“His name is Adam,” she began.
“That much I know,” Isabella interrupted, carefully lifting Esme’s wedding gown so she might sit down on the bed. “Come.” She patted the coverlet beside her.
Esme took her seat and, after a moment’s thought, took hold of her sister’s slender hands. “He makes me very happy,” she said sincerely. “I love him more than I ever thought possible.”
“I can see in your eyes that you speak the truth.”
“I do.” Esme nodded vigorously.
“But what kind of a man is he?” Isabella crossed her long legs at the ankle. “How did you come to meet?”
Esme divined that her titled sister was carefully avoiding asking anything about Adam’s wealth or status.
“He is a warrior,” she answered, bluntly.
“A knight?” Isabella sounded hopeful.
“Nay.” Esme recalled that night at Ember Hall when she had asked the very same question. “He served a Scottish laird. Callum’s father.” She glanced at Isabella to ensure she was following. “In fact, Adam and Callum grew up together.”
Isabella nodded, but Esme could tell this meant little to her. She had only met Frida’s husband on one occasion and all the family had born witness to her surprise at Frida’s choice.
Not that Isabella had voiced her disapproval out loud; she was far too well-mannered for that. But from her own choice of husband, Isabella had made it clear to the world that title and status meant all to her. She was the Countess of Felsham; mistress of a grand castle with great wealth at her disposal.
But looking at her now, Esme was far from sure that this choice had made her sister happy. And that was hardly surprising.
Happiness, Esme had learned, was found in smaller pleasures than castles and coin chests.
“Adam taught me how to wield a sword, up at Ember Hall,” Esme said, smiling at the memory. “Do you recall how we once petitioned father to allow us to learn?”
“I do.” Isabella’s full lips curved into a smile that transformed her, fleetingly, into the beautiful woman once heralded the ‘Rose of England’. “Tristan and Jonah had lessons. But we were never allowed.” Isabella twisted a heavy ring around her finger. “I was exceedingly envious.”
Esme nudged her with her shoulder. “I could teach you, if you like.”
Isabella’s laugh was like a peal of bells, but it ended abruptly. “I would like that very much. Alas, I must return to Felsham on the morrow.”
“As soon as that?” Dismay filled Esme’s voice. “I thought we might spend some time together.”
Isabella arched her eyebrows. “I do not think your new husband would like that. Forsooth, he will want you all to himself, once you are married.”
“He has already had me, all to himself,” Esme replied without thinking. She clasped a hand to her mouth as her cheeks pinked all over again and Isabella’s blue eyes opened wide with shock.
“Esme.” Isabella seemed to fumble for words. “I hardly know what to say.”
“You need not say aught.” Esme collapsed backwards onto the high mattress and swung her legs, suddenly feeling carefree. “In a matter of hours, we will be man and wife, and all will be respectable between us.” She glanced sideways at her sister and could not help giggling at her frozen expression. “Bella, I never knew you would be so prim and proper.”
Isabella swallowed and Esme noted with surprise that her sister was beginning to blush. “’Tis not that.”
“What then?” She sat up leaned closer in a show of sisterly closeness.
“’Tis just that I never dreamed of doing such a thing for pleasure.” Isabella shrugged her slender shoulders, fixing her gaze on the patterned rug on the floor. “Instead of duty.”
“Duty?” Esme wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Or to conceive a child.” Isabella’s voice wobbled, making Esme concerned for her all over again.
“Are those the only reasons why you and—” she paused. She had never been entirely comfortable referring to Isabella’shusband by his given name. “Charles,” she managed, on an outward breath, “lay together?”
Isabella sat so still that Esme feared she had offended her. But at last, she gave a small nod.
