“I am aware of the effect my appearance has on a person who is encountering it for the first time.”
“I apologize for fainting, Elliot.” It felt strange to address him so. “But you must surely understand that I was already in a nervous state before I had even come into your estate.”
“I am sure.”
“I know nothing of you. You might be cruel or bad tempered for all I can say. All I have to compare you to is, as you say, the gossip and stories. I do not mean to suggest that they are true, but I should like you to see it from my viewpoint if you will.”
“A young woman brought to a strange place by her father to marry a man she might be wise to fear?”
“Exactly so,” she said and was relieved that when he said she must speak freely, he seemed to have meant it. “And so, you must not assume it was your appearance alone which led me to such fear because it was not.”
“But it must have had some effect.”
“You have asked me to speak plainly and I shall,” she began after taking a deep breath. “I had not known what to expect, and I was surprised by your scars. When you turned, I … I …”
“You had expected me to be as I am on this side.” He raised a hand to the unspoiled side of his face.
“Yes.”
“You have been honest indeed.”
“You asked me to be so, Sir.”
“Did your father give you no say?”
“None. But that is not out of the common way. My father does not give say to any person who does not hold a higher rank. It has always been so, and I am well used to it.”
“I am sorry.”
“To find that he had abandoned me here without waiting to enquire after my health came as no surprise to me.”
“I cannot imagine having so careless a father.” His voice was so smooth that Isabella closed her eyes. It was another point in the Duke’s favour. “But I suspected as much. I suspected that your father was a careless man when he did not think it necessary for us to meet beforehand.”
“But you still went ahead.” Isabella could hear the accusation in her own voice.
“Yes.” He paused for a long time. “I have spent a good many years in isolation, and I acted out of my own selfishness. It is difficult to explain what it is like to have lived as I have. I do not tell you so in order to extract pity, for I would not wish for it. I tell you only in explanation.”
“I see.” And Isabella believed him.
“It would seem we have talked of the deeper issues very early. Perhaps that is simply the nature of a marriage made just as ours was.”
“There is no allowance for coming slowly to know a person, I daresay.”
“But perhaps you could manage just two hours in every day?”
“Of course.” Isabella could not stop her mind racing ahead.
Would there come a time when two hours of conversation a day was not enough for Elliot? Would he want more from her? Would he want something she could not give?
“Have you seen anything of the estate today?”
“Only a little of the Hall,” she said and was grateful for the sudden change in direction. “I am greatly impressed by the entrance hall. It is so very grand and so large.”
“And the knight in shining armour? Do you like him?”
“The steed is carved most beautifully. It is so intricate that I returned to it twice more to make a study. And the armour is most impressive. Is it genuine?”
“I have never been able to get to the bottom of that question.” He laughed suddenly, and Isabella was surprised by it. She was surprised that a man so disfigured would ever find anything to laugh at again. “It has been here for many generations. Or, at least, that is what my father told me. And he always said that it had been worn by a brave knight in battle. He would tell such wonderful stories of his escapades.”
“You laugh, Elliot. Did you not believe your father?”
“He teased me a good deal and was a man who liked to weave fairy tales for the delight of his children. In such matters, I never knew when to believe him.” He spoke so fondly that Isabella felt affected by it.
What must it be like to have a father who would enjoy teasing his children playfully and telling them great tales? Instead of a father who ignored and dismissed, paying attention only to berate and bully.
“Then you have been blessed,” Isabella spoke without thinking.
How could she have described such a man as blessed? Oh, how she wished she could have taken it back.
“That is true, Isabella. My father was a very fine man.”
“You must miss him.”
“I do.” He said quietly. “I miss them all.”
Isabella could sense that he spoke the last vaguely as if it had been a thought he had not intended to voice. She knew she could not question him further.
However, she did wonder about his family. Had he siblings? She had never heard of it before. And his mother, she knew, had passed away eighteen years before. That much she had learned from Kitty.
When the time was right, she would ask Kitty more.
“Tell me, do you have everything you need?” he said in a much brighter voice as if he wished to wash away the last sombre moments.
“Yes. I thank you.” She thought of her wardrobe. “And I thank you for the gowns; they are beautiful. It was most thoughtful of you.”
“If there are any which do not fit, they will be altered for you as you wish. And if you require any others, you have only to ask.”
“How kind.”
“I can see that the gown you have chosen this evening fits you very well.” His voice lowered. “Very well.”
For a moment, Isabella felt a little panic stricken. It was nice to be complimented in such a way but, at the same time, she did not want Elliot Covington to be attracted to her; she could not bear it.
“Thank you,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Well, perhaps we have had conversation enough for this evening,” he said and seemed to have come to a very sudden decision.
Isabella thought that they could not have been in the drawing room together for anything close to the two hours she had been expecting and wondered why he suddenly wanted to put an end to it.
“As you wish,” she said and hoped she sounded neutral.
She did not want to sound as if she was keen to escape his company. In truth, she was not altogether keen to run away. The Duke had been pleasant enough and their conversation more open than she had expected if a little awkward at times.
He turned a little from her and looked towards the empty fire grate. Isabella rose uncertainly to her feet.
“Should I leave?” she said quietly.
“Yes, perhaps that would be for the best this evening.” She thought he sounded sad.
“Then I shall bid you goodnight, Elliot.”
“Goodnight, Isabella.”
Chapter 7
“My Dearest Esme,
How relieved I am to be able to write you this letter. In the days before my departure from Upperton, I wondered if I would ever be able to correspond with you again.
Let me first tell you that I am quite safe. Yes, I am now married to the Duke of Coldwell, and I am not content in that. But I am safe.
You will have discerned that I did not make my escape to Ireland. Anthony had found the sailing timetable and watched me so closely that he caught me trying to leave in the middle of the night. I shall not write here what my father did to punish me. It need not be said.
But he would not allow me to see or write to you after that time, judging that it was you who had helped me to plan the thing.
My wedding day was quite the most uncomfortable. When I set eyes upon the Duke’s face, I am sorry to say that my courage and good manners departed, and I fainted away like a frightened child.
In looks, the Duke is, indeed, a monster. Although I am bound to say that he is not in manners or personality. He is a man of some poise and thoughtfulness; at least, that is
what I know of him thus far.
I cannot say I yet know him well, nor have I looked upon his face since the day of our wedding. I have only to meet with him every evening for two hours. During that time, we talk in a very gloomy lamplight. The time of our meeting is adjusted daily, and I have come to realize that this is to accommodate for the ever lightening days as spring progresses.
Furthermore, the Duke arranges things so that I might only look upon the side of his face which is not disfigured. The perfect left side of his face. And it is perfect, Esme. What a handsome man he might be but for the scars.
And they are quite dreadful, my dear, so ruinous.
I must admit myself relieved to discover that I have a good many freedoms here at Coldwell Hall. I am allowed to spend my days as I see fit and have even ridden around the estate on horseback, which I greatly enjoyed.
The Hall is more like a castle, although not fully such. I mean that there are many architectural features which remind one of a fairy tale place or a medieval stronghold. It is a fine and impressive building, and the estate of Coldwell could hold Upperton within its walls almost ten times over.
And it is not the dilapidated place that we two always imagined it to be in the telling of our stories. At least not all of it, but I shall return to that point later.
The Hall and grounds are very well cared for, and there are so many servants here that I cannot think I have yet met but half of them.
They are all pleasant and accommodating, and I have a most motherly, kindly lady’s maid. Her name is Kitty, and she is a little advanced in years for the task, but I like her very much, and she is exceptional in all ways.
There, I have given you the bare bones of the thing. Enough, I hope, that you are not fearing I have been locked away in a dungeon by an evil monster.
I have met with my husband every evening of the week I have now been here and find that I am growing accustomed to our meetings. I do not dread them as I did at first and can only hope that we shall be able to manage to live in this way contentedly.
It certainly does not seem that he would wish for my presence any longer than the two hours and would, I am sure, actively avoid me at all other times.
I only say so because of something which happened yesterday. Something so strange that I can hardly wait to write it all down.
I had been intent upon a walk through the woodlands on the estate. They are vast and beautiful, and they form the greater extent of the vista from the windows of my own chamber.
I had taken a very central path into the woods, for there are many, and was so enthralled by the beauty and the fresh air. It was so quiet, so peaceful, with nothing but the birdsong to accompany my silent footsteps.
And so, when a figure suddenly appeared in front of me as I took a sharp turn in my path, I almost screamed. It was none other than my husband, and it appeared that he was as surprised by our meeting as was I.
He stood stock still for a moment, and we were face to face. I had not seen his face in its entirety since the day of our wedding, and I am afraid to say that the horror of it struck me afresh. However, I am pleased to report that I maintained a level countenance and most certainly did not faint this time.
As soon as the Duke came to his senses, he turned his head sharply away, leaving only his unmarked skin on view. And, at that moment, I felt most dreadfully sorry for him.
He has asked me from the first not to pity him in any way, and I have tried not to do so. But at that moment, I could not help it. I was so struck by the idea that it must be a terrible thing not to walk freely about for fear of coming face to face with another. I thought how very limiting it must be, and I knew precisely how I would feel if it were my life and not his.
And I felt so sad and desolate that I could not speak. We simply stood there in the most terrible silence, and I could not think what I should do.
I continued to look at him, and I could see such a look of pain in his countenance, in the shining beauty of the one green eye I could see, that I wanted to cry. I felt I had caused it somehow, you see. Finally, at the moment when my mouth had opened as if ready to speak, the Duke turned entirely and continued on his way, not having spoken a single word to me. I turned cautiously to watch his departing back and saw that he did not look back once in my direction.
He was striding quickly, that much I could discern, and I felt almost that he had wished to be away from me even more than I might have wished to be away from him. I felt so low that I wanted to call out after him, to give chase and tell him that I would not expect him to be a prisoner within his own four walls, never now coming out into his own beautiful grounds for fear of happening upon his wife by daylight.
But of course, I did not. I could not do so for I knew that I had been truly shocked, once again, to see the angry red and silver skin.
In the end, there was nothing for it but for me to continue along my path. I no longer felt at peace, and the birdsong did not sound as sweet to me as it had just moments before.
Although not a word passed between us, I felt as if a good deal of meaning truly had. I still cannot say what that meaning is and further still cannot explain why it is that it has affected me so and made me feel so melancholy.
I continued to walk, determined to shake off the feeling if I could. The woods are so vast, and I decided to walk into them until I was tired, anything to replace the feeling of sadness.
After more than twenty minutes, the woodlands suddenly opened up into a little clearing. It was quite surprising to come upon the clearing in such a way. And not only that, but there was a building there, an aged stone building.
I realized immediately that it was a building that I can see the very top of from the window of my chamber, a building which had greatly intrigued me for many days prior.
It was a curious shape and in such a curious place. It was a rounded tower, but not a slim one. Its circumference was wide and the tower itself very tall, its castellated uppermost reaches breaking out through the highest branches of the trees above.
I studied the stone and realized that it was much darker and older than that of Coldwell Hall itself. I deduced that the broader tower had been in position much longer than the hall. It did feel very medieval, and I wondered if it served a larger building or castle that might have been there before on the site.
I must admit, my musings greatly intrigued me and diverted me from my sadness. I began to imagine knights in armour and horses and men with bows and arrows standing high upon the battlements of the tower.
I wandered here and there, trying to find footings of an older building, long fallen to the ground, but I could find none.
In the end, I turned my attention back to the tower itself. There was a wide, heavy wooden door to it, and I approached in hopes of gaining entry. The tower was largely covered in a thick growth of ivy which snaked its way around the walls and seemed to have climbed into some of the narrow slits which served as windows however many hundred years ago. I looked up and imagined a bowman peering out before carefully aiming an arrow at the heart of an approaching intruder.
It is true to say that my imagination still runs wild, my dear Esme, just as it did when we were children. But it is such a place, the estate of Coldwell Hall. Seeming to be so cut off from the world, its thick foliage and spiky hawthorns every bit as defensive as a moat and bailey. And yet, once inside, it is easy to find oneself quite enchanted.
Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 6