Page 33 of Her Beast of a Duke
“Heavens, I am tired of the city,” Mary sighed as they settled into the library.
Newbrook House, the townhouse where Mary lived, was nestled in the heart of London’s most prestigious neighborhoods. Isabella was eager to visit her friend after her time shut away in Rochdale Castle, so she swiftly traveled to see her friend again.
They never really sat in the drawing room or parlor, for those were where her father and mother respectively frequented, and Mary always preferred having her own room when she entertained.
“You adore the city, Mary,” Isabella snorted. “Do not fool yourself. You love the parties too much to part from the city for too long.”
“That is indeed true, but recently I have found myself thinking of you all cozy up there at Rochdale Castle, out in the countryside,and I…” She let out a soft laugh. “Well, I am jealous. I can understand why my mama is pushing so hard for me to find my match before the Season ends.”
“As did mine,” Isabella sighed.
“And itworked.”
“My marriage was not her orchestration,” Isabella reminded her friend. “And if I am truly, deeply honest, perhaps her strategy may have been better, for my own agreement to marry His Grace has not entirely turned out to be what I hoped for myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I—” Isabella paused, wondering how to word it. “I knew what I was entering into when I said yes to his proposal. But… I did not know enough about the man I said yes to before agreeing.”
“And what sort of man is he?”
Isabella paused to think. “A brute,” she said simply, laughing helplessly. “He…”
Heavens, I cannot even describe him properly.
“I do not wish to be insensitive, but there is a reason why he is called theBeast of Rochdale,” Mary said delicately, wincing.
Isabella was already shaking her head. “I do not like that label. I was subjected to enough labels to grow a particular dislike of those sorts of things. He is not a beast, but he is…”
Again, she paused, thinking of how he had shouted at Thomas. The poor boy had not emerged into the hallways ever since that afternoon several days before.
“Mary, you are jealous of my presence at Rochdale Castle, but it has not been a fairytale so far. I think I understood Hermia a lot better when she visited us during her early weeks of marriage. She protected us from a marriage that was not what others thought.”
“Well, you do not have to protect me,” Mary told her. “Nor him. I am here to listen to you, Isabella. You know that. Nothing you say leaves this particular room.”
She smiled indulgently and sipped at the wine she had served. In truth, it was quite early for wine, but Isabella thought it was quite necessary.
She took a sip of her own.
“I know,” she finally said. “But I do not want you to have a poor opinion of my husband.”
“I think,” Mary said slowly, carefully, “that your referring to him as your husband speaks volumes more than you realize. Thereis possession in the way you say it, and, dare I say, a slight fondness.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Isabella waved her glass in dismissal. “I have no fondness for him.”
“Have you ever dined with him?”
“No.” She exhaled.
“This upsets you,” Mary observed, smirking.
“Stop being so perceptive,” Isabella laughed. “Fine, it is true that I wish we could dine just once together, but he is very adamant against it.”
“So wherehaveyou dined?”
“In my chambers,” Isabella muttered. “As does he.”
“Heavens.”
