And with that, the earl pivoted and returned to his guests.
In the end, Allie was the only person in attendance to share kind words. As Kendall watched Isolde tearfully hug her parents goodbye, Allie wrapped her own arms around him.
“I leave tomorrow for Scotland and Ethan. Write to me, Tristan.” She reached up to press a kiss on his cheek. “And in the meantime, hope for good things. Apologize when you are wrong. Let the pain forgepathways of love in your heart. Believe you can be a better man—one that the boy Tristan would have liked to become.”
But given the hollow ache in his chest, Kendall wondered if such optimistic change was possible.
16
Lord and Lady Hadley saw two daughters married this morning. Lady Catriona Langston wed Lord Barnaby, eldest son of the Earl of Alderton. Meanwhile, Lady Isolde Langston married the Duke of Kendall. We wish both couples every happiness.
—article inThe London Tattler
The agonizing silence inside the duke’s opulent town coach clawed at Isolde’s already frayed nerves.
Opposite her, Kendall appeared the very definition of ducal power and affluence—fitting, she supposed, for their nuptials. But his ruthlessly pomaded hair, starched neckcloth, and pressed frock coat felt more like armor than clothing. As if he needed to protect the softness his sister swore rested inside him.
Or perhaps that was merely Isolde’s own fanciful thinking.
The weight of his gold band sat cold and unforgiving on her left hand.
They both watched the world roll past the carriage window . . . ladies strolling along the pavement, hawkers calling their wares, humanity going about a sunny London afternoon. People whose lives had not just been upended.
Isolde took in a steadying breath.
Kendall was her husband.
Husband!
Isolde knew he possessed an inner warmth. She had caught glimpses of it beyond Allie's assurances. Shehad.
She clung to the hope of that warmth with both hands.
“It was a lovely ceremony and breakfast.” She attempted to begin a conversation. Anything to thaw the taut silence between them.
“Yes,” he replied softly, his gaze not meeting hers. But his hand opened and closed to a fist on his thigh. The only hint that agitation roiled beneath his calm exterior.
Armor, indeed.
Oddly, Isolde found it a wee bit heartening. They were both struggling to adjust to their new reality.
“I understand we are tae board your steamship?”
“Yes.”
He said nothing more.
Surely, he would need to respond in more than monosyllables at some point, right? Granted, it would help if she asked a question that could not be answered with a simpleyesorno.
“What will our itinerary be once aboard, Your Grace?” she asked.
He continued to gaze out the window.
“Kendall,” he finally said. “Not,Your Grace.”
“Pardon?”
“As my wife, you will refer to me as Kendall.”
