Page 98 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Oh, Adrian.” She shook her head, looking even more sad. “Am I to take it that you are sending her away against her will?”
“She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in.”
“You’re mistaken,” she said with a sigh. “The girl who fled from Scotland fully understood the danger she was in. When she married you, she understood the danger she was in, I guarantee it. If she wanted to remain by your side, that speaks more of her affection for you than a lack of understanding of her situation.”
Adrian stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“What do you think, Adrian? The girllovesyou. I can’t say if she did before your marriage, but you can’t deny a change has happened in the time since then. She loves you, and you sent her away.”
His chest constricted.
Love—it was impossible. They hadn’t been married long. A matter of days. Weeks. They had barely known each other before their marriage, even if he had been drawn to her, and after… Well, such intimacy came from being wedded, he was certain.
Even if his mother and father had never shown signs of sharing that intimacy. His father had been a dark man, thriving off the feeling of power and control—and ensuring his family bowed to his word.
Adrian inhaled sharply. “You don’t understand, Mother.”
“Don’t I?” She finally rose and came to stand in front of him. “I saw you as a boy. I was married to your father. Do you think I have forgotten what that man did to you?”
He twitched away from her all-seeing stare. “We don’t have to speak of it.”
“We do. Because Adrian, when I married your father, I loved him. Oh, I know when he died, I felt nothing for him. He took my love and he burned it, along with everything else of value.”
Finally, her implication reached him, and he reared back. “I amnothinglike him.”
“You do not have his cruelty, and you are capable of so much more love. I don’t think he ever loved anyone or anything but himself.” She cupped his cheek. “But you have his need for control. I see it in your life and everything you have made of it.”
“I—”
“Listen to me, Adrian. I can’t tell you what to do. Heavens, I have known that for as long as you have been alive. You have always been determined to be your own man, and so you have been. For better or for worse. Mostly, it has been for better. As I said, you’re not cruel.
“But by taking away Isobel’s voice, by thinking you know better and acting against her will, you are fulfilling the legacy yourfather left for you. As a woman, we only have the power our husbands grant us.”
She let her hand drop and stepped back.
“I know you dislike the thought, Adrian. I know you care for her, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. But if that’s true, you need to respect her autonomy. Give her the power of respect and to make her own choices. Often, those will align with yours. And when they don’t, listen to her. Don’t erase her voice.” She stepped back again. “Tread carefully, son. If you do not, she may never forgive you.”
Adrian could do nothing but stand in silence as she left him standing in the middle of the living room.
Alone.
Isobel reached Somerset Hall that evening.
The journey had been a miserable one, and she barely had the energy to look around as she entered the old building.
At once, the weight of Adrian’s legacy pressed into her. His father had burned one of his other, lesser houses, but this was his seat. The place all the Dukes of Somerset had resided since they were first awarded the title.
And now it was to be her home.
As Isobel was led to her rooms, she caught sight of a young stable boy lingering at the foot of the staircase.
He was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, with a mop of sandy hair and bright, perceptive eyes that flicked over her with something like curiosity. Unlike the stiff-backed footmen and the housekeeper, who had given her a wary but respectful curtsy, this boy had no reservations about staring.
She paused, tilting her head. “And you are?”
“Tommy, Your Grace,” he answered, ducking his head in an approximation of a bow. “I work in the stables.”
A stable boy, then. She was certain Adrian had no idea of his existence. A duke did not trouble himself with the names of those who tended his horses.
