Chapter Six
Where is Father?
It had been seven weeks since the farce of a marriage had taken place and Desmond anxiously awaited word from his father.
My word, he thought furiously. I could have just as easily traveled to Britain before the mails arrived.
A part of him wondered if his father had simply not bothered to reply by means of teaching him a lesson, although what that lesson might be, Desmond could not be certain. He had done as George had instructed, marrying the girl, but ignoring her presence in his life was becoming unbearable. Isadora seemed to be everywhere suddenly, where she once had made herself scarce.
To make matters worse, Milo, the new butler, was trying his patience with his own need to be everywhere at once.
“I want him scarce!” Desmond growled to Isaac who, as always, was indifferent to his feelings.
“Your position has changed now, Desmond. Bridget is now at Isadora’s hand and you require a servant of your own. In a household this size, two indoor servants are hardly enough. I would employ more—”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion what you are doing, Isaac, but it will not bode well for privacy, will it? What if one learns the truth about me?”
Isaac stared at him, shaking his head.
“You forget that the reason for this marriage in the first place was to keep you from becoming too comfortable in your natural skin. And it has worked, has it not? You have not shifted at will one time since Isadora’s arrival.”
“At what cost?” Desmond protested. “I have been on edge, sneaking about the estate to ensure I am not being spied upon. I feel like I am taking leave of my senses.”
He paused and looked at Isaac.
“Have you heard from my father?”
Isaac shook his head.
“I have not, not since he sent word that you were to be married.”
“That is odd, is it not? He did not send a letter nor gift for the nuptials? That is unlike him. Could something have happened to him?”
“Your father is a busy man, Desmond. I need not tell you such things. I am certain that George has much occupying his time which has little to do with your marriage.”
“I beg to differ, Isaac. If he was concerned enough to send a bride from Britain, he must have me on his mind somewhat. I will write him again but I daresay, if I do not hear from him in a timely fashion, I will be forced to travel back to the old world myself.”
“You will do no such thing!” Isaac growled, his face growing angry. “You will remain here as you demanded. I will write him myself.”
It annoyed Desmond to no end that his father was more apt to respond to the barrister than he was to his own son, but he did not voice his irritation aloud. He was certain that it was displayed quite clearly on his face.
“And what of your wife?” Isaac asked. “Have you any luck in that matter?”
“What is your unhealthy fascination with my marriage?” Desmond growled defensively. “If you ask me again, I daresay I will speak to Father about your insolence, Isaac. Have you been approaching Isadora with this nonsense? I have noticed how she skirts about when you are near. You make her uncomfortable.”
“And I would wager that you do the same. Have you not noticed how much effort she puts into managing the household? She has replaced Bridget in several chores, including cooking, even if you cannot be bothered to attend meals.”
Desmond had noticed, of course. How could he not? Since the day of the reception, she seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention and he feared that it might be working.
On sleepless nights, he found himself wandering the halls, oftentimes stopping by her chambers to listen inside. If she had made any noise to indicate her wakefulness at such an hour, he was certain he would not be able to stop himself from entering and possibly finishing what they had started the night of the party.
I must not. I will not.
But his resolve was slipping and he knew it. It was why he chose to stay hidden until the light of day had faded away and he was alone in the halls. All except for Milo, who followed him like an unsavory shadow.
As though he had read his thought, Milo knocked on the door to the study, a tray in hand.
“I have your afternoon meal, Mr. Waters.”
He did not wait for an invitation and strolled into the den, landing the platter atop Desmond’s desk. Desmond glared at Isaac, not for the first time, as if to say, “Where did you find this unmannered buffoon?”
There was nothing cultured nor elegant about Milo, his tall, lanky form indicating some malnutrition and his manner of speaking cant and unbridled.
Of all the butlers, Desmond could not fathom why Isaac had opted for such a man but it was just another argument which Desmond knew he would lose if he broached it.
I am not treated as the lord of this manor and I must do something about it. I have permitted Isaac too much leeway in this household and he has taken over.
The question was, what could he do about it? Isaac was still an agent for his father and until Desmond heard from George, there was little he could do but wait.
“You may go, Milo,” Desmond snapped when the butler did not move.
“Are you certain, Mr. Waters? May I get you a drink perhaps?”
Desmond scowled at him.
“I said go!”
Milo did not seem perturbed in the least about his employer’s foul disposition but he did move rather slowly toward the door.
“Desmond,” Isaac started to say but Desmond held up a hand to silence him until Milo finally ambled out of earshot.
“You are making matters worse for yourself by endlessly disputing all that comes your way,” Isaac sighed. “Perhaps you are not entirely prepared for the trials of being alpha.”
Rage flooded Desmond and he snarled, pouncing forward.
“Do not presume to tell me of what I am capable,” he hissed, his snout against Isaac’s cheek. “You do speak much too freely for my liking. I fear you’ve become too comfortable on the estate, Isaac. Perhaps it is time for you to find lodgings elsewhere.”
A look of nervousness crossed over Isaac’s face for the first time in years, perhaps as the barrister recognized the seriousness in Desmond’s face.
“I do not think your father would approve,” he muttered, lowering his gaze.
“How would we know?” Desmond rasped, almost mockingly. “He seems to have forsaken me after gifting me a wife, has he not?”
“I-I will see about reaching him,” Isaac muttered. “You are becoming restless, unhinged perhaps…”
“Unhinged?” Desmond bared his elongated teeth and snapped them once, grazing the yellow flesh before him. “You have not seen me unhinged.”
A knock on the door caused him to fall back in mortal form but he did not turn.
“Who is there?”
“Isadora.”
The men exchanged a look and Desmond gritted his teeth.
“Enter.”
She slowly moved inside the room, her long skirts swirling at her ankles as she approached with even steps.
“Desmond, may I have a word with you—privately?”
“I was only just leaving,” Isaac said quickly, appearing relieved at being released from Desmond’s clutches.
“Our discussion is not over, Isaac,” Desmond growled after him but he could not be certain if the man heard him. Reluctantly, he turned to his wife, willing his heart to be still.
Has she grown lovelier in the day since I last saw her?
It seemed impossible that after all those weeks, the mere glimpse of her caused his heart to thump with such ferocity.
Am I making a mistake pushing her away? She has shown me nothing but enduring kindness and patience, despite my aloofness.
“Forgive the intrusion, Desmond,” she said softly. “But I have a rather unusual request.”
He did not speak but he gestured for her to sit as he reclaimed his own chair behind the heavy mahogany desk.
“I have been here for two months almost and… well, I can plainly see that we will never have a marriage in the true form of the word.”
He felt an unexpected pang of guilt, his blue-grey eyes studying her dark, sorrow-filled ones as she stared at her hands.
“What is it you want, Isadora?”
She looked up at him almost shyly. “If I am not meant to be your wife in the legitimate sense, I would like to do something else, if you will permit me.”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
“I do not understand,” he replied, the shame amplifying in his gut. She had done nothing wrong, after all. Why was he punishing her for simply doing as she was told? There was no need to be cruel to her when she was likely more uncomfortable than he in his home.
“I wish to create charitable foundations,” she explained softly. “I have been to the towns and I have seen so much poverty. It is shameful in such a wealthy country.”
A spark of pride fused in his spine.
“Charities? Through the church?”
“I had thought to begin a foundation in your name, Desmond. You have faced some odd scrutiny among the townsfolk and I daresay that an effort like this will send some goodwill your way. It will keep me occupied and out of your sight as you so desire.”
“That is untrue,” he heard himself say gruffly. “I do not wish for you to be out of my sights.”
She smiled sadly. “It does feel that way,” she told him softly. “I do not fault you but I cannot simply slink about the halls of Darkbrook hoping you will one day have a change of heart and see me as your wife in every sense of the word.”
He did not speak for a long moment, his heart thudding slightly in his chest. Desmond rose from his chair and moved toward her, slowly crouching to meet her eyes.
“It is not you,” he told her solemnly, reaching upward to touch her face with his palm. “There is much about Darkbrook which you would be better not to know.”
“And yet I live here, Desmond. I am forever tied to the roots, secrets and all.”
She shifted her eyes away, her cheeks tinging pink as though she feared she had said too much, but he did not allow her to look away. His palms cupped her lovely face and their eyes met again.
“Yes,” he agreed. “You do live here and you are a part of Darkbrook now. I will do better by you going forward.”
To his surprise, her face did not brighten nor did it darken. It stayed very much the same as it had been when she arrived as if his answer did not give her any joy.
“What say you about the charity?” she asked instead and his brow furrowed.
“I believe it is a sound idea. It will certainly help standing in the community. Have you any idea how to organize such a thing?”
“I have investigated the plans already.”
“Without consulting me?”
“I wanted to ensure I could manage it,” Isadora replied and he noticed that her head had moved slightly forward as though she longed for a kiss.
“It did no harm to learn the process.”
He studied her face, contemplating his next move carefully. Why had he been fighting her when she might be the only person in the household whom he could trust? Certainly, Isaac was proving problematic and Milo was a nuisance.
I will lose my grip on the entire family if I do not form alliances. If she learns of my secret, I will deal with her accordingly.
“You have been a good wife,” he told her quietly. “You are not to be faulted for the circumstances.”
“Thank you, Desmond.”
He moved his lips to brush against hers softly, feeling the familiar current surge through them, and only then did he see her eyes lighten.
“You may have your charity,” he told her when they parted, bittersweetly. “And you shall have a proper husband.”
She nodded but again, he was filled with the notion that it was nothing that caused her great contentment.
“Thank you,” was all she said again and rose, his hands falling from her face with the movement.
Without another word, she turned and left him peering after her, wondering if he had said something wrong.
Has this entire household gone mad? he wondered, shaking his head. I just gave her what she has been asking for since her arrival and she has no reaction.
Desmond hoped that if there was a lunacy floating through the walls of Darkbrook that it would not claim him the same way it had everyone else.