Page 48 of My Duke, The Stranger
“Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” Cassian said. He glanced once at Isolde, a frown took his visage, but then he looked away. “I have had supper prepared, of course. Let us eat before we discuss business.”
“Lead the way,” Mr. Collins said.
Mr. Collins and Mr. Hart walked ahead, being led by Mr. Pemberton. Cassian followed closely, while Isolde walked just behind him. She felt the urge to go to him and to link his arm, but she refrained.
Once they reached the dining room, both Mr. Collins and Mr. Hart were shown to their seats, taking them first. Then, Isolde acted as if Cassian gave her permission to sit, making sure not to do so until the two guests were comfortable. She sat down, Cassian eyed her, and then he took his place at the head of the table.
What proceeded from there was a most drawn out and boring affair.
As she had been told to do, Isolde said nothing. She sat with a straight back, her chest held up, but her face bowed. But she did not sulk. She did not pout. She fixed a plain expression across her features, careful to look as if she was enjoying herself.
Also, she did not drink when offered.
When the food arrived, she made sure to wait until everyone else started eating before she did. She did not ask for more. She took small bites. The few times that she was drawn into conversation, she offered a basic response, ensuring that she would not be asked any follow-up questions.
It was not easy for her to do. Isolde was not the type to behave so meekly. And while she was willing to do so now, knowing that she had to prove herself and make up for what she had done, she wondered how long it could go on for.
Surely, I cannot behave like this forever? What sort of life would that be?
There was one moment, however, that was strange.
It came during the second course. Not thinking, she reached for the wrong fork, as there were three to choose from, and she had that fork in hand before Cassian cleared his throat.
She paused and looked at him. He eyed the fork with a raised eyebrow. She frowned, unsure what he was doing… only for it to come to her. Isolde laughed gently, he continued to eye the fork, and then she put it down and used the correct one.
Across the room, she caught Mr. Pemberton nodding along, and she smiled at him, which he returned in a way that was encouraging.
But that was it for excitement. That was the most she got out of her husband. She ate in silence as the guests spoke about things that she did not understand or was expected to.
“Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?” Cassian asked once they had all finished eating. “For brandy, cigars, and discussions long overdue.”
“Yes, I think it is time,” Mr. Hart said as he patted his belly. “Shall your dear wife be joining us?”
“No,” Cassian said quickly and sharply. “Isolde, you are excused.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And thank you for this evening.”
It was small, barely anything, but Isolde clutched onto that single thank you as if it were life itself. “You are most welcome,” she said with a small smile as she pushed back her chair. “Mr. Collins, Mr. Hart, it was wonderful to meet you both.”
“The pleasure was all ours,” Mr. Collins said. “And Your Grace, your wife, she really is a picture of perfection.”
“Thank you,” Cassian said simply.
He did not look at her as she stood. And she did not feel his eyes on her as she left the dining room. Why, it was as if she had not been there at all.
“You did wonderfully.” Mr. Pemberton was waiting for her in the adjoining hallway. “Truly, Your Grace, if I had not known any better, I might have said you were born to be a duchess.”
She sighed and looked back. “Did I? I feel as if I might as well have not been there at all. Cassian… he hardly looked at me.”
“You did as you had to do,” Mr. Pemberton assured her. “And His Grace knows this. He might not have shown his gratitude, but I know he felt it. You did well and you should be proud.”
The words felt hollow to Isolde. Maybe what Mr. Pemberton said was true? Maybe she had done the right thing? And maybe Cassian truly was grateful? But did it even matter? What was the point if he gave her nothing and continued to act as if she did not exist?
This marriage would be for life, and if tonight was any indication, it promised to be a long and awkward life indeed. Something had to give, something needed to change, but Isolde could not say how such a thing would happen.
Perhaps time will be what heals us… but how much time? And does Cassian even want to be healed?
The night might have been a success, but Isolde went to bed feeling worse than ever, and if that was not an indication of things to come, she did not know what was. This marriage… her future… Isolde had sewn these seeds; she was left to reap them, and the taste they left in her mouth was bitter.
Twenty
