And dangerous. Giving in to any of it, even something as innocent as secret meetings, would be her downfall. And not just hers but the entire Nott family’s. Their name would become a topic of whispered rumors. Invitations to events would halt, and people would go out of their way to avoid them as if they were lepers.
Though that didn’t necessarily seem like such a bad thing to Isobel, it would destroy Henry.
Some rules she could easily flex or bend—like walking alone to the bookstore or not attending every social event. But some were more like short chains trapping her in place, and others the puppet strings that kept her playing her role.
A weight she knew well sank and settled in her stomach. That constricting feeling of never being free to choose.
But there was another reason she should put an end to seeing Ved. Something beyond a damaged reputation—the ache of disappointment she’d feel when he returned to the stars and she was left behind. The Nott family would eventually recover from ruin, but she was quite certain she’d never recover from that. And the more she discovered through Ved, the more it would hurt.
It would be like living inside her favorite novels for weeks only to be thrust back into reality. She’d be left to marry Lord Richard. To act as if she didn’t know an entire universe was alive out there. More than a damaged reputation or being snubbed by society—this would be her ruin.
“Don’t you agree, Miss Nott?”
She slammed back into the present moment with a flinch. The entire table was looking at her expectantly as Clara elbowed her surreptitiously. “Yes?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Miss Browning’s face, but her smile didn’t falter. “I was saying I prefer a spring ceremony because of how it feels like new beginnings. It’s advantageous for the larger selection of flowers to choose from. I presume that is why you chose to be married then as well?”
“I didn’t choose.”
The ladies looked at her with mildly horrified expressions.
Blazes.“That is to say, Lord Richard made his desire for a spring ceremony known, and I agreed,” she lied. “The flowersarelovely then.”
Their expressions went from appalled to skeptical.
“And the weather, of course. It isn’t too hot or too cold.” It was all lies. If anyone had bothered to consider what she wanted, she would have chosen an autumn wedding.
That seemed to appease the group. “Precisely.” Miss Browning beamed. “That’s why spring is perfect for weddings.” She lifted her chin as if she’d accomplished some spectacular feat, getting Isobel to agree with her.
Isobel glanced at Clara, who gave her a knowing smile.
It took all her energy to try and remain present for the rest of the day. The purpose of the event, she discovered, was for the viscountess and her daughter to show off their topiary gardens—full of bushes trimmed in swirls and spheres, the Queen’s guards, bears standing on their hind legs, and other such novelties.
At another time, she’d have found the display enjoyable. However, it was unseasonably warm for early spring and the heat made her skin prickly. It didn’t help matters that she was forced to act as a human shield to keep an overly interested Mr. Wells from sneezing all over Clara. The poor man was either suffering from such a fit or wiping at his watery eyes and snotty nose whilst attempting to woo her niece. Unsuccessfully.
Then, as if that was not reason enough to wish for a lifetime of seclusion, she’d been forced to ride in a carriage with Lord Richard who droned on about his summers in Candalot.
It was all rather miserable.
And when at last she could be alone, curled up beneath the covers in her bed, sleep evaded heronce again.
She was still in the throes of indecision. Could she keep herself from seeking Ved out again to save herself further disappointment? The next couple weeks would be torture, knowing he was out there fixing his ship and that she shouldn’t see him.
But her biggest fear was falling into another “malady of the mind,” as the physician called it. She’d experienced it several times in her youth, each bout worse than the last. It was a heaviness that left her apathetic and lethargic, an all-consuming melancholy. It was a dark, endless pit that even all the books by SV in the world couldn’t pull her from. Such periods had worried her father immensely, especially when the physician mentioned putting her in an institution during one such episode.
Her father had adamantly refused. But something told her that Lord Richard wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
By the next morning, she felt so wretched and exhausted that she didn’t realize she’d mindlessly gone down the stairs to the first floor. Her brother’s voice finally broke through her foggy mind.
“Ah,” Henry said, “there’s my favorite sister.”
The hall came back into focus. “Good morning,” she said, even her voice sounding far away.
Lord Richard appeared in the hallway next. “Itisa good morning,” he drawled with a snobbish flair.
She huffed out a breath. Why must he be so …himself?
Softening her expression, lest her true feelings showed on her face, she offered an agreeable dip of her chin. But her gaze caught on their attire. Dark green fitted tailcoats and course beige trousers.
