He wanted her to love him as completely and unquestioningly as he loved her. He wanted her to trust him enough to open her heart completely. There were times when he wondered if she had been given the choice to marry him, without the threat of Rupert, whether she would have accepted. Sometimes he considered it was like being married to a rare bird. An exotic creature that was beautiful to look at, yet difficult to capture, and impossible to keep.
Still they were wed now. He loved her, and was still haunted by the horrifying days when he thought she was dead. He simply could not consider ever letting her go. During her time at Havistock, she had regained her weight, her peachy complexion boasted good health and although she still woke during the night sometimes, she appeared to be quite content in her life with him. That alone gave him some comfort. She certainly hadn’t appeared too upset by his departure, having waved him off with smiles and laughter. Dominic didn’t know whether to be grateful she hadn’t been a clinging, bawling wife, or insulted that she was delighted to see the back of him.
He was so lost in contemplating the complexities of his marriage that he didn’t see the dark shadows lurking by the side of the road until it was too late. He barely managed to bite off a curse, and only just managed to ducked the first blow, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the man who had come around behind him. Within the flicker of an eye he found himself dragged backwards off his horse by the choking hold around his neck. He hit the ground just as the first boot struck his ribs.
“You know my dear you cannot keep sitting around moping. He won’t come home any faster!” Peter declared, eyeing his sister’s solemn face as she gazed at the fire. “He said he would be about a week. He should be arriving anytime now.” He sighed when Isobel merely offered him a unconvinced smile and remained quiet. “I need to go back to Willowbrook soon.”
“I know,” Isobel said. “It has been very good of you to remain here for as long as you have.”
“I wanted to make sure you are happy here,” Peter’s comment was more of a statement than a question. In the time she had been married to Dominic, she had regained her weight and, despite her obvious upset at her husband’s absence, had a quiet contentment about her that Peter had never seen before.
Isobel smiled briefly across the room at him. Yes, she was happy at Havistock Hall. Living there with Dominic as her husband was after all a dream come true. There was one point during her life when she thought it was a door that had been very firmly closed to her, and she felt somewhat blessed to have been given a second chance at living the life she had only dreamt of.
On the other hand, there was still the looming threat of Rupert that couldn’t be ignored. Inwardly, there was a restlessness she couldn’t shake off. Was it feminine instinct warning her that things were not right? Or some source of self-survival that had developed and grown during her time away that was warning her of imminent danger?
She didn’t know but she would be incredibly relieved when Dominic walked back through the front door. Despite the fact she hadn’t slept very well at all since he left, she would be glad for the reassurance that he was safe and well.
“I am happy,” Isobel finally said. “I will be happier when this issue with Rupert is resolved, and he is out of our lives once and for all. I am not sure how much more my nerves can take.”
Night times were the worst. She hated climbing into the big bed in the master suite, so suited to Dominic’s masculine tastes, without him beside her. Many times during the night she found herself turning over, seeking the comforting warmth of his muscled chest and the reassuring band of his arms around her. She had not forgotten the many nights she had spent crying into her pillow, aching for his loving kisses, only to eventually wake up in the morning feeling tired and ill-tempered.
Tonight she felt distinctly on edge, but could not fathom why. Her day was usually peaceful and mundane. Almost too mundane! Since her last encounter with Rupert, things had gone suspiciously quiet, and she hated it. A small part of her almost wished he would make an attempt to do something; anything but this awful waiting - for something.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Isobel said, making a valiant attempt to shake off her inner worries. “I am afraid I am not very good company this evening. I shall try to do better,” she smiled ruefully at her elder sibling.
In addition to the healthy bronzed tone to his skin, there were already smatterings of grey hair appearing at his temples and creases appearing around the edges of his startling eyes so very similar to hers. He was extremely handsome; his dark brown hair was styled loosely in the current fashion. Tall and broad shouldered; he was a sight set to bring many a flutter of excitement to the young misses at many social occasions. He just didn’t seem to realise it, or if he did, didn’t really care.
“Why have you never married Peter?” Isobel wasn’t aware she had spoken out aloud, until Peter looked across the room at her, his brows raised in surprise.
Glancing thoughtfully into the fire, a long silence settled between them, until Isobel wasn’t sure if he was going to bring himself to answer her.
“There was someone once,” he offered softly, clearly lost in memories. “Her name was Jemima.”
“Jemima,” Isobel repeated softly with a small smile. “That’s a nice name.” She was bursting to ask questions, but instead sat quietly, allowing Peter time for his memories.
“She was stunning with dark blonde hair and gorgeous amber eyes.” Sadness suffused Peter’s features for several moments, before being replaced with a bleak look that made Peter seem to very sad. Swiftly, he took a long drink from the goblet in his hand.
“What happened?” Isobel couldn’t recall having met a Jemima. Certainly, the lady in question couldn’t have been Ton.
“I made a horrendous mistake, and lost her,” Peter replied with a shake of his head. “I was going to ask her to marry me, but she left before I could get around to it. She was in trouble, and needed my help, but I failed her.” He stood up, and moved towards the fire to rest one booted foot on the fender in a stance so very similar to Dominic’s, that Isobel felt a brief flash of pain and longing for her husband.
“Could you not try and find her?” Isobel asked. “I am sure that between us, we can put out enough inquiries to try to find her current residence. Is she from Oxfordshire?”
“No, she was from Cornwall, but living in Derbyshire. Near here actually; which is why I don’t mind spending so much time here. Apart from spending time with you and Dominic, it gives me the opportunity to make some inquiries myself.”
“You haven’t found her yet then?” It wasn’t a question. Isobel knew the answer, even before Peter shook his head.
“She isn’t a lady of quality Isobel. She was a servant in Dominic’s uncle’s house. There is far more to the story than I can go into now, but needless to say, she told me a secret and asked for my help. I agreed, because it was linked to my past. Despite the dangers she faced, we fell in love - well, I fell in love with her, and I thought she had some feelings for me,” Peter’s voice hardened and he lapsed into silence, clearly waiting for her censure.
“I should be shocked and appalled. A servant - are you sure?” Isobel couldn’t fathom why, after all the beautiful and powdered women who have made their availability known to Peter, why he would eschew them all, and take up with a servant.
Peter’s cynical laugh was brief, “Yes I am sure Isobel. She was a servant, although didn’t come from a background of service.” He wiped a hand down his face wearily, wishing he hadn’t answered her initial question and started all of this, but it was inevitable that at some point during their lives she would inquire why he had never married.
“At some point, I suppose I shall have to marry and set up my nursery, but I simply cannot bear the possibility of marriage to a woman I do not love,” he shot her a hard look. “I simply cannot close off my affections for Jemima.”
Isobel sat in silent contemplation for several moments. “Then if we are successful in finding her
, you must marry her.” Ignoring her brother’s startled look, she rose and refilled his glass and pouredouring herself a small measure of brandy and resumed her seat. “You must give me the details of what you have found so far, and when you return to Willowbrook, I will continue the chase for you, and help in any way I can.”
“You’ll help?” Peter turned to stare at her, astonished that she would accept his decision so readily.
Isobel scoffed and shot him a chiding look. “Of course I will help you. If this is the woman who holds your affection, then you must marry her. Servant or not, you deserve to have a chance at happiness.”
“Are you certain you know what you are saying? Do you have any idea of the censure it will bring upon the family if I did marry someone of such lowly status?” Peter didn’t mention what Dominic would say.
“Do you realize what censure I would bring to the family, should anyone ever discover that I spent several weeks living as a pauper on the streets?” Isobel raised her eyebrows and looked at her older brother as one might look at a naughty child. “Let alone spending the first month of residence in a single man’s house lying in his bed in the master suite. Illness or not, I have broken more than enough rules to bring scandal and ruination upon the family name for years to come. Even if you ignore Rupert’s latest machinations, with aunt Elspeth’s ranting, she has no doubt informed half the Ton I have been kidnapped by my own uncle and married off to a pox-ridden despot. I can only hope some of them think she is ready for the asylum, for if they believe her, half of the Ton may already consider me wed to DeLisle!” Taking a sip of her own drink, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and looked steadily at her brother, as he absorbed his sister’s unconditional support.
“I loved Dominic before he left for Norfolk, you know.” She looked steadily into the fire. Despite their intimate conversation, she was still unwilling to allow Peter to see her inner thoughts. “I knew there was a chance neither of you would come back, although I fully understood that you both felt it was something you had to do. There wasn’t a day that passed, that I didn’t pray for your safe return.” Tears began to thicken her voice. “I didn’t think my grief could get any worse when Rupert told me you had been slain, but when he told me that Dominic had returned hale and whole, and married someone else -” she shook her head solemnly at the pain caused by Rupert’s lies.
Isobel stood, tossing back her brandy in an almost manly fashion that brought a brief smile to Peter’s face. “Tis a harsh world out there Peter. Although you have been to war, and have no doubt experienced far worse horrors than I could ever consider, I have seen the mean side of life in this country. I know what it is like to live life loving someone who is with another. Someone you know that you can never be with, but are unable to stop loving. The pain ...” A single tear slowly trickled down her face. “It is indeed a miracle to be given a second chance at happiness. There isn’t anything I won’t do to help you, and Dominic, find, and keep, the happiness you both deserve.”
“I have never seen Dominic as content as he is now,” Peter replied softly. “He was as devastated as I was when we were informed you had died. To be led to your grave, and look down on that mound of earth was horrendous enough for me, but to Dominic, who had spent weeks fighting to return to you, it drew out a ruthless side of him that I had never seen before, even on the battlefields. I know he will love you and honour you the way a man should adore his wife.”
If only he could love her, Isobel mused silently to herself.
“I will do everything in my power to make him happy, Peter, but you deserve that same happiness. I have seen what a life of depravation can do to a person, and your Jemima shouldn’t be living in servitude if she can be by your side, making you happy.”
“Jemima might already be married to another,” Peter’s own voice sounded choked as he considered the horrible possibility.
“Then that is something we should cross when we get there. But, if she loves you as much as you love her, then she will not have married another. Wherever she is, whatever she is doing, we will unearth her whereabouts.” Isobel’s voice held an undercurrent of determination. Her own memories of the desperation to survive were still painfully raw. Her knight in shining armour had been Dominic, whose generous warmth, and loving embrace, had given her the strength and support she yearned for.
If he had been married to another and well and truly out of her reach, she would have remained on the streets and would have almost certainly have died of cold and hunger.
If Peter was desolate at being unable to find Jemima, then it was down to Isobel, and Dominic, to help him find the happiness he deserved.
BANG!
“What the -” Peter shot a startled look at Isobel, before drawing his sword from his scabbard resting upon the table by the door, pausing briefly to shoot a warning glare at Isobel.
“Wait here!” He ordered, clearly expecting her to do as instructed.
Isobel ignored him, and was two steps behind him when she entered the hallway. She gasped when she saw the large bundle of rags lying motionless on the floor. Dirty. Torn. There was, what appeared to be, a trail of water and blood behind it. Isobel’s stomach dropped and instinctively she knew this was the cause of her earlier disquiet.
“Jesus Christ!” Peter swore, before shouting for Manvers, Sebastian and Edward to come quickly.
“Isobel, get back to the library now!” Peter ordered in a voice that brooked no argument, but Isobel was made of sterner stuff.
Senses screaming, she ignored Peter’s protests, and pushed his hands away. She fell to her knees besides the sodden bundle and already knew, without removing the clothing, who it was.
A sob locked in her throat. She was vaguely aware of the pounding of running feet answering the urgent summons as she eased back the cloak. She knew it was the superfine wool of Dominic’s cloak. She could vividly recall the soft dampness beneath her cheek when she had ridden before him on the day he had found her.
“Dominic?” Isobel whispered. Her voice echoed around the cavernous main hall and did little to break the stunned silence that had settled over everyone.
Easing back the opening of the cloak, Isobel studied the bloodied mess that was her husband with tearful eyes.
Blood trickled through the congealed mass of cuts and grazes covering his face and upper neck. A long gash along his brow was bracketed by bruises and welts. His bottom lip was swollen and torn, oozing blood onto the polished marble of the floor.
“Get the doctor!” Isobel’s voice was cold and hard. She quickly tugged the cloak open further, its heavy weight hampered by Dominic’s motionless limbs. She was vaguely aware of Peter and Sebastian dropping to their knees beside her to help. Once or twice they tried to move her aside, but she wouldn’t budge.
“Oh God, Peter!” Isobel gasped, eyeing the bloodied mass of her husband. His white shirt was stained pink with blood. It was obvious, even through his dirty and torn shirt, that he was covered in numerous cuts and bruises, and most probably had broken bones they couldn’t see. Placing a gentle hand upon his chest, she swallowed a sob and heaved a sigh at the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “He’s alive,” she declared softly, her voice trembling with relief. “He’s alive!”
Swiping at the tears from her eyes, she turned towards Manvers. “Go outside - whatever you do take someone with you, and check to see if Dominic’s horse is there. If it is, bring any bags back to me.”
Manvers eyed the mistress warily. She had the look of a warrior goddess about her that was a sight to behold. Personally he had had his doubts that she had survived all alone for two months with very little to her name - her being a lady of quality and all that, but seeing the cold, battle-hardened determination on her face, he had no hesitation in her ability to handle such a dire circumstance. This wasn’t a woman who would collapse into uncontrollable sobs; this was a woman who would stand up and fight. He could see why she had captured the master’s heart so thoroughly. Abruptly making
his decision, he led two armed footmen out of the front door, to do as his mistress ordered.
“We have to get him upstairs. Have we got a door, or something, to carry him on?” Peter raised a brow to Sebastian, who quickly dispatched two men were sent down to the cellars to fetch anything suitable.
Isobel carefully cushioned the door that appeared with an array of blankets, issuing brisk orders to Mrs Holcombe, and the maids, before following her husband to their suite of rooms.
Dominic had insisted upon her sleeping by his side at night, and had instructed the lady’s rooms to be stripped, just in case Isobel took it in mind to move in there when she was angry with him. As a result, the master suite had become softer and held several feminine touches, and had become the main suite for the Lord and Lady of the house.
The men carefully eased Dominic down onto the bed, taking the opportunity to remove his sodden cloak from beneath him. As they worked, neither Isobel nor Peter needed to question who was responsible. They knew exactly who had done this. Rupert.
Rage poured through Isobel with a fiery fury that caused her hands to tremble.
“Are you alright?” Peter asked, eyeing her pale cheeks as she began to strip the shirt off her husband.
Teeth clenched, she nodded brusquely, and continued to tug and pull until the top half of her husband’s chest was laid bare.
“Maybe you should leave him to us; we can strip him and get him into bed.” Edward said, gently trying to ease Isobel toward the door.
If You Were Mine Page 16