“You must,” Isabella insisted. “’Tis less than you deserve, but in truth I have naught else to offer.” She laughed, half with hated self-pity and half with genuine amusement. “Unless you would like a trimmed gown or a fine piece of jewelry. I have plenty of those.”
For now, she added silently. Until Lady Catherine saw fit to search her trunks and reclaim aught she decreed should belong to the Westchester estate.
But Lady Catherine would have a fight on her plump hands if she tried to lay claim to Isabella’s rings or emerald necklace, for she cherished these jewels above all else.
“Isabella. I will not take your last coin.”
“But there are coins aplenty where I am headed.” She stood up, took a firm hold of his hand and pressed the coin into it, closing his fingers into a fist and giving him one final squeeze.
“I wish you well, Will.”
“And I you.” He smiled down at her in a way no one had for many a year.
Once again, Isabella felt the sharp pull of temptation.
Shaking her head, she stepped back to put some distance between them. “Mayhap our paths will cross again.”
“I would like that very much.”
Walking briskly toward the window, as if she had some business there, Isabella threw a final smile over her shoulder. It was a gesture of dismissal and Will, to his credit, took the hint and bowed his way out of the chamber.
Leaving her alone.Again.
Loneliness was a state she had grown well used to. Over the years, she’d developed a hard façade which shielded her fromthe pain of it. ’Twas not unlike her brother, Tristan, donning a suit of armor before a battle. Though Isabella’s armor was comprised of her straight shoulders and the practiced lines of her smile, which deflected both pity and gossip from the visitors she continued to graciously entertain, even as her status of countess became more precarious with every passing year.
Precarious or not, her title had provided her with gravitas and grandeur. And soon she would have a new title. The Lady of Greenock.
Isabella closed her eyes at a sudden wave of nausea. When she opened them again, she cursed aloud in a most unladylike manner as she spied a familiar figure walking with brisk determination through the rose garden to the tower doorway.
Her sister, Frida.
Frida had travelled down to Westchester as soon as she heard of Charles’s passing. Being of a kind and practical disposition, Frida’s help in arranging the funeral and packing her belongings had been invaluable. Isabella knew she owed a debt of gratitude to her eldest sibling.
But ’twas not a debt she wanted to repay just yet.
Ye Gods. If only someone could enact a spell to take them all back in time. To when Isabella shone the brightest of all the de Neville daughters, and a glittering future was predicted for her.
Instead, she was the only one with naught to show for her time on this earth. Seven and twenty years of time, to be exact.
As a child, Isabella recalled a lot of chatter around Frida having some kind of second sight. If only she had deployed that to some good. She could have saved Isabella the embarrassment of a barren marriage and instead pointed her toward some more vigorous husband. Plenty of men had once lined up for her hand.
Unlike now.
Frida’s regular footsteps sounded up the spiral staircase. By the time her silver-blonde head appeared, Isabella had donned her armor and was able to welcome her with a bright smile.
“You have found me, sister.”
Four summers Isabella’s senior, with four children safely birthed and raised, Frida’s natural grace and energy were undimmed. She stood tall and slim, dressed in a well-cut gown which was trimmed with fur at the neck and cuffs. The only discernible difference between the woman of today and the girl who had once hunted for healing herbs in the woods behind Wolvesley Castle was her long silvery hair.
Frida’s golden crown had lost almost all of its color, following a near-fatal fall from her horse many years earlier. Remembering how close they had come to losing her, Isabella shifted uncomfortably at her cavalier thoughts around Frida’s second sight.
“Aye, well, I recall you always had a fondness for heights.” Frida put her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. “Unlike Lady Catherine, who tells me she intends to close up this tower.” Catching Isabella’s stricken expression, Frida added, “I told her that would be a mighty loss to Westchester.”
Isabella grasped for her dignity, hiding her distress by examining her sapphire ring. “What did she say to that?”
“I do not believe she was fully listening.”
The sisters shared a small smile.
