“You don’t believe that,” Violet said, her voice laced with sympathy towards her friend.
“I do not know what I believe anymore.”
The confession sat heavy in the air. They had all dreamed of love once—back when they were foolish, younger girls. They had vowed never to settle, only to marry their prince charming.
Of course, Isadora had always feared love—perhaps the most out of her friends. But she had never thought that her marriage would be like this.
She had thought she would get married on her own terms.
Daphne sighed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Isadora, he is unlike any man we have ever known. Are you certain this is what you want? Perhaps you can still come to a different agreement with him.”
“What I want,” Isadora said, trying not to sound bitter, “no longer seems to matter.”
Penelope shifted beside her, her fingers tightening in her lap. “That is not true,” she insisted though there was worry in her voice. “You may have agreed, but it is not too late. If you are unhappy?—”
“I am not unhappy,” Isadora cut in quickly. “I am…” She paused, searching for the words.
Conflicted? Bewildered? How did one even begin to explain Evan Marwood?
“Well, whether this was your wish or not, I cannot imagine the Duke will be anything short of devoted.” Violet tried to lighten the mood.
Daphne’s lips curled slightly. “That is assuming Evan Marwood knows the meaning of devotion.”
Isadora let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “I cannot decide if you are trying to comfort me or frighten me further.”
“We are trying to make sense of it, the same as you,” Daphne admitted.
Penelope’s fingers tightened around the lace of her sleeve. “I just…” She hesitated, her brow furrowed in thought. “I do not wish for you to wake one morning and find yourself miserable, sister.”
At that, Isadora’s chest ached because that was Penelope’s greatest fear—that she would be married off to a man she did not love and live her days in regret. And how ironic it was that after all the trouble Isadora had gone through to free her sister from such a fate, she had found herself in one very much like it.
Isadora reached for her sister’s hand, squeezing gently. “I will manage, Penelope.”
“You deserve more than merely to manage,” Penelope said softly.
Violet sat forward. “Perhaps we are looking at this the wrong way. Evan may be a duke, but even he cannot simply force you into this marriage if you do not wish it. Nicholas has known him for years. If I spoke to my husband, perhaps he could persuade the Duke to reconsider.”
“No,” she said quietly.
Violet blinked. “No?”
Isadora inhaled, steadying herself. “I appreciate the offer, Violet, truly, but I cannot ask anyone to intervene.”
“But why not?” Violet frowned. “If Evan agreed to this marriage on some misplaced whim, then surely he can be made to change his mind.”
Isadora did not answer immediately. Instead, her gaze flickered to Penelope, who was watching her with wide, worried eyes.
It had not been on a whim. She had promised him a favor. And now, she did not get to decide what that favor was.
“Because a bargain was struck. And I do not believe Evan Marwood is the kind of man to go back on his word.”
She knew that much now.
Penelope exhaled softly, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “Then that means there is nothing to be done.”
“If that is the case, then we must look forward.” Violet softened, reaching out to touch Isadora’s hand. “We will be here for you. No matter what.”
“I now pronounce you, man and wife.”
