Several men gathered around to clap him on the back and shake his hand. More than one whispered congratulations laced with obvious jealousy as they mentioned his future wife – dear God, what had he done?
If the grim set of his mouth was any indication, Henry was thinking the same question. Cassian, too, looked a bit put out, which was mystifying. He might roll his eyes at Thaddeus interfering in certain affairs, but he rarely cared enough to be upset.
Of course, he did not intend to actually marry Fairchild’s daughter. That was a ridiculous idea, and he was not inclined to marry anyone.
He had only insisted on the dowry’s inclusion with the vague idea he might be able to offer that money to Isolde, for her to make a match of her own choosing. For her freedom.
All of which had seemed much simpler in the heat of the moment.
“At least this will stop Mother from nagging me about getting married,” Thaddeus murmured to Henry as they made their way out of the club. Henry’s only answer was a heavy sigh.
It was a quiet carriage ride home, and though the cold night air seeped into the carriage, part of him lingered in the warmth of that summer’s day in the meadow.
They had only been children then, but he had heard – through the years, and just now in the congratulatory messages of his peers – of how the eldest Fairchild girl had grown into a beauty.
A beauty he was now engaged to wed.
Chapter 1
Isolde shifted uncomfortably in her seat and stared at her brother across the breakfast table, scrutinizing his expression in an attempt to determine how bad the news was.
Thomas had gotten better at hiding his emotions as he’d gotten older, but she could still read him well. And she knew, especially, what his expressions looked like when there was bad news to break to the family.
Something he’d had to do too often lately, usually because of their father.
Their father, who was absent from breakfast this morning – another clue. Though she hardly needed such a clue, for she could have guessed as much.
There was something new this morning, though. Something about the way Thomas kept glancing at her and then away just as quickly. Something like guilt or shame.
Thomas often tried to keep the worst of their father’s messes from her, but he did so with the intention of protecting her, trying to shield her from pain and heartbreak.
In those moments, he was miserable and often suspicious, but rarely ashamed and never guilty. She had worked hard to instill in him that the only shame would be to follow their father’s footsteps, something all of them – she, Thomas, and their sister Cornelia – had sworn never to do.
Between the three of them, they managed to keep their father’s drinking and gambling in check enough to preserve the family reputation, as hard as that had become in recent years.
So why should Thomas feel guilty? Isolde couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with her, specifically, and her stomach twisted with worry.
The feeling only intensified when Thomas asked to speak with her alone after breakfast. She followed him into their father’s study, cold because no one had lit the fire. Her father used it so rarely their small household staff had given up on keeping the fire lit.
She sat in one of the big armchairs by the empty fireplace, and he sat opposite, saying nothing now that they were finally alone. He stared over her shoulder, out the window to the meadows beyond, and swallowed hard.
So the news was terrible, then.She shivered from the cold and the sense of foreboding.
“Thomas,” she said softly, and Thomas snapped his gaze back to her.
“Our father,” he began, and then stopped. He took a trembling breath, and Isolde realized he was barely containing his anger. “Our father,” he tried again, “has made a marriage match. For you.” He pushed the words out through gritted teeth, and Isolde’s head spun.
A marriage match? While she was certainly of the appropriate age, she had not truly considered such a thing.
There was far too much to be handled here at home. How could she possibly leave? And who would she wed? The more questions she thought of, the more her stomach dropped.
She looked up, intending to pepper Thomas with her questions, but stopped at the expression on his face.
“There can’t be more, surely?”
Thomas looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to face her while he spoke.
“It was a bet.”
