Chapter 85

Isabella’s POV

I bid farewell to my companions. Melisande's silvery giggle rang out as she teased Arden about his new sword belt, while Roderick and Milo argued good-naturedly about about which weapon was sharper.

"You must invite us to meet your future husband, Isabella," Melisande called out as they climbed into the carriage.

I maintained my bright smile, waving until the carriages disappeared through the castle gates. Only then did I allow my expression to fall, my hand dropping heavily to my side.

"Emma," I called softly to my maid. "Bring my father's documents to the study." I could feel Thomas's concerned gaze following me as I turned toward the manor.

In my private study, Lady Catherine stood by the table, while Lady Anne adjusted her cap for the third time in as many minutes.

"My lady," Thomas began, his slight limp more pronounced as he approached the desk. "If I may speak freely about His Majesty's command..."

I nodded, running my fingers over the raised seal on Father's document.

Thomas has always been astute in reading the intentions of others, having managed the manor's affairs for many years. After a moment's contemplation, he spoke with the wisdom that comes from decades of service.

"My lady, we can be certain of one thing—His Majesty likely has no true intention of marrying you Duke Stoneheaven. If that were his desire, he would simply issue a royal decree naming you, one that you could not refuse."

"I know," I replied, fingering my mother's rosary beads to calm my racing thoughts. "But by giving me this three-month deadline, he's forcing me into marriage. My status as an unmarried woman seems to trouble him, though I cannot fathom why. I've read the decree that posthumously honored my father several times. The crucial detail lies not in the flowery language, but in the provision that my future husband could inherit the title. Is that his true aim—to have someone inherit my father's duchy through me?"

Thomas ventured further: "If I recall correctly, my lady, the decree also mentioned the possibility of selecting and grooming a suitable heir from the extended family. Perhaps His Majesty wishes to prevent a de Montfort from inheriting? Could he already have someone in mind for your hand, hence the three-month ultimatum?"

I fell silent, continuing to roll the rosary beads between my fingers, seeking the clarity that had eluded me. "If your suspicions are correct, Thomas, then the King intends to choose my father's successor himself."

The thought brought a frown to my face. Once again, I faced the prospect of an arranged marriage to a stranger, taking on the burden of managing another household full of people I didn't know.

Catherine raised a pertinent question: "If His Majesty has chosen an heir, would this man join our household? And surely any children must bear the de Montfort name. Men can be so unreliable—what if he gains the title and then takes a mistress? Should he father other children and favor them over the legitimate heir, we would lose both honor and title."

The matter of taking the de Montfort name and joining our household might simplify things—at least then we wouldn't have to accommodate an entire new family. My mother had chosen William precisely because he had promised to remain faithful. Among the noble houses of the realm, what man truly keeps to one bed? Even common merchants visit brothels when they can afford to.

I hold no expectations for marriage, nor do I particularly resist it. It was my mother's dying wish that I should marry, bear children, and live peacefully. When Prince Philip asked of my intentions, I told him my mother never wished for me to follow the path of a warrior.

I'm not certain if that was my heart's truth, but it hardly matters now. I once harbored ambitions, burned with dreams and aspirations, but they have all turned to ash. These days pass like still water, and I've made my peace with that.

Yes, I helped reclaim the Holy Land, and they call me a hero. But what joy can such glory bring when there is no family left to share in it?

Had the King not issued this decree, I would have chosen someone from our extended family to groom as heir to the duchy. But now this new complication arises.

I have no desire to bear children. I cannot guarantee that my loved ones will live to see old age—I have endured the loss of family too many times, and I cannot bear to face such pain again.

Yet if the King demands I take a husband and I refuse to bear children, my father's title will pass to another. This duchy that now feels like a chain around my neck—but I must not think of it so. It represents the Crown's recognition of my father's sacrifice, bought with his very life.

Finally, I stopped this circular thinking and addressed them: "Let us not dwell on these possibilities. Since His Majesty has made his wishes known, whoever he has in mind will eventually reveal himself. We shall make our decision when that time comes."