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As they took their leave and headed for the carriage that would take them the rest of the way to Broxbourne, Isadora found herself smiling. A part of her had thrilled when Remington referred to her as his wife. It hadn’t been a week since they had exchanged vows over the blacksmith’s anvil in Scotland, and yet, it seemed soright.
When they settled in the carriage and were in motion again, Rem leaned his head back against the squabs. Isadora was beside him and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Although I’ve enjoyed traveling with you, my lady, I shall be glad when this adventure has reached its completion.”
She laughed. “I don’t doubt it. It has been very… challenging at times.”
His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “That would be putting it mildly.” He paused. “But I do believe it has all worked out for the best. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Isadora said. “I think if we could survive such a harrowing journey, we might be able to withstand anything.”
“As long as we’re together.” He held her a bit closer, and Isadora relished in the moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask—” he murmured. “—if anyone might be expecting us at Broxbourne.”
“They are now,” she confirmed. “I wrote to the housekeeper when you were recovering. There aren’t many servants left in residence, as my father’s estate was the only property entailed, and my sisters and I weren’t sure how long we might keep the hunting box, but arrangements will be made to ensure we are looked after during our stay. Additional staff will be brought on as needed while we are there.”
“I should have known you wouldn’t leave any stone unturned.” He sighed in contentment. “Have I told you what a remarkable woman you are, Isadora?”
“Not today, my lord,” she teased lightly.
“An oversight on my part that shall be rectified immediately.” A light touch on her chin had her turning toward him. He touched his lips to hers and she eagerly accepted his kiss. When he pulled back, she was struck by the color of his eyes. Swirling with bits of amber, green, and brown, they were a sight to behold. “There will be more of that once we are in a proper bed.”
Disappointment shot through her, as she would have liked to take things further right then, but she reminded herself that her husband was still recovering from severe injuries. “I shall hold you to that promise.”
It waslate afternoon by the time the familiar stone edifice of Broxbourne House came into view. Isadora’s heart flipped with a myriad of emotions: excitement, anticipation, and a touch of melancholy as they traveled up the long drive. She hadn’t told Remington that they had passed the Abaline grounds on the waythere. The very thought of laying eyes on that estate filled her with hesitation. What if those feelings she’d held for the baron slammed back into her? But more importantly, what would it mean for her future with Remington?
Isadora pushed those reservations aside for the moment, preferring to concentrate on a bittersweet homecoming of a different sort.
When they came to a stop in front of the stone steps leading to the double, wooden doors, Isadora glanced out the window. Her vision blurred as her mind went back in time, to those carefree days when three young girls in pinafores had been racing each other across this expansive lawn. The ribbons holding back their brown, blond, and copper locks flowed behind them like banners as their exuberance trailed along the wind.
Isadora had seldom cavorted with them, believing herself to be too old to join in their childish antics. The truth was, she had just never allowed herself the same freedoms.
“Isadora?”
She turned at the sound of her husband’s gentle voice. Remington was looking at her in concern, and that’s when she realized she’d been woolgathering while the carriage door was open and the coachman was patiently waiting for her to exit.
She murmured an apology and climbed to the ground. Remington followed and spoke to the coachman in murmured tones, while she walked up the steps and greeted the aged housekeeper. She looked just the same as Isadora remembered, if perhaps a bit more gray streaking her weathered copper hair, and a few more lines on her face.
She dipped into a polite curtsy. “Welcome back, my lady.”
Isadora inclined her head in return. “Mrs. Cullins. It’s been a long time.”
“Nigh unto a decade at least,” the older woman concurred. Although she kept her face neutral, Isadora caught the curiosity lacing her tone. “You wrote that you’d married recently.”
Before Isadora could confirm her letter, Remington walked up and introduced himself. “You were informed accurately. I’m Remington Fletcher, the Marquess of Osgood.” He put an arm around Isadora. “Your mistress speaks highly of her time here.”
At this, the housekeeper appeared even more confused. But then, the lady had likely known the reason for their hasty departure all those years ago. Servants were entirely more observant than they generally let on. “Indeed,” was all the reply she offered. “Lady Isadora—er, beg pardon, Lady Osgood has been very kind through the years. She has been generous with her allowances and upkeep of Broxbourne House.” She turned back to Isadora. “The main chambers have been aired out and are awaiting you both. Shall I send up a tea tray and light refreshment?”
Isadora turned to Rem with a sly side glance. “Some refreshment would not be unwelcomed, but if you have some good brandy on hand, or perhaps some aged scotch, I think that would be preferable to drink.”
His lips twitched, but the housekeeper didn’t otherwise bat an eye. “Of course. I will see what we have in the cellars.”
When she took her leave, Isadora turned to the marquess. “Would you care for a quick tour?”
He waved an extravagant hand. “Lead the way.”
She smiled as she headed for the carved banister, but it soon faltered, as memories assailed her with every step she took. This house had carried so much of her childhood. Although they had spent a lot of time at Marlington Hall in later years before their father’s death and the resulting move to London, this had been the home of her youth, the innocence of childhood.
When she reached the landing, she paused to catch her breath. Not because of the exertion, but just because it had been so long since she’d been back within these walls.
“Isadora?” Remington said her name softly, and she turned to him. He reached out and took her hand in his and stroked histhumb lightly over her knuckles. “You aren’t alone on this. You were there for me in Scotland. I won’t forsake you now.”
