As she turned, she nearly jumped out of her slippers when she found Laurence standing directly behind her.
“It has been an exhausting day,” he said. “Although it is not yet noon, I am tired.”
Isabel nodded and then stifled a yawn. “Forgive me. And yes, I am exhausted, as well.”
The two stood staring at each other. The awkwardness was palpable, and Isabel wondered what they would do next.
She did not have long to wait, however, for the door opened, and Lady Darlington walked out. “I am going to call on Margaret,” she said, her nose in the air. “Do not expect me for dinner, for I shall be dining with her this evening.”
“Give Margaret my best,” Laurence called after her. She waved a hand in reply without turning and then stepped into the carriage that had pulled up in front of the house. Soon, that carriage followed the route toward the main road her family’s had.
Once inside, Laurence closed the door, the sound echoing in the foyer—and through Isabel’s body. Suddenly, panic overtook her. She was alone in a new home with a man to whom she was married. And although she had considered it a few times, his next words confirmed her worst fears.
“Allow me to show you your bedroom,” he said and then motioned to the stares.
Isabel found it difficult to breathe. She gave him a nod and followed him up the stairs.
“You will find the pillows filled with the softest down.”
“Lovely,” Isabel whispered. The man seemed to waste no time in wanting to consummate their marriage. Why had she not considered he would? Even after all the questions her sisters had asked the night before, she had rarely thought about it.
They passed a line of portraits of previous dukes and duchesses, and they stared down at her with accusation in their eyes. Was she worthy to be where they had once stood? A woman once married, and to a man of the Gentry at that? She had been lucky when her mother had agreed to her marriage to Arthur, but now she wondered how that had come about. Perhaps being forced to marry Laurence had been her retribution for being allowed to marry for love the first time around.
“Here,” Laurence said as they came to a stop at the top of the stairs, “is where our portraits will hang.” He smiled down at her. “I am certain there will be no argument that yours will be the most beautiful.”
Isabel could not calm her racing heart, and her “Thank you” came as a choked mumble. He did not notice, however, for he gave her a wide grin before continuing to the next floor.
Almost at the end of the long hallway, he stopped before the last door and opened it. He allowed her to enter first, and she glanced around her. A dressing table sat between two tall windows, and a wardrobe twice the size of hers back home sat against a far wall. However, it was the massive four-poster bed with white and pink striped drapes and matching cover that stayed her breath.
Try as she might, no excuse would come to mind to put off the inevitable. She had to be resigned to her fate.
“Isabel?” Laurence said, concern marring his otherwise handsome face. “Are you all right?”
“It-it is lovely,” she said, her eyes falling on the bed once more. “I-I will prepare myself.” She swallowed hard, hoping her breakfast would not make a sudden return.
He placed his hand on her shoulder. “No,” he whispered. “This is your bedroom, not mine.”
Confusion ran through her. “I-I do not understand. If this is my bedroom, where is yours?”
“Next door, at the end the hall,” he said with an amused smile playing on his lips. “I understand this marriage was not planned. I know we were not married because of love, that is, love of lovers.” He sighed. Was he as nervous as she felt? “We have whole lives ahead of us, and I will never make any demands on you. Whatever we do, it should be done in love.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek. In the first time in several years, someone had taken consideration of her feelings.
“Rest and we shall talk later.”
He turned and she placed a hand on his arm. “Laurence,” she said, “thank you. You have extended much kindness to my family. And to me.”
“You are most certainly welcome,” he replied and then left the room.
Isabel sat on the long chest at the end of the bed and looked around her new room. Although she was angry and saddened by her circumstances, she was also aware of the fact that Laurence continued to treat her with the utmost respect. She had thought the man wished to take her to his bed, but instead he had sought to comfort her. And, although she did not love him, it was in that moment that she realized that she did hold a small affection for him. Perhaps it was just the seed that was needed to grow a love they could share together.
Chapter Twelve
Isabel opened her eyes after falling into an exhausted nap, and for a moment, she forgot she was no longer in Scarlett Hall. Memories of the day’s events, however, flooded her mind, accompanied by a sadness at how much her life had changed and a curiosity at what her life would be like from this day forward.
She rose, glad to see the sun still high over the horizon, and she was thankful she had not slept the day away. Then again, what would she do now that she was in a new home? With a new husband?
Sighing, she splashed cool water from the pitcher on her face, and the sleepiness dissipated. Reinvigorated, she dressed, arranged her hair, and then left the room. The house was eerily quiet as she made her way down the shadowy hallway, and she stopped before one of the portraits. The former Duchess of Ludlow had been a beautiful woman, and Isabel remembered the few times she had spoken to her. Not only was she lovely, but she was also kind to those around her, and her wit had been entertaining. Laurence, she realized, was very like his mother in those ways.
“Do you remember her?” Laurence asked, causing Isabel to start. “It has been so long, I sometimes forget what she looks like until I see this painting.”
“I remember her quite well,” Isabel replied. “I was just thinking what a kind woman she had been.”
Laurence nodded. “My father would say that she held her title so well that no other should be allowed to be called Duchess.” He smiled and shook his head. “At the time, I did not understand what he meant. Now, I do.” He turned to Isabel, the smile remaining. “I believe you will fill the role perfectly.”
“I will try,” Isabel said, her cheeks aflame.
“Now that we have rested, I believe it is only proper to introduce you to your new home.”
Isabel smiled. “Thank you. That would be nice.” And she was surprised when she realized that it was true.
She followed Laurence to the first door. “This is the room I had when I was young, but I had it redecorated when I moved into the suite down the hall. Now, I call it the Blue Room, and it is reserved for guests.” He sighed. “Not that any guests have used it, for there have not been any in quite a while.” He frowned, shook his head, and then opened the door.
Isabel peered into the room. Indeed, it was a blue room. The striped wallpaper, carpet, bedding, and window trimmings were one shade of blue or another. It was a lovely room, in all honesty. “Is this where your sister sleeps when she visits?” she asked.
“No. Her room is in another part of the house. She claims this is too small for her, although her room when she was younger was of the same size as this.”
“She does not stay in her childhood room?” Isabel asked in astonishment. “I would never give up my bedroom at Scarlett Hall to be used as a guest room. Where would I stay when I go to visit?”
He chuckled. “If she had it her way, she would appropriate my room for herself. But no, she insists on being as far away from me as she can manage, so she confiscated the largest in the west wing.”
He shook his head as he closed the door behind them and continued down the hallway. Three more rooms, all named for the color that dominated the room, followed. At the end of the hall were a set of double doors, and he swept them open. “This is my room.”
If her bedroom was la
rge, his was massive and had a clear masculine taste in the décor. The large bed had deep brown drapes that hung to the floor. A large dresser held a flawless mirror and a pair of wardrobes lined one wall. On the floor was a round rug with splashes of orange and rust mixed with the brown.
“Is this the brown room?” she asked teasingly.
He laughed. “No, but perhaps we should name it as such.”
Along one wall was a large window and another set of double doors. “A balcony?” she asked in shock.
“Oh, yes. One of my favorite places.”
“May I?” she asked as she indicated the door. She imagined what she could see from such a wonderful location would be lovely.
“Isabel,” he said with a warm smile, “this is your home now, too. Never ask where you may tread, for it is all yours as well as mine.”
Smiling, she opened the doors and stepped out onto a wide balcony the held an ornate wrought iron table and a set of matching chairs. “What a marvelous view,” she gasped as she walked over to the iron baluster.
“I could not agree more. I often find myself staring off from here for hours.”
“And no wonder,” she replied. “I could do the same myself.”
“Then join me whenever you please.”
She gave him a smile. How kind this man was! He did not force himself upon her, nor did he set expectations, and for that, she felt great relief.
With reluctance, she followed him from the room and down the main staircase to the drawing room. “Of course, you have been here,” he said.
She nodded. “I have. It is a lovely room.”
They visited a study that he clearly used as an office and a library filled with books on all sorts of subject. However, it was the ballroom that left her in awe.
“Oh, Laurence, it is magnificent!” she said as she walked out to the middle of the room. It had tall white pillars and gold walls trimmed in white. Wall sconces lined both sides of the room and two grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The wooden floor had been waxed to a bright sheen, and she could easily envision herself spinning in such a lovely place. Then she turned to him. “Your home…our home is beautiful.”
“I am glad you believe so,” he said with a chuckle. Then he glanced around as if in search of eavesdroppers. “May I share a secret with you?”
Isabel could not help but giggle. “Of course,” she replied, lowering her voice, as well.
“You must not tell Harriet,” he said, his face solemn. “She would not understand, and I do not wish to explain myself to anyone, but especially not to her.”
Isabel thought the comment odd. He was the duke. Why would he have to explain himself to anyone, including his sister? “I promise.”
“This way, then,” he said.
They walked to the far corner of the room, and Laurence placed his hands on one of the panels. With a wink, he lifted it, and to Isabel’s surprise, it swung into the wall.
“A secret passage?” Isabel gasped.
“It is,” Laurence replied and then stepped inside.
Isabel paused. “It is very dark in there,” she said, doing her best to search out Laurence and seeing only the vague outline of his body and the white of his cravat and the lace on the cuffs of his coat.
“Do not be afraid. I may not be able to chase after any ghosts, but I will do my best to fight them.”
Isabel could not help but laugh, and she took the hand that he thrust through the opening. Once inside, Laurence closed the panel. With her hand still in his, he led her a dozen or so steps forward in complete darkness. Then she heard a scratching noise, and a door opened, light streaming into the passageway. She had to squint against the sudden light that came from a large window.
“This is my secret room,” he said. “Only you and a few trusted servants know about it.”
Isabel looked around as Laurence opened the drapes. The window looked out into the garden. However, it was not the view that caught her attention but rather numerous canvases that dotted the room. Two easels sat in different places, one facing the window and one away. And leaning against every space along the walls were various paintings of landscapes, animals, houses, parks, everything imaginable.
She walked over to a painting of a horse in a field. “You painted these?”
“You speak as though I have committed some offense,” he said with a laugh.
“Oh, not at all!” she said as her eyes soaked in the artwork. “These are quite good.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “It would not bode well for people to know my secret, but it is something I enjoy doing quite often.”
Isabel turned and smiled at him. “Well, your secret is safe with me. You are a talented artist.”
“You are too kind.” He paused. “Do you paint?”
“I?” she asked with a laugh. “No. I have no artistic abilities whatsoever. My father brought in a tutor once when I was young to teach me to play the pianoforte and they both gave up after a month when I still could not play the scales.”
He chuckled. “I will keep that in mind in case I ever think of asking you to play.” He gazed at her. “If you would like, I can teach you how to paint. I promise you will learn at least the basics in much less than a month.”
His offer was kind, but Isabel had no interest in taking up any activities, least of all painting. The idea was even less appealing than playing the pianoforte had been. It all seemed so…intricate. However, he appeared so beseeching, she could not get herself to turn down his offer right away. “May I think on it?” she asked. “I still feel overwhelmed by the day’s activities.”
“Of course.” He looked down at her and smiled. “It feels as if you have been here for years.”
Isabel said nothing. What could she say? ‘Actually, I want to return home to my mother’? No, she could not hurt him in such a manner.
“Well, we will need to dress for dinner soon,” he said, returning to close the drapes once again.
Isabel followed him down the dark passage and the brightness of the ballroom. She was glad for the tour, for it helped her take the first steps in seeing Camellia Estates as her home. She was also glad dinner would be served soon, for she found for the first time since yesterday that she was hungry. Although the morning reception after the quick ceremony had offered a fabulous array of choices, she had been much too nervous to eat a bite.
As she dressed for dinner, she considered his offer to teach her, although she found it kind, she decided she would leave him to enjoy his favorite pastime alone. It was not that she did not enjoy his company; however, spending too much time together might bring about false feelings that would only end in heartache.
This was something she had learned firsthand.
***
Laurence closed the book on which he was unable to focus and placed it on the table beside him. His hand went to his leg of its own accord, and he rubbed at the ache that was a constant part of his life as he thought on the day’s events. He had not been surprised when Isabel retired once everyone had left Camellia Estates after the wedding breakfast, but he was disappointed when she refused to join him for a drink in the drawing room after dinner.
He took a sip of his brandy as he thought of the other disappointment he had endured after dinner. Isabel had refused his offer to teach her to paint, and he found that refusal to be more devastating than the other. Sharing his pastime with her had been a difficult decision, but she was now his wife, and it would be unfair of him to keep any secrets from her. Painting was the one activity that he could enjoy because of his leg—so many others required either physical strength or a prowess he did not possess. It also gave him the opportunity to transfer all his emotions from his heart to the canvas.
“This is only the first day,” he mumbled into his glass. There were more days to come, and therefore, he would remain patient. Her reaction to learning of how he amused himself had been genuine, he was certain, and that led him to believe there could be hope she would change her m
ind in the future. As long as she was happy in her new life, that was what mattered to him the most.
The door opened, and Harriet entered the room, her skirts swirling around her ankles. “Margaret is such a bore,” she said in exasperation. She already had a glass of wine in her hand.
Laurence recognized the look on her face all too well; she was about to unleash her disdain for her friend.
And indeed, she did. “Even her husband is a bore. All he enjoys doing is reading.” She glanced at his book with disgust. “Much like you.”
“There is nothing wrong with reading,” Laurence said. “It is exciting to go on adventures and not even leave the house. You can also learn all sorts of new things. For example, there are new animals discovered in foreign lands…”
Harriet waved him off with annoyance. “I do not really care, if you must know.” She glanced around the room. “Where is your new wife? She has not left you already, has she?” She threw her head back and laughed as if her words held great humor. “I was only teasing. But the question remains; where is she?”
“She has retired early. Preparing for the wedding and then the day’s events have left her overtaxed.”
Harriet clicked her tongue. “I still do not understand why you did not leave for a honeymoon.” Then she glanced down. “Is it because of your leg?”
Laurence downed the remainder of his drink. He hated to admit, especially to Harriet, that part of the reason he rarely made an appearance in public was because of his leg, and that included going on a honeymoon. The other reason they remained home rather than traveled was because he did not wish to put Isabel in a situation that was unnecessary. “We will take a honeymoon at a later date,” he replied. His sister did not need to know every intimate detail of his and his wife’s plans.
This seemed to appease her, for she leaned back into the sofa. “It is a shame she is in bed already. I did wish to see her again.” She sighed. “I suppose there is tomorrow.”
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