Page 27 of Married to the Icy Duke
CHAPTER 8
“Well, this all looks delicious,” Tristan said, with the sort of cheery determination one might see in a single soldier about to face down an entire cavalry charge. “How pleasant it is to sit down to dinner with friends, eh?”
Isaac didn’t bother to respond. Nor did Charlotte, who appeared to be seething in her seat, set directly across from him.
The poor Duchess of Stonewell—who had very gamely asked Isaac to call herThalia—looked distinctly uncomfortable and ventured only a wobbly smile and vague mutter of agreement.
Isaac could not stop replaying the events in his room over and over in his head. He could still feel the residual thuds of desire in the pit of his stomach. In his mind’s eye, he picked up the wretched woman in his arms, threw her down on the bed—which was a bare ten feet away—and kissed her thoroughly. That would quieten her down, wouldn’t it? He’d wanted nothing more thanto take her in his arms, touch her, make her breath stutter in her throat as he touched her …
Stop! Heavens, the woman can’t stand you. I wanted a spirited wife,he reminded himself grimly, pouring yet another glass of wine for himself.She’ll be good for Tommy.
Tommy had been brought to the grown-ups' table, sitting on a chair pushed close to the table and padded with several cushions so that he could reach his food. Poor Mary sat beside him, looking deeply uncomfortable.
Isaac’s dinner table could seat sixty or seventy people at a stretch. The six of them were huddled at one end, the rest of the table shrouded in darkness. There was something sad about the whole situation, somehow.
He was glad he’d invited Tristan. As the soup course was served, Tristan kept up a grimly determined stream of small talk, trying and failing to draw first Charlotte and then Isaac into conversation. Thalia did her best to help him along, but the woman looked rather pale and tired and had steadfastly refused any wine.
Charlotte would not look at Isaac. It was quite a feat, considering that they were seated directly opposite each other. Tommy and his nursemaid squeezed in at the head of the table, with Tristan beside Isaac and Thalia beside Charlotte.
She hates me,he realized, with a dull thudding feeling in his chest. Well, why should he care? He didn’t require her to lovehim, or even like him. She only needed to love Tommy. He had agreed to her rule easily enough, hadn’t he? There were other women in the world, and anyway, Isaac had not been a man who was motivated by lust. He didn’t need to share his wife’s bed, certainly not if he wasn’t wanted.
When yet another awkward silence had set in, the distant slam of the front door was clearly heard, making them all flinch. There were muffled voices out in the hall, and clacking heels echoed, getting closer.
The gentlemen rose uncertainly to their feet as the door flung open. A woman stood there, tall and curvaceous in rich black silk, diamonds glittering at her neck and ears. She tossed back dark hair, eyes raking along everyone.
“Evening, all,” she said smoothly. “Thank you for waiting.”
“Sybella, thank God,” Tristan muttered fervently. “Come and join us. Tell us about your journey. Tell us anything, really.”
“May I introduce my sister?” Isaac spoke. “You can simply call her Sybella. Syb, I had no idea you were arriving tonight.”
“Well, the second you wrote to tell me you were getting married, I came at once,” Sybella responded smoothly. She came gliding into the room, eyes finding Charlotte. “I look forward to meeting your bride-to-be.”
“That will be me,” Charlotte spoke up. It was the first thing she’d said all evening. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. Well, hello, my sweet boy!”
This, of course, was directed to Tommy. Tommy sat up in his seat, beaming. Isaac’s bad humor receded a little.
Remember what all of this is for.
With Sybella’s cool, confident presence, conversation began to pick up a little. Charlotte still did not speak to him, but turned to talk to Tommy. Isaac sipped his wine, watching her carefully.
Charlotte did not seem to have superhuman powers of connecting with children. She spoke of nothing much that others had not tried with Tommy, but the little boy listened to her eagerly. She asked him lots of easy questions, all requiringyesornoanswers, to which he shook his head or nodded. At one point, she took out a neat little book—her journal, perhaps—to show Tommy a selection of pressed flowers.
“This flower is a daisy,” Charlotte explained, letting him run his small fingers over the page. “That is my favorite flower.”
It’s almost like a conversation,Isaac thought, draining his glass.Is it progress? I can only hope so.
The courses came and went, and at long last the dishes were cleared away altogether. Sybella, falling neatly into her role as the lady of the house, rose to signal that the ladies would retire.
“Instead of going back to the drawing room,” she suggested pleasantly, “I thought that we could take a tour of the house and bring Tommy with us. What do you say, Lady Charlotte?”
“I should like that,” Charlotte answered, smiling.
“If nobody minds,” Thalia ventured hesitantly, “I should like to retire early. I am so very tired.”
Isaac’s gaze dropped to her belly, over which she rested one protective hand.
