Perfect.Andrew made his way back to Butcher at the bar, needing something a little stronger than water this time.
Isobel pricked her finger, tossing her needlepoint to the side. “I’ve about had it with this needle. And these stitches.”
Joan laughed and took the needlepoint from her, easing the needle in and out of the fabric, the soft pink thread catching the sunlight shining in the window.
“I don’t know how you do things so easily.” Isobel leaned back on the couch, crossing her legs at the ankles and staring at the molding on the ceiling. “I don’t have the patience for needlepoint.”
“And yet you excel at paintings.”
Isobel made a noncommittal noise. “I haven’t touched the one in the drawing room since yesterday. It’s tainted with Father’s words and what he wants to do with us to bail himself out of his own problems.”
“As much as we wish they were only his problems, they are now ours too.” Joan fixed several more areas of pink thread, making the little flower buds in the design look far better than Isobel hoped.
“We could both join the nunnery and be done with it all.” Isobel got up, pacing the room, trailing her fingers over the pianofortein the corner before going to the window and looking out at the front path that led up to the house.
Part of her hoped that the Duke of Foxdrey would be coming up the walk. It hadn’t yet been three days, but he could’ve changed his mind. He could’ve decided to come earlier and demand a decision out of her sooner.
Which, if she cared to admit it, would make her life far easier. She wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of trying to live the life she wanted while making sure Joan would be able to have the life she always dreamed of. The last thing Isobel wanted was to take away even a small sliver of Joan’s future happiness.
If Isobel didn’t accept the marriage proposal, Joan wouldn't have the freedom to choose a husband and create a family of her own.
Swallowing hard, Isobel gripped the edge of the window. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About?”
“The Duke of Foxdrey offered me his hand in marriage yesterday,” Isobel said, forcing the words out even though there was a lump in her throat that nearly kept her from speaking. “He wishes to marry me. He promises to be a good and loyal husband.”
“I know our father owes him a great deal of money, but what does the Duke gain from this arrangement, other than having a bride by his side?” Joan’s voice was soft, but there was an underlying note there.
It almost sounded like Joan didn’t want to know the details; she just wanted Isobel to agree to the marriage. But Joan would never ask Isobel to do such a thing and they both knew that. Joan would only hope that Isobel would behave in a prudent manner—one that led them all down a path toward harmony.
I will make the right choice. I know I will. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about anything other than marriage.
Joan sighed. “I know you might not think much of the Duke of Foxdrey, but he is a handsome man, and he does have a large fortune.”
“He is a rake.”
“I suppose there are some flaws that might be harder to overlook than others, but do you believe him to be a tolerable enough man?”
Isobel’s cheeks warmed and she was glad her back was to Joan since all she could think about was the kiss she had shared with the Duke. How it had stolen her breath, her sense, her good judgment. If every day in their marriage were like that one perfect moment, then she was sure she could endure anything.
But that was a fantasy, and she knew it.
No charming rogue in a fine carriage was going to whisk her away from ruin. There were no fairytales here—just real life, consequences, and a family debt that remained unsatisfied.
“There is nothing the Duke of Foxdrey likes to do more than needle people, bed women, and make money. I doubt that the marriage is going to be a happy one.” Isobel turned around, her cheeks cooling, a small measure of calm coming over her. “But at least with him I would know what to expect.”
Joan’s eyebrows pulled tougher, a thin line forming between them before her features smoothed. “I want you to be happy, Isobel, and if the marriage is truly going to make you miserable, then I don’t believe you should go through with it.”
“If I don’t… you know Father’s plans for us. I won’t allow that to happen to you.” Isobel crossed the room, sitting beside Joan once more and picking up her needlepoint.
“Perhaps there is a way you can find some happiness for yourself in the process.”
Isobel sighed, changing the pink thread for a green one and beginning to stitch out the stems of the flowers. “All I want is freedom and my paints and your happiness.”
“I suspect all of those things may not be possible,” Joan said, though her voice was barely more than a whisper.
It was a truth Isobel loathed to acknowledge, but it was the truth, nonetheless.
