1895: The Duchess's Soul Returns

Chapter 20 ·Isabella·

“Consuelo, might I have a word with you?”

Just as the ladies were rising to leave the dining room to the gentlemen, the Duchess Dowager of Manchester called out to Isabella. She offered an apologetic smile to the other guests. “Please make yourselves at home. I’ll be back shortly.”

　　So you were named after her? Isabella wondered silently as she followed the Dowager Duchess of Manchester toward the small study. How strange—calling another person by your own name. I’ve always been grateful none of my friends share my name.

For her, it shouldn’t be difficult. Consuelo remarked. After so many years of being addressed as “Madam,” even her own name must feel unfamiliar now.

“Please sit.” The Dowager Duchess of Manchester gestured toward a pale pink Bergère chair in the small study, inviting Isabella to take a seat. The latter obediently complied. Once both were seated, the Dowager Duchess of Manchester rang a bell to summon a footman with a pot of tea and some pastries before addressing Isabella.

“Strange, isn't it?” she remarked, her gaze not fixed on Isabella but drawn to the deepening darkness beyond the large floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a moonless night, and the woods surrounding Gibraltar Castle loomed like sinister guardians watching over the estate. “Though I am your godmother, our relationship has never been particularly close. I cannot even claim to have fulfilled my duties as such. Even your arrival in England was not arranged through me as your sponsor, but I trust you understand... since May passed away...”

　　May was one of her twin daughters. Consuelo's voice echoed almost simultaneously within Isabella's mind. It was Miss Jacqueline's nickname.

“Of course I understand,” Isabella replied promptly.

　　“You've changed so much,” the Dowager Duchess of Manchester withdrew her gaze from the window and fixed it on Isabella. “I wouldn't be surprised if Eva and William fail to notice this transformation. After all, they've always tried to avoid acknowledging that their child is a flesh-and-blood, thinking human being. That way, when they use you like a pawn, they feel less guilty.”

　　“It sounds like your godmother harbors quite a bit of resentment toward your parents,” Isabella remarked to Consuelo. “How did she become your godmother?”

“Her dissatisfaction likely began when she truly assumed the role of a mother herself,” Consuelo replied. “She once wrote to me about how her children were the sole love and meaning in her life. Perhaps that's precisely why she resents my parents' approach to parenting.”

　　“I too was once an American heiress forced by my parents to marry an English lord. I understand your feelings now, especially after what happened with James Rutherford—that must be why you've changed. You're trying to rebel against your parents, against the image they once imposed on you. I can see it.”

　　Follow her lead. Consuelo immediately replied. Let her believe your change stems from James rather than realizing you're no longer the goddaughter she once knew.

“You're right, that is indeed why I've changed,” Isabella said with an awkward smile.

　　“If you were still the Consuelo I once knew, I wouldn't worry about you as I do now. But after hearing your exchange with Sir Henry at dinner, I realized your stubbornness might be so strong it could even stand in the way of your own happiness.”

　　“I don't understand...”

"Ever since May's untimely death—God rest her soul, she was but a sixteen-year-old girl—you have meant to me as much as my own flesh and blood. That is why I feel compelled to offer this counsel. Consuelo, you may defy your parents. You may declare through your actions that you are no longer the little girl they once held in the palm of their hands. But, my dear child, do not rebel against your marriage. It is the single best decision your parents have made for you in your eighteen years of life. Do not attempt to resist it. At the very least, as a mother, I can say the Duke of Marlborough is a far more suitable match than my own son. When you have children of your own—and I am certain you will have many—you will understand why I give you this counsel. Consuelo, choose a man who respects marriage over one who loves you—and His Grace is precisely that sort of man."

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. The Duchess Dowager of Manchester's steward entered. “The Duke of Marlborough wishes to speak with Miss Consuelo, my lady,” he murmured into her ear.

　　“Oh, how unexpected,” the Dowager Duchess of Manchester glanced at Isabella in surprise, as if wondering if this were a prearranged meeting. “Young gentlemen should not meet with ladies alone, even if engaged. His Grace surely understands this.”

　　“Of course, Madam,” the butler nodded slightly. “His Grace says he would be most pleased to await your arrival in the garden with Miss Consuelo. It will not take much of your time, Madam, as His Grace has stated.”

　　“In that case,” the Dowager Duchess of Manchester paused for a few seconds, “then, Mr. Jansen, would you kindly convey my apologies to the guests and inform them I shall return to the drawing room shortly?”

　　“Certainly, my lady.” The butler bowed and turned to leave.

The rear gardens of Kimbolton Castle differed from other English gardens Isabella had seen, which typically featured only native species. Here, numerous floral varieties originally from the Americas bloomed everywhere—exquisite and exotic, each showcasing the mistress of the house's refined taste. Descending the grand staircase leading to the garden, Isabella immediately spotted the Duke of Marlborough standing beside the irregularly shaped flowerbeds encircling the central fountain. He was bent over, seemingly admiring the intensely blooming Brazilian irises.

“Your flowers are truly beautiful, my lady.” “ Hearing footsteps, the Duke of Marlborough straightened and smiled at the Dowager Duchess of Manchester behind him. ”The other ladies would surely be envious."

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Dowager Duchess of Manchester replied with a smile. “You've chosen a splendid spot for our meeting.”

She gestured for Isabella to step forward.

　　“Neglecting one's guests is unbecoming of a dutiful hostess, as I'm sure Your Grace understands.” Her tone carried an implication Isabella couldn't quite decipher.

“Naturally, madam. How could I presume to further encroach upon your precious time?” The Duke of Marlborough clearly grasped the implication, bowing slightly as he spoke.

　　“I shall inform everyone that Miss Consuelo has retired early due to feeling unwell.” The Duchess Dowager of Manchester winked at Isabella before turning to the Duke of Marlborough. “This won't take long, Your Grace—you did say so to my steward.”

　　“I shall honor my word, my lady. Rest assured.” Duke Marlborough stepped forward, offering his bent arm to Isabella, who took it without fully understanding. Only after the Dowager Duchess of Manchester, her face alight with a suggestive smile, had disappeared into the nearby walls of Kimbolton Castle did he speak.

　　“I trust you do not mind the Dowager Duchess of Manchester's departure. Though your parents have consented to our engagement, before the wedding is formally held, it will be nearly impossible for us to have any private moments together.”

“And Your Grace desires to be alone with me... why?” Isabella asked softly. Could this mean... what the Duke of Marlborough had said at the ball was indeed true? Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, and a fine sheen of sweat formed on the palm of her hand clasped around the Duke of Marlborough's arm. She glanced behind her. Consuelo followed silently, her expression unreadable, her thoughts inaudible.

“Call me Albert. I believe my future wife has that right.”

　　“Al...bert,” Isabella murmured in a voice as soft as insect chirps, her cheeks burning fiercely.

“Miss May mentioned you feel everything is happening too quickly, is that correct?” Albert gently tucked a strand of hair falling by Isabella's temple behind her ear. In the dim night, his pale blue eyes had turned a grayish-blue, like a moon obscured by clouds, revealing no discernible emotion—only a faint sense of gentleness in his gaze. "I hope this does not make you wish to delay our wedding, Consuelo. You see, I long for us to live together as husband and wife as soon as possible. That way, we won't need the protection of the Duchess of Manchester's widow to steal mere moments together in private."

　　Do I have the right to delay the wedding? Isabella asked Consuelo, clinging to the last shred of her sanity amidst the dizzying, suffocating sensation Albert's words had brought.

“If you can fabricate a compelling reason, yes.” Consuelo replied slowly after several seconds. “But it won't change much—at most, it might postpone the ceremony by two months.”

　　“But... I hardly know anything about you, Albert.” Isabella struggled not to lose herself in his deep, captivating voice. “We've only met three times so far—”

　　“Yet I've already had the privilege of witnessing two of your brilliant speeches,” Albert interjected swiftly. “Consuelo, your courage, insight, kindness, wit, and uniqueness all command my utmost admiration. Everything I've learned about you thus far—even after only three meetings—is sufficient to convince me you are the perfect wife I've been seeking.” Albert turned, his palm gently caressing Isabella's cheek as if cradling a dove poised to take flight. If any man in this world could be the male counterpart to Snow White, Isabella thought, gazing at his jet-black curls falling over his almost pallid cheeks and his lips tinged with a faint crimson, it must be Albert.

　　“But... but I don't know everything about you, Albert. At least, what I do know doesn't allow me to be as certain as you are.” Isabella clung to the last shred of her unyielding rationality, glancing around with her peripheral vision. Consuelo was nowhere to be seen.

“What do you wish to know about me, Consuelo?” Albert's lips curved upward in a slow smile. Now Isabella understood why Fifty Shades of Grey—a novel she’d deemed melodramatic and hollow—had sparked such fervor among millions of women. The primal hormonal stirrings ignited by masculine charisma could shatter any wall built of reason. “At least, you’ve never let anything stop you from asking me directly what you wanted to know. Why not do the same now?” "

“How about... how about you tell me something about your parents?” Isabella stammered. Her parents had always taught her that to gauge a boy's reliability, one must observe his parents' character.

　　“My mother passed away three years ago from an illness. She was a devout believer who donated nearly her entire dowry to the local church. As a child, I always looked forward to Sundays because it meant spending the entire morning with my mother at church, rather than just an hour during afternoon tea.” Albert led Isabella to a bench beside the garden path and began softly. "Her death was a devastating blow to my father. They had been deeply in love since their youth, and he never recovered. He passed away a year ago as well. I held my parents in the highest regard. They lived lives of integrity and humility, dedicating their entire efforts to Blenheim Palace and preserving everything left to the Spencer-Churchill family by their ancestors. My mother's sole wish for me was that I live my life as my father did."

　　As Albert finished speaking, Isabella belatedly realized her hand had been taken in his.

“Is there anything else you wish to know, Consuelo?” Albert murmured, drawing closer to her. "I can tell you my favorite writer is Shelley, my favorite composer is Henry Purcell, and I adore your eyes most of all. When you speak your mind, they blaze like fireworks ignited by a symphony, impossible to look away from; yet when I speak to you like this, they sparkle with the innocent, guileless light of a fawn, making one irresistibly want to—"

　　He lifted Isabella's chin, his gaze as deep and hazy as tonight's sky. A kiss as fleeting as a dragonfly's touch grazed her lips, swift as a firefly skimming treetops.

　　Isabella's eyes widened in surprise and trembling. She felt this casual kiss devour her entire being like an ant in an instant, while blissful ecstasy flooded her heart like a tide rushing into lowlands.

He likes me. Isabella thought dazedly. Albert likes me.

　　“First time?” Albert's finger slid across his lips, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he murmured the question.

Isabella nodded silently. If Albert had pushed her even with a single finger now, she would have fallen backward, limp as a ragdoll.

　　“I promised the Dowager Duchess of Manchester this wouldn't take long, and I've already broken my word.” Albert rose, offering his hand to help Isabella up. “Allow me to escort you back to the castle, my future wife.”

　　For the first time since hearing that title, Isabella felt no trace of that anxious, restless irritation. She nodded silently, her heart still filled with that tingling flutter, and took the arm Albert offered her.

　　Just as they were about to enter Kimbolton Castle, Isabella thought she glimpsed a pearl-gray shadow watching her from the corner of the marble tower. Yet the next moment, the candlelight spilling from the castle engulfed her vision.