Whispers of Light: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 1

by Jennifer Monroe

  “No,” Laurence replied without hesitation. “It is not worth taking that chance.”

  “Chance?”

  “There are times when the muscles in my leg…seize. I am unable to move, both as a result of the muscles not doing as they should but also from the pain. It is difficult enough to endure when I am at home alone, but to be forced to in front of others? It is too much to ask. I will not be made a laughingstock.”

  It was at that moment that Isabel’s heart truly went out to Laurence. His burden was far greater than she had ever realized. She suspected it affected him in more areas of his life than he would ever admit. She might not love him, but she did care for him, and he needed strength to venture out into the world.

  “There is no shame in having a wounded leg,” she said. She took his hand in hers. “If it were to seize, as you say, what would that matter? Your leg does not define you.” His awkward smile said she needed to say more. “A man is worthy based on his heart and soul. If the entirety of the ton were to laugh, which I assure you they would not, it would not matter, for I will be beside you always, and I hope that how I see you is your only concern.”

  His fingers closed around her hand, and he smiled. “You are truly an amazing woman,” he said. “Your wisdom, your strength, they surprise me every day.” He turned to stare out the window and then said, “We will attend the party. However, promise me you will remain by my side the duration of the time we are there.”

  “I will never leave your side,” she replied before realizing she had not needed to lie to the man this time. “However, you must promise the same.”

  His smile broadened. “Always.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  She would support him. The words Isabel had spoken the week prior continued to elate Laurence. A woman would not make such a statement if she did not have some affection for him. If Isabel cared, the chances of her feelings for him deepening were great. He was uncertain when it had happened, but it was a certainty that his feelings for her were growing stronger. She may not have the same affection for him as he had for her, but he would wait until the end of time if that was what was needed.

  The carriage jostled as it moved down the cobbled street. The unease Laurence had harbored the previous week was amplified as he and Isabel drew closer to the home of Mr. Hugh Elkins. The younger son of an earl, Hugh was not titled, but he was a savvy businessman, and Laurence had shared in several ventures with him since they had left school. Not to mention, they had always gotten on brilliantly.

  “You are not distressed, are you?” Isabel asked as she placed a comforting hand on his arm.

  Laurence turned to his wife and was once again amazed at her beauty. Her hair had been expertly done up into an intricate coiffure, and two long curls framed her lovely face. It was as if the most brilliant of painters had composed her cheekbones, her perfect nose, and her deep blue eyes. He had never experienced love before, not the love a man has for a woman, but he could see himself being afflicted with such an emotion for this woman. There was a joy in seeing her each morning, in hearing her words of encouragement, and in being able to help her in some meaningful manner.

  He had sworn to himself that he would make her happy, and by attending this party with her, he was taking a step toward meeting that goal. One thing he had learned was that Isabel was very much like him in that she preferred to remain at home, and by pulling him from his isolation, she was forcing herself from her own, as well.

  “Laurence?” Isabel squeezed his hand.

  “I apologize,” he replied, realizing he had not answered her question. “I am all right.” He sighed. “Perhaps a bit nervous, if I am honest,” he added with a small smile. He might be nervous, but her gloved hand on his brought him comfort.

  “Honesty is best,” she said, and he could not help but laugh. “You are brave for attending this evening. I understand that it is not easy for you to do so.”

  “Yes, well, knowing you are beside me has helped immensely.” He gave her his best smile. “I speak as an artist, not as your husband.”

  She laughed. “You speak as a kind man, the man I married. If I wished to marry a brute, I would have done so.”

  They shared in another laugh, and then the carriage came to a stop. “It appears we have arrived,” Isabel said, pulling the curtain aside and peering out. “The night is yours.”

  “The night is ours,” he corrected.

  The door opened, and Laurence waited as Isabel stepped down from the vehicle. Once he was out, he soaked in his surroundings. The house, a square brick building painted white with large windows on either side of the front stoop reminded Laurence of wide eyes on a surprised face.

  “Applewood Estate,” he announced with a laugh. “And not a single apple on a tree for miles.”

  “Have you been here before?” Isabel asked.

  “Many times. It has been years, but the place has not changed much. At one point, I thought Hugh would marry Harriet. Thankfully, the man had more sense.”

  Isabel laughed and the two walked up the few steps where a liveried man stood waiting. With his straight back and forward chin, he greatly resembled a King’s Life Guard.

  The man gave them a deep bow. “Your Graces.” He collected their outer garments and hats, which he handed to a younger man, also in livery, although the older appeared more comfortable in his clothing than the younger. “If you will follow me.”

  He led them through a set of double doors, from which came the lively melodies of a collection of stringed instruments and the laughter of several people. Perhaps twenty couples in their finest clothing stood in small groups laughing and talking. For a moment, fear gripped Laurence as he scanned the array of familiar and unfamiliar faces. However, when he remembered Isabel beside him, his previous confidence, as minuscule as it was, returned.

  A familiar face stepped forward with a cheeky grin. “Laurence!” Hugh said. “It has been too long since you have been here.”

  “Yes, much too long,” Laurence replied as he shook the hand Hugh offered. “I would like to introduce my wife, Isabel.”

  Hugh’s smile widened, if that were possible. “My pleasure,” he said as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. He then turned to the other guests and raised his voice. “Everyone, I would like to introduce my good friend, His Grace, Laurence Redbrook, Duke of Ludlow and his wife Isabel.”

  As all eyes turned to him, Laurence had to force himself to keep his back straight. What he wished he could do was hide in a corner behind one of the large ferns that dotted the room.

  “I want to thank you all for being here for this celebration of my new business venture. Enjoy the food and wine to your heart’s content, for it is the finest you will find anywhere.”

  “This room is beautiful,” Isabel whispered.

  Laurence had to agree. It was not as large as the ballroom at Camellia Estates, but it was much more lavish with its gilt etched ceiling and gold-trimmed panels on the walls. Although it had only one chandelier, it was large enough to light the entire room, the light intensified by framed mirrors placed at precise angles to illuminate even the corners of the room.

  “It is,” Laurence replied.

  “It has inspired me to redecorate the ballroom at Camellia Estates,” Isabel said, but then she stopped and worried her lip. “My apologies. That should be your decision.”

  Laurence smiled. “No,” he said. “It pleases me you wish to do so. I look forward to what you do with it.” He looked across the room and a familiar sight caught his eye. “I would like to show you something.” He offered her his arm and the two walked over to a painting that hung on the far wall.

  “Is that Applewood Estate?” Isabel asked. “It is very well done; every window and hedge are present. The painter is a master.”

  “Thank you,” Laurence replied with pride. “I am that painter, although Hugh believes I commissioned it from another.”

  “You have not told him you painted it?”

  Laur
ence shook his head. “I prefer to keep my abilities secret.”

  Isabel turned to him. “But why? You are a magnificent painter. You should allow the entire world to see your capabilities.”

  “It is better this way.”

  Her smile warmed his soul. “You are an amazing man,” she said in a near whisper, or what could be considered a near whisper amongst the music and laughter. How beautiful she was—how perfect.

  “And you are the most amazing woman I have ever known,” he said with complete and utter honesty. “I am honored to be your husband, and I look forward to our many years together.” When she replied with a smile, he added, “I must admit, I care for you deeply.”

  Her eyes widened and then she brought a gloved hand to her mouth and coughed. “I apologize,” she replied in a choked voice. “My throat is parched.”

  “Allow me to get you a drink,” he said. She nodded, and he hurried over to the refreshment table to pour them each a punch. When he returned to her, he handed her one of the glasses.

  She took a small sip. “Much better,” she said. “I fear the changing weather is affecting me.”

  Laurence could not stop the surge of doubt that came over him. Did she feign the cough so as not to be forced to respond to his admission of affection for her? It was possible. When she smiled once more, his doubts retreated, but he wanted to learn if his instincts were correct or if he was simply seeing what he expected to see.

  However, he did not get the opportunity to repeat his admission, for she spoke first. “Does my husband wish to introduce me to old friends?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

  What remained of his doubt disappeared. “I would be honored,” he replied. He took her glass and placed it and his on a nearby table. Then he offered her his arm, which she took readily, the loveliest of smiles on her lips.

  He led her to a couple to whom he was acquainted, each step taken in pride, and he realized that, for the first time in a very long time, he was truly happy. And the cause of that happiness was the woman beside him, his wife and the woman he now knew he loved.

  ***

  Isabel was thankful when Laurence became engaged in conversation with an old friend, allowing her to slip away with a glass of wine and take time to compose herself. In all honesty, the evening was going better than expected. The carriage ride to Applewood Estate had been enjoyable, as had meeting Laurence’s friend Hugh. She could understand why Laurence liked him, for he was pleasant and had a streak of humor in him that she found refreshing. He did not carry himself as if he thought he was better than everyone else like so many of the ton. Granted, he had no title, but he was brought up in a titled home and therefore had been raised accordingly. Perhaps it was the fact he had no title that made him feel free to be himself.

  As much as Hugh entertained, Isabel felt a greater joy as she watched Laurence overcome his fear. He had not only attended the party—with extreme reluctance and yet he had to be complimented for taking that step—but he interacted with others. He held his head high, laughed, and replied to questions as if he had not been living the life of a hermit these past years. And Isabel could not have been prouder.

  Yet, there was more than pride. They had spent these past mornings at their painting lessons, working closely together in the corner of the ballroom when the rays of the sun streamed into the room and directly onto the canvases. Their evening meals were always shared now, and with each passing day, they became better acquainted as their conversations grew. However, it was when he had shown her the painting of Applewood Estate that had topped it all, for he had not a shred of conceit in his words. As far as she knew, no one else was aware that he was the painter of that artwork, and to be trusted in such a way said much of his feelings for her.

  Not to mention his words. When he had said she was amazing, an odd thing occurred. Her heart soared, for that was the moment she saw Laurence as her husband. Oh, she was well aware that they were married, but thus far she felt he was more a friend and confidante than a spouse. And although her feelings could not be considered love, she found that she had acquired a great affection for him, and for some reason, that pleased her.

  She had experienced those feelings before, when she married Arthur, but she had loved him from the beginning. Therefore, when Laurence had mentioned the many years they would be together, the emotions those words had brought about had both confused and excited her. Thus her reason for her feigned fit of coughing. Yes, it was childish and most unbecoming of a lady, no less a duchess, yet she had been unsure as to what to do.

  Now, however, as she stood in the corner pretending to admire another of the many paintings that hung from the walls, her mind raced. She was tempted to follow these emotions to see where they led. Would this time perhaps be different? Would her marriage be full of laughter instead of heartache? Worry consumed her as she sipped at her wine—her second glass since Laurence had given her punch—and she wondered if allowing this man into her heart was the right thing to do.

  She turned just enough to see Laurence now speaking with Hugh. How happy he looked! Gone was the worry he had carried for what the ton would say about him, replaced by a radiance that made him glow. The man was clearly in his element, for which she was glad.

  “Isabel?”

  Isabel started and turned in shock to see Arthur’s youngest brother standing behind her, a man she had not seen since her former husband’s passing.

  “It is you!” he said with a wide smile.

  “Conner,” she replied. “I did not expect to see you here this evening.”

  “I arrived only moments ago,” the man replied. “It has been a while. Are you well?”

  Isabel nodded. “I am.” The man who stood before her reminded her so much of his eldest brother, she had to blink to remind herself it was not Arthur. “I have remarried.”

  “So I heard,” the man said with clear enthusiasm. “I am happy for you. The duke is well respected.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And your family?” He attempted to appear nonchalant, but Isabel could see he had something on his mind.

  “They are well.”

  For some reason, Conner’s cheeks reddened. “And Miss Hannah?”

  Isabel raised an eyebrow. “She is well,” she replied, intrigued at his inquiry. Was there an interest there she had not realized existed?

  He shifted on his feet and said, “I heard she was unwell during the London season this past year. Was it not to be her first season?”

  “Yes,” Isabel said, stifling a giggle. If only he knew her sister had feigned her illness. “However, she is expected to be of good health this year.”

  “I am glad.” He took a drink from his glass, and the conversation turned to other news of her family—Nathanial and his time at school, Juliet and her upcoming introduction to society, and her mother’s continued good health.

  However, it was inevitable when the conversation turned to Arthur.

  “A man taken from us much too soon,” Conner said with a sad shake to his head. “Not a day goes by that I do not think of him.”

  “He is greatly missed,” Isabel said solemnly. It was the truth, and yet an uncomfortable sensation came over her. The elation she had been feeling over Laurence was seeping away like water through bedrock.

  “Indeed. I never saw him as happy as he was when he married you.”

  Isabel said nothing. What could she say? The truth was, how could she be reminiscing with the brother of her former husband when she was now wed to another? Somehow, it felt…indecent.

  Conner must have sensed her discomfiture, for he said, “I apologize. You are remarried, and here I am discussing your deceased husband. I do not mean any disrespect; it is just that I miss him terribly.”

  Isabel felt bad for her thoughts, even if this man could not have heard them. “Not at all,” she replied kindly. “The past should never be forgotten, nor the dead who populated it.”

  Although she said the words, Isabel wished she could fo
rget her own past. Too many memories brought on emotions she no longer wished to relive, but it was bound to happen when one spoke with the family of the one who had died. What right did she have to take away their memories?

  They spoke for a few more minutes about nothing of consequence before Conner excused himself, to Isabel’s relief. Conner was pleasant enough, but she had enough of her own memories, she did not need to add his to the mix.

  She glanced around in search of Laurence, who was now speaking with another man who had joined him and Hugh. The smile she gave him was easily returned, and her mind thought of the conversation with Conner, and then subsequently of Arthur.

  Without warning, the memory of the day Arthur’s friend arrived with news of his death came to mind. She had been overcome with grief, which was to be expected. However, what she did not anticipate was another sensation that had plagued her that day. An emotion that she still carried today: Guilt.

  She took a drink of her wine and returned her gaze to her husband. There lay too much risk, and a pain resided inside her that he would never understand. Although she was undecided not an hour earlier, she now came to a painful conclusion. She had allowed herself to open her heart to Laurence, and now she knew it was a foolish mistake.

  Therefore, she made a resolution. She would continue to please him, for she was his wife; however, she also vowed to seal her heart and never open it again, for to do so would only invite pain, and she had endured enough for one lifetime.

  Chapter Twenty

  To say he felt elation was an understatement, for Laurence felt a happiness and confidence he had not felt for many years. The party at Applewood Estate, which had taken place just over a fortnight ago, had just been the beginning, and truth be told, he awaited the next with the eagerness of a child on his first journey to the seaside.

  However, it was not only his excitement for returning to society that had a hold on him. After two additional weeks of early morning lessons, his wife was ready to venture off into the world of painting on her own. Yet, although it brought him joy to have her beside him participating in an activity that brought him such peace, he worried she did not share his enthusiasm.