She hated feeling like she didn’t measure up to the MacNeils. She was a woman who had always worked with her hands. It was good, honest work and she’d never been ashamed of it.
Now, however, after she returned to the house, she took inventory of herself. Her hands were chafed and her knuckles were red. She glanced into the mirror and touched her face; her cheeks were red and a bit chapped. Her hair, wild and curly, could never be tamed into something presentable. And the color—when compared to the women in the family into which she would marry—was not soft and blonde, like Lady Rosalyn’s, nor was it long, dark, and thick like the lovely Kerry’s. For years she’d tried to pretend she wasn’t a red-haired woman. But truth be told, although it might not be as red as Hamish’s, it was definitely red.
And Isobel was not what one would call willowy. As she’d grown into a woman, she had cursed her ample bosom and womanly hips. She was told to be grateful for her tiny waist, but all it did, she found, was emphasize her other attributes.
And come her wedding night, she would not expect her future husband to join her in their “marriage bed,” for he’d already made it clear that she didn’t have to worry about that. But what did he really mean? He had said they would live together as husband and wife, but that he wouldn’t force her. Was it really because he was thinking of her, or was it because he didn’t find her attractive enough to bed? And if he didn’t bed her, would he find his satisfaction elsewhere on the island? The humiliation of that would be agonizing.
Meanwhile, Ian had already settled himself into his new life. Oh, he hadn’t asked to live at the castle, but when he returned the day before yesterday after visiting the estate with Duncan, he couldn’t stop talking about it.
“Mam!” he’d shouted as he ran into the house. “They have horses and dogs and sheep. And do you know what? Mister Duncan has a bow and arrows he brought with him from Texas and he said he would teach me how to use them. Wouldn’t that be great? And remember, you said you didn’t like the thought of me using a gun, so I wouldn’t be. And you’d be happy about that, right?” He had gone on and on about everything he saw, everyone he met, and was absolutely in awe of his two cousins, Rory and Rabbie, who apparently had treated him like the long lost cousin he was.
Isobel sank into the chair by the fireplace, noting that the fire was almost out. Henry was getting more and more useless as time went on.
A knock on the door roused her from her daydreaming. She answered it and found Duchess Rosalyn standing on the stoop.
“Your Grace. Please come in.” Isobel curtsied and opened the door wide. The beautiful, elegant woman stepped inside. She and the duke did make a stunning couple, Isobel thought.
“Isobel, since you and Duncan will marry and you will become part of the family, I’m not going to go through the formality of calling you Miss Crawford or Dunbar, or whatever it is. I intend to call you Isobel. It’s such a lovely name, rather a quaint name for Elizabeth, if I remember right. And you must stop referring to me as Your Grace. I’m Rosalyn.” Her smile was warm.
“I do appreciate that…Rosalyn, and I must say that I’m—should I say—apprehensive about this arrangement.”
“I know the feeling. I had been rather badgered into marrying the duke—”
“You were?”
“Yes. My brother knew something about the lands and the fortune even Fletcher didn’t know until after he arrived. It appears that if Fletcher didn’t marry and have an heir before his first year was up, everything would go to a distant relative.”
“And he asked you?”
Rosalyn laughed, a quiet, soft chuckle. “When Geddes first suggested it I nearly threw something at him I was so angry. I’d lost a child before that and for some reason Geddes thought if I had another bairn, it would make up for that loss.” She looked pensive and inhaled deeply.
Isobel wouldn’t reveal what she already knew, but said, “I don’t know why men think one child will replace another.”
“Aye, aye, sometimes they are so thick skulled. And it was rather accidental that we married anyway, but, you know,” she said, giving Isobel a sweet, almost knowing smile, “things always work out one way or another.”
Did she mean to say that perhaps Isobel and Duncan’s unusual marriage might work out as well? Isobel couldn’t imagine being comfortable with His Lordship ever.
“And of course,” Rosalyn went on, “I now know why you never took me up on my offers to help. What an awful burden for you to carry all these years, Isobel. And to think it’s all because we were away and Barnaby forgot you were there the moment he closed the door.” She shook her head. “Things could have been so different.”
“Could they have been?” Isobel tried to not sound harsh.
Puzzled, Rosalyn said, “What do you mean?”
Isobel rubbed her arms and walked the short distance to the kitchen door. “Can I make us some tea? Or would you prefer coffee?”
“Oh,” Rosalyn said, “I’d love some tea.”
“Do you mind stepping into the kitchen?”
“Of course not. Lead the way.”
Isobel had never been embarrassed about her kitchen, and she told herself not to be now. It was a large, airy room, so clean one could eat off the floor. Except, she realized, glancing under the table, where Yellow slept, taking her usual afternoon nap. And today, Fifi was curled up beside the feline.
Rosalyn automatically took a seat on one of the long benches that bracketed the table.
While Isobel puttered about, Rosalyn repeated her question.
Isobel answered, “I was an orphan raised by an aunt who was the madam of a brothel.”
“Ah, yes, that. Well, do you know where Geddes found Fletcher when he went to Texas?”
When Isobel shook her head, Rosalyn said, “He found him in an Army stockade, having been arrested for murder and waiting to be hanged.”
Isobel nearly dropped the teapot. She turned slowly to catch Rosalyn’s expression to see if she was simply fooling her. Rosalyn was serious as sauce. “He murdered someone?”
“No, but he was with the woman when she died, and he’s always felt responsible. And I guess if you’re a half-breed Indian in Texas, you’re guilty no matter what.”
“Who killed her?” She was being too nosy.
“She was the wife of an Army officer, who had actually pulled the trigger, and it was Fletcher’s word against his.”
Isobel finished going through the motions of making tea. She went to the pantry and pulled out some oat cakes that Delilah had made that morning, put them on a plate, and set them on the table. “I had no idea.”
“And, before you even ask, Duncan, Kerry, and Gavin were living with their grandfather, a full-blooded Comanche, all this time because Fletcher was in the Army. Kerry, who was just a child, cooked for them and kept the place clean, but it was just barely a cottage by any standards, I’m told.”
The family history was intriguing. “Their parents?”
“Fletcher, Duncan, and Kerry had the same father, the Scot, but when his wife died, he married his wife’s sister, so Duncan and Kerry are really Fletcher’s half siblings. Earlier on Fletcher’s da found Gavin hiding in a root cellar after a raid. His parents, farmers, were killed. When both the Scot and his second wife died, I guess the grandfather was the only one there to care for them. You see, Fletcher hasn’t always been the rock of the community,” she finished with a wry smile. “He was once a bad boy, as was Duncan, as I’m sure you can verify.”
Isobel felt heat go straight to the roots of her hair. There were many things she wanted to ask Rosalyn about, but instead she poured them each a cup of tea, relieved that her tea set was not chipped or stained, and joined Rosalyn at the table.
They spoke of the school, and Isobel briefly mentioned Lily, but Rosalyn didn’t appear to be curious about the girl.
“Have you and Duncan made plans for the wedding?”
Isobel released a long sigh and nervously picked at an oat cake. “No
. Actually, I’ve seen little of His Lordship since Ian was told he was the boy’s father. At least that went over well; I truly didn’t know how Ian would take being lied to all these years.”
“He is a darling boy. The moment he met the twins, it was as if they’d known one another forever.”
Isobel felt Rosalyn watching her.
“It bothers you that he felt comfortable with all of this so quickly, doesn’t it.”
“Truth be told,” Isobel answered, “I continue to worry about how he feels every time he must return to this place after being on the estate.”
“But this won’t be your place much longer. The three of you will be a family and have a place of your own.” She paused briefly. “I wanted to approach another subject. About Ian’s schooling.”
Isobel bristled. They were taking over her entire life! “What about his schooling?”
Rosalyn smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I presume you sent him to the mainland because you were afraid he might be recognized, and I understand that. But now, is it really necessary?” She paused briefly, took a sip of tea, and continued. “Once we have another schoolmaster and they have finished the renovation of the schoolroom next to the kirk, the twins will be enrolled there. I see no need to keep them tutored; they should get out and about more. And I would hope you would enroll Ian in the new school as well. I just hope we find a good teacher.”
Isobel had thought of that as well. She knew Lily didn’t qualify for the job but she had some hope; after all, the duke had suggested they might find something for her to do. “I guess it’s worth thinking about,” Isobel said. “It’s getting harder and harder to scrape together the money for his tuition and room and board.”
“Isobel, once you marry Duncan you won’t have to worry about money anymore.”
Suddenly the reality of her future dawned on her; she felt sick. “Oh, my. I hadn’t really thought about that.” She had never lived without worrying about money. “How will I ever get used to such an idea?”
“Knowing you now as I do, I don’t imagine you’ll change very much even after your wedding. I think you’ll still squirrel money away for a rainy day, simply because you always have.” Rosalyn paused briefly, then added, “Isobel, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d love to help you prepare for the wedding. Have you decided what you will wear?”
At that, Isobel almost laughed. “To be perfectly honest, I have wondered what I will wear. I don’t really have much of a wardrobe.”
Rosalyn waved away the comment. “Not to worry. If you don’t mind my interference, I think I can find something quite suitable for you.” She stood up, stepped away, and studied Isobel from a short distance, her forefinger tapping her chin. “With your wonderful hair and your lovely skin, you will be a beautiful bride in a fawn or mushroom color. I know just the place to buy—”
“Nae,” Isobel interrupted. “I canna afford to buy anything and I refuse to let you do it for me. Please, can we just use something that’s already available?”
Rosalyn pursed her lips and sighed. “Oh, my dear, are you so set in your ways?”
“Aye, I’m afraid I am. Getting married is going to be hard enough—”
“You’re treating this like some kind of punishment, Isobel.” Rosalyn reached over and stroked her arm. “I don’t know how to convince you that all will be well.”
Isobel looked down at Rosalyn’s dainty white fingers, noting that even she worked with her hands, because although they were not calloused or chapped like Isobel’s, her nails were short and serviceable. Isobel tucked both of her hands into fists to hide them. “Nae, I don’t think you can, but I do so appreciate your help and your concern. Now,” Isobel finished, “I am happy for your help preparing for my marriage, but we must do it on my terms.”
Rosalyn pondered a moment, and then said, “What if I can find something for you that I already have? Would you agree to wear it?”
“Look at us. We couldn’t be more different.”
Rosalyn squeezed Isobel’s arm lightly and walked to the door. “I’ll find something. It will give me an excuse to go through my wardrobes.”
After Rosalyn left, Isobel sat, feeling a bit stunned. Rosalyn had more than one wardrobe. Of course she did. Even though Rosalyn’s efforts had been meant to ease Isobel’s discomfort, they did little in that regard.
For years, Isobel had done everything but sell her soul to pay for Ian’s schooling, just to keep him safe. For years, she had scrimped and saved every penny, not allowing herself a shred of luxury. For years, she had prayed that each day would pass without another catastrophe that needed fixing with money she didn’t have.
She felt something tug at her skirt. Fifi looked up at her and whined. “Oh, I know, lassie, your mam is gone and you’re lonesome.” She picked the pup up and walked through the house, remembering that she’d told Delilah that she would sort out some linen upstairs. But when she got to the second floor, her bedroom door was open and her bed looked so inviting. She looked down at the dog, who returned her gaze.
“I never nap during the day, Fifi. Never.” But suddenly she was exhausted, probably from all the work she had ahead of her. The sale, the wedding, the marriage itself—was she really to be with Duncan MacNeil for the rest of her life? God help them both. She yawned and stretched out on the bed; Fifi snuggled right in. “Only for a few minutes, all right?”
• • •
Duncan had passed Rosalyn on the road. She had told him about Isobel’s fears and her stubborn pride, and suddenly Duncan realized they had all been coming at her from every direction.
The house was quiet when he entered. He was on his way to the third floor when he noticed the door to Isobel’s room was open. He looked in and found her asleep, curled up around that silly dog of Lily’s.
How vulnerable she looked when she slept. And sweet. Her long lashes fanned her rosy cheeks and her lips were full and natural looking. No rouge for his Isobel. He nearly laughed. His Isobel? He gazed at the rest of her, vividly remembering what was beneath her drab clothing. She was full, succulent, luscious, and she would be his.
Or would she? Ah, yes, there was the rub. The promise he’d made in haste because he wanted to be part of a family—one of his own. He would not coax her. Somehow she had to come to him of her own free will, but in order for that to happen, he would have to be especially accommodating, and he could do that. There was movement on the bed.
“Is something wrong?” Isobel sat up so quickly the dog yelped and nearly fell to the floor.
Duncan straightened, hoping she hadn’t been awake and merely watching him slaver over her. “No. Nothing is wrong. I was on my way upstairs and just happened to see your door open. Are you all right?”
She rose from the bed, smoothing her skirt as she stood. “Of course. How silly of me to have fallen asleep. It isn’t as if I do this every day, for I do not.”
“Of course you don’t. Heaven forbid that you should have any moment of rest during a busy day.”
She placed her fists on her hips. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little,” he answered. He reached for her hand and noticed that she flinched when he took it. Could she not even stand his touch? “I’m sorry all of this is such a burden for you. I don’t want you to feel that way, Isobel.”
“That’s what everyone says, but it’s not as easy as all that. I’m nearly twenty six years old and I’ve been living a certain way for all of it and I can’t just change my ways because everyone says I should.”
Duncan didn’t know what else to say to her. He knew that everyone tried to make this stress-free, but apparently, according to Isobel, it wasn’t that simple. And yet he still was anxious to make them a family, and he didn’t want her to back down on their deal. And, like it or not, it was a deal. An arrangement.
He watched as she fussed with the bedding and suddenly felt deep warmth for her. Not pity, as she seemed to think he felt, but something stronger. Something he had
begun to feel when she had hoped the damaged ceiling would fall on him while he slept. It puzzled him.
He shook his head. What a dolt he was. All he’d have to do to scare her away permanently was to tell her he was beginning to have strong feelings for her. Those feelings grew stronger as he watched her, and he forced himself to step away.
“Isobel, we are getting married. I understand your reluctance, but I insist that you pick a time when banns can be read at the church. It’s foolish for us to continue to tip toe around one another. We’re wasting time.” With that he left.
She sank back onto the bed and closed her eyes. Oh, by the saints, why did this have to happen? Aye, she could be married to the man, but what kind of marriage would it be? Something unexpected had occurred to Isobel: each time he came into view her heart did a little jig against her ribs, and she felt a little breathless. One time she had even touched that soft part at her throat and found her heart pounding there, hard.
The arrangement they had made weeks ago had emerged as something of a life sentence for her. But there was no use putting it off any longer. She would set a date, and if he wasn’t happy with her choice he could go to the devil.
Chapter Twelve
The day Lily returned from Ayr, Isobel sent a message to the castle, alerting the duke of her arrival. What he decided to do with this information, she didn’t know. Even she had a case of nerves when she thought of the outcome.
She did find out first that the elderly couple had left Lily everything, which apparently was a tidy sum.
“I want you to have it,” Lily had said.
“Nonsense! You keep it; you don’t know when you might want to use it yourself,” Isobel answered.
“But maybe we can use it to fix up the house so we don’t have to move.”
“That’s sweet of you dear, but the deal is done and we won’t be staying here any longer than we have to. There are going to be uncomfortable changes for all of us, so don’t be so quick to give your money away.”
The Scoundrel's Pleasure Page 13