Allie studied him for a long moment. “I fear I must respectfully disagree, Brother. I think youpermittedthose events to change you in order to protect your heart. The tenderness and goodness of that boy still exist.”
“Do not spin candy floss tales of my presumed latent benevolence, Allie. You will be disappointed.”
“I don’t think that I will. Though they seem like opposite ends of a long spectrum, love and hate reside quite closely to one another.”
Kendall fought the urge to roll his eyes at her lecturing.
“Imagine emotions like water filling a pitcher—the more emotion you feel, the more water the pitcher holds.” Allie mimed lifting a jug. “Love and hate elicit similar degrees of feeling. Therefore, they fill the pitcher to the same level. And as such, they can be easily transmuted from one to the other. It is how lovers can go from adoration to hostility within minutes. The true opposite of love and hate would be an empty pitcher. A sentiment devoid of emotion. Indifference.”
Allie pantomimed dumping the contents of the pitcher on the floor of the carriage.
“You claim to hate Lady Isolde,” she continued, “but I’m not entirely sure that is the emotion she inspires in you. It’s why you and I both detest our father to such a degree. We were supposed to love him, and we had a lake-full of desire waiting to do just that. Yet he was a cruel, violentman who thrived on the pain of others, his children in particular. And so, naturally, your concept of love and acceptance is warped.”
Kendall snorted and peered out the window, attempting to block the truth in his sister’s words.
“No, do not turn away from me,” Allie insisted, her fingertips pushing on his knee. “I hate that Mamma and I were forced to abandon you. That love became nearly non-existent in your life and compelled you to equate power with love. But I can promise you, were Mamma here today, she would tell you that true love and happiness come from caring for others and accepting their love in return.”
He swallowed. Thoughts of their mother always left him equal parts grief-stricken and furious.
Therefore, he rigorously avoided the topic.
“For some, happiness resides outside hearth and home.” Kendall clenched his fist, slowly turning back to look at his twin. “For some, powerishappiness. Power that allows one to make a difference. To affect true change—for a dukedom, for a kingdom, for millions even. Who are you to judge that?”
“In this, your perspective is wrong.” The carriage rocked again, forcing Allie to grasp the velvet-covered bench for support. “I fret that one day you will wake alone atop your horde of power and gold, wondering what the point of life was. That you will realize far too late that joy comes from the love we share and the love we give. You won’t arrive at happiness—at contentment—any other way.”
Allie was wrong, of course. To Kendall’s purview, love was messy and ungovernable—two things he stringently avoided.
He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “And I suppose you think Lady Isolde is the woman who will help me realize these truths?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Honestly, Allie, a scullery maid would make a better bride.”
“That will be for you to decide, Tristan. But I urge you to change your course before it is too late. Before you make a choice that cannot be undone.”
9
Thursday next, Sir William Hooker will present a lecture on the Royal Botanical Society’s preservation plans for tree species within Kew Gardens. Specifically, he will discuss a pair of newly arrived cedarwoods from California which are to be installed near the Great Pagoda. Interested parties are to contact Sir William directly for a ticket to attend.
—announcement inThe London Times
Isolde feared she was approaching the edge of a cliff. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Kendall’s plans for impeachment had been gaining momentum. His relentless attacks in newspapers and Parliament were taking a toll.
Isolde resorted to harassing her brothers to learn the particulars.
Mac said the evidence incriminating Lord Hadley was damning. A trial date had been set for Stephen Jarvis in three weeks’ time. James learned that Alderton had spoken with his solicitors about cancelingthe marriage contract between Lord Barnaby and Catriona. Their sister hadn’t left her bedchamber in over twenty-four hours.
Frantic worry took up a steady drumbeat in Isolde’s chest. She hated the haggard concern on her father’s face—dark circles sagging under his eyes—and her mother’s increasingly desperate attempts at cheer. She hated hearing Catriona’s weeping in the dead of night and the echoing silence of their townhouse, devoid of callers.
Isolde’s world felt poised on a precipice, and the slightest jolt could send everything scattering like spillikins. Catriona would lose her Barnie. Hadley would be gaoled. And the damned Duke of Kendall would relax in his library armchair, smirk in triumph, and begin plotting his next campaign to destroy innocent lives.
Isolde pondered all this as she sat in the Palm House of Kew Gardens outside London, listening to Sir William Hooker deliver a lecture on plans to preserve past and future trees.
“With the successful removal of the lucombe oak from its original position in the middle of the Syon Vista,” Sir William was saying, “we have turned to creating a plantation of Great Sequoia from California. The young trees are still in their pots near the Old Palace, awaiting final placement in the garden, which we hope to commence next week.”
He continued on, discussing the preferred habitat of the giant redwoods. Isolde lifted her eyes to the palm trees and other tropical plants surrounding her.
Outside, a crisp breeze bent the bushes and treetops, but inside, the air was calm, warm, and humid. The Palm House was a true marvel of modern engineering. Made entirely of steel and glass, the building had only been finished the year before and now housed exotic flora from around the world.
“Someday, the palms around us will soar to the ceiling,” Sir William had said at the beginning of his lecture, “and visitors will dine on the coconuts they produce.”
