“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.