Fenella Miller - The Duke’s Reform

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 doing this for me.”

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.

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 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. The slightest touch of his hand sent shivers of excitement up and down her body.

As Mary helped her disrobe she decided to ask 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 the strange hardness she had felt 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 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. She rose early 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 more quickly if she had only himself to turn to for advice. He didn’t want anyone from her past at Newcomb— this was to be a fresh start for both of them.

The fact that his bride was marrying in order to restore the fortunes of her family made things a lot easier. She 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 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 down early and waiting by the open doors of the grand-salon. His eyes strayed 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 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. 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 for 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. 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 what she would have to endure in either this bed, or the one next door, in a few short hours.

She left one candle burning on the mantelshelf and curled up in a comfortable chair, tucking her feet beneath her nightgown and bed robe. She attempted to immerse herself in her gothic romance. She was almost asleep, the candle burnt out, the only light from the fire, when the communicating door between her room and his began to move.

Her eyes flew open. She shrunk back against the seat. He edged into the room carrying an enormous tray from which appetizing aromas floated.

“Stay where you are, little one, I shall put this down and fetch the rest.” He placed the tray on the carpet in front of the fire and quickly lit two candlesticks. With no more than a friendly smile he vanished back from whence he came.

How extraordinary! The sight of all the food made her mouth water. She had not eaten for more than twenty four hours and her stomach gurgled. Surely there could not be more food coming? There was enough on that one tray to feed a dozen people.

He reappeared with a second tray with a silver jug and two silver goblets, plus a second jug of lemonade. “I thought we could share a loving cup, sweetheart, but not until you have eaten. Mulled wine on an empty stomach would make you feel decidedly unwell.”

“I love mulled wine; we always have it at Christmas.” Forgetting she was in her nightwear, not even slippers on her feet, she knelt down and pushed the poker into the centre of the blaze. “This will soon heat up. I should like some lemonade to be going on with. Shall I help myself to food?”

He waved her back to her chair, his expression tender. “This is my surprise; allow me to be your servant tonight.”

She devoured a substantial portion of the laden tray before she was replete. “I feel so much better. I’m relieved that you joined me in this midnight feast. Can I have some wine now?”

His chuckle made her feel even more relaxed. He was different, his austerity and coldness gone. In the intimacy of her bedchamber he had become the man she’d dreamed about. The sweet smell of spices filled the room as he plunged the poker into the jug. He filled both goblets then handed one to her, raising the other in salute.