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Chapter 13
Dear Isabel,
I am glad to hear that you decided to make your chamber on that estate your own. Incidentally, my cousin, Julie, knows a perfect artist who decorated her houses a few years ago, painting the entire walls and ceilings. I have just spoken to Julie, and the artist lives not far from your residence. So, if you wish, I can send her a note, and she will come to help you decorate the place to your liking.
Evie
Isabel penned a quick reply to Evie and put it with the rest of her correspondence to be sent out. She needed all the help she could get to make the estate ready for the house party. She had written to Sam and her brothers, and all of them were excited to visit her and witness her first event as the Marchioness of Vane.
The last few days had been incredibly busy but also rewarding.
The household was bustling with work, and the change was obvious. The house had already shed its gloomy look as it filled with flowers and new paintings Isabel had acquired during fairs.
The gardens were taking on a heavenly look, and the only thing that needed some polish was the walls. But if Evie’s recommended artist started her work soon, then everything would be ready ahead of time.
The servants did not look at her with contempt anymore. Both James and Anthea, the servants Isabel had brought from her household, seemed happier, too. They both had made friends and went about their duty looking content.
Isabel visited the village daily. She loved checking up on her new friend Lilian and interacting with the children. People had stopped being distrustful and happily shared their woes and joys with her.
Everything seemed to be working out nicely except for her personal life. Her husband barely spoke to her during meals, and Millie continued pointedly ignoring her. And now that things were going well in the other parts of her life, she decided to pay special attention to mending the relationship with her husband and his daughter.
For one thing, her courses had come and gone, but her husband still hadn’t graced her bed with his presence.
Not that he knew about her courses. She hadn’t provided him theevidencehe desired, which was a ridiculous demand.
And not that Isabel desired his presence in her bed. But she did want children, and if so, she’d have to seduce her husband somehow.
Not yet. She wasn’t prepared to deal with it yet. One step at a time. Millie first, Vane second.
With that resolution in mind, Isabel headed to find her husband.
Vane wasn’t in his study. He wasn’t in his chamber either.
After asking Mr. Monroe, Isabel ascended the steps toward Millie’s nursery.
She walked slowly, the thick carpet in the corridor swallowing her steps. The door to Millie’s room was half-open, and Isabel heard the murmurs coming from within.
As she came closer, to her immense surprise, she realized that the voice she heard was not Vane speaking to his daughter. He was singing.
Isabel stalked closer to the door and stopped at the threshold, not daring to interrupt her husband’s song. She leaned her shoulder and head against the doorjamb, silently absorbing the picture before her.
Millie lay in a small cot, facing away from Isabel.
A lone candle on the bedside table illuminated the room just enough for Isabel to see her husband’s serene face as he quietly sang the lullaby. A bit of fur was visible by Vane’s feet, and Isabel deduced it was the dog.
Button—the usually exuberant animal—breathed softly, probably soothed by his master’s singing.
Vane’s features were solemn as he watched his daughter’s sleeping form, his throat working at the low bars of the song.
The picture before her was so intimate that Isabel felt like the worst kind of intruder, but she still couldn’t step away, mesmerized by the sound of Vane’s voice and by the soothing ambiance of a shadowed room.
Lost in the pleasant mood of the dimly lit chamber and her husband’s low voice, Isabel’s mind drifted to the carefree days she’d spent as a child. Both her mother and father had always come to say goodnight to their children. Most of the time, their mother did the singing; their father usually read them stories. These were the simplest of times when the entire family was happy and untroubled.
Isabel wished she could go back to those times, but there was no turning back.
When she was young, she wished to have the same kind of family life one day. She had wanted a brood of children. Or at least a daughter with the same blue eyes as her mother and dark hair.
Isabel had almost forgotten about those simple dreams as her life took a turn toward the unpredictable. After the death of their sibling, their entire life had changed for the worse, and they had not recovered.
