Page 38 of What the Lady Wants
The interior of the chapel at Castle Irlam was an extraordinary confection of chilly white marble and pale-yellow plaster, so cold on this frosty day on the cusp of winter that the small congregation could see their breath as they stood waiting between walls lined with monuments to generations of deceased Pendleburys.
The grandest tomb was that of Hal’s grandfather – the Earl who’d gone on the Grand Tour at an impressionable age and never recovered from it. If there were any classical statues and putti left in Italy, it must be because he’d missed them inadvertently. His effigy lay garbed in flowing sculpted draperies, a stout Roman senator with attendant deities and nymphs, dominating one whole wall of the building. There hadn’t been much room left for his son and daughter-in-law, and by contrast, their memorial was restrained, simple and affecting; presumably, Hal had chosen it himself, just one among a thousand tasks when he was dealing with the sudden heavy responsibilities that had come crashing down on him. Leo had been at sea then, ignorant of it all until later, and thus unable to help. As he had told Isabella once, the late Earl had beenthe closest thing to a father he’d known in his life, and despite everything he was glad to be married with him present in some sense. They were now a family made up entirely of women, young men and boys, Leo mused, and wondered if the various scrapes they had embroiled themselves in over the last few years – Leo himself, Hal, Georgie, Fred and the twins – would have played out differently if any of them had a father figure to advise them. There was no way of knowing; perhaps it would have made not the least difference. He’d be a father himself soon enough, and in theory at least head of a family, with all the responsibilities that brought and none of the compensations – it was a sobering thought. If he had any idea at all how to go about the business, and he hoped he did, he’d learned it from the late Earl.
Captain Leo Winterton stood waiting with Bastian at his side, surrounded by his family, as Isabella walked down the short aisle towards him. She had chosen for her wedding the dark green gown with the slashed sleeves – the one she’d been wearing the afternoon she’d revealed her scheme to him. She was wearing a spencer over it, but still he recognised it. That had been a day he would surely never be able to forget if he lived to be ninety. He didn’t know if the choice was deliberate on her part, maybe it hadn’t been, but he supposed that many of her gowns must carry associations for him now. And for her.
She’d left off the widow’s cap today, of course, and she wore no bonnet, only a long veil of antique lace pinned to her bare head. She had dark green ribbons woven through her hair in an elaborate crown of plaits, but a few casual-seeming wispy honey-blonde tresses had been curled and left to fall either side of her face. She was pale, but she looked beautiful to him, as always. She did smile at him when she reached him, a little smile that seemed almost shy, if such a thing were possible after all thathad passed between them. He did not smile back, but he took her hand.
It didn’t take very long to be married, it seemed. Some of the words of the prayer book ceremony must hit home, and Leo was careful not to meet Isabella’s eyes at several points, or Hal’s, for that matter, given all his cousin knew. Leo didn’t feel in the least like laughing just now, but he was afraid Hal might. ‘Carnal lusts and appetites’, that was a tricky moment, as was ‘the procreation of children’, and for that matter ‘the gift of continence’. It was a little late for that.
Nobody declared an impediment. There was none. Isabella’s dead husband did not appear, blood-boltered, dreadful, like Banquo’s ghost, to halt the ceremony and claim her once again as irrevocably his. Leo realised now that he’d not thought about him much before, the late Lord Ashby, but then, they’d hardly ever discussed him – just once or twice, and then very briefly. He’d seen him, but never spoken to him, and had no idea what manner of man he’d been, except that he’d been greatly loved, and he supposed it didn’t matter now, except to Isabella. God knows it still mattered a great deal to her.
She was very pale – paler now than she’d been when she first entered the chapel, he thought. He began to worry that she might swoon, faint into his arms, which would hardly be a good omen at one’s wedding, but she did not, and in a little while they both pronounced the words that bound them together for life, or would have done if they had not already been tied by an older bond than that of the church. He kissed her at the end of it, and though her lips were cold, as was her white little face, it seemed to him that she clung to him for a second, and only moved away from him reluctantly to accept the congratulations of Hal, Lady Carston, Cassandra and all the rest. She was not enjoying this day, but enduring it, as was he.
She took his arm, and they walked out into the courtyard, surrounded by their guests and most of the Castle servants, and made their way across the cobbles back into the main house, where they would take wine in the great hall before the roaring fire, warming their chilled bones while the final preparations for their wedding breakfast were made.
Hal drew him aside. ‘Congratulations, Leo,’ he said. ‘I wish you very happy. Sure you will be in the end, old fellow.’
Leo wished he could find a way to believe that. But it would not do to say as much. This was a wedding, not a wake. ‘Thank you. And thank you for the licence and all the trouble you went to getting it. It was no small thing you did for me, and I am very sensible of it.’
‘Nonsense,’ his cousin replied, waving a hand airily. ‘Consider it my wedding present. Let’s have a toast to you, and to your bride!’
Leo drained his glass but refused to let his cousin refill it. This didn’t seem the day to be getting foxed, not now and not later, and if he needed courage to face the future, he wouldn’t find it in a bottle. Despite his abstinence, the meal and the toasts and speeches after it passed in a sort of blur of confused images, and he only came back to himself when he was climbing into the carriage after Isabella, and waving goodbye to his mama – who was weeping, though she’d assured him repeatedly that she wasn’t in the least sad, but on the contrary very happy – and to his cousins and the rest of the company. They leaned forward and waved, but soon they were bowling down the avenue away from the Castle, and they sat back and looked at each other. Suddenly it seemed very quiet, and Leo thought he should say something, though he had no idea what it should be.
He’d found during the course of the day that he felt better when he was able to touch her, though it really shouldn’t be the case and he could have no idea if she felt the same, and so, inneed of comfort, he reached for her hand again, and said, ‘Mrs Winterton…’
She made a curious little sound, between a choking laugh and a sob, and flung herself into his arms.
45
Isabella found the wedding ceremony difficult and was excessively glad when it was over. She wasn’t able, after all, to avoid remembering Ash, and the day she’d married him, just two and a half years ago, and now – how greatly things had changed in so short a time – this memory felt like a terrible betrayal of Leo. The least he deserved, she thought, was that the woman standing beside him and marrying him was actually thinking about him while she did it, rather than another man. And so she tried to do so, but it was so hard, uttering those same words again as she’d believed she never would. In the early part of the service, she became possessed by an irrational terror that when she came to the point where she had to respond she’d say Ash’s name instead of Leo’s. The idea was so coldly horrifying, like standing on a cliff and being drawn to the edge despite terror of the dizzying drop, that she began to feel faint, the minister’s words ringing oddly in her ears. But she bit hard on the inside of her lip till she tasted blood, and the small pain helped her conquer the fear, and she repeated the correct words without stumbling. She would never tell another soul of it, she swore to herself. Well, maybe her mother. Eventually. Never Leo. It waspossible, of course, that if all went awry later, as it so easily might, she’d never have the chance to tell him anything more.
Afterwards, she felt light-headed with relief, though she was careful not to show it, and it was perhaps this sudden giddiness that inspired her to confront Lady Irlam at last, while the company stood about and talked in casual groups in the hall. Cassandra had offered Isabella her congratulations, of course, along with everyone else, but they had had no private speech, and Lady Irlam must be conscious that her guest was avoiding her, and why. Enough of that; she approached her hostess with resolution, but before she could speak Cassandra took her hand, and pulled her swiftly aside into one of the recesses beside the great fireplace, where they could talk in some privacy.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once, her face troubled. ‘I played a dreadful trick on you, and you are angry with me, which I entirely deserve, but I am so sorry. It was a cruel and thoughtless thing to do.’
‘I was a little angry at first,’ Isabella admitted. ‘I was so very worried about Leo, and to think he had been hurt – it was an awful hour or so that you put me through. You must realise that.’
Cassandra grimaced in acknowledgement. ‘I know. I did tell Kitty to play down the seriousness of his supposed accident, but I should have realised that you would still suffer from the gravest apprehension. In fact, I knew you would, and was counting on it, to make sure you would go. You’d hardly have gone dashing off to see him if you’d thought he’d bruised his knee or stubbed a toe. I am truly sorry, you know. It was very wrong of me. I don’t ask you to forgive me, for I see no reason why you should.’
‘It worked, I suppose,’ said Isabella. ‘If I hadn’t been so shocked, I might never have realised that I cared for him. That was your aim, I take it? Or that was what Leo thought you must be about, at any rate. I had no idea at first what was going on, I was so confused, but he guessed straight away.’
‘Yes,’ said Lady Irlam. ‘And I’m glad if it worked, because I want you both to be happy. And I have to say you neither of you appear to be overwhelmed with joy today. Forgive me – I shouldn’t ask, it really is none of my business – but have you told him how you feel?’
Isabella swallowed. ‘Not yet,’ she confessed. And then with a stifled sob, she added, ‘I’m afraid he won’t believe me.’
Cassandra took her hand. ‘Oh my dear!’ she said. ‘I do know how hard it is, to be married and yet have misunderstandings persisting between you. Everyone thinks that you must be so happy, and yet you’re not, you’re miserable, and it all feels like such a failure. But you don’t need me to tell you that there is no other choice but to be honest, however hard it is.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, returning Cassandra’s pressure gratefully. ‘I can only hope… But let’s not speak of it any more, I beg, or I shall begin weeping.’
‘Very well,’ replied her hostess with swift comprehension. ‘Shall I apologise some more, to give you a chance to compose yourself?’ Isabella chuckled weakly and nodded.
‘I am truly sorry. Your life is your own affair, and none of my business, and nor is Leo’s. I’m like the heroine, if that’s what she is, of that novel Lady Carston loves so much and has just made me read – I think she must have been making some sort of a point about my behaviour, and she was right. Don’t encourage me by saying that it worked – I need to stop doing it regardless, or I shall quickly turn into the sort of horrid busybody everybody avoids. Is that better?’
‘Yes, thank you, I think I can face people now. And there’s no harm done, really,’ Isabella said with a tiny smile. ‘I do realise that you meant well.’
‘You are very good to say so! Thank you. And please do tell Leo I am sorry, won’t you, if there should be an opportunity? Ihave wronged both of you. And I wish you the very best of luck. I won’t say more.’
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say on the subject, and Isabella had no desire for any more extended confidences. She couldn’t tell if Lord Irlam had told his wife of her delicate condition, which made the marriage a matter of such urgency, and on this matter, she preferred to remain in ignorance. She couldn’t be angry with Leo, with her husband – for he was that now – for telling his cousin, or she’d be a rank hypocrite. She’d confided so much in the Duchess, in Georgie, after all, told her everything, and she hardly knew the woman. And she’d told Jane Carston too, without even the excuse of needing her help. She was tired of all these secrets, of wondering who knew what, and looked forward to a more straightforward life, if that were possible. Though for the rest of her existence, if the child survived and she did, she’d be telling all the world that her son or daughter was an eight-month babe, and hoping they believed her. Perhaps life would never be simple, and it was foolish to think that it would.
