Three sets of eyes were upon her, examining her. Izzy did not know what to do, where to look. Because her heart was thudding hard in her chest with realization.
Unwanted realization.
She was beginning to care for Zachary. Deeply.
As much as she had believed her heart dashed to bits by Arthur, and that she was incapable of ever feeling tender emotion again, Anglesey himself was steadily proving her wrong.
“Izzy?” Ellie prodded gently.
What could she say?
I am in danger of losing the tattered and bruised remnants of my heart to a rakehell who was meeting another woman for an assignation on the night we created a scandal to force us into marrying.
Hardly that.
And how could it be true? How could she have possibly developed atendrefor a handsome, jaded rake who had himself been jilted and betrayed? Like her, he did not have a whole heart left to give another. He had spoken nary a word of tender feelings for Izzy. Their connection was grounded in the physical.
“Izzy?” Ellie’s face swirled before her now, familiar and lovely, her eyes shadowed with concern as she caught Izzy’s hands in hers. “You look quite upset. Is it something we have said?”
It was everything they had said and everything she hadnotsaid.
The spoken and the unspoken.
The past and the present colliding in violent form in the place where her heart had once beat. Except it was still there, was it not? It was only her metaphorical heart which had been wounded. And apparently, it was more resilient than she had supposed.
“I am perfectly well,” she forced past lips that had gone numb in the wake of her stunning revelations. “However, I do find myself quite exhausted.”
And that was hardly an exaggeration.
After the morning interlude with Zachary, she had returned to her chamber and taken a bath and a long nap. She had never had a deeper sleep. By this evening, she was sore in places she had never previously known existed and she wanted nothing more than to find her bed and go to sleep. No more questioning, no more insinuations, no more narrow-eyed gazes from her sisters to avoid.
“Preparing for a wedding does tend to drain one of vigor,” Ellie said sympathetically, giving her hands a squeeze before withdrawing. “Why do you not seek your chamber then, dearest? Tomorrow is another day.”
“Hopefully a day in which the butler does not go about murdering mice with a shotgun in the pantry,” Corliss said.
“I think I shall bid you all good evening,” Izzy said, seizing upon Ellie’s generous invitation to flee from the chamber. “Until breakfast, sisters.”
She executed a wildly exaggerated gentleman’s bow, and then she hastily took her leave. As Ellie had said, tomorrow was another day, and she could further ponder her unexpected emotions then. For tonight, what she needed most was solitude and rest, in precisely that order. Making her way through the dimly lit halls, she turned a corner and stopped.
A couple stood together at the far end of the hall in an embrace. Kissing.
Having no wish to intrude upon an intimate moment between them, she paused, about to turn about and find an alternative route to her chamber when something struck her.
The gentleman was tall.
Golden-haired.
And the woman was wearing mourning colors.
Yes, the lone gas lamp in the hall rendered it difficult to see, but she knew Zachary well enough by now to recognize him. And there was no denying the petite stature and black bombazine gown of the widowed countess.
As Izzy watched, Zachary extricated himself from the kiss, holding Lady Anglesey away from him. For a moment, her heart rejoiced. But then, he took the widow’s hand in his and tugged her into a chamber, the door slamming closed behind them.
Everything within her froze.
Cracked.
Broke.
