Chapter 19
Nineteen
Isolde stood before the mirror in her bedroom as she observed her outfit.
The gown was elegant without being ostentatious; not quite as beautiful as her wedding gown, but more than what she might be expected to wear to a day event.
Her hair was worn in tight ringlets. Her makeup was subtle, and her jewelry was sparse but precise.
“Are you certain Cassian wishes for me to join him?” she asked Mr. Pemberton, who stood right behind her.
“I have spoken to him, Your Grace, and he knows the reason, just as he knows of its importance.”
“What…” She looked at Mr. Pemberton in the mirror’s reflection, trying to find his eyes so that she could see his response. “What did he say when you asked him? How did he… was he upset?”
“He simply agreed, Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Yes…” Her stomach knotted. Perhaps it was guilt that did it? Or perhaps it was sadness, as if she had expected, even hoped, that Cassian would be eager to see her. “That is… that is good to hear.”
“You are ready,” Mr. Pemberton said. “Remember, when in doubt, do nothing. A lady’s role is not to be the center of attention or to draw the eye. You are like a portrait in a room, one that ties the room together, but does not make it.”
“I know,” she said as she ran over in her head all the instructions that Mr. Pemberton had given her.
She did not like the suggestion, and ordinarily she would never do such a thing.
But this wasn’t about her, and Isolde reasoned that she needed to play her role because this was all her fault. “I will do my best.”
“That is all that can be asked of you.” He looked her over once. “Now, His Grace’s guests will be arriving at any minute, and it is expected that the two of you will greet them in the foyer.”
Isolde’s heart started to patter, and her breathing turned heavy so that she felt her cheeks flush. She did her best to calm herself, knowing at the same time such a thing was impossible.
A part of the way that she reacted was due to nervousness.
She knew how important this evening was, and she did not want to mess everything up.
Cassian needed her to play her role and if she could do it well enough…
what? What might happen? Likely, he will just hate me a little less than he already does.
She had not seen or spoken to Cassian since yesterday, and while she was nervous about how she might do tonight, she was just as nervous about spending time with him.
She knew that he would not speak down to her.
She knew he would not chastise or show anger.
Likely, he would act as if she did not exist at all, which in her mind was even worse.
It might be nice if he yells at me. At least that way he will acknowledge my existence.
Oh, how much easier this would be if Isolde felt nothing for Cassian. Better even if she hated him. Sadly, the week they’d spent together was enough for her to see a side of him that she had rather liked, a side that showed a kind and caring soul who did not deserve what had happened.
She wanted him to forgive her… just as she knew he never would.
“Let us be about this,” she said with a saddened sigh as she turned. “Best to get it over with.”
“Walk with a straight back, Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton instructed. “And do not frown or appear sullen. But do not smile either.”
Isolde walked from her room, made her way down the hallway, and appeared at the top of the main staircase, which led into the foyer. There already, waiting for her and his guests, was Cassian.
He looked up when she appeared at the top of the staircase. His eyes found hers, but his expression was cold; it looked as if he hardly noticed her at all.
Then he turned and faced the front door.
She sighed again, her shoulders almost slumped, but Isolde corrected them quickly and made her way into the foyer.
She approached Cassian from behind, her heart racing so fast that she wondered if he might hear it.
There was a coldness to him that was undeniable, and he appeared so distant from her that she wondered if she reached out to touch him, would her hand pass right through his body…
This was not the man who she had known. It was, however, the man who she had expected when he first woke in her cottage. His memories might not have returned but his old ways had, and that she was responsible… that hurt more than anything else.
Isolde stood beside Cassian, but back slightly, and not too close. They stayed that way in silence, and while she glanced at him often, not once did he look her way.
She literally felt the antipathy pouring from his body. He hated her, she now knew, and while she wanted to apologize so desperately, she knew it would make no difference.
“Your Grace…” Mr. Pemberton walked to the front door. “Mr. Collins and Mr. Hart have arrived.”
“Show them in,” Cassian said.
Mr. Collins and Mr. Hart were welcomed into the manor accordingly.
They were both elderly, both dressed in fine suits, and while they were not lords, they acted as if they were.
Isolde had little experience with men like these, but she recognized their type.
Vastly wealthy, filled with self-importance, and always looking down on those they assumed to be less.
“Your Grace…” Mr. Collins was the first to greet Cassian. He bowed deeply. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I had feared after not hearing back from you for so long…”
“Merely testing your commitment,” Cassian said without humor.
“Yes,” Mr. Collins chuckled. “I thought as much.”
“Your Grace…” Mr. Hart was next, also offering a deep bow. “I am so pleased we got to do this. Truly, it is an honor to be invited into your home.”
“I know it is,” Cassian said in a way that sounded a little too natural. “And thank you both for coming. Might I introduce you to my wife…” He turned slightly towards Isolde.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both.” Isolde offered a small curtsey.
“The pleasure is all ours, I assure you,” Mr. Collins said.
“We had heard of your beauty, Your Grace,” Mr. Hart added. “And I am beyond pleased to see that such rumors are accurate.”
“You are too kind,” she said simply.
As instructed, Isolde did her best to remain unnoticed. Only speaking when spoken to. Never indulging or adding her own opinion. She was to be there, a part of the room, but not its center.
“Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” Cassian said. He glanced once at Isolde, a frown took his visage, but then he looked away. “I have had supper prepared, of course. Let us eat before we discuss business.”
“Lead the way,” Mr. Collins said.
Mr. Collins and Mr. Hart walked ahead, being led by Mr. Pemberton. Cassian followed closely, while Isolde walked just behind him. She felt the urge to go to him and to link his arm, but she refrained.
Once they reached the dining room, both Mr. Collins and Mr. Hart were shown to their seats, taking them first. Then, Isolde acted as if Cassian gave her permission to sit, making sure not to do so until the two guests were comfortable.
She sat down, Cassian eyed her, and then he took his place at the head of the table.
What proceeded from there was a most drawn out and boring affair.
As she had been told to do, Isolde said nothing. She sat with a straight back, her chest held up, but her face bowed. But she did not sulk. She did not pout. She fixed a plain expression across her features, careful to look as if she was enjoying herself.
Also, she did not drink when offered.
When the food arrived, she made sure to wait until everyone else started eating before she did. She did not ask for more. She took small bites. The few times that she was drawn into conversation, she offered a basic response, ensuring that she would not be asked any follow-up questions.
It was not easy for her to do. Isolde was not the type to behave so meekly. And while she was willing to do so now, knowing that she had to prove herself and make up for what she had done, she wondered how long it could go on for.
Surely, I cannot behave like this forever? What sort of life would that be?
There was one moment, however, that was strange.
It came during the second course. Not thinking, she reached for the wrong fork, as there were three to choose from, and she had that fork in hand before Cassian cleared his throat.
She paused and looked at him. He eyed the fork with a raised eyebrow. She frowned, unsure what he was doing… only for it to come to her. Isolde laughed gently, he continued to eye the fork, and then she put it down and used the correct one.
Across the room, she caught Mr. Pemberton nodding along, and she smiled at him, which he returned in a way that was encouraging.
But that was it for excitement. That was the most she got out of her husband. She ate in silence as the guests spoke about things that she did not understand or was expected to.
“Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?” Cassian asked once they had all finished eating. “For brandy, cigars, and discussions long overdue.”
“Yes, I think it is time,” Mr. Hart said as he patted his belly. “Shall your dear wife be joining us?”
“No,” Cassian said quickly and sharply. “Isolde, you are excused.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And thank you for this evening.”
It was small, barely anything, but Isolde clutched onto that single thank you as if it were life itself. “You are most welcome,” she said with a small smile as she pushed back her chair. “Mr. Collins, Mr. Hart, it was wonderful to meet you both.”
“The pleasure was all ours,” Mr. Collins said. “And Your Grace, your wife, she really is a picture of perfection.”
“Thank you,” Cassian said simply.
He did not look at her as she stood. And she did not feel his eyes on her as she left the dining room. Why, it was as if she had not been there at all.
“You did wonderfully.” Mr. Pemberton was waiting for her in the adjoining hallway. “Truly, Your Grace, if I had not known any better, I might have said you were born to be a duchess.”
She sighed and looked back. “Did I? I feel as if I might as well have not been there at all. Cassian… he hardly looked at me.”
“You did as you had to do,” Mr. Pemberton assured her. “And His Grace knows this. He might not have shown his gratitude, but I know he felt it. You did well and you should be proud.”
The words felt hollow to Isolde. Maybe what Mr. Pemberton said was true? Maybe she had done the right thing? And maybe Cassian truly was grateful? But did it even matter? What was the point if he gave her nothing and continued to act as if she did not exist?
This marriage would be for life, and if tonight was any indication, it promised to be a long and awkward life indeed. Something had to give, something needed to change, but Isolde could not say how such a thing would happen.
Perhaps time will be what heals us… but how much time? And does Cassian even want to be healed?
The night might have been a success, but Isolde went to bed feeling worse than ever, and if that was not an indication of things to come, she did not know what was. This marriage… her future… Isolde had sewn these seeds; she was left to reap them, and the taste they left in her mouth was bitter.