Page 36 of What the Lady Wants
They agreed during the carriage ride that they would separate immediately on arrival at the Castle, and Leo would seek out his mother and tell her his news – he would not, he reassured his betrothed, divulge the secret of her delicate condition yet, though it seemed likely that when at last they did reveal it to Mrs Winterton they would also have to admit that they had anticipated their wedding vows by a few weeks. Let Isabella and his mother come to know each other a little better before that revelation was made, he said, and she could see the sense of it. A mother’s natural partiality for her son might lead Mrs Winterton to blamehercompletely for the illicit relations that she had engaged in with Leo, and since she had in fact been the initiator of them, she could hardly say that this was unfair. It could scarcely be considered ideal that a mother-in-law’s first impression of her only son’s bride should be that she was some sort of unprincipled, promiscuous hussy. Isabella did not feel that she was any such thing, but again, it was not a conversation she cared to have at this point in her life and with this particular woman.
When they reached their destination, an apparently casual enquiry by Leo to the butler confirmed that Lady Irlam and his mother had returned from their expedition and that his mother might be found alone in her sitting room; they exchanged significant glances, and Isabella went off to change. She would stay in her room, she decided, until Leo sought her out, since she certainly had no desire to encounter her hostess just now.
She summoned her maid, grateful as often before for her entirely incurious way of going about her duties, and changed her gown, then sat by the window, gazing out at the wintry landscape, where the lake showed grey as gunmetal under lowering skies, and the little temple folly stood out stark white against it. Now that she was alone, her mental and emotional turmoil could no longer be repressed, and she let the realisation wash over her.
She was in love with Leo.
After all her resolutions to be faithful to Ash in her own peculiar fashion for the rest of her life, after all her elaborate planning, she had fallen in love with the man she had taken to her bed. She had betrayed her dead husband at the first opportunity – not with her body, but with her heart. Was she really so weak that, despite all her vows to be unconventional and daring, she could not give her physical being to a man without persuading herself that she loved him? In her current confusion she could not say, but whether that was the cause of it or not scarcely mattered now: she felt what she felt. She loved him.
It had never for a second crossed her mind that she had the capacity to love again, and if anyone had suggested it to her she would have scorned the idea – had done so, with vehement tears, when Blanche mentioned it. And yet she loved him. Had loved him for some time, she now realised, and only today allowed herself to admit it. She’d been in love with Leo when hehad declared his love for her, days ago, and she had been in love with him when he’d spurned her, here in the Castle – was it only yesterday?
It was true that nobody now alive would care that she had broken all her private vows of lifelong fidelity. There was no one to reproach her for it, not even in the slightest; she had Blanche’s firm assurance, given of her own volition just a few weeks back, that she and Gabriel would be delighted if their sister-in-law found love again. Her own parents would be happy and relieved, even before they knew that they would have a grandchild after all. No, her distress was nothing at all to do with others; it was an intensely personal thing that she was now grappling with.
Isabella was deeply shaken. The need to come to terms with this revelation in her own mind was only one reason she hadn’t said a word to Leo. There was another.
She was afraid he wouldn’t believe her.
She had been so very adamant that she could never love again, and had so decisively rejected him when he had declared his love, that she was sure he’d struggle to accept this sudden change. Anybody would. Only yesterday he had almost begged her to concede that she would at least try to love him. And once again she had refused to budge, had not been able to move towards him even that much. If she now told him so unexpectedly that she loved him, had loved him for weeks, whyever should he credit it? Would he not think instead that she was lying, telling him what she knew he so desperately wanted to hear because she was frightened that he would abandon her and their child after they had married? Could he ever trust her, whatever she said, or must a doubt always linger in his mind, subtly poisoning their relations for years to come, possibly for their whole lives together?
How could she say it and make him believe it? She had not the least idea. It might, in fact, be impossible.
She wasn’t sure she should say it. Not now, at any rate. They seemed to have reached some sort of temporary place of calm today, even though nothing had truly been resolved between them, after the trickery they had both been subjected to and the harsh words they had said to each other. Would it not perhaps be safer to bide her time, to tell him nothing until a little later? That seemed like cowardice, probably it was, but was it not perhaps also wisdom? Both things could be true. She could not tell, could no longer trust her own judgement where he was concerned. She was in utter turmoil.
Dear Mama, I’m in love, and what is more…She couldn’t. She’d never so much as mentioned his name in any of her previous letters. She couldn’t do it. She’d have to tell her something soon, but not today.
A short while later a maid came tapping at her door, sent by Leo with a message asking her to join him in his mother’s private sitting room; she must presume he had shared the news with her and felt it was now time to receive her congratulations – whether genuine or feigned – and afterwards speak to everyone else. There was no point in waiting for Lord Irlam’s return, as he would not be back until tomorrow or the next day, and then the wedding must be arranged with all possible haste.
She squared her shoulders and went downstairs.
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Leo knew that Isabella was entirely right: his mother must be told without loss of time. But he didn’t anticipate the interview with any pleasure, rather with something approaching dread. He knew his mama would assume that all was well between them now, despite his earlier unhappiness: that Isabella had come to care for him and told him so. This wasn’t true, the truth was much more complicated, and he didn’t want to share any part of it, but nor did he want to lie. If there was an obvious way through this thicket of half-truths, he couldn’t imagine what it might be. He thought it best to say, with all the conviction he could muster, that he had persuaded Lady Ashby to accept his suit, but that she still had qualms about betraying her dead husband, as she had never previously thought of marrying again. It was a delicate matter, he would explain, and excessive celebration would be in poor taste while his bride’s mind was still a little uneasy. He only hoped that his mother might not think to respond,In that case, why not have a long engagement, to give her chance to accustom herself fully to the idea? There is no need for haste, surely?He could have no answer to that, without revealing theguilty secret that he had promised to keep hidden for a while longer.
As he’d feared, it wasn’t an easy conversation, on Leo’s part at least. His mother was surprised to see him return to the Castle so quickly, and he was obliged to be vague about the so-called problem at home that he had left to tend to, until he realised that he could pretend to confess that it had all been a hum. Layers upon layers of disingenuity. He said, ‘There was no emergency at the Manor, Mama – I asked Hal to say there was because I wanted to leave; I was finding it hard to be in Isabella’s company when I thought she could never care for me. But she has relented – she came to see me, to say that she would marry me after all.’ Of course – all this deception was making his head spin – he had no idea if Cassandra had revealed the nature of her stratagem to his mother, but he was gambling that she hadn’t, that she would have been a little ashamed of it and thus kept it secret. To tell a loving mother that one had lied and said that her son was seriously injured, had involved a trusted family servant in the ruse – no, he did not believe Lady Irlam would admit such a thing unless she was obliged to do so.
It seemed he was right. His mama showed not the least sign of suspecting that Isabella’s impetuous journey to Winter Manor had been motivated by anything other than a natural desire to speak to Leo and open her mind to him. She embraced him, and shed tears at his news – generous, happy tears. If she had doubts or fears, she wisely kept them to herself.
When he told her that Isabella was still somewhat unsure and prey to conflicting emotions, she was warmly sympathetic and understanding, which for some obscure reason made him feel terrible, as though he were taking advantage of her goodness. He hastily attempted to squash her suggestion that she speak to Isabella about the matter and attempt to allay her concerns. ‘I think,’ he said in sudden inspiration, ‘that we mustmarry as soon as we can arrange it so that we can afterwards travel up to Yorkshire to tell her parents of our news. It is not fair that they should learn such a thing from a letter, when they have not the least idea, even, that Isabella has a suitor, much less that things have progressed so far between us. I do not believe that anyone in the world can help to set her mind at rest in such a circumstance other than her own mother.’
Mrs Winterton could only agree to this, as she could well imagine that Isabella was possessed by a desire to share her news with her parents, just as Leo had been. ‘I only wish your dear father were here to share this happy news!’ she said tearfully. This didn’t make him feel any better, but he endured it. He called for a servant, and in a little while Isabella came into the room, looking pale and rather shy, and he was obliged to watch his mother embrace her fondly and wish her very happy. Obviously he would not have wanted her to do anything else, but it was still awkward, and he cut the private meeting short as soon as he decently could, saying that they should find the rest of the party and share their news with them too.
Isabella said all that was proper and sensible in response to his mother’s congratulations, and if she was a little quiet in her replies, why, that was understandable. She must, surely, be thinking of another such occasion, only two or three years since – Leo was sure she was. Anyone possessed of a respectable level of sensibility must realise that such an event could never be one of unalloyed joy for her; he hoped that everyone would take account of this fact and assign his betrothed’s rather subdued manner to it, rather than to any lack of enthusiasm for the match. He knew better, of course, but others need not suspect anything of the sort.
They found Cassandra with Lady Carston and Lady Louisa, taking tea before a roaring fire – Bastian, Matthew and Tom Wainfleet were known to be in the gun room, and so weresent for, and their prompt arrival dissipated the awkward little silence that had developed. Leo sat beside Isabella on one of the sofas, and took her hand in his before he addressed the assembled company. ‘I have told my mother, and now I must tell you all, that Lady Ashby has done me the great honour of agreeing to be my wife. I hope you will congratulate us. It is to be a very quiet ceremony, and as soon as we can arrange it.’ He hoped that this sober way of stating the news, and his restrained manner as he said it, would give everyone the hint that excessive exclamations of delight would not be welcome or appropriate. Most of all he hoped that the customary sly little allusions to how one or the other of those present had known the match was in the wind all along would not be forthcoming.
Lady Carston was the first to react. ‘I do indeed congratulate you,’ she said, calmly smiling. ‘I am very happy for you both.’ Lady Louisa murmured polite agreement, and Cassandra chimed in too, adding her felicitations in a friendly way that betrayed no consciousness of anything more, and for which Leo was grateful, and thought Isabella must be too.
Bastian said, ‘I am very happy for you, old fellow, and sorry Hal is not here to congratulate you too. Or does he already know?’
Leo had not expected this, and his face betrayed the answer to one who knew him as well as his cousin did. ‘Oh!’ said Bastian. ‘Has he gone to obtain a licence? That seems to me to be just the sort of thing Hal would do for you, now that I think of it.’
The Captain hardly knew what to say – if he admitted the truth of Bastian’s supposition, his mother at least would surely wonder how Hal had known that such a thing was needed, several hours before Isabella had, as far as she knew, changed her mind and given her consent. But Cassandra, whether by design or accident, jumped in and diverted the conversation, asking about their plans after the wedding, and he hoped thatthe moment had passed. If his mother charged him with the discrepancy, he wished that it would be in private, and that he would think of some nonsense to divert her – perhaps that he had half-expected, half-hoped that Isabella was about to relent, and had confided as much in Hal, who had made his very generous offer, so that the lovers need not be parted by the necessity of Leo going to London for the licence. This didn’t really make sense when examined properly – Hal was known to be both impetuous and very fond of his cousin, but even he, surely, would hesitate to undertake a long journey in an inhospitable season to procure an expensive item that might not, in fact, really be needed. Leo mopped his brow surreptitiously and wished all this could soon be over.
The party separated in order to dress for dinner, to Leo’s enormous relief, and, no doubt, Isabella’s too. Apart from the nasty moment with Bastian, nobody had said anything that was at all contentious, and though he supposed that dinner that evening would become a sort of celebration, he was now hopeful that it would pass off without incident. He anticipated too that there would be more difficult moments ahead – but he had not the energy to contemplate them just now. He was aware that he was using all this superficial noise to avoid contemplating his own deeper feelings, but he was resigned to have it so. What was the use of doing otherwise? He was not sure if Isabella realised that he still held fast to his resolve to marry her then immediately leave her; he had wanted to remind her of it a dozen times, in his study and then again during the awkward carriage ride, but he had not quite had the heart to do it in the aftermath of the distress he had already caused her. The fact that it was true and, as far as he could see, unavoidable, did not make it any the less cruel. He would take her to her parents, and endure another round of painful and unwarranted congratulations, and then he would leave her there and come home. He didn’t want todo it, he dreaded doing it, but if he stayed with her, slept in the same bed with her, he knew he’d weaken, and for the sake of his own sanity he must not.
He’d come and see his child when he or she was born, would acknowledge the poor unfortunate creature and claim it for all the world to see, but then he’d go away again. There was no other choice for him. He’d meet them occasionally by cold arrangement as the lonely years passed, he supposed – the child whose daily presence was denied to him and the wife he loved to distraction but could not have. He could see already that it would be like living the rest of his life with an open wound. He expected that the situation he now only dimly imagined would be even worse in reality. The prospect of such fresh pain in the future on top of all the pain he was experiencing now was horrible to contemplate, but that was the situation they had made together. Why dwell on it now?
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