwarted once again.
She simply could not get an explanation out of either of them! A strained pall had hung over the mansion for over a week now, ever since they had been found safe and unharmed—much to her tearful relief!—at the hunting lodge the morning after that dreadful thunderstorm.
She walked slowly down the corridor, shaking her head in bewilderment. She had never seen such strife between two people who were intending to be married. Stefan and Kassandra had virtually avoided each other at every turn.
When she would breakfast with Kassandra, and Stefan would walk into the room, he would wheel around and stalk out again. Or when she was discussing an estate matter with Stefan in the library and Kassandra would enter, she would slam her book shut and practically flee at the sight of him.
And then there was the evening that, in hopes of encouraging a reconciliation, she had planned a special dinner for them, complete with many of the cook’s most elaborate dishes—pheasant, roast mutton stuffed with oysters, brandied custard sprinkled with sugared almonds for dessert, and more.
Yet she had ended up eating alone, Kassandra pleading a headache and Stefan concocting some nonsense about important letters he had to write.
The past few days had been a dizzying whirl of such perplexing events, with, unfortunately, no end in sight.
It was not the homecoming she had envisioned for Miles, she thought unhappily.
She had wanted everything to be perfect—but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason when it came to matters of the heart, especially between those two.
They couldn’t be more stubborn and strong-minded.
And though she fervently wished it otherwise, there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.
Obviously this quarrel would have to take its natural course, without any help from her.
At least she was feeling more like herself, Isabel mused, pausing at a large oval mirror to study her reflection.
Her lively blue eyes stared back at her, fringed by black, curling lashes, and she forced a smile, her right cheek dimpling becomingly.
It would not do for Miles to find her glum when he finally arrived at the estate.
Isabel turned from the mirror, her smile fading.
Whenever that might be, she thought, her dark mood drifting over her once again. She had been expecting him for well over a week. They had been separated for so long, and these last few days had been achingly slow, their tedium compounded by Stefan and Kassandra’s silly quarrel.
Perhaps Miles can set things to rights once he gets here, Isabel consoled herself, continuing down the corridor. She could only hope his diplomatic skills extended to Kassandra as well.
Isabel held out her hand for the banister as she reached the staircase but stopped it midair at the sound of a familiar voice wafting up to her from the hall below, deep, resonant, tinged with good humor. Her heart skipped a beat, her skin flushing with warmth. Could it be…?
“Miles, is that you?” she cried out, barely able to contain her excitement.
She leaned over the banister, her face lighting with happiness at the tall gentleman standing just inside the front doorway, a beaming Gisela at his side.
He turned and looked up at her, grinning broadly, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Miles!” Isabel fairly flew down the stairs, her arms outstretched, laughing and crying at the same time as he rushed to meet her at the bottom of the staircase.
Lost in his embrace, Isabel felt as if time stood still for her, the private agony of many months of waiting washed away in a single moment.
“Oh, Miles…” she sobbed, standing on tiptoe, her delicate frame pressed against his well-toned body. She hugged him as if she would never let him go, and truly, she swore to herself, she never would again.
“Isabel, my love,” Miles Wyndham murmured soothingly, tasting the salt of her tears as he kissed first her cheek, then her mouth.
They drew life’s breath from each other, embracing, tenderly caressing, their kisses punctuated by joyous laughter, oblivious to the comings and goings of their silent audience.
Gisela, her eyes shining with approval, watched her mistress with her handsome beloved for a fleeting moment. Then she rushed to the kitchen to bid the cook prepare a hearty midday meal for his lordship, who most certainly must be starved after his long journey.
Stefan, his expression haunted, watched them from the banister on the second floor.
He had heard Isabel’s outburst from his chamber and had decided to go and greet his future brother-in-law, dropping the documents he had been merely staring at anyway.
But upon seeing them, so blissfully lost in their embrace, he had changed his mind.
He swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth, knowing he would never possess such a love as theirs, knowing Kassandra was lost to him.
He had no one to blame but himself. He alone was responsible for what had happened at his hunting lodge. Now he could only curse the day he had forced Kassandra to agree to their marriage, curse his arrogant pride, his impatience, his selfishness.
He had offered her everything but love…Kassandra, who was meant for a great love.
And when he had finally offered her his heart, it was too late.
She had done what any woman in her situation might have done…
found someone to give her what he said had no meaning for him. He had lost her love to another man.
A far worthier man, he thought grimly. Disconsolate, he quietly turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor.
Kassandra was just returning from her morning ride, her cheeks flushed and rosy as she breezed through the front door, only to blanch at the unexpected sight of her father. She stood rooted to the floor, torn between unbridled happiness at his safe return, and heart-wrenching distress.
So, the day she had dreaded for so long had finally come, she thought miserably.
She had no doubt Stefan would ask for consent to their marriage at the earliest opportunity—and she would have no choice but to accept her father’s inevitable reply, even when she and Stefan were so far apart.
She had given her word. It might as well have been written in blood.
Overwhelmed, Kassandra turned as if to flee, hoping to collect her thoughts in the solace of her favorite garden before greeting her father. Yet she froze on the threshold at the sound of her name echoing about the hall.
“Kassandra!” her father repeated, holding Isabel’s hand as they both hurried to greet her.
“Papa,” she murmured, a tremulous smile upon her lips. She moved toward him, tears welling in her eyes. She forced them back, a familiar litany droning in her mind.
She must give him no cause to think there was anything amiss. She had only to read the radiant joy on his face, and Isabel’s, to know there was too much at stake to do otherwise.
“Papa, what a wonderful surprise!” she exclaimed as his strong arms embraced her. She buried her face against his broad shoulder. He smelled of fragrant pipe tobacco and woodsy cologne, scents she had known since childhood. “I’ve missed you so.”
Miles drew away from her, his admiring gaze sweeping over her from head to foot.
“You’ve grown even lovelier since I left, Kassandra,” he said with pride.
He would not say aloud how much she resembled her mother, with her flaming hair and violet eyes, for fear of hurting Isabel.
God knows, he would never do that, however unintentionally.
He glanced over at his beautiful betrothed, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.
The past could never be forgotten, nor should it be, he thought fleetingly.
Yet he had been granted a glorious second love to fill the void that had long tormented his heart.
“She has thrived under your care, Isabel,” he voiced tenderly.
“Yes, Isabel has been like a mother to me during your absence, Papa…and a dear friend,” Kassandra quickly agreed.
“Well, if she has thrived, I certainly can’t take all the credit,” Isabel objected with a bright laugh. “Stefan is most to be thanked for that.”
Kassandra nearly choked in surprise, but she held her tongue as Isabel chattered on.
“We’ve had more than our share of adventures, and miracles, while you’ve been away, Miles.
I’ve told you about most of them in my letters, but some of the things that have happened recently—” Isabel paused in midsentence, her pretty features darkening with feigned exasperation.
“Did you receive any of my letters, Miles? If you did, your replies were most infrequent, scarcely four in just as many months. I had begun to think you had forgotten me.”
“Never, my love,” Miles replied, shaking his head.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“I wrote you often. I learned during my journey that many post carriages en route to Vienna were lost this past winter, along with their passengers and cargo. What with the thieves that constantly plagued the route between this city and Hanover, it was a wonder the post ever reached its destination.” He uttered a short laugh.
“Although I must say some of my letters would hardly have proved any entertainment at all. King George’s home court was a somber place to spend the winter. ”
“But what of my letters, Miles?” Isabel persisted. “I wrote to you every week.”