The noise coming from the drawing-room gave her due warning what to expect if she encountered any of the inebriated gentlemen within. A footman stepped out and bowed.
“Is the duke in his study?”
“I believe him to be in the billiard room, your grace.”
Botheration! She could hardly go there to speak to him, she had better write him a note and leave this in his dressing-room. Hopefully he would not be so foxed he would be unable to read it when he retired. She was about to return when a gentleman holding two glasses of wine staggered out from the drawing-room.
“Your grace, have a drink with me. We missed your lovely presence this evening.” He wove his way towards her. She could not get past him. Several other guests appeared in the doorway to watch the confrontation.
“Thank you, sir, but I’ve no wish for a glass. If you’ll kindly allow me to pass, I wish to return to my apartments.”
He leered at her and thrust one of the glasses into her hand; she had no option but to take it or allow it to smash onto the tiles. She waited her expression icy, for him to move. To her horror he lurched forward and with his free hand attempted to touch her face. Her reaction was instinctive. She flung the glass of wine into his face. This was enough to stop him momentarily. Dodging past the spluttering gentleman she shot up the stairs before he could do her more harm. The whoops and cheers that followed made her fear they would decide to give chase.
Breathless she tumbled into her sitting room and for the first time since her arrival at Newcomb locked the doors behind her. She rang for her maid; the sooner she was safely in her bed the better. “I shan’t require you again this evening, Cranford.”
She settled back with the latest novel from Hatchards and became immersed in her romance and quite forgot she had left her external doors locked.
Alexander heard the shouting and came to investigate. According to his cronies Isobel had thrown a glass of wine over Bartram for no other reason than that he had failed to move aside quickly enough to please her.This was unacceptable behaviour. He’d already had to smooth the ruffled feathers of his housekeeper because of her incivility. Tonight he would make it clear to her he would not tolerate breaches of etiquette.
His head was thumping— he couldn’t recall exactly how many bottles of claret he’d drunk over dinner or how much brandy he’d consumed since then. Drink numbed the senses, dulled his disappointment with his wife and helped him to accept that he would never have another child to cherish. He paused and leant his burning face against the wall. He closed his eyes expecting to see an image of his beloved Eleanor, instead a picture of Isobel filled his mind. He rubbed his eyes angrily. No—he would not let her creep into his heart. He had no room for love in his life. He’s done with this emotion for it only led to unbearable pain.
He tried her parlour door. He rattled but it refused to budge. This door was never locked; it must be jammed. He walked along the passageway and tried to enter Isobel’s bed chamber. This door also did not move. Furious he hammered on the panel. He would not be denied entry to any room in his own house.
He heard the patter of bare feet told on the boards. What was the matter with her? Did she not have a maid to do these things? The key turned but the door was not opened. At least his wife had the sense not to appear in the passageway in her night clothes. He stepped in and glared at the young woman who was staring nervously from beneath the bed covers.
“Alexander, I came down to tell you that I am not available this week.”
He felt a flicker of remorse that this lovely young woman was reduced to hiding in her bedchamber in her own home. “I know that, I am not a simpleton. I am quite able to keep note of the date. I came here to discuss the matter of your unbecoming display downstairs.”
“That man was going to touch me. Would you wish me to stand there and let him do so?”
He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts—she was quite right. He had not given the incident sufficient attention. He did not doubt her veracity one minute. “No, of course not. But in future you will not respond in such an unacceptable way. It will be the talk of the town, I dislike having my good name brought into disrepute.”
If he did not remove himself hastily he would cast up his accounts on her carpet, this would not enhance his attraction. Momentarily he was ashamed by his lack of control.
“I apologise, Alexander, it won’t happen again. You don’t look at all well. I wish you did not drink so much, it is ruining your health.”
Her comment hit a raw nerve. “Madam, let us get this quite clear. If something similar occurs again don’t expect me to be so lenient.” He gulped; he must get to his room before he disgraced himself.
Isobel watched him go and her heart twisted. Her husband was no longer the man she had fallen in love with. He was gambling heavily as well as drinking too much. How long would it be before he was unfaithful? As she curled up under the covers she prayed his threat was an idle one, something he would regret when he was sober. She good forgive his drunkenness, but if ever he mistreated her she would hate him. All hope would be gone. She would let him go to the devil anyway he chose.
Chapter Six
When the unwanted house guests and her husband departed, Isobel thanked God that the snow had not been enough to deter them from returning to London. With luck he would remain in Grosvenor Square until the end of the season and leave her in peace. She consoled herself by writing long, quite inaccurate and untruthful letters to her cousin Petunia and her parents.
Mama no longer enquired if she was increasing and appeared to have accepted the disappointing situation. Papa no doubt worried Alexander might demand his money back as his wife had failed to fulfill her part of the bargain. Her only solace was riding and having her faithful friends close by. She visited them more frequently as time passed. Indeed, Sam and Mary’s cottage was more a home to her than Newcomb.
The summer she spent alone, Alexander away on the continent so his man of business, Mr Hill, informed her. There was some consolation in the fact that the younger members of staff, those that had not been working at Newcomb forever, were now eager to serve her and she was slightly more at ease.
October came around again with the newsthat two dozen or more guests were expected. There would, this time, be several wives accompanying the gentlemen. It would be pleasant to have someone to talk to, other than Mary. Several times she had been tempted to send out cards to the nearby houses but did not like to go against her husband’s wishes.
She waited nervously in the vestibule to greet him. It had been more than six months since he’d been home. Had he changed as much as she? When Foster bowed him in her eyes widened in shock. Who was this stranger shrugging off his top coat? She scarcely recognized him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face puffy and unhealthy and she was certain his hand had been unsteady when he’d held it out.
She curtsied deeply in order to avoid the necessity of meeting his eyes. She must school her features and not let him see how dismayed she was. “Welcome, your grace, it’s been too long since you came home.”
She straightened to see him staring as if he could not quiet place her. He nodded. “You have lost weight, Isobel. It does not suit you.”
With these few terse words he strolled off towards the drawing-room leaving her to greet his guests as they appeared. By the time the ladies had been directed to their boudoirs and the gentlemen to the billiard room she was quite exhausted. She was also bitterly disappointed that there was not one of the half a dozen wives she wished to spend time with. They were all as brittle and shallow as their husbands and considerably older than herself.
Unfortunately she must act as a charming hostess for the duration of their visit. How long that would be
Everything went smoothly for the first few days. Tomorrow the men were to shoot and the ladies to join them for an alfresco luncheon. She was almost looking forward to the event. To be outside, even in uncongenial company, would be a pleasure. Nothing remotely enjoyable had taken place at Newcomb these past six months.
