Isadora’s throat tightened. She wished, more than anything, that she could take Penelope’s burden away and carry it herself. But she couldn’t. All she could do now was stand beside her.
She gave her sister’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Then let me bear it with you.”
Penelope blinked at her, startled.
“If they will gossip, then let them gossip about us both.” Isadora shrugged. “I will start wearing outlandish hats. Maybe pretend to faint dramatically in public. Perhaps I shall take up fencing.”
Penelope let out a startled laugh, and it was the best sound Isadora had heard all day.
Violet grinned. “Oh, yes. I do think you ought to purchase a sword immediately.”
Daphne added, “And you must insist on carrying it with you at all times.”
“Of course,” Isadora said gravely. “A proper lady must always be prepared.”
Penelope shook her head, but her shoulders had relaxed, and some of the tension in her face had eased.
Maybe the whispers wouldn’t stop today. Maybe they never would. But as long as Isadora stood beside her, Penelope would never face them alone.
The conversation drifted as the group continued their walk, the tension of the whispers slowly fading into the background. It was Penelope who, after a long moment, glanced at Isadora with curiosity.
“Do you think he’ll actually come to collect?” she asked finally.
Isadora didn’t have to ask who she meant. They all knew.
Evan Marwood and the favor that he had been promised.
Expect my visit.
Even now, Isadora could still hear the low timbre of his voice and feel the way her breath had caught at the quiet certainty in his tone.
She cleared her throat. “I suppose so. A man like that does not make idle claims.”
Violet let out a knowing hum, slipping her arm through Daphne’s. “Well, he does have a reputation for being a man of his word.”
Daphne arched a brow. “But a man of what kind of word? That is the question.”
Isadora hesitated. She did not know much about Evan Marwood, nothing beyond what she had seen of him that day—the man who had walked into a church and disrupted a wedding as though he were simply stepping into a card game he was about to win.
She exhaled. “Tell me about him.”
Daphne and Violet exchanged glances, their expressions far too entertained for Isadora’s liking.
“You truly wish to know?” Violet asked, adjusting the ribbon on her bonnet.
Isadora narrowed her eyes. “I would not have asked otherwise.”
Daphne sighed, feigning great reluctance. “Very well. But do keep in mind, my dear Isadora, that asking about Evan Marwood is akin to inviting a storm—one never quite knows how it will unfold.”
Isadora rolled her eyes. “Daphne. I only asked a simple question”
Daphne laughed. “All right, all right. What do you wish to know?”
“What kind of man is he?”
Violet was the first to answer. “A most unusual one.”
Isadora waited for more, but Violet simply smiled.
