“What you did tonight was cruel,” she said. A stray tear slipped down her face, but this time she didn’t bother to hide it. “Reciting those words from Byron.”
“WhatIdid was cruel?” Isaac’s brows lowered, canopying his eyes in a look of hurt.
“You cannot fault me for accepting Lord Finchley’s proposal!” The outburst caused a deep ache to spread through her chest. “You never asked me to marry you, and he did. You found me lacking, but he did not.”
He shook his head. “I never found you lacking.”
“You cannot take back what you wrote in that letter.” She glared up at him. “Especially not when you quoted those words in front of all the guests this evening.”
“What letter?” Isaac’s eyes searched hers, his grip tightening on her hand. “You’re the one who wrote those words to me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t write you a letter. I received yours the day my family left Cornwall.”
Isaac released her hand, taking a step back. “Sophia. Ididn’twrite you a letter.” The sincerity in his gaze made her stomach flip. His features were tight with confusion.
The smooth wood of the door was cold against her back, but she leaned into it. Her legs were weak. “You said my dowry was insufficient. You had to make repairs on the house, and you needed money. My father handed me the letter himself.” Her voice came quickly, and she didn’t pause to breathe. “You said that all farewells should be sudden. You said that you hoped I would forget you.” Her throat tightened.
Isaac was shaking his head. “I never took any issue with your dowry! None of that is true.” His wide eyes raced over her face. “I spoke with your father and obtained his permission to marry you two days before your family left Lanveneth. By the time I came to your house, it was empty. The butler handed me a letter fromyou.”
Sophia’s mind raced, her head growing foggy. “What did it say?”
“All farewells should be sudden.” Isaac’s voice was faint. “And that you had chosen to seek a better match in London. That you desired more than me.”
“I didn’t write that.” Her face flushed with heat. “As soon as my father gave me the letter from you, we made our quick preparations to depart for London. He said you didn’t wish to see me.”
Isaac scowled, putting a hand to his head in confusion. Silence hung in the air, and Sophia could hear her own pulse in her ears. If it were true—that Isaac hadn’t sent her a letter at all, then who had? His eyes found hers, his features flooded with caution. He seemed afraid to speak. “We both received a letter from the other, yet neither of us wrote one?”
She swallowed. “It would seem so.”
“And both letters contained the same quote from Byron.”
Sophia could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her mind struggled to comprehend the idea. Her stomach was sick with dread, her legs shaking beneath her. She knew what Isaac was implying: That the two letters must have had the same author. Someone who had been intent on separating the two of them.
Someone who had wanted to sabotage their courtship.
Her heart hammered, the reality of the situation finally catching up to her.
“Miss Hale?” A distant voice echoed in the corridor. “Have you seen Miss Hale anywhere?”
“Finchley,” Isaac muttered. His voice was weak, still enrobed with disbelief.
Sophia’s senses came pouring back to her. “You must hide.”
He didn’t move, his face still blank, his brow furrowed in confusion. His senses seemed to still be absent.
She lunged forward, pushing against his chest until he backed up a step. “You must hide, now! We mustn’t be seen in here.” She pushed him toward the desk in the corner. A large armchair rested in front of it.
Isaac blinked, his eyes settling on her face. The candlelight of the nearby sconce caught his features. For a moment, he looked like he might kiss her. But there was no time for that.
“Under the desk,” she demanded, her face hot.
Isaac finally obeyed, struggling to fold his tall body into the small space. If Lord Finchley saw them there, he would be swift to do something rash, like challenge Isaac to a duel. Despite all that she had just learned about the letters, this new information didn’t change the fact that Lord Finchley was still her betrothed.
Sophia leaned her hip and both hands against the heavy armchair, sliding it a little closer to Isaac. She prayed it would hide him sufficiently from view.
With a deep breath, she crossed the room and opened the door.
Lord Finchley was already halfway down the corridor, a scowl on his brow. He took her hands as he reached her.
