But there could be all kinds of reasons. Maybe she wasn’t a lady, and it would have caused a scandal. Perhaps she was already married. Of course, it was also possible that there was no other lady and that Isabella had invented this problem for herself—she didn’t know. The only thing she knew for certain was that her husband was keeping all kinds of secrets from her.
He still hadn’t told herwhyhe didn’t want a normal marriage. It was a very strange thing for a gentleman to prefer. But, of course, if he was involved with someone else, that would answer that question easily. He would have no need of her except for what she could offer in terms of adding respectability to hisappearance. If he had a mistress, the relationship he had with her was exactly the sort of thing he would need.
“What’s in the attic?” she asked Mrs. Flowers.
The housekeeper turned quickly to face her. “In the attic?”
“I haven’t been up there,” Isabella said innocently. “I wondered what I might find if I went.”
“Hasn’t the Duke told you that you’re not to go up there?”
“Yes, but he isn’t here right now. He’d have no way of knowing if I went up.” Seeing the look on the housekeeper’s face, she said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Flowers. I’m not going to do it. I’m not asking you to lie for me. I just wondered if perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity about it.”
“Well, I can’t,” Mrs. Flowers replied. “I couldn’t if I wanted to, I’m afraid. You’re not the only one under strict orders to stay out of the attic. None of the staff are allowed to go up there either. He keeps that part of the house strictly private.”
“How odd,” Isabella murmured. How did that tie in with her theory that he was in love with someone else? He couldn’t be having clandestine meetings with another lady in the attic. That was the sort of thing that would have been noticed by someone. Whatever was going on in the attic, she knew it had nothing to do with him sneaking a lady up there.
But then what? What could be so strange and secret that he needed to make sure no one knew about it—not even his household staff? Was it possible that he was committing some sort of crime up there? She hated to think that it could be true, but after all, she hardly knew him. Anything at all was possible.
“Can you tell me anything at all about the attic?” she asked Mrs. Flowers.
The housekeeper sighed. “This isn’t a conversation we ought to be having,” she said.
“I understand that you’ve been forbidden to speak of it,” Isabella said. “And I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to make you too uncomfortable—truly. But you must understand, coming from my father’s house to this strange place, knowing so little of what’s going on…it’s rather alarming. And I can’t speak to my husband about it. He’s forbidden me even to ask questions. If there’s even the slightest thing that you might be comfortable sharing with me, it could serve to make my position more comfortable, and I would be ever so grateful to you.”
Mrs. Flowers nodded. “I was a young person once,” she said. “I know what you’re going through—the fear of leaving your home and having to adjust to an entirely new place. I remember what that felt like. For me, it was when I came to work here, for the late Duke and Duchess. That was a frightful time.”
“Was the attic off-limits then?”
“No. That rule was set in place by your husband,” Mrs. Flowers said. “I wish there was more I could tell you—but the only thing I can say with certainty is that every time he goes into the attic, he returns in the grip of an anger that makes him nearly impossible to talk to. I don’t know what he does up there, but I do know that it affects his mood greatly. If I were you, Your Grace, I would leave the subject well alone. I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by prying into it. The Duke is not going to permit you to learn anything, and you’ll probably be much happier if you simply leave things as they are.”
CHAPTER 12
One day, at a loss for what to do, Isabella decided that she would spend her day tidying the place up a little.
“You don’t need to do that,” Caroline said, frowning at Isabella as she began in her own bedchamber. “It isn’t your duty, Your Grace. If you tell me what needs to be tidied, I’ll be only too happy to take care of it for you.”
“Oh, let me,” Isabella argued. “I haven’t anything to do, alone in this big house all day.” She had tried a few pursuits—taking to the library to read books or the conservatory to play the piano—but both activities had ended up making her feel more lonely than ever. They seemed only to reinforce the fact that she had no one to talk to about the things she read and no one who could listen to her music. She couldn’t help thinking that if she had grown old in her father’s house as a spinster, the way she had meant to, at least she would have had him to talk to.
It was a sorry state of affairs indeed if she found herself missing her father. She couldn’t believe things had come to this.
Caroline nodded her agreement that Isabella ought to do what made her happy and withdrew, but the work of cleaning her own room didn’t take very long, probably because Isabella hadn’t been living here very long. She hadn’t had occasion to touch most of her things yet.
She decided to branch out to the rest of the house and look for something else to clean, but she soon saw that that mission would be more difficult than she had anticipated. Naturally, she couldn’t be of much use in the kitchen or the dining room, and the library and the conservatory were always kept immaculate. There were spare bedrooms that were covered in dust from disuse, but it was impossible to imagine herself asking for a duster. She felt sure that the staff would have stopped her there, refusing to let her go that far. What could she do?
The idea hit her as she was wandering down an upstairs hallway—Arthur’s study. She had been inside only a few times, but she had seen how disorderly it was, and she knew that she could assist with that. It would be easy. And it would be a lovely surprise for him to come home and see his things put into better order. In fact, maybe it would open the door to an easier relationship between the two of them. Maybe he would be so grateful for her help that he would…what? He wouldn’t take her to his bed for that, and she wouldn’t want him to, but maybe…maybe they would be able to find a way to be friends. Maybe they would at least learn how to live together in peace. It would be a start.
She knew how to clean, of course. Maybe other ladies wouldn’t have known where to begin, but Isabella had often done this work for her father or Rosalind when she had lived with them, and she quickly lost herself in the familiar tasks. She tucked papers into folders and piled them neatly in the corner of the desk. She put Arthurs pens away in his drawer. She took the jacket he’d left in his chair and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. She opened the curtains that she had only ever seen pulled shut—she even opened the window to allow a bit of air into the room. This place would be much nicer when she was finished with it. She was confident of that much. Arthur wouldn’t be able to fail to notice the work she had put in, and she was sure that he would be grateful.
The day slipped by quickly. She was exchanging the nearly-burnt-out candles for fresh tapers when the door burst open behind her, startling so badly that she dropped one, and it cracked in half on the floor.
It was Arthur, of course, and he was raging. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Isabella stood her ground, not about to let him make her feel small. “I’m cleaning this room,” she said. “And if you’d take a minute to look at it before you started scolding me, you’d see that I’ve done a wonderful job. It’s much tidier than it was.”
“Tidier! Is this some sort of joke?” he asked. “I didn’t bring you here to be a chamber maid. Why are you tidying anything?”
Isabella folded her arms across her chest. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked him.
