Thomas slumped back in the chair, relieved.
“I know you can do it, Izzy,” he said, giving her a weak smile. “If anyone can, you can.”
Because Thomas had been so distraught, she had one of the maids bring him water and then sat with him as he calmed down. Long after he left, she sat alone, thinking over what he had said. She let herself dream for a moment that what Thaddeus had told Thomas was true. That he had feelings for her and wanted their relationship to deepen.
A warm glow spread through her body, and her heart felt light and happy. She could no longer deny that this was exactly what she’d been longing for.
But at the same time, that light, bubbly feeling made her scared. The fact that Thaddeus confessing his feelings for her could have such a drastic effect on her mood revealed the depths to which she had fallen for him.
It was becoming harder and harder to deny, and she could not help thinking what that would mean if Thomas were wrong. If Thaddeus didn’t care for her, and yet she acted on the belief that he did, there was only heartbreak in her future.
And if she based her plan to save Cornelia on Thaddeus’s supposed affections for her, then the plan would fall apart if those affections proved not to exist.
Isolde felt a scream of frustration rising in her throat, and she stifled it. Neither rage nor tears would do her any good.
Only action could help her now. Once again, she was left thinking that she must speak with Thaddeus, preferably alone. Only when she was sure of his feelings could she know what to do next.
***
Isolde was hopeful as she went down to dinner. Around mid-afternoon, Thaddeus had been brought back to the main house, the doctor having apparently decided it was best to get him back to his own bed, where he could stay as long as needed.
She was hoping that as the guests mingled after dinner, she might be able to slip away and speak to him. Having a plan made her feel better.
Unfortunately, she had barely made it out of her room when the last person she wanted to see appeared in the hallway ahead of her.
“Miss Fairchild,” Lord Crowley purred, grinning at her. “How wonderful to run into you! I was just thinking to myself that we really ought to spend more time together while I’m here. A man ought to get to know his future family, after all.”
Isolde’s heart sank like a stone, but she kept her head high and stepped past Crowley into the hallway.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said coldly, “but I have no intention of spending any more time with you than I must.”
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Crowley said from behind her, and she paused, the smug tone in his voice making her go cold. “I’m to wed your sister. It’s not official yet, but your father and Ihave worked out all the details. He was quite anxious to get the deal done. Seems my inheritance will be very helpful with his gambling debts.”
Isolde turned slowly and stared Crowley down.
“No,” she said, and the firmness of her own voice surprised her. “I don’t care what you or my father says. She will never marry you.”
Crowley did not seem worried by her words or tone of voice. He shrugged.
“I fear you might be mistaken, my dear. Of course,” he took a step closer to her, leering, “if the idea is so objectionable to you, I’m sure I could be persuaded to marry someone else.”
Isolde’s hopes lifted. Was it possible Crowley was really offering to change his mind?
“After all, it was meant to be us,” the man continued. “And I could still be convinced to marry you, if you’d rather you be my bride, instead of your sister.”
Isolde recoiled, hopes dashed. She felt foolish for having believed even for a second that Crowley might change.
“I’m not sure how it could have escaped your notice, Lord Crowley,” she said, “given your humiliation was the impetus for my engagement, but I am actually spoken for.”
Crowley’s face flushed, but after a moment, he laughed darkly.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually wasting your time thinking this thing with Hartington will work out? My dear girl, everyone can see that he and Lady Bradshaw are much more suited to one another. Come, be a sensible girl and make the match with me while I’m still offering. Or don’t.” He smiled wickedly. “Like I said, the deal for your sister’s hand is as good as done.”
Isolde felt her anger building, but she knew the smart choice was to end this conversation. Crowley was a liar and a cad, and no good ever came from speaking with him.
“Excuse me,” she said stiffly. “I must go down, or I shall be late for dinner.”
As she turned away, she heard Crowley laughing again.
