Page 99 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Do you ride, Your Grace?” Tommy asked, surprising her.
“I do.” Her lips twitched. “Better than most gentlemen.”
His face split into a grin. “Aye, I believe it.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “If you ever want a horse saddled without too many eyes on you, just let me know.”
She considered him for a moment before murmuring, “And why would you offer me such a thing, Tommy?”
His grin dimmed, and he glanced at the housekeeper, who was still waiting for her to follow.
“Because you don’t look like the type to sit inside all day,” Tommy whispered, his tone blunt but not unkind.
Isobel felt something tighten in her chest.
Sharp boy.
She nodded once. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then, with one last glance over her shoulder, she allowed herself to be led into her new home.
The servants led her to her rooms, which had been readied for her arrival. An adjoining door led to the duke’s rooms, which were of course empty.
When everyone else had gone to bed, she took a candle and entered the room, pushing open the door and breathing in the stale air.
While she had no doubt Adrian had stayed here every time he came to the countryside, it was also clear he hadn’t been here in quite some time. Moreover, there were no personal touches to the room.
In fact, as she had passed through the house, it was as though there were no personal touches anywhere. He had seemingly erased whatever personality the house once had, and there was nothing left but a sense of duty worn smooth.
Isobel released a long, shuddering breath as she sat on the duke’s bed. Such pain had dwelled within these walls.
No wonder he had not wanted to make it a home. No doubt he hated the very thought of living here.
And yet, he had sent her here.
One day, perhaps, she would not feel the hurt from that betrayal quite so acutely. But for now, it lingered in her veins like the most acute poison.
She retrieved her candle and moved to her bedchamber, retrieving a letter she had received from her parents. It was obvious they had written it together, her father probably leaning over her mother’s shoulder as she wrote. Words of love and affirmation from them both.
We are so very proud of you, my darling, her mother had written.You have done everything you set out to achieve andmore. And to think, you have married a duke! Remember, as with all things, marriage is not easy. I know little of the Duke of Somerset, but he came into his title early and no doubt is accustomed to getting his way without resistance. We know you, Isobel, and you can be outspoken. We love your fiery heart, but in order to make your marriage work, you must learn patience. Promise me you will give him every chance to do right by you and confide in him all your feelings. If he is trustworthy, trust him, and you will see your investment rewarded twofold.
We love you, daughter of ours, and we trust you will make the right decisions.
Mother and Father
Tears threatened, and she sniffed them back.
She had received the letter the day after Adrian had decided to send her away. She hadn’t needed the advice, and it would not have served her well, regardless. Shehadtrusted him with her most precious secrets, and he had repaid her with a lack of trust.
Still, her fingers lingered across more words, the reassurance her parents had sent her.
Adrian needed more patience than most men. Trapped here, in a place where his hurt bled through, she sensed it even more acutely. She had trusted him, but she had fought back at his first demand. She’d allowed hurt to consume her.
Perhaps their marriage was destined to fail, after all.
Or perhaps she should have done something differently.
How could she offer a man like that patience? First, he would have to offer her respect.
She blew out her candle and huddled under the covers.
