He didn’t wait for a reply, obviously expecting her to do as he asked.
When he was gone, Isabella tapped an impatient fingernail on her mug. For all that she lamented her current situation, what bothered her at the moment was what Ridge had said. Could it be true that a woman might enjoy the marriage bed as much as her husband?
She frowned. With her hasty excursion to Gretna Green, naturally she hadn’t had “the talk” with her mother on what to expect, but even then, she wasn’t sure if Lady Ashfield would have gone into detail. The marchioness had never been comfortable speaking of delicate matters. Then again, it was always just assumed, among the genteel ladies of the ton, that marriage was a contractual bargain. The women had the benefit of a husband’s protection, and the men enjoyed their extramarital liaisons with their mistresses. While that was common knowledge, Isabella had also heard of women that embarked on affairs, although they couldn’t flaunt their lovers like the opposite sex, and not until they had done their duty in birthing the requisite heir.
Isabella had never thought any of it was quite right, believing that one should marry for love, where everything was tied together in one neat, little package. But women like her, a spinster with little prospects, generally didn’t have that luxury, having to settle for whomever would offer for their hand.
That was why, when she had ran away with Simon, she’d thought he had truly cared for her, for he’d recited his vows, not just before the village blacksmith, but also to God. He’d promised love and devotion — and within the hour had shattered her heart. He had proven to her that men were shallow creatures who sought to achieve their own gain.
So then… why did Mr. Claymoore’s words cause her to wonder about something more?
Chapter Four
As their journey progressed into midday, Isabella fanned herself, but to no avail. The sun beat down upon the black coach, and caused the air inside to become stifling.
Perspiration had soon dampened her hair, making it hang in straggling disarray about her shoulders. At this point, she’d given up any hope of trying to arrange it into even a simple chignon. She didn’t have so much as a brush with her on this unexpected journey, when she normally traveled with several trunks, her ladies’ maid, and a footman.
But then, nothing about this trip was conventional. She should have been a happily married bride on her honeymoon with her husband — instead she was… here.
She would love nothing more than a relaxing bath, but she didn’t know what sort of provisions she might expect once they arrived at the castle, even if Ridge had assured her it boasted nearly all the comforts she might find in London.
She supposed she would find out soon enough, for the coachman was already pulling the team to a halt.
Ridge exited first, then offered a hand to help her down. She accepted somewhat reluctantly, but found that the stilted awkwardness which had surrounded them during most of the ride was wiped away by the gentle breeze that caressed her face the moment her feet touched the ground. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the salt water blowing in off the coast. She could hear the gentle crash of the waves upon the shore ,and a smile tugged at her lips.
It was as if she was back in Brighton, where, as children, she and her elder brother had gone swimming with their parents. With the growing popularity of the bathing machines, it had been ever so enjoyable to wade out into the water and immerse herself in the sea.
She wondered if her “warden” would allow her the same courtesy. Under his strict supervision, of course.
She opened her eyes to find that the gray stone fortification before her stole the rest of her attention. She had to admit that Walmer castle was quite impressive. It boasted four circular shaped outer bastions, with a large, impressive structure built on top. It was like some sort of magnificent cake placed directly upon the sand.
Ridge must have noticed her awe, for he said, “The castle was built during the age of King Henry VIII to ward off enemy attacks that might come ashore. It’s one of three located a short distance away at Deal and Sandown.”
“I didn’t even know it existed,” she admitted. “I suppose I neglected my history lessons more than I imagined.”
His lips quirked, but he said nothing as he led her toward the bridge that would take them to the entrance. She glanced over the side and noticed that at one point there must have been a moat, but the ditch had dried up over the years.
She could almost imagine that she was exploring the era of the Medieval knights, although the legendary tale of King Arthur had taken place long before this castle even existed. But as she looked at Mr. Claymoore, walking tall and confident before her, she could well imagine in him in a suit of battle armor, prepared to fight to the death for his country.
He knocked firmly on the wooden door at the end of the walkway, which was opened moments later by an older gentleman. He stood tall and boasted a wealth of gray hair, but his expression was pleasant enough. Beside him was a buxom woman with graying brown hair pulled back into a simple bun. After a brief conversation ensued between the three of them, Mr. Claymoore turned to Isabella and waved a hand as he made the introductions. “This is Mr. Hopper, the porter, and his wife, Mrs. Hopper. May I present, Lady Isabella, Viscountess Wistenberry.”
Mr. Hopper inclined his head politely. “My lady.”
Isabella smiled in return. “Mr. Hopper.”
Mrs. Hopper, on the other hand, reached out and took Isabella’s hands in her own and said, “I’ll be the cook while you’re here, so if you need anything at all, don’t be hesitant to ask. It’s so nice to have another lady around!” She chuckled lightly. “But listen to me gab on. I best get the supper on. No doubt you’re famished after such a journey.” Her smile broadened as she turned and hustled away.
Isabella followed Mr. Claymoore and Mr. Hopper inside, where her jaw promptly went slack. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting before now, perhaps a crumbling interior, but instead, a brick walkway surrounded by a lush green lawn met her gaze.
Cannons were still in place from the early days of war, each within a semi-circular ring, as if waiting for the moment they might be fired once more. Isabella shuddered at the thought, for the war with France was still ongoing. But now that several countries had recently reentered the battle against Napoleon, she prayed that the fight would remain far from British soil. Even so, she couldn’t help but ask, “Are the guns still used?”
Mr. Hopper turned to her with an easy smile. “No, my lady. In fact, you’ll actually be staying in the Gunners’ Cabins, as Lord Liverpool wrote ahead letting us know of your arrival. He also wanted to make sure you knew you were free to explore his apartments at your leisure.”
“That was kind of him.” Isabella made a mental note to thank the earl when she returned to London, or if he was able to make it to the castle during her stay.
As they continued on, she thought that she might not be bored after all, for surely there were plenty of tunnels and pathways to explore, as well as the expansive gardens. The possibilities were endless in such a massive place. And, of course, the view from the top of the master’s quarters would undoubtedly, be quite remarkable.
“These will be your quarters, my lady.” The caretaker’s kind voice broke through her musings.
He opened a door to reveal a sizeable room that was surprisingly cheery. But it was the massive mahogany four-poster bed in the middle of the room that captured her attention. After traveling to Gretna Green and back to London and all the way to Kent without much of a break in between, sleeping in an actual bed, instead of a cramped carriage, was rather inviting. A modest fire burned in the hearth, and with the whitewashed walls and the gleaming wooden floor at her feet, it seemed rather cozy indeed.
She looked beyond the main room to a small alcove set on the other side of the room, and saw a clear glass window that looked out to the sea. She couldn’t help but wonder how many soldiers had stood in that very spot and waited for their opponent to
arrive.
A young woman wandered into view, and Isabella’s jaw went slack once again. “Claudia! How did you—?” She couldn’t even finish her sentence, as tears stung her eyes and emotion choked her throat. She rushed over to her ladies’ maid and they embraced. In London it wouldn’t have been appropriate to act so informally with a servant, but Isabella didn’t care. She was just so thankful to see a familiar — and trustworthy — face. When she pulled back, she finished her query. “What are you doing here?”
The girl nodded her brown head, which was mostly covered with a mobcap. “Mr. Claymoore sent for me a couple days ago. He asked me to pack a few of your things and meet you here.”
Isabella lowered her voice somewhat. “You never thought to question his motives?”
“And yet, here you are.” Mr. Claymoore’s deep, mocking voice made Isabella start guiltily, for she’d nearly forgotten he was there. Her face heated, but he merely offered a brief incline of his head and a rather smug expression. “We’ll leave you to get settled.”
With that, he departed with Mr. Hopper.
Once they were gone, she turned back to Claudia and voiced her concerns. “I’m not sure what to think of that man.”
“Oh, Mr. Claymoore is ever so professional,” the maid nodded firmly. “He came to the house with two of His Majesty’s soldiers. They explained to Lord and Lady Ashfield that they were looking for Lord Wistenberry, although they didn’t give any details. The marquess told them that your husband had just left, so Mr. Claymoore asked if he might send me here, as you were celebrating your honeymoon on the coast.” A frown furrowed her brow. “Is the viscount not here with you?”
Isabella pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled heavily. She supposed it was best her parents didn’t know the sordid truth just yet. “It’s a long story, and I’d be glad to relay all the details, but after so many days of travel, I daresay I’m ready to get out of this gown and take a bath.”
“Of course.” Claudia smiled. “I’ll just gather some water to heat. There’s a copper tub just behind the screen.”
Isabella closed her eyes. Nothing had ever sounded so heavenly.
Even though her emotions were going through hell.
***
Ridge was staying a short distance away from Isabella, far enough to keep himself in check and remember why he was here, and close enough so that he could come to her aid in case Simon was foolish enough to breech the walls of the castle. Of course, he would likely coerce someone else to do the unpleasant task of retrieving his wife for him, but either way, Ridge wasn’t taking any chances with Lady Isabella’s safety. He was tasked with her welfare, and he intended to follow through on his word.
Once he parted ways with Mr. Hopper, Ridge sat down on the edge of his straw bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He’d taken the smallest, and the least extravagant, of the three cottage rooms, letting Claudia have the one closest to her mistress. But he’d never needed much more than the clothes on his back and food in his belly.
He stared down at the scuffed tips of his boots, a reminder that he was still clothed in his worn, commoner’s garb. But then, it wasn’t as though he’d ever had need of a cravat and expensive tailored attire. He wasn’t likely to rub elbows with society, unless it was working toward a common goal, but then, he’d found it was good to have friends in high places. Being on friendly terms with the Prime Minister and being able to bring Lady Isabella to this castle was a prime example.
Ridge was acquainted with Liverpool, but he was also friends with the Duke of Chiltern, a former spy who had recently married and was currently on holiday in Italy for his honeymoon. Gabriel’s brother-in-law, Travell Abernathy, Viscount Curdiff, also worked for the Home Office and was a particular favorite of the Regent and the man responsible for recruiting Ridge into serving his country.
And then there was Logan Montgomery, but he was an enigma. No one was really certain of his past and he wasn’t inclined to speak of it. To anyone. He was almost as much of a mystery as the cases he helped to solve.
Ridge released a heavy exhalation and shoved a hand through his hair. Some days he wondered if the intrigue that came with his line of work wasn’t growing too tedious. He was three and thirty, but it wasn’t as if he had to settle down any time soon. He didn’t have the task of providing an heir to carry on a specific bloodline, and even if he wanted to marry and have a family, how would he manage to support them? His skills were fighting criminals in back alleyways and his rather deadly ability to wield a knife.
Not exactly husband material.
Of course, he could always take up sailing. When he was fifteen he’d been hired as a cabin boy on a merchant ship before he found that sea life was not as exciting as in the books he’d read. It was grueling work and sometimes dull when waiting on the wind to return to blow the ship to her destination. But at least the experience had served him well during his time on board the smuggling ship, Clara Belle, in his guise as One-Eye.
Perhaps he could retire from the Home Office and become the captain of a vessel and transport… something, become a merchant of his own. But while the idea had merit, it sounded boring and uneventful. The truth was, he thrived under excitement. He had always been restless, even as a boy, and it was the thrill of the chase that made his blood run hot through his veins. He wasn’t sure it was something he could ever give up.
Lately, however, he’d started to feel as though parts of his life were getting… stale. Even the titillation of being a spy was starting to wane, and he wasn’t sure how to revive that spark.
He stood up and removed his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. For uncertain times like these it was best to sink into a hot bath.
***
Once Isabella had scrubbed until her skin was pink, she donned a fresh lavender frock. She was feeling rather invigorated now that she was clean, and since it was still daylight outside, she decided that she would climb to the top of the castle and enjoy the view.
She left her hair down to dry, something she would never have done outside of her bedchamber, but as a married woman, surely there were certain liberties that she could take. And it wasn’t as though it really mattered at this point. For someone who had always been more comfortable avoiding confrontation by pretending that it didn’t exist, in the past week her emotions had been in such turmoil, going from exuberant happiness to abject disillusionment, that she decided that she wasn’t going to hide her head in the sand any longer. While she didn’t intend to pursue conflict, neither was she going to shy away from it.
She left her chamber and found an enclosed staircase that wound around the outside of the keep to the area above. Isabella trailed a hand along the stone wall. She could almost picture the history that had taken place here, the danger and the determination of the men who had fought so proudly for their country. If it were possible for women to join the fray, she might have even taken up arms herself. Perhaps she might have even earned the title of “warrior queen,” as told in William Cowper’s poem, Boadicea, an ode.
With a smile, Isabella paused at the top of the walkway and glanced out over the sea — and one of the most awe-inspiring scenes she’d ever witnessed.
But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
She walked toward the edge of the keep, and standing with her hands on the surrounding wall, she stared out at the expanse. From this height, the view of the sea stole her breath, the water stretched out before her in an endless splendor. The sun shone on the sparkling waves and turned them into crests of diamonds as they crashed upon the sandy shore.
She inhaled deeply of the salty air and wished that she had her watercolors with her, so that she could at least try to capture this moment. It was like her own private escape from the harsh realities that awaited her on land. For an instant, with her hair whipping about her shoulders, she could almost imagine that she could sprout wings and fly.
“Do you have to stand so close to the edge?”
Isabella spun around at the sound
of the dry masculine voice and saw Mr. Claymoore leaning against the wall near the outer stairs. He had changed and bathed as well, his dark hair still damp and a bit windblown. His white cambric shirt and charcoal gray trousers with the tall black boots made him appear like more of a pirate than an agent for the Crown.
She lifted a brow. “Are you following me, Mr. Claymoore?”
“I wouldn’t be a very good agent if I failed my duty so soon,” he noted dryly. “So the answer is yes. I need to keep an eye on you at all times if I’m to protect you.”
She didn’t care to be regarded as someone’s “duty,” although she pushed that thought aside. Instead, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about Claudia?”
He shrugged. “I figured you would find out soon enough. Why spoil the surprise?”
“Indeed.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “How did you get involved with the Home Office, Mr. Claymoore?”
His dark eyes were assessing, and she wondered if he would even answer, but after a moment, he shrugged and said, “I needed something more in my life.”
That was something she could well understand. “And have you found what you were looking for?”
He didn’t reply, so she took his silence as confirmation that he didn’t wish to continue. Instead of prodding him further, she trailed a finger along the wall and asked, “Were you able to attend the Duke of Chiltern’s wedding?”
“I wasn’t fortunate enough, no. Although I consider Gabriel a friend, I was otherwise occupied.” Trying to chase your husband. He didn’t say it, but she knew that was what he left unsaid. “Why do you ask?”
“Triana is my friend.” She frowned. “I daresay I wish I would have attended their wedding instead of my own.” He didn’t reply, and as an awkward silence filled the air between them, she looked back toward the sea and said, “Isn’t this the most delightful view?”
Isabella's Secret Summer Page 4