Fenella Miller: The Duke's Reform

With this unsatisfactory reply ringing in her ears Isobel hurried out to join her cousin who was waiting impatiently in the parlour. They intended to descend together.

“Pet, damask rose is perfect for you. I’m so glad you have been allowed to wear a coloured ensemble tonight.” She slipped her arm through her cousin’s and twirled her round. “And when do you expect to receive your first offer? Have you decided which of your many admirers to accept?”

“La, Isobel. I have decided not to accept any of them. I wish to have a second season as it’s so much fun. I’m sure being married could not possibly be nearly as exciting. Eleanor, now Mrs Eleanor Watson, was at school with me and she’s already a mother and was only married last summer.”

“Unlike you, my dear cousin, I much prefer to be in the country and not gallivanting all over the place attending balls every night.”

Petunia’s tinkling laugh echoed along the corridor. “Fustian, Isobel, and you know it. You have enjoyed every minute of these past weeks that you’ve spent with the most attractive man in London at your side.”

Giggling, Isobel squeezed her cousin’s arm. “But it will be so much more enjoyable having him all to myself in the country.”

Still laughing at their daring conversation they arrived pell-mell at the head of the stairs. Isobel all but tumbled headlong in her effort to stop. Halfway up the staircase was the gentleman they had been discussing. From the amusement in his eyes she was certain he had overheard. She wished the floor would open and swallow her. She was scarlet from her toes to the tip of her ears. Petunia abandoned her and ran past leaving her to face him alone.

“Lady Isobel, every night you appear in a different gown and each time you take my breath away. I apologize for eavesdropping. This was not my intention, I assure you. Come, sweetheart, I have permission to take you to the library. There is something most particular I wish to ask you.”

Unable to do more than mumble a response she allowed him to guide her down the remaining stairs and along the wide passageway. The door was standing open, no servants lurking to overhear. He almost bundled her inside and she heard the door click shut behind her. Her heart raced. She was about to receive a marriage proposal from the man of her dreams — so why did she feel so apprehensive?

Should she find herself a seat or remain trembling in the centre of the carpet? From what little she knew of these matters the gentleman was obliged to go down on one knee in order to ask her that all-important question.

“My love, do not look so scared. We both know why you’re here and we both know my question is a formality.” He walked towards her and she was unable to move. Her feet seemed to be glued to the floor. “Before I ask you to marry me there’s something I must do.”

The distance between them vanished. His arms came around her and she was pulled gently until she could feel his heat burning through the thin stuff of her evening gown. Her knees were shaking. She raised her hands to press them on his chest and tilted her head intending to ask him to release her. She had no opportunity to speak. His mouth closed over hers in a kiss of such sweetness her fear melted.

His heart pounded beneath her fingertips. He was as disturbed as she and this gave her the courage to respond. Her hands crept up until they were around his neck and she buried her fingers in his dark hair. It was smooth and silky beneath her touch; she tugged at the back of his neck to bring him closer to her.

Then her feet were dangling free, his arms crushing her close and the pressure of his lips increased. His tongue ran along her mouth demanding entry to the moist recesses within. This was too much. She was overwhelmed by what was happening. Her body was responding to his lovemaking whilst her head was screaming no.

Suddenly she was free, but her legs gave way and without his arms to support her she would have sunk in a pool of green silk at his feet. “Sweetheart, I apologise, I did not mean to frighten you. Here, darling, let me carry you to the sofa.”

“No, I am quite recovered thank you, sir,” her voice was little more than a whisper but he took heed and did no more than guide her to the seat.

“Lady Isobel, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Shocked by the abruptness of his proposal she almost refused. He had not bothered to go down on one knee, but remained staring down at her as if impatient for an answer. “Thank you, your grace, I am delighted to accept.”

“Excellent. I shall ride down to Norfolk tomorrow to speak to your father and arrange the settlements. We will be married at Newcomb four weeks from today. I shall leave you to organize your bride clothes. Four weeks is sufficient I hope?”

Isobel wanted to tell him it wasn’t nearly enough time, that an engagement of a month was far too short. She’d hoped to get to know him better before the marriage took place. This would be a fruitless exercise. She had better become accustomed to being dictated to. The man she had just agreed to marry would brook no contradiction to his orders. Had she made a dreadful mistake?

“I shall be ready in time. Are we to have a wedding trip, my lord?”

He cupped her face and brushed her lips with his own. “My love, did you not say you were eager to spend time in the country alone with me?”

“I did, and April is the perfect month to spend in Hertfordshire.”

“Come, sweetheart, give me your hand, there’s something I still have to do.”

Obediently she held it out and he pushed a betrothal band with a perfect square cut emerald onto her ring finger. She gazed down and her eyes pricked— the ring was perfect. It also exactly matched the necklace she was wearing. Her hand strayed to her neck and his eyes followed it. Before she could retreat she was once more within his arms but this time his lips drifted across her neck leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

A strange languor made her limbs heavy. She relaxed against his arms, tipping her head back to give him access to her breasts. She was released abruptly and her future husband moved abruptly away to stand with his back to her. Was he unwell? Instinctively she stepped forward and touched his shoulder.

“Lady Isobel, return to the drawing-room to give your family the good news. I shall be with you directly.”

How inconsiderate— it would look decidedly strange for her to enter without him at her side.

She sighed and did as she was bid. Probably best to start learning to follow his dictums. One she was his wife he would own her. She would be considered his chattel, of no more value than his horse.

The next four weeks flew past. Her parents arrived from Norfolk and her bride clothes were completed. There was no time to repine, everyone told her she was the luckiest girl in the land. As the day for her departure to Hertfordshire drew closer she hoped her fears were unfounded. Bentley had rarely been alone with her, and then he left for Newcomb to oversee the preparations for her arrival a week before the wedding.

“Mama, I have scarcely had time to converse with my future husband. We have been acquainted but a few weeks— how am I going to manage living with a stranger?”

Her mother shook her head. “Isobel, child, you have the rest of your lives to get to know each other. There is not a woman in town that does not envy you. To be married to a duke who is not in his dotage is good fortune indeed.”

“We are not to have a wedding trip, did I tell you?”

“As you have no taste for travelling, my dear, I should think you are relieved to be staying put. Anyway, as he is marrying you to fill his nursery it is far better you remain in England. I doubt the physicians in other countries are as expert as our own.”