Page 92 of Her Beast of a Duke
“Isabella—”
“Enjoy your dinner,” she muttered, and ran down the hallway, if only to collapse on the stairs to cry away from view. She pressed her letters to her chest and tried to keep it all in again, but she could not. By the time she made it back to her chamber, Morris was scratching at her door to be let in.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured, opening the door to guide him in. He immediately leaped up onto her bed and whined in the direction of the connecting door. Isabella sat next to him, stroking down Morris’s neck. “This must be confusing again for you. Here, cuddle it out with me.”
Morris curled into her side, and she into his. Even when her dinner arrived, Isabella did not touch it. When night fell, Oscar retreated to his room with heavy footsteps again. Morris perked his head up and jumped off Isabella’s bed to scratch at the door. Isabella opened the door to let him through, but moments later, she heard the scratching again.
The connecting door opened slightly, Morris came through, but Oscar did not. Isabella forced herself not to look for him right before the door shut again. Morris looked behind him as if wondering why his master and mistress were once again spending time alone.
He spent the whole night whining quietly against her body, and Isabella cried so hard she felt hollow in the morning.
Hermia sent her response not by letter but in the form of a carriage the following late morning. A footman came to collect Isabella while a maid packed her belongings. Oscar wrenched open the door to his study, his eyes landing on her.
He stared past Isabella at a maid who carried a trunk toward the main entrance, and betrayal flashed through his gaze.
Isabella said nothing. She only turned her back on him and walked out of the castle. It wounded her soul to think that Oscar was so insistent on keeping his shadows that he was willing to let her leave. He did not even call her name once, and by the time she got into the carriage, she had forced herself not to think about parting from her husband physically. He had wanted it, and she needed to as well. Her heartbreak was too strong to endure while staying there.
The journey from Rochdale to Branmere felt quite unbearable, and she fought not to cry the entire time. Isabella didn’t want to turn up on her sister’s doorstep in tears, but as soon as she exited the carriage at Branmere Hall and saw Hermia standing there with Phoebe at her side, curiously watching, Isabella could no longer hold her tears back.
Hermia’s arms went around her immediately, gently pulling her inside and closing the door behind her.
“Phoebe, darling, you should go and ask your father to play some chess,” Hermia suggested softly. “I know he has been teaching you well lately.”
“Is Aunt Isabella all right?” Phoebe asked instead, tugging on Isabella’s dress.
Isabella lifted her head from her sister’s shoulder and nodded, mustering a smile. “I am fine enough, Phoebe. Now, do as Hermia says so you may show me the product of these lessons later, and I can be in awe of you.”
At that, the young girl was appeased and happily skipped off. Isabella sniffed and pulled away from Hermia.
“She is ever so charming,” Isabella said yearningly, watching the tumble of dark curls that swept over Phoebe’s back as she skipped away and then disappeared around a corner, already calling for her father.
“And very wise,” Hermia added. “She knows when things are not quite right despite our trying to shield her from some things.”
“Children are more aware than we realize.”
“Indeed,” Hermia sighed. “But here, come with me.” Slipping her hand into Isabella’s, Hermia led her to the parlor, where she made herself busy in the cabinet to one side. She came back with a bottle of wine and a glass. She set the items down on the table before Isabella, before the two of them settled on the settee. Isabella snagged a cushion and hugged it to her chest.
“I think you need this.” Hermia nodded to the wine, leaning forward to pour a glass for her sister.
Isabella sighed, nodding. “How do you know?”
“Because you would not write to me asking to visit otherwise,” Hermia said, smiling emphatically. “And I know what heartbreak looks like, especially in you. I have been there, remember?”
“I remember,” Isabella said quietly.
“And also, Sibyl wrote to me,” Hermia confessed. “She told me about our infernal mother’s pushing regarding her suitors and how you spoke up for her. She also mentioned the… spectacle with the Duke of Rochdale.”
At the mention of her husband’s title, Isabella winced, nodding. “It was quite bad. Very bad, really. I should not try to smooth it over. It was… shocking. I know the shadows he tries to conceal, but seeing them properly stunned me. Not because I was afraid, or I was worried he would hurt me or anybody else, but because of howlosthe got. Hermia, I could not even get him to listen to me. I could not even prompt him with a touch. He was just… vacant. That was the scary part—that my husband had fallen into such a deep darkness that I could not bring him back despite my efforts.”
“Oh, Isabella,” Hermia sighed, her brows pinching together. “If he is anything like Charles, I imagine he was not entirely open to speaking about it.”
Isabella laughed bitterly into her wineglass, sipping generously. “He was not, indeed. I—I shouted at him, and he just kept insisting I leave his chamber, that I am scared of him, that I should not be infected by all that he internally battles. But… but I do not know how to get through to him. He is stubborn! It is hurtful and infuriating, but he just kept pushing me away, and I… Heavens, Hermia, I cannot bear how it feels.”
“It feels like you are dying.” Hermia’s voice was soft, careful, and Isabella nodded. She looked away when she felt the prick of tears beginning to form. “It feels like your heart is unstitched from your chest, and you do not know how to put it back.”
Fighting back another wave of emotional tears, Isabella pressed her lips together and nodded. A moment later, she was tugged into her sister’s arms again and held so tightly it almost made her feel put together. However, all she wanted was to be held by her husband; to let him know the pain he had caused; and to be the one towantto put her back together.
She hugged her sister back tightly, sighing onto her shoulder. “I just do not know what to do. I cannot be there in that house with him and his silence, but to be parted from him feels unbearable.”
