five
Anthony couldn’t stop thinking of Isabella even during his conversation with Helen. Maybe because he could hear Isabella’s open and free laughter as she played chess with Patrick. When she laughed, she reclined her head and showed her pearly teeth with abandon. He liked that. He liked how calm and happy her laughter made him feel. Not that Helen wasn’t pretty, intelligent, or sensible, but she lacked any spark or opinion.
“What do you like to do in the summer?” Helen asked, distracting him from watching Isabella imitating the knight’s steps for some reason.
“I prefer spending the summer in the country,” he said. “London can be too warm and humid.”
“I agree. The country is so beautiful. I love nature.”
He waited for her to say something more specific, but she didn’t add anything. “I love taking long walks up the hills, being in contact with nature.”
“I love that too.”
Again he waited. But nothing.
“Sometimes I enjoy climbing rocky cliffs in the Peak District.” He showed her his hands covered in calluses from gripping the limestone rocks. “The emotion of being on the top of a cliff after an arduous climb is intoxicating.”
Her perfect smile faltered, and her left eyebrow twitched. “I love that.” She lacked enthusiasm and confidence. It was like talking with an automaton.
He worked his jaw.
Helen had done nothing but agree with everything he’d said. Apparently, she loved everything he did, found everything he said fascinating, and approved of his every choice. Whilst they might share the same tastes, her voice sounded disingenuous and pretentious. Or perhaps he expected too much from a future wife, and she was simply nervous and overwhelmed.
Managing a dukedom as ancient and powerful as that of his family was a burden. He wished to find a wife who wasn’t only someone he admired and liked, but who could also share that encumbrance with him and help him by proposing different ideas and points of view.
He didn’t mind an argument or disagreement. Sometimes, the best ideas and solutions came from disagreements. But Helen was offering him only polite smiles and hollow answers. Unlike Isabella.
The brief conversation he’d shared with her had been enjoyable and down-to-earth. Above all, she’d been herself as she was now with Patrick, and she hadn’t let Grandmama intimidate her too much.
She was someone he could trust because deceit didn’t come easily to her. Helen, on the other hand, kept pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And last but not least, Isabella made him smile, and happiness was the most powerful feeling after love.
Isabella and Patrick walked over to them, laughing and chatting. He’d like that too. Having a wife who was also his companion, friend, and lover. Probably he had too-high expectations, but dammit if she didn’t meet them. And to think he hadn’t cared about finding the perfect wife.
“After the most disastrous chess game of my life, I’d like a nice cup of tea,” Patrick said. “What about you?”
Helen didn’t answer but angled towards Anthony, waiting for his answer. He wanted to tell her not to wait for him.
“I’ll take the queen’s favourite drink,” he said. “A claret with whisky.”
Helen hesitated. He could bet she’d meant to ask for whatever he wanted, but she didn’t want a claret with whisky.
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Perhaps I shall have the same.”
Isabella leant closer to her sister. “Excuse me. You drinking claret with whisky? Since when?”
“I do now and then.” Helen blinked quickly.
“What about you, Isabella?” Patrick asked.
“I’ll have a…coffee,” she whispered the last word. “Mother detests it. We never drink it at home. She doesn’t even want to hear its name. She’s convinced that drinking coffee makes people rebellious like the Americans. She doesn’t want anything from the Americas in our home. She had a fit when Uncle Thomas decided to move to Boston.”
“Isabella.” Helen arched her eyebrows in a cautionary manner.
“Potatoes are from the Americas,” he said. “Your mother ate roasted potatoes tonight.”
“Shush.” Isabella waved him off. “Oh, please, do not tell her. She’ll take them off the menu, and I love them.”
“Isabella, you’re talking with the duke.” Helen clenched her fists.
