When Cornelia heard the news, she crumbled into one of the bedroom chairs, her lower lip trembling. At that moment, Isolde thought she might hate Thaddeus Harrow.
“But you cannot leave us, Izzy!” Cornelia exclaimed. “What will we do without you? How shall we survive? As it is, you can barely manage Father with Thomas’s help. Without you, it’s hopeless!”
Isolde had had all the same thoughts, but she couldn’t confide that to Cornelia. Her sister needed her to be strong and make the best of the situation, for all of them.
And besides, she’d had some time to think and had decided to see the whole thing as an opportunity. She pushed all the emotions roiling her stomach down as far as she could.
“Don’t be glum, dear – it isn’t hopeless at all,” she said, tugging Cornelia across the room to sit on the bed and wrapping her arms around her. “It’s awful to be parted from you, but I daren’t risk upsetting the marquess, or making a worse mess than things already are. And besides,” she let go of her sister to procure her a handkerchief for the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, “he’s powerful and well-respected, so perhaps this is a chance for us.”
“A chance? What do you mean?”
Isolde shrugged and tried to sound like she wasn’t making this up as she went along.
“Who knows what might happen? Perhaps if they take a liking to me, I shall be able to convince them to release me from the engagement quietly. I shall probably meet so many new people while I’m staying there. Have chances we have not yet had to find sympathetic allies.”
“Do you think?” Cornelia asked, still tearful but looking brighter.
“What are we always saying? That we must do something before it’s too late. This might be a chance to do just that. I should take it.”
“You’re so smart, Izzy,” Cornelia said and sniffed. “I love you so much.” She threw her arms around Isolde and squeezed her tightly. Isolde squeezed back, willing herself to believe her own words and hoping that, somehow, all this trouble could be worth it.
Chapter 2
Doubts plagued Thaddeus as he walked back to Hartington. He’d come in the carriage, but he sent it on and went on foot.
It felt good to stretch his legs and get some of the tension from that meeting out of his body. He strode along the road, no longer worried about the dust that rose to stain his clothes.
He scoffed at himself for how eager he’d been to make a good first impression. What had he expected from Isolde Fairchild? Excitement?
Many women would be thrilled to marry a marquess, it was true, but he doubted any would be pleased to have it sprung on them in such a way.
He realized he’d been hoping he might even get a bit of gratitude, but now he saw how ridiculous that was. Had he really thought she might thank him for his part in the whole affair? In her mind, he was probably no better than her father.
He didn’t bother to tidy himself up when he returned, instead settling in his study in his dusty clothes to turn over the whole interaction in his head.
He had half a mind to go back and release her from the engagement altogether, except that he knew the news would already have spread. The engagement itself was scandalous enough. He needed to treat its end with a lot more delicacy, so that both their reputations could escape unscathed.
And in the meantime, he would feel much better knowing she was with him, at Hartington, away from her father and whatever other terrible ideas he might have.
He pictured the gleam in Crowley’s eyes the night before as he’d goaded the older man into making the wager and shivered. Yes, best to keep Isolde close.
He frowned at the memory of her reaction to his invitation, the only time her carefully composed manners had slipped. Surely the idea of being closer to him was not so terrible?
He’d have thought she’d be happy to be away from that house and her father. He certainly had been when his father had still been alive. It was still strange, being here without the shadow of his father’s presence – not feeling as though he wanted to flee every moment.
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?”
“Viscount Cassian, My Lord.”
“Show him in, thank you.”
Cassian swanned in, his dark blond hair disheveled in a way that suggested he’d been out riding. He combed it into place with his hand and dropped into the chair opposite Thaddeus’s desk, a teasing twinkle in his green eyes.
“And how are we feeling since last night’s … events?”
Thaddeus only groaned in response, and Cassian laughed. He seemed to be over whatever had bothered him last night. Well, at least one person wasn’t angry with him over this, then.
