“Not in the slightest. I imagine one would have to be very delicate to experience such effects.”
Isaac leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He considered himself to have a temperate disposition, but it was close to cracking. Lord Finchley’s desperation toprove his superiority, or masculinity, or whatever dominance he was trying to assert made Isaac’s skin crawl. How could Sophia promise herself tothisman? How did she plan to tolerate spending every day of her life at his side?
Isaac picked up his glass, draining every last drop of his port as the other men at the table sampled the cashews. Lord Blackstone sat in high alert, ears perked, eyes round, clutching the sides of his chair. He had likely been waiting for an experiment like this but had been uncertain of the appropriateness of the endeavor. None of the other gentlemen were affected by the cashews, leaving Isaac the weak outlier.
“How fascinating,” Lord Blackstone muttered.
Lord Finchley finished off the bowl, a wide grin stretching across his face. He could amuse himself all he wanted, but Isaac refused to react. He remained still, rigid, even as his heart ached within him. His frustration boiled close to the surface, but he kept it submerged. Lord Finchley would be far too satisfied to see it.
Isaac was the first to leave the dining room when Lord Finchley’s display was over. In the drawing room, Sophia shared the settee with her aunt. Isaac chose a chair straight across from her. He would no longer allow her to avoid meeting his gaze. The moment he sat down, her posture straightened, her eyes flickering over his face and back to Mrs. Liddle. Did she feel guilty that he had been dragged into this trap by Finchley?
Or was she just as amused?
A few ladies played numbers on the pianoforte before Lord Finchley called the room to attention. “I should like to share a verse of poetry with my betrothed.” He rose to his feet and moved to stand directly in front of Sophia, blocking her from Isaac’s view. It was clearly intentional.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
Lord Finchley pressed a hand to his chest when he finished, hinging into a bow. The room applauded, but Isaac kept his hands in his lap.
“Byron, is it?” Isaac’s voice overlapped with the applause but captured the attention of Lord Finchley. As he turned, Isaac caught a glimpse of Sophia’s face. He held her gaze for a long moment.
This was the last time he would see her. He wouldn’t put himself through the torture of hearing about her wedding plans. For the first time, he understood the sentiment of Byron’s verse in the letter she had written him. If he was going to cut her out of his heart properly, their farewell this evening would have to be sudden. And this time, it would have to be forever.
“Indeed,” Finchley confirmed with a slow nod. “Are you an admirer of his work?”
“Yes. He is a favorite of mine.” Isaac’s legs seemed to act of their own accord, lifting him to his feet. “May I share one of my favorite lines of his?”
Lord Finchley hesitated but relented with a step backward. “Of course.”
Isaac felt the weight of all the gazes in the room, but Sophia’s was the heaviest. It clawed at his heart without mercy. But that was how Sophia was: merciless. He had forgotten. He might have forgotten the cruelty of those words she had written to him, but tonight, he would ensure she never did.
“All farewells should be sudden, when forever.” His voice was low, devoid of the pain he was feeling. No one could know, especially not her. He drew a breath. “Lest they make an eternity of moments, and clog the last sad sands of life with tears.”
He found Sophia’s eyes, hanging there in front of him, waiting to capture his. He could see the emotion now, playing across her features. But he didn’t look for long. At the close of his words, he settled back into his chair.
“How…insightful,” Lord Finchley broke the silence. “One cannot argue with the wisdom of such a talent as Byron.”
Isaac searched for Sophia’s gaze again, but she was staring at the floor. Her cheeks had darkened a shade, her brows pinched together. Surely she hadn’t expected him to use her own words against her. He could still envision the slant of her writing, the thin strokes of ink and the paper unmarked by even a single teardrop. In her letter, she had dismissed him as suddenly as the quote suggested. He might have lost her again, but at least he had taken the last word.
As Lord Finchley invited his other guests to share their favorite verses and lines, Sophia’s eyes finally lifted from the floor. In the candlelight, Isaac caught a sheen of moisture in them. She blinked fast, her lower lashes wet, clinging together. She wiped the corner of her eye. She refused to look at him.
Isaac froze. Was he the only one who had noticed her tears? A gentleman in the corner was reciting a sonnet, distracting the other guests.
Isaac’s heart sank, but he quickly banished his sympathy. She had hurt him deeply with those words from Byron, and if they hurt her now, it was her own fault. Perhaps she felt guilty for the way she had abandoned him in Cornwall, and tonight he had struck a chord within her. Since seeing her again, she had been difficult to read, so he might have been mistaking her sadness for guilt. That was the only reasonable explanation.
After the guests had grown weary of poetry, they broke into groups for cards.
But Isaac didn’t move from his chair.
