“I’m surprised Lord Drummond did not refuse his permission for us to take the dogs. But he seemed happy for them to go and made no enquiries as to where we were taking them.”
“He obviously does not believe I’ll ever return to Bracken Hall to visit. He and my husband must have come to an arrangement on that score.”
“Will you be requiring luncheon today?”
Isobel frowned. “Rochester is bringing down a group of his friends for the shooting. The Season will be starting next month. Why could they not remain where they were?”
“You mustn’t be tardy; the duke will wish you to be there to greet his guests when they arrive and you must change.”
“Indeed I must. I shan’t be able to visit until he and his guests have gone. Take care of yourselves and my dogs.”
The wind was bitter. Sam had predicted there would be snow before the day was out. She prayed it would come soon and prevent the unwanted visitors from setting out from London. She no longer looked forward to Alexander’s return for there had been no further glimpses of the person she fell in love with— the tender and passionate man who had shared her bed for the first three months of their union. The interludes they spent in bed were still most enjoyable as her body always responded willingly to his touch, but she believed he was no longer fully engaged in what they did.
She hurried in through the side door hoping to return to her chambers without comment. She was waylaid by Maynard with the usual supercilious sneer on her face.
“Your grace, I’ve been waiting for you to approve the menus for the visitors.”
Isobel stiffened and for once did not apologise. “It’s of no interest to me what you have been doing, Maynard. It is your duty to be there when I wish to see you not the other way round. Kindly remember that in future.”
The woman recoiled, unused to being reprimanded. She curtsied, her navy bombazine rustling noisily. “I beg your pardon, your grace. When will it be convenient for you to see the menus?”
“I’ve no interest in them for whatever I say will be ignored. In future don’t bother me with such trivia.” Isobel walked off wishing she had held her tongue, Her duty was to view these things and Alexander would be most displeased when he heard. That he would know was certain. The staff at Newcomb were loyal to him and still treated her as an interloper even after almost a year as their mistress.
She took the little used back stairs and braced herself for another confrontation. Cranford, the abigail Alexander had appointed, had taken to setting out her gowns without requesting permission to do so. Every morning Isobel felt obliged to insist something else was fetched, although if she was honest quite often the ensemble selected by her maid was a better choice than the one she selected for herself.
Her bath was waiting in the small, tiled anteroom used for this purpose. She hastily disrobed glad she’d forbidden Cranford to enter during her ablutions. Today the warm water failed to soothe her and she did not linger. Quickly donning the necessary underpinnings she stepped through to her dressing-room to see what had been put out today.
“I thought the blue velvet afternoon-dress might be suitable, your grace. I don’t believe you’ve worn it more than once and certainly not when there have been guests at Newcomb.”
Isobel was too dispirited to argue. “It will do. Please dress my hair plainly; I require no ribbons or feathers.”
In silence she sat whilst her hair was arranged to her satisfaction, then raising and lowering her arms when necessary. After collecting her cashmere shawl she left her apartment without a second glance at herself in the mirror. What did it matter if she looked her best? Alexander no longer noticed and he was the only gentleman she wished to approve of her appearance.
She was standing dutifully in the freezing entrance hall when the party arrived. Alexander strode in first and smiled briefly before removing his caped coat and tossing it to the waiting footman.
“My dear, that’s a most becoming gown. The weather has deteriorated and I thought we might have to abandon our trip. However, we are here now, but I doubt there’ll be much shooting.”
“Did any of the wives accompany the gentleman this time, your grace?”
“Unfortunately this visit was arranged too quickly to allow the ladies to join us. It might be better if you did not dine downstairs but that’s entirely up to you.”
Her heart lifted; perhaps this gesture showed he still thought of her a little. “Thank you, my lord. I would much prefer to remain apart when there are no ladies present.” The gentlemen would drink too much and behave accordingly—far better to be safe in her apartment until they left. There was something she needed to tell him but now was not the time as, accompanied by a flurry of snow, the gentlemen poured in.
She retreated halfway up the grand staircase; from there she curtsied and bid them welcome before hurrying back to the sanctuary of our own chambers. Her dinner was brought to her on a tray. As always it was beautifully cooked but stone cold. The kitchen was so far from the main part of the house she rarely ate a meal that was more than warm.
The mantel clock struck nine. If she slipped down now maybe she could find Alexander in his study and tell him she was unavailable tonight. Her monthly course had arrived that very morning. He usually timed his visits better; she was regular as clockwork so it was easy for him to avoid the few days she could not welcome him to her bed.
There had seemed no necessity to change so she was still wearing the blue gown from the afternoon. The wall sconces were lit along the wide passageway. There was no need to carry a candlestick at Newcomb unless one wished to go downstairs when all the staff were abed.
The noise coming from the drawing-room gave her due warning what to expect if she encountered any of the inebriated gentlemen within. A footman stepped out and bowed.
“Is the duke in his study?”
“I believe him to be in the billiard room, your grace.”
Botheration! She could hardly go there to speak to him, she had better write him a note and leave this in his dressing-room. Hopefully he would not be so foxed he would be unable to read it when he retired. She was about to return when a gentleman holding two glasses of wine staggered out from the drawing-room.
“Your grace, have a drink with me. We missed your lovely presence this evening.” He wove his way towards her. She could not get past him. Several other guests appeared in the doorway to watch the confrontation.
“Thank you, sir, but I’ve no wish for a glass. If you’ll kindly allow me to pass, I wish to return to my apartments.”
He leered at her and thrust one of the glasses into her hand; she had no option but to take it or allow it to smash onto the tiles. She waited her expression icy, for him to move. To her horror he lurched forward and with his free hand attempted to touch her face. Her reaction was instinctive. She flung the glass of wine into his face. This was enough to stop him momentarily. Dodging past the spluttering gentleman she shot up the stairs before he could do her more harm. The whoops and cheers that followed made her fear they would decide to give chase.
Breathless she tumbled into her sitting room and for the first time since her arrival at Newcomb locked the doors behind her. She rang for her maid; the sooner she was safely in her bed the better. “I shan’t require you again this evening, Cranford.”
She settled back with the latest novel from Hatchards and became immersed in her romance and quite forgot she had left her external doors locked.
Alexander heard the shouting and came to investigate. According to his cronies Isobel had thrown a glass of wine over Bartram for no other reason than that he had failed to move aside quickly enough to please her.This was unacceptable behaviour. He’d already had to smooth the ruffled feathers of his housekeeper because of her incivility. Tonight he would make it clear to her he would not tolerate breaches of etiquette.