“Yes,” Isabella said. “I want to go. If there are no rules against it, of course.”
Well, that had been pointed. He glanced at Aunt Olivia, but she didn’t seem to realize that Isabella’s words had been such a stab at him.
He ought to have been offended, of course—but he found that he didn’t mind. In fact, as usual, he found himself enjoying her barbs.
“Very well, then,” he agreed. “We’ll all go to Manford together.”
CHAPTER 15
“Is my aunt established in her room?” Arthur asked Bartleby. “Does she have everything she needs?”
“Yes,” the butler assured him, “and one of the maids has been assigned to tend to her for the duration of her stay. Of course, she has her own lady’s maid with her, but it was decided that she would benefit from having someone familiar with the ways of our household as well. Was that the right decision?”
“Oh, yes,” Arthur replied. “That was a perfect thing to have done, Bartleby; I quite appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Bartleby said. “And do let me know if there’s anything else you think we should be doing in order to best tend to your aunt’s needs, Your Grace.”
“You may be certain that I will.” Arthur hesitated. “What of the Duchess?”
“What about her?”
“How is she this evening?” He hadn’t seen Isabella since their tea in the sitting room—he had missed the evening meal due to the fact that he had been working. “I wonder if it’s causing her undue strain to have someone she doesn’t know very well in the house.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind, Your Grace,” Bartleby said. “I don’t know whether you’re aware that I speak with her lady’s maid, Caroline, each day.”
“I assumed Mrs. Flowers would have taken primary responsibility for Caroline.”
“Yes, and so she does, but I do like to keep an eye on all the members of the household, just to make sure nothing is amiss,” Bartleby said.
“I know you do,” Arthur agreed. “I’ve always appreciated that about you, Bartleby—all the hard work you do to keep this place in good order. Believe me when I tell you that it doesn’t go unnoticed. So, you spoke with Caroline?”
“I did, and the conversation was very normal. There was no sign from her that anything unusual was going on. I believe that if the Duchess were having a difficult time in some way, Caroline would alert the rest of the staff. My belief is that the Duchess has been more than happy to meet your aunt, and that everyone is getting along very well.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank you, Bartleby,” he said. “Your help in these matters is appreciated, as always.”
Bartleby nodded. “Have a good evening, Your Grace.”
Arthur watched the door of his study for a long time after Bartleby had left, wondering whether he should take his butler’s words at face value. It was tempting to allow himself to believe that all was well with Isabella—that she was taking the fact of having a houseguest in stride.
What he knew for sure, though, was that she had looked flustered after Aunt Olivia had introduced herself. Something had shaken her today. Even if she had been pleased to meet his aunt, there was something that wasn’t quite sitting right with her. And in that moment, Arthur knew that he couldn’t go to bed without speaking to her one last time. He had to make sure that she was doing all right.
How odd to find himself this consumed with the welfare of another person. Of course, he had never wished her ill in any way—he would have said that he had always wanted the best for her—but it wasn’t something he had done a lot of thinking about in the past. Now, though, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of her happiness that he couldn’t bring himself to go to bed without checking on her first. It certainly was a new feeling.
He hesitated outside her door. He had never visited her here before, and it felt like a strangely intimate gesture. Perhaps he should have her lady’s maid summoned so that Caroline could let Isabella know he wished to see her?
But that was such an involved process to go through. Surely it couldn’t be necessary to do all that just to pay a visit to his wife—and he didn’t want to establish it as a precedent. He should be able to see her. He was worrying about it because this was the first time he had done it, that was all.
He knocked at the door, and she said, “Come in.”
He opened the door.
She was sitting on the window seat. He saw at once that she was dressed in nothing but her nightgown, and he was filled with regret—he shouldn’t have invaded her privacy like this. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning away quickly. “I’ll go.”
“No,” she replied. She fumbled for a blanket and pulled it over her legs. “You don’t have to leave. You came here for a reason.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude upon your privacy.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
