Because for him . . . he had never known anything else.
Isolde was slowlygoing mad.
Initially, the silence between herself and Kendall had felt necessary. They had both experienced a tremendous shock. Taking time alone to adjust to the change in their fortune seemed a wise course of action.
But after a week of tense nothingness, she had nearly reached the end of her tether.
Isolde knew Kendall cared for his sister, but perhaps that love was all his frozen heart could summon.
His chilly demeanor and cool replies to her basic questions—Will we stop in Plymouth?Yes.Can we explore the harbor in Aberystwyth?No.—made Isolde’s place in his affections clear.
As did the conversation she overheard between the duke and Captain Woodbury about her father and the vote in Commons.
Kendall had prevailed in the end.
The evidence from Jarvis’s trial convinced the House of Commons to vote to impeach her father. Kendall’s laugh of triumph upon reporting the news had spoken volumes.
In Liverpool, Isolde sent a telegram to her father in London, unable to stem her anxiety.
Hadley’s reply had done little to assuage her concerns:All will be well with me. Worry not.
Worry not?!
Were all the men in her life intent on vexing her?
She had no expectationthat her marriage would magically evolve into a loving union.
And yet . . . Isolde could feel Kendall’s eyes upon her at the oddest times—as she paced the deck or sat reading near the stern. But then that had always been his way. Stare and judge but never actually speak.
It was maddening.
His words from the carriage continued to dance a merry jig through her brain.
I want your willing participation . . . your enthusiasm.
Such treacherous syllables, those words—each one a whirlwind spinning havoc in her mind.
Because . . . those syllables led to questions.
How willing a participant did he wish her to be, not just in their marriage bed, but in their life?
What precisely did he mean byenthusiasm? Synonyms comprised a throng in her brain—passion, eagerness, ardor. At night, entwined with him. By day, walking at his side.
How delusional was he to demand such energy of feeling without conceding an ounce of his own ducal pride?
Willing participation required mutual respect, tender feeling, and vulnerability. Things she began to doubt Kendall capable of in any real way. Moreover, if he wished her to eagerly welcome him into her bed, he would need to learn to apologize.
And grovel.
Smiles, laughter, compliments, and congenial conversation would also assist.
All the things Kendall categorically didnotdo.
And yet, despite his chilly demeanor, Isolde found herself unable to stop studying him. As if like her mother with fossils, Isolde, too, craved finding a gleam of opalescence in her new husband—some hint of treasure buried within.
Her efforts provided a few glimmering insights.
For example, Kendall walked the deck of his ship with ease, his weight carefully balanced, his shoulders loose-limbed and strong. An athlete’s grace, she realized. Her husband was a man comfortable in his own skin.
