Storm at Marshbay by Clara Wimberly

safety of my own home. But I’d made a bargain. Ian had promised we’d get through this together. I kept reminding myself of that.

Chapter Six
     
    Somehow I managed to calm myself and greet the guests. There were many toasts as everyone lingered through a dinner with several courses. By the end I grew anxious and began feeling a little ill. My head pounded, probably from the Champagne I was not used to.
    “Is something wrong? Shall I take you to your room?” Ian asked.
    “I think I’m just tired,” I said, relieved that he’d noticed. “Would it be terribly rude if we leave now?
     “They will only think we’re impatient to be alone.” His eyes twinkled as if he wanted to tease me out of my nervousness.
    Before I could answer him he stood up to speak.
    “Friends…family,” he said, lifting a crystal flute of pale sparkling Champagne. “On behalf of myself and my beautiful bride,” he paused and glanced at me. “I thank you all for coming and for helping us celebrate this memorable occasion.”
    Thunder crashed and we heard the wind whipped rain slashing across the windows. Candles flickered about the room.
    “Please,” he continued. “Stay as long as you wish— I hope none of you will try to travel in this weather. We have plenty of room if any of you wish to stay the night. In the meantime I hope you will excuse Isabella and myself.”
    There were a few quiet cheers and raised glasses. People laughed and looked at us with curiosity and indulgence. We rose to go and they turned quickly back to their conversations and food.
    Mrs. Fitzgerald reached out and touched us as we passed.
    “Good night, my darlings,” she said. “Rest well.”
    “Thank you,” I murmured.
    As we walked down the long hallway I felt dizzy. I lifted my hand to my head, my feet unsteady.
    Ian caught me to him, holding me against his side to steady me. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking at me with concern.
    “I’m fine,” I said. “Probably too much Champagne.”
    “You hardly ate anything at dinner. Would you like something brought to your room? Perhaps now that all the excitement is over you might be able to eat a little.”
    “That’s very thoughtful, but I don’t think so. I just need some rest.”
    “I’m sorry.  I know this has all been very stressful for you, not to mention you’re still grieving for your mother.”
    He stopped and opened a door and stood aside for me to enter.
    “This is your room. I hope you like it.”
    It was a stunning room. Mrs. Fitzgerald had used two of my favorite colors of blue and yellow. The walls were covered in blue silk, the same blue reflected in the cream and white coverlet on the four-poster bed. Large fluffy pillows of blue, cream and yellow looked cozy and inviting. My dressing table and oval mirror was cream-colored with gold trim and looked to have a French influence. A soft oval cream rug with blue and yellow flowers sank beneath my feet.
    “Oh, my,” I said. “I think it’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”
    “I’m glad you like it. Mother will be pleased.”
    “I’ll be sure and thank her tomorrow.”
    He walked to the left of the room and opened a door. I could see another bedroom, a darker, more masculine room.
    “We have separate rooms?”
    “We have adjoining rooms,” he said. “I didn’t want to cause you any anxiety about tonight. I want what is between us to progress slowly and naturally. I have my own entrance to the hallway and I promise I won’t intrude upon your privacy. But call me if you need anything. And there’s a bell pull beside your bed for the servants.”
    Suddenly neither of us had anything else to say. An awkward silence hung in the air between us.
    “Ian,” I said.  “Thank you…for everything.  You’ve been so kind to me and I…I…” My eyes began to fill with tears. No man had ever been so gentle with me and I found I couldn’t continue.
    “Isabella,” he whispered.  He stepped to me and took me