Chapter Three
The Bride’s New Wedding
Of course, Isadora did not sleep that night, despite the luxurious comfort in which she was surrounded. It did not matter that she had not slept on a mattress so soft or in a room so large as long as she had been alive.
Perhaps it was the opulence of her new surroundings which kept her tired body from resting but Isadora knew it was something much more than that.
When she was certain the household had retired for the night, she slowly rose from the comfort of her bed, wrapping her thin nightdress in a cloak before stealing into the shadowy manor as though to explore Darkbrook.
Yet when she moved along the walls, careful not to attract the attention of even the stealthy mice who scurried about, discovering the seemingly endless rooms was the least of her concern.
She found herself in the kitchen, staring at the plethora of food with such awe. There was more than a single man should need in a household so small, the dried meats and cheeses tantalizing her nostrils. It was then she realized she had not eaten in several days. The sickness from the ship had kept her stomach at odds and the feeling of hunger crept through her until it was an unmistakable tidal wave.
“Are you hungry, Miss Childs?” a soft tone asked from the dark. She whirled and gasped, her hand on her heart as Bridget showed herself. Isadora was stunned to see she still wore her work dress as though she had still been about, tending to chores. The hour was far too late for the house servant to be working, and again, Isadora wondered whom she was about to marry.
“I—no,” she fibbed. “Forgive me for waking you. I was merely exploring and found myself here.”
“You did not wake me,” Bridget said, entering the kitchen by way of the servants’ stairs. “You are hungry—your complexion is wan. It will not harm you to eat a morsel. You may find it will help you sleep.”
“The hour is late,” Isadora protested. “I will wait until the morrow—”
“When you will swoon as the minister recites your vows, miss. There will not be time for a large breakfast before the ceremony and I venture that you have had a hard time of matters since leaving your home. You cannot have had much to eat nor keep down in the past weeks.”
The kindness in her voice spoke to Isadora and she found herself nodding slightly.
“Thank you, Bridget.”
The house servant nodded as Isadora sank into a chair. Bridget busied herself at once, lighting the lanterns and gathering a light meal for the bride-to-be.
Bridget did not offer more in the way of conversation and Isadora was unsure if she should encourage chatter with the woman, but she was the only one who had shown any indication of kindness since her arrival and she clung to it with a slight desperation.
“Have you been under Mr. Waters’ employ long?”
Bridget glanced at her and there seemed to be a wariness to her eyes.
“A fair while.”
The answer was somewhat evasive but Isadora did not push the matter.
“Is he a fair man?”
Bridget’s smile was sardonic and she tried to hide her expression as she continued to cut a hunk of aged cheese. “I imagine there are worse men for whom to work, Miss Childs.”
“Or marry?”
The query hung in the air like stale smoke but Bridget did not respond.
“You will do well here, Miss Childs, if you do not cause waves.” She looked at Isadora and smiled. “If I were to wager, I would say you do not much seek out trouble.”
“I try not to encourage bad faith,” Isadora agreed quickly, a flood of memories engulfing her. She would have laughed if the matter was not so dire.
And yet it continues to find me.
“Mr. Waters is best left to his own devices,” Bridget said and Isadora exhaled with some relief. She could ask for little else than a husband who ignored her.
It will fare much better for me in that case.
“Eat, miss. You need your strength.”
Isadora accepted the food and nodded in thanks before beginning to chew on what had been laid before her. Her mind was on the following day and what was to be expected of her in the bedchambers thereafter.
This is why I am unable to sleep.
She reasoned that Desmond was considerably more handsome than she had expected, and younger also. She had only corresponded with his father, and through those letters, she had gleaned that the man was quite old, or at least his words seemed archaic. Therefore, she had expected Desmond to be quite advanced in his years also.
She admitted, she was pleasantly surprised, even if he did seem quite brooding behind those strange blue eyes.
He did not wish this union any more than me, she realized. We are two strangers forced into a situation for reasons unknown to the other.
“You hail from Britain?”
Isadora nodded, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “I do. Have you any idea how long Mr. Waters has been here?”
Bridget’s mouth became a fine line and her eyes darted away.
“Quite a while,” she murmured, again avoiding a direct answer. “Is there anything else, miss? A tea? Some laudanum, perhaps, for a good rest?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Isadora laughed. “I am certain that this meal will settle both my mind and body forthwith.”
“Then I shall retire.” Bridget turned toward the door and Isadora called out to her almost desperately as she moved.
“Good night, Bridget.” It had felt so lovely to speak with another person as a person for once.
“Good night, Miss Childs.” The servant disappeared, leaving Isadora alone with her thoughts once more.
Tomorrow morning I will be married to Desmond Waters, she recited in her head. I will be Mrs. Desmond Waters.
It was imperative that she remind herself. She did not wish to make a mistake.
~ ~ ~
Bridget woke her in the morning and Isadora was surprised to find she had slept despite her misgivings.
“Good morning, miss. The minister will be in the parlor soon. The ceremony will take place at nine o’clock. May I help you dress?”
“It is only to be a private affair, then?” Isadora asked, sitting up in the bed, her long blonde tresses spilling over the white of her nightdress. Bridget smiled wanly.
“There will be a reception to announce your nuptials at the week’s end but the affair today will only be the household. Mr. Jones waits downstairs.”
“And Mr. Waters?”
“He will be along also, I assume.”
Isadora felt foolish for asking such a question and rose.
“Have you a proper dress for the occasion?” Bridget asked, opening the armoire. She had put Isadora’s dresses away the previous evening and she gazed skeptically at the choices.
“I mean you no offense, Miss Childs, but these are hardly befitting of a wedding to a man of Mr. Waters’ status.”
Isadora sighed and padded toward the maid. “I fear that is all I have come with. Have you a suggestion?”
Bridget’s brow furrowed and she nodded curtly. “I shall return, miss. Do not fret.”
Isadora did not ask where the woman intended to find such a gown in a pressing amount of time but she had little choice but to let Bridget go.
She seated herself at the vanity while she waited, brushing her long, silvery-blonde strands one hundred times.
I have nothing to fear, she thought to herself, but her dark eyes told her otherwise. There was an unmistakable glint of sadness and worry in their depths.
She looked about the counter for something to pin her hair as a knock announced Bridget once more. Isadora turned in shock.
“You have returned so soon?” she demanded, noting the garment she held in her hands. It was a beautiful dress of blue and lace, high at the neck with full arms.
“I happened to remember a dress. I imagine it will fit you,” Bridget replied and Isadora was curious to know why such an item existed in the house of a man. It was clearly meant to be a wedding gown, the veil attached, confirming Isadora’s suspicions, but she dared not ask the question aloud.
Perhaps it is better if I do not know.
“Come along, Miss Childs. The men will grow impatient and Lord knows, we do not wish to rouse Mr. Waters’ temper.”
An alarm sounded in Isadora’s mind but she silenced it at once. It did not matter how ferocious a temper Desmond claimed, there was little Isadora could do about it.
“There!” Bridget announced. “You look lovely, Miss Childs.”
A look in the glass told Isadora that the maid spoke truly. Her skin was radiant against the soft powder of the dress, accenting her glittering dark eyes and curvy figure.
“May I pinch your cheeks for color?”
“Please.”
Bridget leaned down to touch Isadora’s face. “Shall we?”
Isadora rose and followed the woman from her chambers. She did not know if Desmond intended for her to return to the room that night or if she was to remain after their marriage was consummated, but she hoped the former were true. It was the only place which had given her peace in as long as she could recall.
Silently, they traveled down the winding twin staircase until Isadora found herself staring at her groom-to-be in the parlor. He did not so much as turn to look from his spot near the hearth which was unlit in the warmth of the morning sun.
“Ah,” the minister called when he saw her. “The bride has arrived. Let us commence.”
Isadora found her legs leaden as she looked toward Desmond, willing him to return her gaze, but she was only met with Mr. Jones’ cold eyes.
“Come along, miss. I haven’t all day,” the reverend grumbled. Bridget gently touched her arm and Isadora inhaled, stepping forward.
“Shall we begin?”
Even as she stood before him, her veil in place, Desmond could not bring himself to look at her and Isadora was filled with a sense of indignation.
As if I am somehow to blame for this atrocity! she thought, a familiar anger rising to become bile in her throat. I am faultless! Look at me!
She wondered if he heard her thoughts then, his eyes moving toward her face for the first time. Her heart stopped as she again noted his attractiveness.
The minister droned on but Isadora did not hear a word said, her eyes locking on her groom.
“Do you, Desmond Waters, take this woman as your wife?”
Time seemed to freeze a moment and for a horrific second, she thought Desmond was about to refuse.
“Desmond,” Isaac hissed in a voice so low, she was surprised she heard him. “The minister speaks.”
Yet Desmond continued to stare at her, unspeaking, unmoving, as though he saw something that he had not previously noticed about her.
What does he see?
The question terrified her to the very core of her existence and as much as she longed to pull her eyes away from his gaze, she could not.
“Desmond!”
“I do,” he finally said but there was a reluctance in his words. “I do take her.”
“Isadora Childs, do you take Desmond Waters as your husband?”
“I do,” she choked before she could change her mind.
“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Mr. Waters.”
Slowly, with far too much deliberation, Desmond raised the veil and peered into her face like he was seeing her for the first time.
She stepped closer, her lower lip trembling, and closed her eyes as she waited for his mouth to touch hers.
“That will do,” Desmond said gruffly, turning away, and Isadora’s eyes flew open in stunned amazement. “You are dismissed, Reverend.”
Desmond stalked from the parlor then, without another word, leaving the room to stare after him. A short gasp escaped Isadora’s mouth although whether it was from relief or consternation, she could not be certain.
Of all the six men she had married before him, Desmond Waters was the first to refuse her a kiss.