Mail Order Bride: A Bride for the Doctor (Bozeman Brides Book 4) (7 page)

“
Y
ou will not swoon again
, will you?” Helene asked as she pushed open the window of their bedchamber. “Do not rise too soon. Your father wanted you to rest before meeting John formally.”

Isabella sat upright on the chaise and frowned at her friend. “Swoon? Surely I will do no such thing.”

She had felt lightheaded at the table, even before John Churchgate’s appearance. It was because of the rich foods and drink and the excitement of the great hall that she had fallen from her chair. Not because of John.

Helene’s countenance fell and in an instant Isabella regretted her sharp tone. “Forgive me, Helene. I am merely cross. Everyone is making too much of my falling off my chair.”

She got up and walked to the open window to stand beside Helene. “I was weary from my travels. Two days on horseback.”

Helene nodded.

“And then to have such rich foods at the meal,” Isabella added. “And all the people ...”

“Of course.”

“And the mead.”

“Yes, it was very sweet today.”

Isabella saw her friend bite back a smile.

“You must think I am some feeble-minded hen.”

Helene giggled. “Yes.”

Her giggle turned into a snorting laugh. Isabella could not help but laugh too.

“He is quite fair of face,” Helene said, sobering a bit. “I walked into a tree the first time I saw him.”

“Oh dear me,” Isabella paced to the chaise and slumped across the pillows again. “What am I to do, Helene?”

“Do? Whatever do you mean?”

“If you think John Churchgate is fair of face, do you not think every woman will think likewise? What am I to expect as his wife? I am to expect a husband with a wandering eye and an equally wandering hand. That is what. He will be pulled away and enticed by every winking eye.”

“You do not know that for surety, Isabella. You have not yet met the man. He is quite honorable. Well respected on the estate. A philanderer, he is not. How can you label him as such, having only seen him from afar just this morning?”

“I know what I have seen in my own sister’s marriage. Men like John Churchgate are all the same. This John Churchgate with a face so fair and manners so happy, I am to expect that he will be in everyone’s bed but our own.”

Helene gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Isabella had not meant to speak so openly and strongly with her new friend. It was obvious from her reaction that even though they were the same age, they had not been exposed to the same things in life.

“Forgive me, Helene. I did not mean to be so crass. You must think me a heathen.”

“All is forgiven.” Helene laid a finger beside her nose. “You must not allow Lady Clarice to hear you speak thusly.”

“I know. It is most unladylike.” She said the words with a clipped tone in an attempt to mimic Lady Clarice’s manner of speech.

“I am not a talebearer, dear Isabella. Our lady will never hear of this from me.”

“My sharp tongue will get me in trouble one day, I think.”

“You have strong convictions. That is a good thing. Allow Lady Clarice’s tutelage to form them properly. Now, let us join your father and Lady Clarice in the drawing room.”

Helene picked up Isabella’s cloak from the chaise and shook the wrinkles from it. The book of sonnets fell to the floor.

Isabella snatched it up and held it behind her back. “You found my book.”

“Your book of love sonnets. I saw it earlier when you swooned … I mean fell from your chair.”

“It is my one vice aside from my strong opinions about men.”

“You have a penchant for romance after all.”

“Perhaps, true romance is only to be found in a book of sonnets.”

“I pray not. My Peter is not like your John but I pray every night that some measure of love will grow between us. Even if it is small. It will be enough.”

Helene held Isabella’s cloak out for her and helped her fasten it around her neck. The girl was so kind and filled with hope. She was full of a beautiful light. Isabella envied her for it.

“For your sake, Helene. I pray this is true.”

Helene helped Isabella with her veil. “You have such fine features and lovely coloring.”

“Thank you.”

“I cannot imagine John not being taken with you.”

“I pray you are right, Helene.”

“And quite loyal,” she said with a giggle.

On their way to the drawing room, Helene continued to talk of John’s amiable qualities, and even of the good character of his relations. There was a friar and a monk in his lineage. Knowing that he had relations in the church only reminded Isabella of her sister’s plight and did nothing to repair her image of the man.

By the time they stood outside the wide double doors of the drawing room, Isabella was tired of hearing about John Churchgate. She longed to be done with the formalities of meeting her intended and to return to her bedchamber.

Isabella would rather have stayed behind alone in their rooms. She had seen at least one chessboard and a book of verses on the table next to the chaise. An afternoon spent lounging alone with her thoughts would be a welcome respite.

Helene’s knock on the drawing room doors brought no answer from within. A servant girl appeared from an adjoining passage way and led them back to the great hall.

The crowds were gone and the tables had been cleared. Aromas of meat and mead still lingered in the room. Or perhaps it was only Isabella’s wishful thinking, for she remembered that they had not finished the second course before she ‘swooned’ at the sight of John.

Three people occupied the bright, welcoming room now.

Sitting side by side, facing the door, were her father and Lady Clarice. And with his back to the door, sat John.

Her father stood as she entered. “Daughter.”

Concern etched his face.

“I am well, father,” Isabella assured him then greeted Lady Clarice with a nod. “I was weary from our travels.”

John stood up and smoothed his tunic with both hands.

She stepped forward and cast a sidelong glance toward the tall young man. He met her gaze with a tentative smile. She looked away to her friend.

“I will take my leave now,” Helene announced.

“Thank you, Helene,” Lady Clarice said then motioned for the servant girl to sit a few chairs down the table from them. The girl obeyed. Helene took her leave.

Lady Clarice smoothed her hands over the tabletop as if she was unrolling a large parchment on the table between the four of them. “Now that we see you are well, Isabella. I think it is time you met young John.”

Strict and charitable.

Isabella bowed to John, careful not to make direct prolonged eye contact. John returned the bow.

“Please sit,” said Lady Clarice. “John is the second son of Lord Simon in Brighton. He came to us as a page when he was seven. He has grown quite tall over the past two and ten years. Quite tall.”

John chuckled. Isabella saw him wink at the young servant girl. She looked to be around five years old. The little girl covered her mouth and giggled.

Lady Clarice continued. “He is an accomplished horseman. In fact, he is to be your riding trainer.”

Isabella cast a questioning glance at her father. Did she need a riding trainer? She already knew how to ride well enough.

Lady Clarice seemed to read her mind. “Yes, I am sure you know how to ride well enough to transverse the countryside, but if you are to be a knight’s wife, you will learn to ride a horse like a knight’s wife.”

“Yes, madam.”

Lady Clarice went on to tell her of the other details of her training inside and outside the castle. In the gardens. In the kitchen. Among the people. Even in the church.

There seemed to be much more to her tutelage than her mother had intimated.

After several minutes, Lady Clarice paused and sat back in her chair. “That is all for now. Young John will now take you to see the stables and our sweet little Millicent will accompany you.”

At this, the servant girl, who had all but fallen asleep with her chin propped on her fist, jumped to her feet. She came to stand beside John and slipped her hand in his.

“Millie,” Lady Clarice scolded.

Little Millicent yanked her hands away and folded them behind her back. When the lady turned away to talk with Sir Philip, John winked at the girl again.

His behavior, though not as forward as before, was no less disturbing. He seemed to be ignoring her now. Isabella was a confused and annoyed.

“Isabella, you have been quiet,” her father said. “Do you have any questions for Lady Clarice?”

“No, father.”

“Well said then. I will see you in the stables. Lady Clarice and I have more to discuss.”

As they stepped into the courtyard, John allowed the little girl to hold onto his tunic. Long shadows were tracing across the yard and a cool breeze shook the trees.

Isabella shivered and wrapped her cloak tighter.

“You are cold,” said John.

It was the first time she heard his voice. And oh what a deep melodious voice it was.

Isabella stared up at him. She felt her body grow warm in his concerned gaze. My, he was a tall man with such mesmerizing features. She knew of no comparison to his eyes … his brow … his lips …

“Are you well?” he asked.

She nodded, not able to trust her voice.

“The stables abutt the main kitchen. It will be warmer there.”

She took a faltering breath and nodded.

They walked together in silence.

The stables reeked of horseflesh and horse droppings but, as John had said, it was warm inside. Millie ran ahead to play with a little pony in a stall nearby.

“You have a fine horse,” he said as they stood before one of her father’s horses.

“Thank you.”

He smiled at her and winked. “You are more fair than I thought you would be.”

The brazen clod. Isabella was shocked. “And you are more forward than I think a squire should be.”

His smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “Of a truth, you speak your mind so quickly for a young maid.”

A plump kitchen servant sauntered by and called to John. “Good day, Squire John.”

On her right hip rested a basket of bread. She swayed her hips a little too widely for Isabella’s taste. She watched John as he greeted the young servant. His gaze lingered on the large busted woman longer than Isabella liked.

She made no attempt to hide her disgust.

His smile faded when he looked at Isabella. “This is my intended,” he told the young woman.

“I know,” she said and ambled off.

Isabella walked away from him. Unkind words stewed in her mind.

Lord God, I pray Thee. Help me bite my tongue. Help me be civil to this flirtatious oaf.

John caught up to her. “Would you like to see my horse?”

Still not in charge of her words, Isabella nodded and let him lead the way through the stable.

“Here he is,” John said, sweeping his hand toward a black destrier. “Storm, meet my intended. Isabella Whytelake.”

The massive horse stamped and whinnied.

Millie stood closer to John and took his hand.

“He is large but he is harmless. Right, Millie?”

Millie shook her head and shoved the thumb of her free hand in her mouth. John picked her up and hugged her.

“Sohn sneeps here wit hish horse,” Millie said, her words coming out garbled.

“Do not talk with your thumb in your mouth, Millicent,” he said and sounded very much like a big brother.

Isabella looked further into the horse’s stall and did indeed see a sleeping palette in the far corner. “So you do sleep here with your horse?”

John shrugged. A look of pride spread across his face. “Yes. I want to become a good knight.”

“And he weads to da horse.”

John’s eyes grew large and he looked uncomfortable. “Shush, Millie.”

“You do what to the horse?” Isabella asked.

John put Millie down. “Run along, little girl,” he said and gave her a little shove toward the kitchen. “I think I hear Cook calling for you.”

“No,” Millie said with a stamp of her little foot. “She is not calling me.”

Isabella’s curiosity was stirred. She knelt down in front of Millie and took the girls hands into hers. “What does he do to the horse when he beds down here, Millie? He
weeds
to it?”

“No. He reads to it from a book.” She paused to giggle. “Poems. I have heard him.”

Groaning, John turned away.

Isabella was enjoying seeing him squirm. “Poems?”

There might be hope for this flirtatious oaf after all.