CHAPTER 27
Isabella sat on the window seat in her room and watched as Arthur’s carriage pulled away.
It had all happened so fast. The arrangements had been made so quickly that she hadn’t been able to see it happening. He must have made his plans after he had kissed her in the attic—had it really been only yesterday? He must have come right downstairs and started planning to leave her.
How distressing that was. She had left the attic and spent the night thinking about all the good things their future together might hold, and he had been planning how he was going to say goodbye. And now, she was here on her own, and who knew when he would be back?
Even when he did come back, there was no chance the two of them would be close in the way she had hoped they would be. He’d made it abundantly clear that that simply wasn’t going to happen, and she didn’t dare hope for it. She had gotten herhopes up too many times now. She couldn’t afford to allow herself to get hurt again.
She thought back to what had happened just before he had left. She hadn’t intended to say goodbye to him at all. She had wanted to make him suffer for leaving her the way he was. Of course, it had occurred to her, sitting alone in her room, that he wasn’t going to suffer at all—that he would be relieved by her lack of a farewell. He didn’t want her around, so why would he want some prolonged goodbye?
But then the knock had come on her bedroom door.
She had opened the door to find him standing there. His face had been every bit as impossible to read as it had at breakfast—cold and expressionless. “You ran from the table before I could bid you farewell,” he said.
“I didn’t think you would have any interest in that,” she replied, pleased that her rebuke sounded rather sharp. “You’ve been clear that you’re not interested in me. I supposed that you would want to be on your way without worrying about me at all. After all, when have you worried about me in the past?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I know you’re only saying these things to hurt me,” he said, “and you might as well know that it’s having the desired effect.”
“You can’t fool me,” she fumed. “I know that there isn’t anything I could do to hurt you.”
His jaw clenched. He turned away for a moment, and Isabella thought he might be about to go. And she was glad of it—she didn’t like the way they were speaking to one another, and she would be glad when it was over—but she was also sorry that things between them were ending on such a sour note. After all, it could be months before they saw one another again, and this conversation would be the last thing she had to think about. In a way, she wished that he had left yesterday, right after their kiss, without any explanation and without letting her know what he was doing. She thought it might have been easier. At least then she could have lied to herself, allowed herself to go on believing there was a chance he might care.
Now, she knew that he didn’t. He never had.
But when he turned back to her, she was surprised all over again. There was a softness in his eyes. It was surprise, more than anything, that prevented her from pulling away when he reached out and took her hand. She was still angry with him, but she felt something more as well.
He kissed the back of her hand. It was soft and gentle and over almost as soon as it began, but he lingered for a moment, his eyes on her face, and Isabella felt the breath leave her lungs.
“I’m doing this for your own good, you know,” he said.
“I don’t even know what that means,” she retorted. “I think it’s just something you’re telling yourself because you wish it was the truth. Because you wish there was something noble aboutwhat you’re doing here. But there isn’t. You’re nothing but a coward. If you had any nobility to you, you would stay.”
Then he let her go. “Farewell,” he said quietly.
He was out the door again in a heartbeat, and it took several minutes for Isabella to recover her anger—to remember, indeed, that she had been angry at all. He could turn her mind from any thoughts she might be having so easily with the briefest touch. He could make her forget that she had been upset with him. Maybe itwasfor the best that he was going away. It was clear that she would never be able to keep her heart in line while he was in the house. So it was probably for the best that he wasn’t going to be here.
That was what she had told herself then. Now that he had been gone for a bit longer—it had been half an hour since he had left her room—she was less sure she had been right. Surely, she would have learned eventually to be in his presence without her knees growing weak? Surely, he would eventually have learned to be around her without kissing her all the time?
Maybe.
Maybe that was why he was leaving. Maybe he hated the fact that he kept giving in to that particular weakness. Maybe he was going away because the temptation of living in a house with a lady he didn’t want to touch was simply too great for him.
Very well, then, let him go! I don’t need him here anyway.
How she wished she could convince herself that it was true.
Caroline bustled about the room, tidying things up. “I’m awfully sorry if I’m in your way, Your Grace,” she apologized. “Would you like me to go away and come back later for this?”
“That’s not necessary,” Isabella said. “You don’t need to do anything for me today, Caroline. I think I’d like to spend the day alone in my room.”
Caroline hesitated. “May I speak, Your Grace?”
“Of course, you may,” Isabella said. “I’ve worked as a maid myself, Caroline. I would never dream of treating my servants as if they were less than myself. It’s only by a fluke of my parentage that I’m a duchess instead of a servant. I could just as easily have found myself in your shoes. So, by all means, say whatever you would like to me.”
Caroline nodded. “I simply wanted to say that it might not be the best thing for you to seclude yourself as you are,” she observed. “With the Duke away, I know that you must feel very lonely. Perhaps it would be better for you to arrange to have some company.”
Isabella buried her face in her hands. “I couldn’t bear it,” she admitted. “I couldn’t bear to have anyone see what’s become of me. To know that my husband isn’t even here—that he didn’t even want to stay. It’s humiliating.”
