That five years from now, it would be Isolde’s blue eyes that met his at the opposite end of the enormous dining room table of Hawthorn.
The sensations banding his lungs felt impossibly contradictory.
Horror over how thoroughly his life had deviated from its intended course.
But also . . .
Perhaps . . .
Did he feel that same minuscule thread of hope? Of anticipation?
Lady Isolde would be hiswife!
He would know her intimately—her thoughts, her routines, her mannerisms. Hers would be the voice to greet him first most mornings. The one to perhaps inquire about his day.
And, not insignificantly, he would finally see her hair tumbled in all its glory, learn the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips—
The naive boy he had been that afternoon in Montacute’s garden would have crowed in triumph. Ecstatic to finally make this lady his wife.
Perhaps . . . in some unforeseen way . . . this marriage wouldn’t be the Greek tragedy he feared.
“Allie—”
“And don’t bollocks things up with Isolde.” His sister frowned. “Or rather, when you do inevitably bollocks things up, remember to apologize. In order for your marriage to work, you will need to learn how to swallow your formidable ducal pride and sayI’m sorry.”
Kendall glared at his sister. “I know how to apologize.”
“That’s good!” She grinned. “Because something tells me you are about to get a lot of practice at it.”
15
. . . How shall we bear it, my Jane? To watch our bonnie Izzy marry that tyrant with an ice-pick heart? I feel I am living a father’s worst nightmare—to knowingly hand over a daughter to a man who will mistreat her.
—private note from Lord Hadley to Lady Hadley
Please, Izzy,” her father murmured. “Please reconsider this course of action.”
They sat side-by-side on the sofa in the library—each with a tumbler of whisky in hand—watching the fire burn low.
Tomorrow morning, Isolde would wed the Duke of Kendall via special license—a joint wedding with Catriona and Lord Barnaby, who had graciously agreed to share their wedding day.
Tomorrow night, Isolde would be living somewhere else entirely.
She swallowed back the tears which threatened once more.
All she did wasgreitthese days.
“I would do anything tae spare ye this,” Hadley continued. “I fearye don’t understand the deep repercussions that await—layer upon layer of—”
“I don’t repent of my decision, Papa,” she whispered.
And even given everything—the unknown repercussions her father dreaded—she still had no regrets.
Marriage to Kendall remained the only solution. The only way to right the harm that her heedless actions had caused.
“Catriona will wed her Barnie tomorrow, along with myself and Kendall. So there will be genuine happiness and celebration,” Isolde added, once again feeling relief that, with her betrothal to Kendall, Lord Alderton had agreed to go forward with Barnie’s marriage to Catriona. After all, Alderton’s grandchildren would now be first cousins with the next Duke of Kendall.
And how much easier to celebrate the day with Catriona. To let her sister’s delirious joy carry them through.
