twenty-five
The ceremony was done in a matter of minutes, or at least so it’d seemed to Isabella. As she’d walked along the aisle with her father to join Anthony, there had been a moment when she’d meant to flee, for Anthony’s sake. But then he’d shown his scars to everyone, and Helen’s gasp and Mother’s mutters had bothered her so much she’d marched on to show him her support.
Her bravery hadn’t lasted long. Not because she didn’t believe Anthony was a good, kind man. He was, and exactly for that reason, he didn’t deserve the deceit. However, if everything went well, her baby would grow up in a good, happy family and not in an orphanage, ending up in a workhouse when he was thirteen, or worse, being branded as an illegitimate child.
The wedding reception was brief as well. The Dowager barely spoke to her, and she was happy about that. When the guests left and she said her goodbyes to everyone, the frenetic whirlwind of activities of the past few days came to a grinding halt.
No more appointments, people to talk to, or things to do.
The wedding was done. She was Anthony’s wife.
Now there was only her, Anthony, and her lies.
Since her parents would leave soon, she would travel to London in their carriage while Anthony rode with the Dowager.
Her hands trembled when she sat with Mother, Father, and Helen in the carriage, ready to go.
The footman opened the door. “My lord, Her Grace.”
The Dowager swept into view, tall and proud in her austere gown. “I would like a word with my new granddaughter.”
Muttering, “Of course,” her family filed out of the carriage.
Father lingered for a moment before exiting.
Isabella stiffened when the Dowager sat in front of her in a swish of silk. The carriage suddenly turned small and crowded.
“Fear not,” the Dowager said, “I only want to talk to you.”
“Isn’t that what highwaymen say before they thwack you?” She let out a nervous laugh.
The Dowager didn’t crack a smile. “I expect nothing short of perfection from you. You will not put us to shame. You’ll be the duchess my grandson needs.”
She didn’t say anything. As nervous as she was, she would say something silly. And the Dowager would find any reply inadequate, anyway.
“Remember my words.” The Dowager left the carriage, taking her ominous words with her.
Isabella had barely time to realise the reality of her new life during the trip back to London. She didn’t listen to the chatter about the wedding reception or the worst hat among the guests. Her mind was stuck on her imminent, unavoidable wedding night.
When Father hugged her in front of Gloucester House, she couldn’t contain a sob.
He patted her back. “There, there, darling. Don’t be upset. You’re going to be a great duchess, and I’m proud of you.”
His kind words only caused her to cry harder. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be so sympathetic.
“We can postpone our journey,” he said, “and stay here for a while with you.”
“Oh, Benjamin, we can’t.” Mother wiped Isabella’s tears with a handkerchief. “Everything is ready, and Isabella isn’t a child. You’ll be fine.”
Helen hugged her as well in a surprisingly tight embrace. “I’ll visit you.”
After another round of hugs and kisses, she was ready to go. No, she wasn’t. She kept tormenting her hands and her skirt.
Lawson sat next to her as she rode to her new home.
“Lying with a man is easier than it seems,” Lawson said.
“I know.” She touched her belly. “But this is Anthony. I’ve never been intimate with him.”
