The Duke's Reform (5 page)

     
'Yes, Papa.
I know what is expected of me, and apologize if
I have given offence.'

      A small army of
liveried footmen were waiting to greet them. Where was Bentley? Then he
appeared in the doorway and strode down the steps to snatch open the carriage
door himself.

      'My love, you
are here at last.
Come,
let me show you around your
new home.' Ignoring her parents, and the second carriage that contained the
rest of her relatives, he escorted her inside. She was almost running to keep
up with him.

      'Please, my
lord, should I not speak to the staff
who
were waiting
to greet me at the door?'

'Absolutely not,
darling girl.
I
have something to show you and it cannot wait. Remember, you will be my duchess
the day after tomorrow. You're answerable to no one here apart from
myself
.'

She was breathless when he stopped
outside handsome double doors. Two flunkies bowed and opened them.
'My word!
What a pretty sitting-room. Is this to be mine?'

      His delight at
her reaction told her she had said the right thing. 'I’ve had your apartments
refurbished and redecorated. That's why I have been absent so much these past
few weeks. I wished it to be perfect for you.'

      Her heart
skipped and impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Laughing he swung around like a child and kicked the door shut in the faces of
his staff. 'If there is anything I’ve forgotten, anything else that you wish
for, you only
have
to ask.'

      She gazed round
the room, her eyes wide as she took in exactly what was there. She ran from one
item of furniture to another exclaiming in pleasure. 'A walnut
desk,
and a harpsichord. Look, an easel and everything I
need to paint. I cannot believe it, you have chosen all these novels and they
are exactly what I would have picked myself.'

      'I spoke to your
mother when I was in Norfolk and she told me of your interests. I have a stable
full of horses you can ride. As I don't care for house pets there are no dogs
here for you to fuss.'

      At the mention
of her own beloved animals she felt a moment's sadness. She would miss them
sorely, but her siblings had promised to take care of Ebony and Othello in
future. 'You’re a kind and generous gentleman; thank you for thinking of me in
this way.'

      At that moment
she had no doubts. He might be a reserved man, might not love her as she loved
him but he cared enough to oversee the redecoration and refurbishment of her
apartment personally. That was enough to reassure her she had not been mistaken
in her choice.

Chapter Four

The ball was a great success and, defying
convention, she danced every dance with her future husband. Waltzing for the
first time was magical. He held her close and they'd twirled in time to the music
in a world of their own. Every time he looked at her his eyes burned with
something she wasn't quite sure about, and the slightest touch of his hand sent
shivers of excitement up and down her body.

      As Mary helped
her disrobe she decided to ask exactly how a husband and wife were intimate.
She understood somehow they must become as one body in order for the man to
transfer his seed, but she was rather unclear exactly how this happened.

      'Tell me, Mary,
what will my husband do on my wedding night?'

      'I'm not sure I
should be the one to tell you this, it might be better to wait and not know the
details.'

      There must be
something Mary did not wish her to know. ‘As you're a married woman, and closer
to me than anyone else, I am relying on you to explain everything.'

      By the time all
had been revealed she rather wished she had remained ignorant. However, she now
understood about the strange hardness that had been pressing into her when she
had been in his arms. After her
abigail
left she
mulled over what she had been told. The aperture into which a man's part must
go would not even stretch to receive one of
her own
fingers. She would be torn apart— no wonder in the olden days a bloody sheet
was held up for all to see to prove the new bride had been an innocent.

      She slept little
that night, got up early and donned her riding habit and found her way to the stable
yard. A sleepy groom was only too pleased to saddle up the pretty grey mare she
selected and to accompany her on her ride. The exercise and fresh air cleared
her head, she would not think about her wedding night. She would concentrate on
the here and now. There was the garden party this afternoon and she must not be
out of sorts for that.

****

'Where is Lady Isobel, Lady Illingworth? She
did not come in to breakfast this morning.' Alexander hoped Isobel wasn’t
hiding from him.

      'I believe she
went out on horseback and is now resting so she will be fresh for this
afternoon's event, your grace.'

      He relaxed, he
should have thought of that himself. 'Thank you,
madam,
I was concerned she might be unwell.'

      There was to be
a substantial spread set out for his tenants and staff, barrels of ale and jugs
of freshly made lemonade plus pasties and the like. Fortunately the day was
fine; it would be a perfect April afternoon, ideal for such a celebration. The
sooner her tedious relatives departed the better. Isobel would settle quicker
if she had only himself to turn to for advice. He didn't want anyone from her
past at Newcomb— it must be a fresh start for both of them.

The fact his bride was marrying in
order to restore the fortunes of her family made things a lot easier. She
obviously understood their union was more a matter of business than anything
else—she to provide him with an heir and he to settle a vast sum on her
impecunious father. His lips curved. It would be no hardship sharing her bed.

      There were still
two hours until the start of the garden party. As his nuptials drew nearer his
mind turned constantly to his beloved Eleanor and he was beginning to think he
was making a grave mistake. He would retreat to his study and fortify himself
with a much-needed brandy or two. He was drinking far too much — had been doing
so for years— but alcohol was the only thing that deadened the pain.

Foster arrived and roused him from
his doze. 'Your grace, I beg to inform you your guests are assembled and your
tenants arriving in the park.'

Alexander swung his boots to the
carpet and eased himself upright. He must desist from drinking during the day
for it gave him a damnable headache. He checked his cravat was undisturbed and
headed for the drawing-room. Isobel curtsied, but carefully avoided eye
contact. There was something bothering the girl. He must give this some
thought.

      During the
afternoon she walked at his side smiling and speaking naturally to his people.
He glanced down at his lovely bride. He had chosen well, she was the perfect
chatelaine for his home. She wasn’t Eleanor— she was irreplaceable. Isobel was
beautiful, biddable and eminently beddable and this would have to do. He
hardened at the thought of what awaited him the following night.

      'My love, you
haven’t eaten anything, you’ll be faint with hunger if you don't take a
little.'

      'My lord, I dare
not risk eating in public. I could be spoken to when I had my mouth full, or
dribble something down my gown. I shall make up for it to night at dinner, but
I am touched by your concern.'

      By five o'clock
his guests were departing and he led Isobel back inside and drew her into a
small ante-room and closed the door behind them. 'Darling, you have acquitted
yourself well. I believe you to be a firm
favourite
with my tenants already.'

      'You have so
many in your employ that I fear I shall never learn all their names.'

      'Good God! Don't
even attempt it, they know who
you
are and that's all that matters.
Leave

such
things to the estate manager, the butler and housekeeper—
that's what I pay them for.'

A slight frown marred the perfection
of her brow. Surely she was not going to disagree? Then she smiled and he
relaxed. He reached out to gather her close, to enjoy her lips and feel the
softness of her breasts against his chest. To his astonishment she skipped
sideways and was at the door before he could react.

 'Forgive me, my lord, but I've
to go to my apartment to change for dinner.'

      He was tempted
to call her back, but refrained. She was right; there was barely an hour before

they
must all be down in their finery. He was
waiting by the open doors of the grand-salon, his eyes straying constantly to
the staircase hoping Isobel would not be much longer.

      His other guests
had abandoned their attempts to engage him in conversation and were grouped
further down the room sipping champagne and sherry wine. She was tardy. His
lips curved as he recalled their first ride together when she had assured him
he was never late for any appointment.

 Then she appeared at the head
of the stairs dressed in a confection of silver and gold and floated towards
him. His breath stopped in his throat and he gripped the stem of his glass. It
snapped, spilling the contents down his pantaloons; he ignored the sharp pain
as something embedded itself in his palm.

      'My lord, you
have cut yourself. Quickly, we must find a cloth to stem the flow of blood.'
The concern on her face touched his heart. His butler, Foster, was beside him
and offered her a clean white square. She smiled her thanks before turning back
to him.

'Here, let me do it for you.' She
examined his hand, dabbing at the cut with the cloth. 'It isn't as bad as I
feared. There, I’ve removed the glass. We can bind it and then you’ll be almost
as good as new.'

He wanted to snatch his hand back.
Her touch was sending signals to his brain and he would be in an embarrassing
position very soon. These damn pantaloons would reveal his arousal— he must
remove himself immediately. 'Go in and entertain our guests, sweetheart, I can
take care of this. I don't wish to mar the perfection of your outfit with my
gore.'

      'I should not
care if you did. However, as I’ve no idea where your bandages are kept, I shall
do as you ask.'

      When he returned
she was engrossed in a lively conversation with her young cousins. He was apart
from them, was of a different generation, almost old enough to be the parent.
Was he too old to be her husband? She was little more than a schoolroom miss
and he a man of five and thirty— would such a disparity of age and experience
be
a hindrance or a help?

      Despite her
promise to eat heartily he noticed she scarcely swallowed a mouthful, pushing
the food around her plate in order to make it look as though she'd eaten.
Something was worrying her; they had dined together many times and she'd always
eaten well. Occasionally she glanced his way and he tried to reassure her with
a smile. There was something seriously amiss and he believed he finally
understood.

****

Mary received a large, flat, velvet box that
had just been delivered to the bedchamber by the duke's man. 'There's a note
here, my lady. Shall I put it on the desk?'

      Isobel had been
fidgeting with her easel and looked across. 'No, let me see what he’s sent.
It's after eleven o'clock— how could Rochester know I was still awake?' Her
abigail
brought the items over. Isobel broke the seal on the
paper and the bold black handwriting leapt out at her. It would seem the box
contained something that had to be worn at the wedding ceremony.

She opened the lid and gazed in awe
at the fabulous circlet. 'I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. This must be
an ancient heirloom. See, Mary, how the golden leaves have been constructed and
the
centres
of the flowers are topaz, or perhaps
amber.'

      'If you're to
wear that tomorrow, my lady, you'll have to have your hair loose, it won't fit
over an elaborate arrangement.'

      Isobel shrugged.
'You can braid the front and leave the back hanging free. I wondered why the
duke had insisted my gown should be gold. I shall feel like a wood nymph with
my floating draperies and this exquisite object on my head.'

      She replaced the
jewel in the box and returned to her task. She heard Mary sigh behind her. She
was being unfair keeping her maid so late. 'I shall retire now. I can't make
this wretched thing stand straight, but I doubt I shall have much time to paint
in the immediate future, so it can wait.'

      No sooner had
her
abigail
departed than Isobel threw back the covers
and got out of bed. She would not be able to sleep so might as well find a
novel to read and sit in front of the fire until she was too tired to keep her
eyes open. Being in a huge bed turned her thoughts to something she was trying
to forget, what she would have to endure in either this bed, or the one next
door, in a few short hours.