The letter underneath Pru’s was marked Italy,Verona Italy, exactly, and the worn envelope spoke of the long trip across the sea. It was addressed to Cassian and was sent from anIsabella Alessandra Farnese—
She immediately recognized the name.
It was the same woman whose letter Cassian had kept hidden in his drawer. She stared at the thick letter, wondering what was inside and if she should open it.
It is his property; I would be invading it if I opened it without his approval.
Dropping the letter, she forced herself to attend to the other letters, wrote a reply to Pru, told Rosie she would attend her cousin's debut ballerina at Covent Garden, and told Emma she would love to share tea next week.
Even as she forced herself to mind her business, the worry about what thisIsabellahad to say brewed in the back of her mind. The letters she had found had been dated years ago. She had not seen anything new, so why was Isabella contacting her husband now?
Had Cassian contacted her first? Is this why he wants to go back to the Continent so badly? Back to her?
Cecilia tried to digest the information pragmatically—but felt as if she were being utterly ripped apart. The very notion of him running away from England to marry Isabella felt like a knife under her ribs.
Pushing away from the table, she carried Isabella’s letter to place it on his desk, and then went back to the rest of her work.
Who in God’s name is this woman?
It felt churlish of her to obsess over the unknown lady when there were bigger and more pressing concerns for her to be worried about. But she couldn’t help it.
The identity of this Isabella had lodged in her mind for reasons she didn’t completely understand. But it would not leave her alone, festering like a splinter that she could neither remove nor ignore. She simply had to know.
Do I ask Cassian directly, and if I do, will he tell me the truth?
Arriving home, Cassian shucked off his jacket and rested a glass of lemonade on his desk. He then dropped a folio beside it and, taking a seat, spun it open. Inside was the approved annulment agreement Ben had gotten back from the archbishop, right in time for Cassian’s departure.
It was rather backhanded and going against a half-promise he had already made to Cecilia, but it was necessary. For her sake.
“Now, I just need to convince her to sign it,” he murmured to himself. “She is as stubborn as a bull, but this is the best way for her.”
He quickly changed into softer clothes, returned to his desk, and as he shifted the folio, a vagrant letter caught his eye. He spun it over to read the sender.
Instantly, his blood ran cold.
“Isabella…”
He stared at the name of his old lover. Again, guilt closed over his chest at knowing how muddled he had left the poor girl.
Dropping the letter, he slumped into the chair and rubbed his eyes. “I was the worst sort of coward when I left.” His eyes fell onthe letter, and he murmured, “And if I don’t open this letter, I’d be worse of a heel.”
With a hollow feeling in his stomach, he broke the seal of the envelope.
My dearest Cassian.
Forgive me—I scarcely know how to begin. It has been so many years since I last saw your face, and yet it remains more vivid to me than the moment we first met. Vividly do I remember how the sunlight over the water made you smile.
I have tried, day after day, year upon year, to hold onto your promise, but now I feel that I have allowed myself to be a fool, and many years have been wasted. I wonder if you truly loved me and are trying to arrange your affairs so you can return, but I think this is wishful thinking. The truth, I believe, is that you have moved on and have no desire to return to me.
I have waited, Cassian. Not idly, but faithfully. And though I fear I may be a stranger to you now, I would rather risk the pain of knowing than endure the silence any longer.
I shall be in Wiltshire for a time, staying at my brother’s house. He has extended his hospitality to you, should you wish to come, if only to give me the answers to put my heart to rest.
I do not know what life has made of you in these years, nor whether you think of me at all. But I must believe that what we shared was not so easily undone by time or distance.
Yours in hope
Isabella.
