Inwardly, she sighed. She had been looking forward to collapsing in bed as soon as she could undress. She was stillexhausted from her cry earlier, and mentally, she was just as tired.
Outwardly, she said, “Of course, My Lord.”
They started down the gallery, passing several paintings before he finally spoke.
“Forgive me for my reticence, Miss Fairchild. I meant to give you space to acclimate, but after the dinner conversation, I realized I must make some things very plain.”
Nerves crept up Isolde’s spine. Had she somehow offended him?
“I’m sure we each have much to say to the other,” she said aloud. “Please speak freely.”
“I shall, in the interest of not prolonging any misunderstanding between us. I have no intention of marrying you.”
Isolde stopped walking and stared up at him. He smiled bitterly at the shocked expression on her face.
“No reason to be coy now that you know more or less the full truth of that night. Your father bet your hand and your dowry in a game against Lord Crowley. I did not wish to see him win, so I inserted myself into the game. It was not my place to step in, butI believe your fate would have been significantly worse had I not. I only wished to help.”
Isolde’s head was spinning with emotions, but she managed to gasp out a few words.
“I am not sure how to express my gratitude for what you’ve done, My Lord.”
“Any decent gentleman would have done the same.”
“Then I fear decent gentlemen are in short supply these days,” she murmured.
He chuckled – nothing like the way he used to laugh, full-throated and sparkling, but it still felt a little good to make him laugh.
“At any rate, do not thank me yet,” he continued. “I have a proposal for you. As I said, I have no intention of marrying you. But my mother’s suggestion gave me an idea. Were I to court you, publicly, that would buy you time to look for a match of your own. I can give you that, as much time as you need. When you find someone, we will discreetly break off our engagement, and you can then marry the man you have chosen and be free of your father forever.”
For the second time, Isolde stopped walking. They had reached the end of the gallery, and she stared up at some presumed Hartington ancestor hanging on the wall, barely seeing the painting.
She felt as if in the past 48 hours, her world had collapsed, and she had been staring at the pieces, trying to make them fit together – only to now be told that she’d been looking at them upside down.
She grasped for something to say and settled for the simplest question of the many she had.
“But … my dowry that you won?”
“Yours. I am not a thief, Miss Fairchild. If you make a match, you will need it.”
Hers. The hope that had withered began to bloom again. It blossomed in her chest like fireworks.
Thaddeus gently turned them around and started them walking back the way they’d come. He let her process in silence for a few long minutes before speaking again.
“Shall we say we have an understanding?” he asked.
Isolde took a deep breath. Her head was still spinning, but her heart suddenly felt so light at the thought that she could perhaps not just escape this arrangement but do it into a marriage of her choice.
It was certainly not the proper way to get a husband. And yet, it was the way she had, and how could she not take it? There was just one further thing, and though she hardly dared to ask for more, she made herself.
“Yes, we have an understanding. But …” her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she took a deep breath to steady herself, “... just as you could not leave me to any dire fate, I must not leave my sister to whatever choices my father makes for her. Please, if you want to help, help me get my sister away from him, too.”
Thaddeus was quiet for a long moment.
“That may not be within my power,” he said finally. “But I will try.”
“Thank you,” she said again.
“Of course,” he replied. “In the meantime, you must treat Hartington as your home. You may do as you wish here, so long as you don’t bring trouble to our door.”
