She hurried from the yard, found the man named Chester, and conveyed the message. Then she found the stairs to the tallest turret in the castle and climbed them. Only when she reached the top did she let the tears she’d been holding back fall. The deed was done. She’d followed through with her plan despite the warning in her heart that she was making a terrible mistake. If she succeeded, her sister would be safe, and her own position of power would be secure.
This was exactly the outcome she wanted, so why did her victory taste like ashes?
Wiping away her tears, she looked out at Yarmouth and the surrounding countryside. All this could belong to her if she could only tolerate being married to a boor. The compensations of putting up with the earl would be immense. And if she succeeded in making him the king’s exchequer, she would find herself one of the wealthiest women in England.
While her mother and Lady Eleanor ordered her to marry Lord Martin, they had both spent years instilling a very different lesson. A woman’s worth was determined by her husband, and marrying a man of power and position was the most important thing a woman could do.
Sentiment was a luxury that women couldn’t afford. It led them to make foolish choices, and men would inevitably disappoint them. Marriage was not about romance. Hadn’t Lady Eleanor said as much a thousand times? It was far better to wed a man one knew one disliked than to harbor hopes of something more, which would inevitably be dashed.
The feelings Isabella had for Martin would pass, and what would Isabella be left with then? A lowly position amongst England’s gentry. Isolation from everyone she cared about. Theguilt of having failed to save Adelaide from finding herself under Lady Eleanor’s thumb, and that was if her sister even survived. If Adelaide died alone and neglected by the heartless woman she served, Isabella would never forgive herself.
One way or another, Isabella had to see this through and marry Lord James. She had set the wheels in motion, and now there was nothing she could do to stop them. Her fate was in the hands of God.
Taking deep breaths of crisp, fresh air, she composed herself and reassembled the mask she showed the world of scrupulous indifference and haughtiness.
“I have no heart to lose,” she murmured to herself, wishing rather than feeling it to be true. With as much conviction as she could summon, she descended the stairs to seal her own doom.
Chapter Eighteen
Martin felt Isabellaapproach before he saw her. In the weeks since they had met, he’d developed a sixth sense that was attuned to her just as a compass needle points north. She entered the great hall, sweeping in with a majesty and hauteur that never failed to take his breath away.
But something was wrong. Very wrong.
Only someone who had studied her at length would see it, but there was strain behind her cool gaze, and a slight, lingering redness around her eyes suggested she’d been crying. If this had something to do with Lord James, he would run the man through with his own lance.
If he hadn’t been in the midst of a conversation with Lord Christopher about the progress of repairs toThe Wind Song, he would have pulled her aside to a private place and gotten to the bottom of what had happened. But he would have to tread carefully in such a public setting. While he would do everything that he could to plead his case, he couldn’t do anything that might suggest he was sabotaging her plan. There could be no hint that their marriage was anything but chaste.
Isabella approached and stood beside him at a distance carefully calibrated to avoid any possible contact. Her distance hurt him, but he understood why she maintained it.
“Lady Isabella, what a pleasure it is to see you again,” said Lord Christopher, who was fortunately oblivious to the tensionbetween them. “Welcome to my keep. Please don’t hesitate to tell me if there’s anything my wife or I can do to make you comfortable during your stay.”
“That is most kind of you, Lord Christopher.” She smiled and bowed her head. “Where is Lady Diana? I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”
“She went to market to purchase provisions. We have quite a full house at the moment, but the more the merrier, as I always say. Isn’t that right, Lord Martin? And in these troubling times, it is good to have friends you can rely on. There’s safety in numbers, eh?”
“Very true, my lord. Nonetheless, we appreciate your hospitality. Please thank your wife for any trouble she may have gone to on our behalf.” Martin had always liked Lord Christopher. He was a pleasant and generous man, if a bit blind to the flaws of his liege lord.
“Congratulations on your nuptials, you two lovebirds! I’m very sorry we didn’t have enough rooms to put you together.”
Martin stifled a sigh as he forced himself to offer the explanation that would offer Isabella her freedom. “It’s probably for the best, my lord. My family is very traditional and wants us to wait to consummate the marriage until we are in Winchelsea.” The lie nearly choked him, but he had to do it for her sake.
“Really?” Lord Christopher frowned. “How unfortunate for you. It must be very trying to wait. You have my sympathies.”
At that moment, Lord James came striding in. Isabella stiffened beside him. Whatever was upsetting her definitely had something to do with that giant muscular oaf. Martin clenched his fist by his side, even as he forced himself to smile politely.
“Why does Lord Martin have your sympathies?” the big man bellowed.
“His family has insisted that he wait to consummate his marriage until he’s back in Winchelsea, poor man.” Lord Christopher’s expression was all sympathy.
Martin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from complaining that his marital relations shouldn’t be a topic for public discussion. After all, he was the one who raised the topic. But it still galled him to no end.
“Poor man indeed.” Lord James grinned widely. “If I had a bride like her, I wouldn’t wait, no matter what my family said, but not all men have the balls to stand up to their mommies.”
This was too much. If the earl didn’t shut his ugly mouth, Martin was going to ram his fist into it.
“It is the sign of true chivalry that he is willing to wait and comply with his family’s wishes,” said Isabella, stepping closer and clasping his clenched fist in her hand.
Martin forced himself to relax and open his fist. She was right to hold him back. He couldn’t punch the earl however much he might want to. It would ruin his carefully laid plan to win Isabella’s heart and likely make it exceedingly difficult to get out of Yarmouth in one piece. And this small gesture of solidarity warmed his heart beyond all reason.
