There was a long pause. Then he spoke. “Who is it?”
He sounded gruff and tired, and she wondered whether she’d made the right choice. “It’s me,” she said. “Isabella.”
“I told you not to interrupt me when I was working.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She had always been bold, never afraid to stand up to her father or to Rosalind. The two of them disliked her, but they were known quantities. She understood how far she could push them safely. But with Arthur, it was different. She could tell he was displeased with her—was he angry? And if so, how angry was he, and how would his anger manifest? Not knowing the answers to those questions rattled her, and suddenly, she wished she was back in her bed. But it was too late. She had come this far, and the only choice she had was to go on.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I felt that I needed to talk to you…May I come in? Please?”
“I suppose you might as well,” he said, sounding as if she had asked for something entirely unreasonable. His voice was stiff and tight, and Isabella couldn’t help feeling as though she had wronged him in some serious way.
She opened the door, half afraid she would find him doing something illegal or disturbing, but he was sitting at his desk with a bunch of papers in front of him. He looked up at her as she came in. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Well…” She hesitated, not knowing quite how to say it. “I was in my room waiting for you, and…you never came.”
“You were waiting for me?”
“Yes. I thought you might have lost track of the hour or something.”
“Why were you waiting for me?” he asked.
She frowned. Could he mean that? Did he not understand why she’d expected to see him tonight?
Or maybe this was a power move of some sort. Maybe he wanted to hear her say it. That thought made her feel a little angry. This situation was uncomfortable enough—he didn’t need to play mind games with her.
Still, she was determined to see this through. “It’s our wedding night,” she explained. “I assumed you would come for me when…when you were ready…”
She flushed, realizing she could go no further. She had said all she could on the subject.
“Ah,” Arthur replied.
“I didn’t think you would be working on our wedding night,” she said. “I know I’m not to come bother you while you’re working, but I didn’t think…I assumed tonight would be different.”
“I should have explained,” he apologized. “The fault is mine. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’m not angry with you.”
“That’s good,” she said, but she still wasn’t sure how to feel. Why would he be angry with her? Was it better hearing that he wasn’t—was that a relief to her? She hadn’t been worried abouthis anger. She was angry withhim. Why had he kept her waiting alone in her room the way he had?
And what did he mean when he said that he should have explained? What could there be to explain now? He had said that there were three rules—surely, she knew everything she needed to know about life with him now. Surely, there couldn’t be more? He had told her that if she followed his three rules, everything else would be as she wished it. Uncomplicated. That was what she’d been promised. She couldn’t help feeling now as if he was changing the arrangement that they’d made.
She looked at him, waiting for some sort of answer.
“Come in and sit down,” he suggested.
She came into the room, but she didn’t sit. This didn’t feel like a conversation she wanted to be seated for. She felt awkward and embarrassed about her own presence here, and in spite of what he had told her, she couldn’t help feeling as if she had done something to be ashamed of. That wasn’t a feeling Isabella was used to. When there had been conflict at her father’s house, she could usually remain comfortably assured that he was the one who was in the wrong.
She didn’t feel that way now.
Arthur seemed to realize that she wasn’t going to sit. He folded his hands on top of his desk. “Ours isn’t going to be the kind of marriage you’re imagining,” he told her.
“What do you mean?” She truly didn’t know.
“You’re talking about a wedding night, and I know what you’re picturing, of course—but that’s not the way our lives are going to be,” he explained. “We’ll live together, and we’ll present ourselves as husband and wife when we go out in public, but we won’t be close to one another in that way. We won’t be intimate behind closed doors.”
“I see.” She felt as if a rug had been pulled out from beneath her, sending her tumbling backward, but she was determined not to let him see that she was so caught off guard. “You’re right…I hadn’t realized that was what you wanted.”
“You thought I was looking for a more traditional sort of marriage.”
“Naturally, since you never told me otherwise,” she said coolly. “If you had mentioned anything about this?—”
