But she was expected in Greenock within the sennight. When she did not arrive, surely Gaunt would act?
He would act, she reasoned, if only to appease her father. Search parties would be dispatched, and Ember Hall would be among their first ports of call.
Isabella flexed her feet beneath the blanket. All she had to do was stay alive until then.
Her stomach rumbled loudly, disturbing the peace of the candlelit chamber. Now that some of her fears had been put aside, hunger had taken hold.
She really should have eaten something downstairs. The broth the highlander prepared had smelled good. Come the morn, Isabella decided, she would accept whatever food he offered.
Nay, she would not accept it. She woulddemandit.
The only way through this was to remind everyone—including herself—that she was a woman of import.
*
The candles hadburned low by the time Isabella awoke from uncomfortable slumber, half-sitting and half-lying atop the high bed. Shafts of pale light filtered between the gaps in the shutters, casting horizontal patterns onto the plastered wall behind her.
She pushed herself upright, groaning a little and rubbing at her sore neck. She was chilled and stiff. The chamber was no longer in the shadows, but it was still as cold as the grave.
She winced again at the comparison, swinging her legs down toward the floor and flexing her ankles experimentally.
Perchance it had not been a good idea to sleep in her leather boots. Her toes were cramped and numb. But she had not dared to remove the boots last night. Both because of the cold and a clearly-defined notion that she should remain on her guard at all times.
She stared with dismay at her crumpled riding habit. When she had donned it yesterday, she had imagined Jonah’s embrace and the smiling regard of the housemaids.
“She looked beautiful,”she had thought they might report, to anyone who cared to listen.
What a mistake. She would have been far wiser to dress for warmth.
Isabella considered what clothing her maid might have packed in her saddlebags. Again, it seemed unlikely that practicality would have been at the forefront of any decision-making.
Where even are my saddlebags?
They certainly had not been brought up to her chamber, her dresses hung in the closet and her combs placed on the dresser. Isabella tightened her lips as she considered the possibility that all of her belongings remained out in the courtyard, where the Felsham guards had left them.
What she wanted was warm water in which to bathe. And a maid to comb out the impossible tangles in her long hair. But there was not even cold water in the pitcher.
Stifling a swell of self-pity, Isabella walked stiffly over to the closet, opened the door and glumly regarded the contents.
“You should be grateful there is aught here at all,”Frida’s sensible reprimand sounded in her mind.
She rifled through faded woolen day dresses and over tunics, until she found a dated gown in blue taffeta overlain with lace. The excess of material made the dress heavy enough to chase away any chill, she thought, holding it before her and assessing the length.
Perfect.
Then her eye fell on the long row of pearl buttons snaking up the back, and she hung it back in the closet with a sigh.
Such a gown would require the ministrations of a maid.
In the end, Isabella dressed herself clumsily in woolen stockings and a shapeless dress that might once have been a shade of green. It was warm, at least, and surprisingly comfortable. She found a comb on the nightstand and dragged it through her hair, pulling several strands out in her displeasure.Once the worst of the tangles were gone, she plaited it and secured the end with a thin blue ribbon from the dresser drawer.
Esme used to love ribbons and gowns and jewels. Isabella hardly recognized this spartan wardrobe. But, she reasoned, her sister would have likely taken the brightest and most beautiful of her clothing to Wolvesley. And the shapeless gowns that remained were possibly those she had worn deep in the months of her pregnancy.
Isabella gave her head a little shake as she bunched up the extra fabric at her waist.
What irony!
All she wanted was a child of her own.
