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Many readers wondered if Isabella could get the marriage annulled. Perhaps, although that would have been very difficult. Technically, there was no fraud as she had been informed that she was to wed Lord Anthony Masen, and that's what happened. But the most important thing was that she belonged to an age and a background where an annulment would have been frowned upon. Truly, she may not be even aware of the provision.

LovePotionsBrewer has consented to beta the whole story. Isn't that wonderful?

Chapter-1

Edward Masen is coming back after a self-imposed exile of six years. I am not sure how I feel about that. My head says it is a political decision. However, my heart can't help but beat faster. My treacherous body can't help but remember the pleasure it received from his body.

I am Lady Isabella Masen, wife—no, I remind myself, not wife but widow—of the late Lord Anthony Masen. My husband was a good man and a good husband, but I have not been a faithful wife.

And now the man I cheated upon my husband with is returning from France. He will take his rightful title as Anthony passed away without fathering a son, and Edward is his first cousin. Though it has not been a month since my husband died, people are already talking of us getting married. It makes sense, I guess. I already have a position as Lady Isabella Masen, and Edward has never been married. And now it is his duty to give the earldom an heir. Rather than bring a wife from another family and divide the estate, it is a better idea to marry me instead.

But can I let him touch me again? Should I let him touch me again, after hearing the last gasping words from Anthony? He had never openly berated me for my slip, but neither had he forgiven me completely. Every time I had cried and begged forgiveness, he said that he didn't wish to talk about it, that he would like to forget it all. You would think it was enough on a husband's part not to remind his wife of her transgression, but to me it was not.

Because after he caught Edward and me together, he never touched me, never kissed me, never even entered my bedroom.

To the outside world, we remained the same loving couple, the earl and his countess who were perfect for each other. He managed the province, I managed the manor house. Both of us played our roles in the society faultlessly. But behind closed doors, there was nothing but heartbreak.

My daughter cannot be Anthony's heir, but she saved my sanity. She was the only sunshine I had in a world where the days were as dark as the nights. She was the only sign of an earlier time when my husband had loved me as much as I loved him.

"Lady Isabella? Lady Isabella?"

Someone was repeatedly calling my name. Oh, why could people just not leave me alone? I was grieving my husband. Surely I deserved to weep in peace?

But no, I still have a role to play. And I must play it with dignity. I cannot run away from my responsibilities.

I take a deep breath and dry my tears. "What is it, Alice? Do we have another guest?"

Alice is my personal maid, a young girl with whom I feel more comfortable with than any other servant. Our housekeeper is a sour-tempered older woman named Mrs. Stanley, and our butler a blank-faced and seemingly emotionless man, who also happens to be the housekeeper's husband. Those two are made for each other.

"I apologize for disturbing my lady, but your mother is here to see you."

I sigh heavily. I love my mother; she is a caring, loving woman, but right now I wish to be alone. Her gregarious nature makes her chatter constantly, flitting from one topic to another. Ever since Anthony died, she has been paying me these visits every two or three days. And my patience is wearing thin.

Before I have time to compose myself, she breezes in, all fluttering hands and adoring eyes.

"Oh my dear child, how are you feeling today? You look sad—are those tear marks on your cheeks? Alice, is your lady eating well? Has she broken her fast yet? Go get her something to eat. Go, girl, don't just stand there gaping at me like a goldfish!"

Alice gives me a startled glance. I nod at her. Anything to make my mother stop talking.

And I suppose I should eat, even though I do not feel inclined to. If not for my Elizabeth, I would have slowly starved myself to death. Or taken a leap from the roof—that would have been much quicker.

I am sure Anthony's father wouldn't have minded. My father, Charles Swan, is only a gentleman farmer, so I definitely married above my station. If not for Anthony's insistence, this marriage would never have happened.

My mother is gently wiping away my tears. I thought I had stopped crying, but obviously not. Her eyes are soft with grief.

"My poor girl," she murmurs helplessly. "My poor girl!"

My father clears his throat from the doorway. Both Mother and I blink and try to smile. Father is a man of few words, but we know it breaks his heart to see any of us in pain.

"How are you today, Isabella?" he comes nearer but stops a couple of paces away. He has always believed in giving us space.

"I am well, Papa," I lie as best as I can. I do not want to talk about myself, so I try to distract my parents by asking about my siblings. "How are Angela and Mike? I have not seen them in days."

A look passes between them. They know what I am doing, but they do not dissuade me.

"They are well," my mother answers while my father nods in agreement. "They have been asking about you. Angela wanted to come with us, but I told her we would be only a few minutes."

Ah, so she had noticed my reluctance to talk. It seems I had underestimated my mother.

"Please bring her next time, Mamma. I know I am not good company nowadays, but I would like to see her."

It is true. Angela is only a couple of years younger to me, and we have always been like friends. Mike is a boy, and only fifteen. Although he loves me, he has no idea what to say to me while I am moping. And tears make him uncomfortable in the extreme.

Alice enters and announces that breakfast has been served in the small parlour. She knows I am not fond of the large, opulent dining hall, and neither are my parents. The three of us would get lost in that room.

My parents assure me they have already eaten, so they just have tea. Under the watchful eye of my mother, I manage to chew through a boiled egg and a slice of buttered toast. However, every morsel sticks in my throat, and I have to gulp tea to make it go down.

"Have some bacon as well, Isabella, or some black pudding," encourages my mother gently. "Lord knows you can do with some colour in your cheeks."

I shake my head. "I feel quite full, Mamma. Thank you."

She looks ready to argue, but my father intervenes. "Renée, let her be. She will eat if she feels hungry."

"I know you are grieving for Anthony, dear girl," she sighs, "but you have to take care of your health. Think of darling Lizzie. Who will look after her if you are not well?"

I pick up a peach, and she is satisfied. Compromise.

"So have you decided on a groom for Angela?" I know that is one topic my mother will happily prattle about for the rest of her visit.

Her eyes light up. "Oh yes, that is what I wanted to tell you. We have found a most suitable match for your sister. His name is Benjamin Cheney and he is a clergyman, recently ordained and working in a nearby town. We will be able to see Angela every month or two!"

My father smiles indulgently. "Mister Cheney's prospects are certainly bright. You know how much demand there is for ministers nowadays, with the industry expanding and new towns springing up overnight. His father is a clergyman too. They have some land as well, so their income is good. Angela will be comfortable."

As soon as I finish my meal, my father gives this nod to my mother—a signal that it is time to leave. It brings a smile to my lips. All of us are familiar with that little movement of his head to the right, combining with a lift of eyebrows. He knows mother is fond of talking. If he does not remind her, she will not get up until much later.

She stands up, saying goodbye and promising to bring Angela next time. She takes a step but then turns quickly. Her expression says there is a question she wants to ask, but is uncertain. It makes me curious.

"What is it, Mamma?"

My father frowns, but she asks quickly. "Isabella, is it true that you are to be wed again? The cook said she had heard about it from her aunt who knows someone—"

I wring my hands while father looks on disapprovingly. I decide there is no point in hiding the truth. It will be common knowledge in a few days anyway.

"Yes Mamma, it is probably true. I have not had word from Anthony's father, but the household staff have been whispering among themselves. Jasper also came to me the other day, saying that congratulations were in order."

Jasper used to be Anthony's valet. He had been with him since my late husband was a young man of sixteen years, and was extremely loyal to him. He has taken his death hard. In a few weeks he seems to have aged years. I can understand that. After all, Anthony had always treated him less like a servant and more like a friend.

Aside from Jasper, I think Edward is the only other man who was close to Anthony. But he broke that trust six years ago. Not once did his name pass Anthony's lips during this period, not even in rage.

"Well, it seems too soon to me," remarks my mother, "but perhaps Lord Masen has his reasons. The earldom needs someone to manage it, and an heir—"

"Renée," my father interrupts her rambling. He nods again, and mother hastily takes her leave. Just in time too, for I am close to tears again. Will they never stop?

Alice looks at me sympathetically. "My lady, would you like to rest in your room for a while?"

I take a deep breath. "I want to see Lizzie, Alice. Is she bathed and dressed yet?"

She nods but looks doubtful. "I saw Maggie earlier, and she said Miss Lizzie is ready. But do you think you should see her right now?"

Yes, I am aware that this is not the time to visit the nursery. But I really need to see her, to feel her small figure in my arms, to be sure she hasn't disappeared from my life as well.

We proceed to the nursery wing, which is located at some distance from my bedroom. It is a pretty room, with white walls and pink furniture. I find Lizzie playing with her favourite doll family, spinning a yarn while Maggie watches her fondly.

"…and when Jacob came back for the hunt, Leah welcomed him home and asked him what animals he had shot in the forest. Can you imagine what that was, Miss Maggie?"

None of them see me, so I stop at the door and signal Alice to be quiet. My daughter is quite a storyteller, and I love to listen to her flights of fancy.

"A mighty lion, Miss Maggie, with strong teeth and a golden mane! It had attacked so many villagers and their cattle—everybody was grateful to him for slaying the beast. Was not Jacob a brave man, Maggie?"

"He was indeed, my dear child."

Lizzie looked thoughtful all of a sudden. "Was my father a brave man, Miss Maggie?"

Maggie doesn't hesitate, but there is a catch in her voice when she answers. "Yes my child, your father was a very brave man."

I enter the room then, not wanting to hear the sadness in my daughter's voice. Although the full concept of death is beyond her, she does understand that he isn't coming back.

And really, does any of us know more than that?

"Mamma!" Lizzie gets up and runs towards me, the short full skirt of her frock flaring up.

"Lizzie, do not run, please." The chiding comes from Maggie. She is already grooming my baby to be a proper young lady. It is her job.

I take a seat on a low ottoman, and hold Lizzie close. Her soft curls, so like my father's, tickle my cheek. She is so much like me, except for her beautiful emerald eyes, which she has inherited from Anthony's side of the family. Her hair is brown like mine but has gold highlights in it, again a gift from her father, a natural dark blond. My husband was certainly a handsome man.

"Mamma, did papa ever hunt a lion?" she asks, making herself comfortable in my lap. Her eyes shine with excitement.

"Yes darling, he did."

"A great big one?"

"Yes, a great big one."

"Then why did he call himself a co—" her forehead wrinkle as she tries to remember, and then smoothens as she proudly exclaims—"a coward! That was what he had said! Why did he do that, Mamma?"

Maggie and I look at each other in stunned silence. Alice is the one who gathers her wits first. She smiles, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Your father would never call himself a coward, Miss Lizzie. Perhaps you misunderstood. Perhaps he said something else and you did not hear right?"

Lizzie's cute little nose wrinkles, but then she shakes her head emphatically. "I heard it right, Alice. Papa was talking with Jasper. Then he slammed his fist on this table—" she pointed to a heavy mahogany desk near the window where Maggie sometimes read or sewed, "—and said that he could not do anything because he was a coward."

"Why would he do that?" wondered Alice. "Could my Lord be upset with Jasper?"

I had always suspected she was sweet on Jasper. Of course she would be worried about him.

"I have no idea, Alice," I murmured as an invisible hand gripped my heart and squeezed.

Anthony had called himself a coward. Of course. Why wouldn't he? He knew of my unfaithfulness, and yet he had to pretend to the world that we were a happy couple. He could not do anything because it would have created a terrible scandal all over the county. It might even have reached the ears of the royal palace. And his father—how he would have gloated!

"How do you know what a coward is, sweetheart?" asks Maggie. Perhaps she is still hoping for a misunderstanding.

Lizzie looks at her thoughtfully. "Because when Jasper said papa was not a coward, papa said—yes, I am, otherwise I would not be scared of what people think. That means a coward is someone who is afraid of people. Isn't that so, Mamma?"

For her, I am still the highest authority on everything. Ah, children.

"Sometimes even brave people are scared of something, darling. That does not mean they are cowards, just that…they can't do anything about certain matters."

Lizzie looks puzzled at this bit of information. I am puzzled too. What could Jasper have said that led to Anthony's outburst?

"When did this happen, Lizzie? Do you remember?"

"Yes, Mamma", she nods. "It was the day after my birthday. I was arranging my new dollhouse there, in that corner." She dips her head to indicate the direction where her dollhouse resides. It is a beautiful structure, pink and white like the nursery, but with a sloping blue roof. There is an abundance of tiny but perfectly designed furniture, and curtains in the windows. There is even a model front garden, with shrubs and trees and a swing for the dolls. Elizabeth got it on her fifth birthday, a joint gift from Anthony and me.

That was five months ago. I try to recall if anything had happened to upset Jasper around then, but can't think of anything. Anyway, he has always been a quiet sort of man, not prone to show his emotions to the world. Truthfully, he was like Anthony's shadow. People sometimes forgot that he was in the room with them as he silently attended his master. He must have heard some interesting conversations in all the gatherings he had been to with Anthony.

I shrug and change the subject. Elizabeth gladly tells me all about the newest adventure of her doll family. Then it is time for her lunch, and I have to leave.

I am in no mood to have lunch myself when the time comes. However, a message from Lord Masen forces me to join him in the large dining room. Clearly, he enjoys the opulence of that room. In fact, I am sure he is the one responsible for the overall ambience of the whole house. Left to Anthony, it would have been a much simpler place. But his father believes in showing off their wealth.

"How will the peasants respect us if we don't give them something to look up to, Anthony? They must see the difference between us and them. Our garments, carriages, residence—everything should speak of the kind of wealth they can only dream of. The stableful of prime horses and the retinue of servants must show them that we exist at a higher level than they do, and will always do so. You have to keep up appearances, boy. Do you understand?"

Anthony had looked at his lap and answered "yes, sir" in a low voice. His voice was naturally soft and pleasant, almost musical. I had never heard him raise his voice, but in front of his father it dropped to a bare whisper. Ironically, it made Lord Masen even more obnoxious.

"Are you taking care of your health, Isabella?"

I blink and look up. Since when has the pompous, uncaring man sitting in front of me begun to care for my health? Even when Anthony died, he had seemed more disappointed than anything else.

"Yes, my lord." I try to be as respectful as possible.

"Good," he nods approvingly as a teacher would to a student who has completed her homework. "I have news for you. Edward arrived last night at his mother's. He will be here at three o'clock to offer his condolences at Anthony's untimely demise. I have also asked him to make you a formal proposal for marriage. You are to be married within a month."

I gawk at him for a second before I remember myself and lower my eyes. It is not as if I can refuse him.

"Yes, my lord."

Inside, I am seething at his utter callousness.

"I asked about your health because you are yet to give me an heir," he clarifies, a forkful of roast partridge on its way to his mouth. He points the fork towards me and gives it a little shake as if emphasizing his words. "Don't take too long, Isabella. You are not getting any younger. Your excuses might have worked upon Anthony, but they won't work upon me. Do you understand?"

I nod, wishing it was permissible to throw my fork, and maybe my knife too, at my father-in-law.

And what did he mean by your excuses? I never gave Anthony any excuse—he was the one who wouldn't touch me!

Oh. Oooh. Of course he could not share that with his father.

He takes his leave soon after, stating that he will be back for the wedding. His estate is nearly two days journey from here, so I can hope not to be disturbed any time before that. The days he has spent here since Anthony's death have been more than enough, even though I have had few interactions with him.

I return to my room and begin to pace furiously, muttering to myself. How dare he order me like that! The wedding I had expected, but couldn't he have worded himself better? Did he need to be that insensitive? His son, his own flesh and blood was barely cold in the ground, and he was insisting that I produce an heir without delay? As if I had only to snap my fingers and a stork would drop a baby boy in my lap!

And then his words before that cold command register in my brain. I gasp and sit down heavily, suddenly feeling breathless.

Edward is here.

Of course I knew he was on his way, but until now it had been a vague item of news. Now that he was physically here…

How was I going to face him?

A.N.: In case you are wondering, Isabella was supposed to visit her daughter only once a day, around teatime or so. Her father-in-law believed in adhering to the social norms, and the nobility believed that parents should be a little distant from their children. They would be spoiled otherwise, you see!