To Wed A Rebel

by Sophie Dash

  “Tell me,” began Lady Mawes, sliding a teacup towards her. It rattled on the painted, metal table. “Has Isaac been unkind since the marriage?”

  Ruth was taken aback and she glanced downwards, rather than meet those piercing eyes.

  “I know your union was untraditional,” the older woman added tactfully, pulling on the lace ruffles of her gloves. “But I will have him act as a husband should, mark my words.”

  There was no hiding from her strength of character. Ruth paled before it, sapped of all the resolve she had tried to hold on to. And there was no way to deflect Lady Mawes’s question or distract her, though she did not know the answer herself.

  “Well,” said Ruth, taking a sip from her cup, mouth dry. “We have been married only three weeks. I could hardly—”

  “Isaac cannot disobey me and nothing you say here will have repercussions,” she said. “This is all for his benefit.”

  “How so?”

  “He carries our name, his actions reflect on us and I will ensure he acts as he should.”

  Ruth’s eyebrows rose higher. “How should he act?”

  “Do not think I have fed you to the wolves, girl. If he has ever laid a hand upon you, bullied you, threatened you, I will be told. I will put a stop to it.”

  The woman seemed almost eager for Ruth to accuse, to attack, to belittle the man who stood a few feet away from her with a countenance she could not read.

  “Do you think so little of him?” Ruth couldn’t stop herself. The thought came so naturally she was scarce sure she’d asked it. “I – forgive me – I did not mean to speak out of turn.”

  Lady Mawes sat back with an inscrutable expression. On a silver chain was a small pair of optics, which she pushed onto her nose. “When I saw him last, he was a strong-willed, determined young man. After all I have heard, his behaviour at sea, and now this…” She puckered her lips, lines weaving through her paper-thin skin. “I will not have his wife come upon any disagreeable situations, not when it is my purse strings he lives off.”

  “He’s…he’s not been unkind,” said Ruth truthfully. “He…we…it’s hard to say.”

  She had resigned herself to their situation so readily, had seen it as punishment for her own follies and mistrusts, that she had not taken time to think on him – on herself – on their marriage. Since Isaac had been staying at the farmhouse, he had done his best to keep out of her way. The rooms that were still liveable, for all intents and purposes, were hers. The set-up suited her. Summer days outside had given her skin a warmer tone, put colour in her cheeks and given her chestnut hair a golden hue. For once, she liked the look of the woman who faced her in the mirror each morning. The work clearing the gardens and tending the badly maintained vegetable patch was calming. Simms had given her all she needed and had been happy for less work to do. Each night, Ruth had gone to bed after a wholesome meal and even Nessa was becoming less cruel to her, if only by a fraction.

  The sleeping arrangements were not what she had expected.

  But neither was the marriage.

  In fact, it was not even a marriage, not in the eyes of the church or the law, for they had yet to spend a night together.

  A sudden fear knotted in her stomach: could Lady Mawes tell?

  Ruth had not dwelled on the notion often, not since the night of the wedding, for she knew she was – no, safe wasn’t the right word, for that would imply fear was involved. When she had been seeing to Isaac’s injuries, when she’d tended to him – bare skin, light touches – she’d let her mind wander, and the places it had gone were not entirely disagreeable to her.

  “My own marriage was difficult at first,” said Lady Mawes. “I shall not have another go through all I did. No one in our family will make those mistakes. On that same subject, I shall be increasing your yearly allowance, with numerous conditions attached, of course.” She raked her eyes down Ruth’s form, eyes bulging behind her spectacles. “We cannot have you running around in those rags, dear.”

  Before Ruth could even think to reply – unsure of how to reply – a flat, thudding noise ruptured the outdoor scene. Colin was on the ground, a hand on his face.

  There was blood.

  Again.

  Ruth leapt to her feet. Her cup was knocked from its saucer, china smashing. Isaac did not give them a second glance as he sprinted down the stairs and headed out into the garden. Had Ruth not seen a fight take place a week ago, she never would have been able to place the sound – the blow – one man against another. She would have tried to believe the excuse, however unlikely, that Isaac offered. And had she not seen the way Isaac could carry himself, how powerful he was compared to those around him, she wouldn’t have been so worried.

  Ruth’s mouth had fallen open and her cheeks were reddening after her husband’s lacklustre explanation. “I can only – I do not – I…” She tried to speak, to form an apology, but all her efforts were cut off.

  “Try not to be too surprised,” said Lady Mawes, waving her hand as if to dismiss the entire scene. “The man has had it coming for a long while, what with the way he treated Isaac when they were young. I am only surprised it did not happen sooner.” She raised her voice so that Colin could hear, and she looked more amused than angry. “Now that will be an end to it. There’s to be no more bickering between you both. Do not give me that look, boy. I am the only thing between you and debtor’s prison.”

  Colin’s sister helped him to his feet and it seemed that only pride kept him from flouncing off – pride and the severe look his great-aunt gave him. There was something else going on here, more than what it seemed – and it was clear that Lady Mawes held all the cards.

  “Go on after him,” she said to Ruth. “Tell Isaac we will be dining shortly and he is not to hold a grudge. Family spats always turn the wine sour.”

  ***

  There was no arguing with Lady Mawes, no explaining that Ruth held no power over her husband and had said little more than three words to him since their wedding day. To go after a man who had assaulted his own kin mere moments ago seemed unwise, even reckless, to her. Especially when recklessness was Isaac’s forte, not hers. But she could not refuse. Isaac was her husband; his poor conduct reflected on them both.

  There was no sense of danger or trepidation in her chest, only a growing annoyance at his childish behaviour.

  Encountered a problem? Well, we shall hit it until it goes away. That always works, doesn’t it?

  Ruth had to admit, it was a relief to leave the odd lot who milled about the patio, for they were as cold and as lifeless as the sculptures that stared out at her. Their blank eyes watched her every move in the garden, if it could be called that. The grounds looked the same at every turn and when she hit a warped, endless maze it only added to her disorientation. It was a still day. Sound carried and, though she was alone, Isaac’s nearby presence anchored her.

  All the plants around her were bleached of colour. She missed her own garden – or at least the patch she had been cultivating, even if it was a little square of raked earth and wilting shrubs for the moment. At least it had personality; at least it looked alive.

  “Isaac?”

  It was easier to call his name when she could not see him, to test the sound on her tongue, the word soft against her teeth. Crunching footsteps were ahead and she did her best to catch up to them, passing walls of green, craning to hear where he fled, until all the avenues she had ventured down seemed the same.

  “Isaac?” No answer, no footsteps, no way back. When she tried to retrace her steps, she found a dead end and there were no markers, no indicators, no views on the flat, level ground. “For God’s sake, would you answer me?”

  “Ruth?” The gruff voice was close, almost beside her, and yet she found only that solid, leafy-green wall. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I came after you,” she said uselessly, trying to peer at him through the hedge, but it was impenetrable.

  “Yes, I gathered that,” he replied, his fe
et hard on the earth, moving away from her. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Lady Mawes told me to.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “After you punched that man in the face?” Ruth raised her eyebrows through the hedge, matching his pace on the other side, glad she could not be seen. It was far easier to talk to him like this. They’d have to grow their own maze through the house, divide it up, her side and his. “She seemed to find the whole situation funny somehow.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Don’t sound so pleased. That was beastly,” she chided. “She said that your cousin deserved it and that there’s to be no more arguing between you two.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Yes, it will and it must.” Ruth hitched up her dress, almost running to keep up with him through the various twists and turns. “Lady Mawes will increase your allowance now that we are wed. She wishes me to be presentable and you to – to be – well, less yourself.”

  “I told you it was a scheme.”

  “I think she means well.”

  “She meddles; that’s all this is.”

  Isaac slowed. Ruth did too, leaning against the hedge and feeling its slight shiver when he did the same.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked quietly. “He’s not as strong as you; he cannot fight like you can. It wasn’t fair.”

  Isaac did not answer. Instead, he changed the subject by asking, “How the bloody hell do we get out of here?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied breathlessly, finally able to see him in a thinner stretch where the branches were weaker. “If we both go in the same direction, we can find a way out together.”

  That cocksure grin Isaac usually wore had gone now, when he thought he couldn’t be seen.

  “Or we could live here for ever and I need not see my damned family again.”

  “I suppose we could lure in the peacocks for food,” she suggested. “I never much liked peacocks.”

  He smiled then, a flash of sun through the clouds. To a stranger, looking down upon the pair, they could almost be mistaken for friends.

  Ruth pulled her gaze from him. It felt too much like spying to study him so intently, even if she found him very easy to watch. Until she remembered all his crimes.

  Isaac picked up his pace again and she matched it, walking in time with him.

  “Peacocks are fairly pointless creatures, much like my relatives, and I cannot imagine either tastes very nice,” he replied, closer and closer, until they rounded a corner and almost collided, stopping short inches from one another.

  It was almost comical, how close they stood, with Ruth’s nose nearly touching Isaac’s chin. But the moment to laugh had been and gone, replaced by something intangible and awkward.

  Ruth recovered first and stepped back.

  “Which way now?” She eyed the way he had come, as if there would be a clue in the unending twists and turns. Better to stare at nothing than meet his gaze.

  “I will give you a boost.”

  Ruth blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Stand on my hands.” Isaac crouched and cupped them in front of her, before giving her an expectant look. “Then you will be able to see over and find the way out.”

  “I do not think that would be proper.”

  “Ruth.”

  The hedge behind her rustled when she backed into it. “Couldn’t you climb?”

  “On what? There’s nothing to hold on to and no branches that would support my weight.”

  “I am hardly suitably dressed.”

  “Tell me, what is the best attire for climbing shrubberies?”

  At the impatient glance he gave her, she released a huffy, irritable noise in response. “If you drop me…”

  “I won’t.”

  Isaac’s hands were steady as she tentatively put her fingers on his shoulder and then stepped. It was nerve-wracking. She grasped fistfuls of the hedge to remain steady and straightened her leg, almost tumbling downwards when he stood up and she was lifted higher.

  “I can see a statue. It looks like the centre of the maze and it’s fairly close by.” She leaned over, bent a little sideways, and heard a grunt below. “Has your cousin honestly built a folly bigger than our farmhouse?”

  Our farmhouse. She had never thought about it like that before.

  “Concentrate on your balance.”

  “I – I can see the way out, I—”

  “Steady yourself or you’ll—”

  She fell, but he had her – or at least he went down with her. Isaac landed on the ground first and cushioned Ruth’s fall, a heavy sound. His head hit the solid ground, grown hard from little rainfall. Ruth had heard the noise it made and could almost feel the ache.

  “Oh, I – are you all right?”

  “Uh.” Isaac blinked, lines creasing around his eyes.

  Ruth’s fingers ran through his hair as she searched for an injury, raking through the wavy dark strands. Once again she had reverted to the young woman at the academy who patched everyone else up, saw to scraped knees and tended cut elbows.

  “Keep still,” she instructed, hovering over him. “I think you’ll be fine. It’s a little bump, that’s all.”

  Unconsciously, gently, she pushed his hair back from his forehead – a gesture that then caused her to snatch her fingers away. This was hardly proper, this was unthinkable and she was on top of him. His hands were on her waist – they had been there to catch her – and he suddenly removed them, remembering himself as well. His touch still burned, even though the contact had been lost. Ruth’s stomach felt light, fluttery, hooked by an unseen force beyond herself.

  “I – I am extremely sorry, sir, I mean – Isaac.” She scrambled onto her feet and nearly fell again, clutching a branch and skinning it of its leaves. “There’s to be dinner soon, I think. We should – we should – they will be waiting for us.”

  “Right, yes,” he agreed, clearing his throat. “I – the way out is this way?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, brushing herself off vigorously while he did the same. “I – I shall lead the way and – yes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Isaac

  Nothing was as satisfying to Isaac as seeing the angry, red mark on his cousin’s face at dinner. God, the days he’d spent dreaming about knocking the man’s teeth down his throat. Though Colin hadn’t been a man back then, he’d been a boy – a spiteful, pernicious child. And the figure Isaac saw along the table from him had not improved in personality.

  Isaac still wore a little dust and grime from the gardens. There had been no time to wash or change when they had finally found the exit, he and Ruth both tense and silent, rarely looking at one another.

  Now Ruth sat opposite him, a world away, with her elbows tucked into her sides and her wine glass untouched. Eliza, Colin’s wife, crowded her, saying little. The woman was far more concerned with eating and drinking than conversation, not even responding to her husband’s attempts to spark a conversation. It was hard not to compare the two as they sat side by side and Isaac thought, cruelly, that he had won that particular competition.

  “Do you think it might rain?” was all Eliza asked, happily oblivious to the tense atmosphere layered upon the room, as though they all sat beneath a stifling dust sheet.

  Lady Mawes oversaw them all, her eyes narrowing when silence finally persisted. Only Ruth, who automatically resorted to over-politeness in times of stress, met the older woman’s stabs at conversation. He wanted to tell her not to bother, to ignore the old bat – and would’ve, had Lady Mawes not needlessly motioned for quiet.

  It was the tiniest gesture, a slight incline of her chin, a raising of her head, that drew the eyes of all who were seated in the long, green room.

  “It may be vulgar to discuss money at the dinner table, but the family estate is in danger.”

  Again, thought Isaac.

  Lady Mawes must have caught Isaac’s dark look, for she said to him, “Yes, the family estate. Family means all
of us, every single one, whether through blood or marriage. Trewince Manor is at risk and its inhabitants threatened with destitution.”

  Isaac’s thick eyebrows rose fractionally. “By that you mean moving to a smaller place?”

  “Do not voice such awful thoughts, boy,” the old woman snapped. “I will not have us reduced to a laughing stock. We’re above that, and so I am assisting in the management of the place.”

  The information was for Isaac’s benefit and he took it without comment, remaining stony and unreadable. Ruth’s eyes were on him, as though she feared his reaction. He didn’t meet them.

  “All shall run as it did, with a few small changes,” added Lady Mawes, clearing her throat. “The first being that I shall be moving into the property to ensure my instructions are carried out to the letter. We shall all be economising and there will be no more lavish expenditure on ridiculous whims.”

  “I have told you before, aunt,” interrupted Colin, flustered, slapping his napkin on the table. “The gardens have been—”

  “A sheer waste.”

  “The Duke of Wellington’s cousin’s niece—”

  “Yes, she came to laugh at it and I do not blame her. They’re vulgar.” Lady Mawes angled her head, as if to invite comment or a protest that did not come. “Rumours are circulating concerning our fortunes and our recent activities.” To which she meant Ruth’s hasty marriage into the family. “For that reason, we will be holding a ball five days from now, at the week’s end. You will all be there, you will all act as Roscoes should and we shall all be able to hold our heads up high.”

  “Really?” Isaac would’ve laughed, if he’d had it in him. “After all you have said and now we are to waste the family’s funds on such extravagance?”

  “There’s no ‘we’ where you’re involved,” cut in Colin, lip curling. “You have nothing to contribute.”

  “I have already sent out the invitations and I will not throw good money after bad,” said Lady Mawes above them. “It’s high time the Roscoe name was a respected one once more. I will have it so.”