Page 8 of A Raven Reformed

From the moment they were wed until Belle was delivered to her cabin on the ship, her husband’s hand did not leave her elbow. She may technically have been his wife, but she felt more like his prisoner. He followed her through the door and finally let her go. Panic set in when he closed the door behind them. His luggage had been taken to the next cabin, so why was he here? Lizzie was in the room with them. Surely he wouldn’t try to do anything.

“Is your cabin not next door?” Her stomach had tied itself into a tight knot.

“It is.” He clasped his hands in front of him and stood blocking the door. “But since you have a penchant for running off, and there’s no room for me to take up a post in the hallway, I’ll be standing right here until the ship leaves port.”

Tightness gripped her chest, and tears threatened. She turned away from him and swept across the small room. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Wouldn’t allow him the pleasure of knowing he was hurting her. Tears ran silently down her cheeks as Lizzie bustled about putting things away and getting organized for the five days they would be spending on this floating penitentiary.

An hour passed before the loud whistle sounded signaling their departure. Even still, she continued to stare straight ahead at the wall. She couldn’t look at him or the tears might start flowing again. A few minutes later, the ship finally began to move, and a while after that, he announced his own departure with another command.

“Mrs. Ingram, Lady Dalinridge is not to leave this cabin without my personal escort, except to use the lavatory. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

She heard the door open and close behind her. Lady Dalinridge. She’d almost forgotten she was now a countess. The prize she’d been given in exchange for spending the rest of her life as this man’s prisoner. She finally allowed herself to let loose the sobs she’d been holding back. She threw herself into Lizzie’s waiting arms.

“Shhh. It will be alright, Belle. Or perhaps I should start addressing you as my lady. It would be more appropriate.”

Belle looked into her eyes. “Please don’t,” she begged.

Lizzie smiled sadly and pulled her back into her embrace. “I won’t.”

For the next five days, other than to use the lavatory, Belle didn’t leave her cabin, no matter how much the fresh air and sunshine called to her. Thankfully, he didn’t force her to. In fact, she didn’t see him or speak a single word to him, and was grateful for the reprieve.

But then, as the ship pulled into port, there was a tap on her door, and he once again stationed himself as a prison guard inside her room. When it was time to disembark, his hand attached itself to her elbow, once more, and didn’t let go until they were seated on the train. Even there, he was sure to make her sit next to the window and block her in. She hardly noticed the foreign countryside as it rushed past, and simply watched the sun drop lower and lower in the sky.

After the train, they climbed into a gleaming carriage emblazoned with his family crest. All the while, they never exchanged a single word. A line of servants waited in the dark to greet them upon their arrival, and he took her elbow once again after helping her to step down. Numbing cold had settled over her, and she couldn’t seem to return their smiles as they dipped into deep bows and curtseys to welcome her.

The only name that even managed to penetrate enough for her to remember it was that of the housekeeper, Mrs. Thistle, who led her up to her chambers. Apparently, at some point, her husband had let go of her.

Lizzie helped her out of her travel-worn clothes and into her nightgown. It was late. Belle was tired and numb and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Lizzie got her all tucked into bed, but then took one of her hands and cradled it between her own.

“He may come to you tonight, Belle. I didn’t figure he would on the ship because I was sleeping in your cabin, but this is his home now, and you are his wife.”

Belle could only bring herself to nod. Fear nestled itself inside her chest making it difficult to breathe. Lizzie squeezed her hand.

“Don’t fight him. You’ll be alright. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” She bent down and kissed Belle’s cheek before tucking her hand under the blanket and leaving her.

In spite of her exhaustion, fear kept her awake. Her ears strained for any sound that might be him coming into the room. The night before her wedding, Lizzie had told her about what would happen in the marriage bed. Dread filled her veins with ice at the thought of him forcing a part of himself into her body. But he never came. Eventually the sun rose, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

But when another night came and went with no sleep, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. Was he purposely torturing her, knowing she’d be just waiting for him to come in and claim what was his? She couldn’t do this.

After wiping the tears from her tired eyes, she sat down at the writing desk in her room and penned a desperate letter.

Dear Isaac,

He’s holding me prisoner…

* * *

Michael and Annabelle had hardly spoken a word on the crossing from America. He’d given her plenty of space and not pushed her for anything. He understood it was going to take her a while to accept her new life. But they’d been home for more than two weeks now, and she still refused to talk to him or even leave her own room. Today, that was all about to change. He’d been patient long enough.

If she wasn’t willing to accept this life on her own, he’d have to impose some rules that would force her to at least engage with him. He would not spend the rest of his life with his own wife refusing to speak to him. This morning, that meant she would no longer be allowed meals in her room and would have to join him in the dining room if she wanted to eat. From the raised voices he’d heard on his way down, he guessed Mrs. Ingram had already informed her of the change.

As if on cue, Annabelle sailed through the door, her eyes cold and proud as she glared at him. She marched over to the sideboard and filled a plate with an assortment of foods, and without missing a beat, turned and walked right back out the door. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so frustrated. He’d just have to be one step ahead of her next time.

That evening, Michael sat at the head of the table waiting for Annabelle, once again. She entered, perhaps even more confidently than she had that morning. She walked to the table, ignoring the chair that was being held out for her, lifted the cover from her food and picked up the plate from the table.

“No, Annabelle.” He kept his voice quiet, but the warning was clear. “Please sit.”

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