Page 33 of Bride By Mistake
“I don’t. It’s not my home anymore. But I still want to go there.”
“It’s a bit late to be having second thoughts about Ramón, isn’t it?”
She pulled away from him, stopping dead. “Ramón! This is not about Ramón. IdespiseRamón. I never want to see him again.” She folded her arms. “But I must return to my former home.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”
She hesitated. “I need to check that everything is all right. That everyone is all right.”
“There’s no point in wondering about that now,” he said crisply. “Besides, if it’s not all right, if the place is in a mess, what can you do about it? It’s Ramón’s responsibility now.” They emerged into the main courtyard.
“But—”
He patted her hand and said in a firm voice, “No, there’s no point in going back. Trust me; it’ll just upset you to no purpose.”
“No, you don’t understand—” A nun hurried across to unlock the convent gate and, distracted, Isabella broke off. The nun took a lantern from a hook, lit it, and handed it to Luke. She waited, smiling, ready to lock the gate after his departure.
The opportunity for a private conversation was over. Luke could not regret it. He’d said all he intended to say on the matter; there was nothing further to discuss.
He bowed, touching his lips to the back of Isabella’s hand, and as mouth met skin, the desire that had been simmering in him all through dinner spiked.
She shivered, blinked at him wide-eyed, then snatched her hand back.
Luke tried not to smile. So she felt it, too.
“Tomorrow will be a long, hard ride. I’ll collect you at eight,” he told her. “Sleep well.” For, he thought, tomorrow night she’d get no sleep at all.
That hadn’t gone well, Bella thought as she slowly made her way back to the girls’ dormitory. He hadn’t listened to her at all.
Shehadto go back to Valle Verde. The guilt was eating away at her.
She would have tomakehim listen. It was a simple matter of respect.
She might not know how to make a man love her—from all she’d ever seen it depended on being beautiful and knowing how to flirt and flutter eyelashes. Well, she wasn’t ever going to be beautiful, and she felt stupid trying to flirt—like a dog trying to perform ballet—and anyway his lashes were longer than hers.
Respect, however, was just a matter of being strong-minded. Reverend Mother was not the least bit pretty, but everyone respected her—even Lord Ripton. And her predecessor, the old Reverend Mother, had been tiny and gentle with the sweetest little crumpled face, like a pale little raisin, yet even Ramón had obeyed her. Both women were, in very different ways, strong-minded. They simply assumed people would obey them, and everyone did.
Tomorrow she would look Lord Ripton in the eye, tell him firmly and clearly what she needed to do, andassumehis cooperation.
She hoped he wouldn’t demand an explanation—she would have to think of something convincing. She was too ashamed to give him the real one, and have him know what a selfish, small-minded, disloyal creature she truly was. And how she needed to make up for what she had done.
She hoped it would still be possible.
She didn’t want to start her new life with the weight of Valle Verde on her conscience.
She reached the girls’ dormitory, but Sister Josefina was just coming out. “Time for bed, Isabella,” she said.
“Yes, Sister. Good night.” Isabella headed for her own room. She’d only slept in the dormitory a few times when she’d first arrived at the convent, but her nightmares had disturbed the other girls, and eventually she’d been moved to a cell in the same wing, where she had her own little window looking out into the sky, barred, admittedly, but the fresh air and the sight of the stars had helped. She couldn’t bear to be closed in, especially in the dark.
In one way she would have liked to spend her last night in the dormitory, with the girls whispering secrets and sharing laughs, and she was sure Sister Josefina, who was kindhearted and sweet, would allow it.
But in another way it was a relief to be spared the questions. After meeting him, the other girls would be full of envy for her, and excited, and would ask all kinds of questions about the man who was her husband, and she didn’t think she could bear that. Especially knowing he didn’t want her at all.
Besides, she had to pack.
Packing took her less than ten minutes. She’d arrived at the convent with nothing, and she’d leave with not much more. She packed a change of clothes and a few small items of sentiment: a decorative comb and a small, silver brooch—gifts from friends over the years—and a small Bible with inlaid mother-of-pearl on the cover, given to her by her aunt. It had once belonged to Papa’s mother.
As for a trousseau, she owned nothing like that, nor any dowry chest full of embroidered linen like the other girls allhad. Not so much as a monogrammed or lace-edged handkerchief.
