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Chapter 10
Isabel watched her husband disappear with Millie in his arms, and her heart sank. Was she to blame for the child’s crying?
She swallowed, tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She stood slowly, her appetite forgotten, wiped her mouth with the dinner cloth, and slowly exited the room. The footmen lining the backroom wall stared ahead, pretending to see neither the argument nor their mistress’s silent defection.
All the servants were mistrustful of her as it was, and now she’d frightened their favorite little mistress, although it wasn’t her intention.
She left the dining room and padded toward her chamber.
Nothing had gone right since she arrived at this blasted estate. She’d wanted to make everything better, but everything had just turned out worse.
Everything had seemed to just go wrong from the moment she ran into the marquess at the ball, and she doubted anything would get better any time soon. But she needed to try. Because as much as she disliked it, this was her life now.
She entered her room and called her lady’s maid to help her change into her nightgown. The usually chatty Anthea was uncharacteristically quiet. And although Isabel was thankful for that in this instance as she needed silence to clear her mind, she couldn’t help but feel that Anthea was not happy in this household either. Or perhaps she’d overheard the other servants gossiping about their ne’er do well new mistress and didn’t want to upset Isabel even further.
Isabel climbed into bed feeling defeated. It had been a long and difficult day, and she just wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep even though the hour was young. But as it often happened, sleep evaded her, and instead, her mind was invaded by tumultuous thoughts.
What if everything rumored about the marquess was true? Perhaps he wasn’t cruel but unjust and unwelcoming, and as a result, his poor wife had no other recourse but to get away from him. What if Isabel had no one to lend her support on this cold and unfeeling estate?
Sam’s residence in Bedford was close enough, and she could just take a horse and gallop away if she wanted.
But what if the marquess cut off that opportunity and wouldn’t let her out of the estate? The dark thoughts wouldn’t leave her, the spirit of the former lady who’d occupied this chamber crushing Isabel. Or perhaps it was the atrocious decor that was driving her mad.
Isabel sprung up from the bed and opened the curtains. It wasn’t enough. The overly extravagant, cluttered room made it difficult to breathe. She started taking off the paintings one by one. Once the walls were bare save for the horrid wallpaper, Isabel cocked her head and looked over the chamber.
Somehow she could breathe easier now. Yes. She shouldn’t live with the shadow of the former mistress’s fate hanging over her. She was the mistress now, and she would be damned before she gave in to her fears and Vane’s intimidation.
* * *
Millie’s hysterics didn’t last long. As soon as they arrived at her nursery, she wiped at her tears and demanded Rhys read to her.
It didn’t matter that she’d quieted down easily and that she seemed to forgive his behavior. He did not. He had promised himself to never raise his voice to her and to never make her feel as though she was unprotected and vulnerable. He had failed.
He needed to watch his temper and not let Lady Isabel rile him up. His little daughter was the most important thing to him, and she had suffered enough in the tiny span of her life.
So he sat in her nursery, atoning for his vile behavior by reading to her and drinking imaginary tea at her imaginary tea party.
They spent a few hours together, then he asked for the maid to bring his daughter a light snack before bed since she hadn’t had a proper meal at supper, and after that, he lulled her into sleep.
Rhys felt extremely guilty for being the cause of Millicent’s tears, but he also felt embarrassed for the way he had treated his wife. She didn’t deserve his mistrust. Deep down, he knew it.
All the issues in his mind stemmed from his previous relationship rather than from his current wife, and he needed to apologize for that, too.
So he padded back to his room only to be caught off guard by a small procession moving from the family wing toward the guest wing, carrying trunks and other items.
His wife, wearing a single dressing gown over her night rail, concluded the procession, holding a small valise in her arms.
“What is going on?” Rhys barked, his good intentions vanishing like a puddle on a sunny day.
“I am moving to another chamber,” Lady Isabel said, unperturbed, as she continued walking.
Rhys followed after her. “In the east wing?”
“Yes, I didn’t find any other room that caught my fancy.”
“But why do you need another room?”
“Because,” Lady Isabel said as she reached her desired chamber, “the marchioness’s room is being redecorated.”
