Dukes to Fall in Love With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  It was not, in the end, an enchanted place of mystery, but a place of the deepest sadness. Isabella was whipping her emotions up into a great state, and she needed somewhere to firmly plant her blame for it all. The tower seemed as good a place as any. Of course, the truth was that she largely blamed herself for her carelessness in proceeding with little or no information. What a foolish thing she had done.

  “Kitty, tell me, what should I do now?”

  “I wish I knew. If I did, I would tell you, my dear. I promise.”

  “But what if Elliot never speaks to me again? He is so good at hiding himself away from the world that he easily hides away from me also. And that is without so great an upset between us previously. Now that this has happened, I am sure that the two of us could live out our lives here in this place without ever once seeing one another again.” As much as Isabella was unsure of her own feelings for Elliot, she knew she could not stand a life led in such a way.

  It would be too isolated; too cruel.

  “I am sure that could not possibly happen,” Kitty said as brightly as she could. “You will stumble upon one another before you know it; I am quite sure of that.”

  “But I stumble upon him so rarely, and Coldwell Hall is so very large.”

  “But surely not so large that you would never see each other.”

  “Kitty, I have not met Crawford Maguire since that first meeting here, and he claims to keep rooms here. And, apart from you, there are many of the household servants whom I am sure I have seen only once. There are probably others I have not seen at all.” She began to feel panic rising. “How is it possible for a person to be as isolated as I am in a house full of people?”

  “Oh, please do not upset yourself so badly.” Kitty patted her shoulder. “Would it help if you spoke to Mr. Maguire about it all? Perhaps he might have better answers for you. And he is in a better position to speak to the Duke on personal matters where I am not.”

  “But the two of you are close,” Isabella objected.

  “But he is still my master, and I the maid. Now that he is a grown man, I can no longer speak with him the way I did when he was a boy. But Crawford Maguire is able to speak freely with him, being a friend and an equal.”

  “And you have some contact with Crawford Maguire?” Isabella said hopefully.

  “Yes, I have a good deal of contact with him. We have worked alongside one another all these years to keep the Duke well looked after. I can get a message to him and request a meeting for you.”

  “Would you really, Kitty?” Isabella felt a little spark of hope in her chest.

  “Of course, I would, Your Grace.” Kitty’s image in the dressing table mirror smiled warmly at Isabella’s reflection.

  “Then I should be most grateful.” Isabella raised her arm and placed her hand on top of Kitty’s as it rested comfortingly on her shoulder. “Thank you, Kitty. I do not know how I would manage without you.”

  Just the following day saw Crawford Maguire making his return to Coldwell Hall, and Isabella felt a twinge of nerves as she made her way to his study. She need not have feared the meeting, however, for the moment she was in his presence once again, Isabella felt as comfortable as she had the first time they had met.

  “You’re Grace, how very nice to see you again.”

  “Please, call me Isabella. I cannot bear to be called Your Grace any longer.” Isabella sighed with relief that Crawford Maguire was as easy company as she remembered.

  “Oh dear,” he said with a wince.

  “I am not complaining, Mr. Maguire, truly. I just wish I could hear my own name spoken aloud from time to time.” She shrugged.

  “Surely Elliot calls you by your first name?” Crawford seemed momentarily confused.

  “He does, of course, but I have not seen my husband for a week, and so I should like to hear my own name spoken. It might make me feel less alone, less isolated.”

  “I am terribly sorry, Isabella. I knew, of course, that there was some problem, and I ought to have been aware of it as I spoke. Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. I am grateful to you for coming out to see me today, really I am.”

  “I should have been here more than I have been of late. You would have found me easily if I had been.”

  “Mr. Maguire, I would not expect you to be here at all times. You have your own life, and you must lead it. And I have heard Elliot say as much. He would not have you tied to Coldwell Hall at the expense of your own future.”

  “It is no hardship. And please, if I am to call you Isabella, you must call me Crawford.” He smiled and continued, “Forgive me, but Kitty has already furnished me with some of the details of the problem at hand.”

  “Then you know the foolish mistake I made with Lady Eleanor’s doll, do you not?”

  “I know about the doll, but I am bound to say that I do not think your actions foolish at all,” Crawford spoke in his customary open manner.

  Isabella did not suspect for a moment that his sentiment was anything other than true. He was not trying to flatter her or ease the blow of her own foolishness.

  “I wish I could share your optimism, but I have been almost entirely alone this last week for my efforts, and I do not know what to do about it. There would seem to be no way for me to take the whole thing back. Of course, I cannot, but I wish I could. I wish I could erase it.”

  “I do not share that view. In truth, I am glad that you have made some move which will force Elliot to make some move of his own.”

  “I am afraid I do not understand.”

  “Elliot visits the tower every day of his life; or almost every day, at any rate. It has been eighteen years, and it is beyond the point of being a healthy pastime. He is no longer paying respects, but clinging on to his grief. It is as if he cannot let the grief go for fear of letting Eleanor and his mother go also. But they are gone, Isabella, they are gone.”

  “True, but should he not be allowed to grieve as he sees fit? We are all different after all.”

  “Yes, but this is not grieving in the normal way. This is a very determined grieving. It is the sort of grieving that is born of the guilt of having survived where others have perished. It is not so much sadness and loss anymore as it is a means by which Elliot might punish himself daily. And punish himself for nothing more than the crime of surviving.”

  “Oh dear.” Isabella raised a hand to her throat involuntarily.

  Crawford’s words made sense, and she wished she knew her husband as well as his friend did. She might have found a different way of going about things.

  “By removing the doll from the tower, you have forced him to think about his loss again instead of concentrating solely on his own punishment. He has been forced to interrupt a pattern that has been repeated almost daily for many years. And I do not doubt that Elliot is uncomfortable with it all; he has relied on this pattern for so long that he must feel all at sea.”

  “But that is terrible.”

  “It is painful; I have no doubt. But I also have no doubt that it is necessary. I do not think a change for the better in this situation can possibly come without pain. But I think it is fear also; the fear of letting go of old rituals if you will.”

  “So, you think this to be a good thing?” Isabella wondered if there was some hope.

  “Yes, I do. Elliot is stuck, not only in the past but in the routine of every day. I had hoped that he would break many of those routines once he became married, but he has kept to them much as he did before.”

  “But he spends his evenings in my company. Two hours a day at least. Or he did, before all of this.” She spread her hands helplessly.

  “But his days are the same. He creeps about the place trying not to encounter his own staff, content only in my company, or the company of dear Kitty. And that has not changed in many years.”

  “I have only encountered him once in the daytime.”

  “Because he does not want you to see him by light; you must have realised t
hat.”

  “Yes. And I know it is my fault.”

  “Why? Why is it your fault?”

  “If I had not fainted that day in the chapel, I would not have made Elliot feel so conscious of his scars.” Isabella looked down at her hands.

  “He was conscious already, and he has been hiding from his own staff for so long it was already a habit. And he had known that your reaction would not be favourable before the day had even arrived. Elliot was aware of the dangers of marrying a lady he had never met and who had never set eyes on him. But he could not get past your father on that issue, I am afraid. The Earl would not hear of it, stating that you were well prepared, and no meeting was necessary.”

  “I cannot claim to be surprised by my father’s actions, sadly.” Isabella felt her cheeks flush.

  She suddenly remembered that Elliot had told Crawford Maguire that her father had made an approach for a further financial settlement to be made. Although she had stridently asserted she would wish no money to be sent, still Isabella felt the shame of the connection as if she were as guilty of greed as her father.

  “But really, nothing would have prepared you for the first meeting. It is just unfortunate that your first meeting was your wedding day. You would always have had a reaction of some sort to Elliot’s appearance; you are human. It takes a while before you do not see it anymore.”

  “You do not see it?” Isabella asked awkwardly with reddening cheeks. “You do not see Elliot’s scars?”

  “No, I do not. But it has not always been so. I struggled with it in the beginning, but largely because I remembered just how he had looked before. I was forever expecting something different. But time passes, and I would be shocked now to see him suddenly returned to his former appearance. It is simply a matter of familiarity and nothing more.” He shrugged his broad, vaguely stooped shoulders and smiled warmly.

  He really was a very nice man and undoubtedly a good friend to Elliot. And perhaps he was becoming a good friend to Isabella also.

  “Then you think I can grow used to it too?”

  “I have no doubt. But for that to be achieved, two things must happen.”

  “And they are?”

  “Firstly, Elliot must come out of the shadows, for how else are you to get used to his appearance?”

  “And the second thing?”

  “You must be prepared to look. If you do not look, you cannot become accustomed.”

  “That is very true,” Isabella said although she already doubted her own fortitude in that regard.

  “But it will take time and patience for you both.”

  “And what about the doll? What if Elliot can never forgive me for what I have done? Surely then, everything we have discussed this morning would be out of the question.”

  “Elliot will not stay in hiding for long. It is just his way of managing things; a way you must help him to let go of.”

  “So, what should I do with the doll? I have it in my room and dare not make a move one way or the other for fear of making another grave mistake.”

  “I cannot tell you what to do with the doll. I think this is something that Elliot must overcome, rather than you. You tried to help and, in the end, I think it will help. All I can provide by way of advice is to tell you to have patience. This will work itself out, I am sure. Whatever you choose to do with the doll will end up being the right thing. The whole point is that you have thrown a pebble into the still waters of habit, and the ripples will continue to spread outwards now, regardless of what you do with the doll.”

  Chapter 18

  For the two days which followed, Isabella’s mood continued in an optimistic manner. Crawford’s words had not only soothed, they had made perfect sense.

  And, knowing Elliot as he undoubtedly did, Isabella knew that Crawford’s words were as sure as anything she would ever hear in respect of Elliot.

  The idea that she would come to look past Elliot’s disfigurement was one which seemed feasible in one moment and impossible in the next. But Crawford had first-hand experience of that very thing, so she must trust his ideas in want of anything else to replace them.

  Still, there had been no sign of Elliot. Every evening after the meal which she now always took in her own room, Isabella made her way downstairs to the drawing room in hopes of finding him there.

  When she found the room empty, she would then make her way to the library in the hope that he would be sitting in the near-dark as he made ready to play his violin. But there had been no sign of him there either.

  If Crawford were right, Elliot would come to his own conclusions sooner or later, and she would see him again. And now that Crawford knew everything, might he not bring some kind and caring pressure to bear on his friend to look at things in a different light?

  After another day with no sign of her husband, Isabella decided to once again make the journey through the woodland to the tower. She had decided to return the doll, not entirely for Elliot’s sake, but because she was tired of seeing it in her room, reminding her of her mistake.

  It was an unusually cool day, and Isabella wrapped a heavy woolen shawl around her shoulders before setting off for the tower. She tucked the doll into the folds of her shawl, lest she happened suddenly upon Elliot out in the grounds.

  She did not want to have that same conversation again; she simply wanted to return the doll and have done with it; forget the whole thing.

  Isabella hastened through the woods this time, not delaying her arrival by any means. She wanted to get it over with and return to the Hall. And when she approached the ruined door of the tower, she did not feel the same sense of apprehension. She knew what to expect, and it did not bother her as it had done.

  Perhaps that was what Crawford had meant when he said it was simply a matter of familiarity?

  Isabella pulled open the door and headed immediately for the stairs. She hurried up them carefully and into the room above. The moment she set foot inside the smoke blackened room, she gasped in surprise.

  Standing in the room, staring down at the place where the doll had once lain, was Elliot. He spun around in surprise, facing her square on for a moment before coming back to himself and turning to hide that side of his face.

  “Forgive me; I had not known you were here, Elliot. I would not have come otherwise, and I did not mean to startle you, she spoke in a flurry of nervous words.

  “I think you were as startled as I was. There is no need to apologize,” he said sombrely, and she wondered quite how things now stood between them.

  Was he still so quietly angry with her? Or had the anger passed, only to be transmuted into something else?

  “I shall leave.”

  “You came here for a reason, did you not?” He seemed suddenly interested in her reason for being there.

  Isabella felt suddenly afraid. She did not want to remove the doll from the folds of her shawl in front of him for fear that the sight of it would engender the same reaction as the first time.

  “I did. But I had not thought you would be here.” She turned to leave.

  “No, wait. Please,” he said, and she turned around slowly.

  “I do not wish to intrude upon your solitude. I never did,” Isabella said quietly.

  “I should never have acted the way I did,” he said and looked at her intently with his head still tilted.

  Isabella stood silently looking back, her relief at seeing him again greater than she could ever have expected. But still, she did not know what to say. She did not know what to do with the doll.

  “I was taken by surprise that night, Isabella,” he went on when she had still not spoken.

  “I know, and I am sorry for it, «she said truthfully.

  “And I know that you acted with the best of intentions.” His voice was quiet and uncertain.

  Isabella had only heard him speak in such a way rarely, and she knew he must be suffering. She wanted to make it all easier for him but still did not know how.

  “But the best intenti
ons are no substitute for firm knowledge. Of course, I had no way to secure such knowledge, but I know now that I should not have acted without it. And for that, I am sorry.”

  “My sister played here almost every day as a child.” He began his tale so suddenly that Isabella’s mouth fell open just a little.

  “Did she?” Isabella quickly recovered herself and smiled encouragingly.

  “Ever since she had been a very little girl, she had loved this place.” He looked around him at the blackened walls. “She always thought it was a castle. Not a part of a castle, but the whole thing. I never could tell why it was she thought that.” He smiled to himself. “A little girl’s fancy, I suppose. I tried to tell her that the tower had been a lookout for a real castle that stood on this site hundreds of years ago, in the time of my ancestors, but she would not have it as true.” He laughed and shook his head. “She told me I must be wrong because this was the castle, and that was that.” He waved his arm vaguely around the place.