“Hethreatenedyou?” Isla stared at Hyacinth, aghast.
“No, Isla. He didn’t threaten me. He threatenedyou. You, and Ciaran and Lachlan. He said he knew a secret about you, and he told me he’d tell it if I didn’t let him court me.”
Isla’s face went deathly pale, and the hand Hyacinth held turned icy cold. Alarmed, Hyacinth scrambled for the tea things to pour Isla a restorative cup, but her own hands were shaking, and the dainty porcelain dishes cracked into each other under her clumsy fingers.
“But I don’t understand. How could Lord Dixon possibly know about it? Lochinver is such a small, remote village. How could word have made it all the way to London?” Isla seemed to be speaking to herself now, almost as if she’d forgotten Hyacinth was there. “My mother assured us this wouldn’t happen, that this story wouldn’t follow us—”
“What story, Isla? You need to tell me the truth, so we can think what to do.”
“Oh, Hyacinth.” Isla buried her face in her hands. “I never wanted to hide this from you. None of us did, not from any of you, but we were afraid. We’d lost everything. Our mother died, and the people we’d known our whole lives, all our friends—they turned their backs on us. It felt as if we were living in a nightmare. Lachlan saw there was nothing left for us in Lochinver, and he made us leave. Ciaran didn’t want to—he’s angry about it still—but Lachlan was right, Hyacinth. We had to go. We had no choice. We were never going to be able to have any kind of life there, after it happened.”
Hyacinth struggled to catch her breath as panic welled in her chest. Dear God, what had happened? What could have been so awful they’d been forced to leave the only life they’d ever known behind?
Hyacinth pulled Isla’s hands gently away from her face. “What happened, Isla?”
Isla drew in a shaky breath, then began to speak. “When I was eighteen, I was betrothed to a young man named James Baird. He was a cousin to a family we’d known all our lives. Lachlan, Ciaran and I grew up with his cousins, and our families were close friends. I thought I knew James, too, but I was wrong.”
Hyacinth squeezed Isla’s hands, and waited.
“One day, a few months or so before our wedding, we happened to find ourselves alone in the stables after a late ride, and he…he tried to take, by force, that which should only be given to a woman’s husband on her wedding night. I suppose he thought he had every right, since we were betrothed.” A hard, bitter note crept into Isla’s voice. “Perhaps he did. Perhaps if I’d just stayed quiet, and let him have his way—”
“No.” Hyacinth clutched at Isla’s hands, her grip fierce. “No man has that right.”
“He…he was rough, Hyacinth, and I—I was in such shock at his sudden viciousness, I didn’t…I hardly know what I did, but I must have screamed, because Lachlan burst into the stables, and when he saw James on top of me, hurting me…” Isla shuddered at the memory, and raised tear-filled eyes to Hyacinth’s face. “He yanked James away from me, and shoved him back. Lachlan didn’t….he just wanted to get James off me, but James stumbled, and when he fell he cracked his head on a heavy wooden post. He…he died, Hyacinth. He died.”
Isla shoulders began to shake with sobs, and Hyacinth, tears now running down her own cheeks, gathered her friend into her arms. For a long while, they sobbed quietly, but at last Isla pulled away, and wiped her hand across her eyes.
“Everyone in the village turned on us after that. All our friends, people we’d known all our lives—they called Lachlan a murderer, and me a whore. My mother—well, she’d never recovered from my father’s death the previous year, but she began to fail in earnest after that. I truly believe her heart was broken.”
“I’m so sorry, Isla.” Hyacinth brushed her friend’s tangled hair back from her face with a soothing hand.
“Before she died, she told Lachlan the true circumstances of his birth—that he wasn’t our father’s son, but the son of the previous Marquess of Huntington. A legitimate son and Finn’s brother. Lachlan was shocked and angry, and heartbroken, too, I think. He’d always looked up to our father, and then to find out the man he’d so admired wasn’t his father at all, and that he had a brother he’d never met—well, you can imagine how he felt. I loved my mother, Hyacinth, loved her with all my heart, but it was wrong, what she did to Lachlan, and he…I’ve been so worried for him.”
Hyacinth nodded, but inside her chest, her heart was bleeding for Lachlan.
“Lachlan despised being lied to, but he saw my mother’s revelations as a chance for a new life, and within a few short weeks we were bound for England. I was relieved, but Ciaran was forced to leave his betrothed, a lady named Isobel Campbell, behind. She’d already broken the betrothal—she was as hateful as everyone else in Lochinver—but despite her betrayal, Ciaran loves her still. He can’t admit to himself she doesn’t deserve his love, and so he blames Lachlan. It’s easier to blame someone you know will never turn their back on you, isn’t it? And Lachlan—he blames himself for all of it.”
Hyacinth gripped Isla’s hand, and choked back the tears gathered in her throat. “So when you arrived in England, you chose to keep it a secret.”
Isla turned pleading eyes on her. “Yes. We should never have done so, but you must understand, Hyacinth. Everything we’d ever known, everyone we’d ever loved and trusted—it was all gone in a single instant. After that, we felt we couldn’t trust anyone ever again. We thought if Lord Huntington knew the truth about us, he’d want nothing to do with us. We thought he’d send us away, and Lachlan…oh, Hyacinth, he was desperate to give Ciaran and me a new life, to replace the one he thinks he took from us.”
Hyacinth nodded, but her hands had gone as cold as ice, and she felt numb all over. What must it be like for him, to carry that terrible weight on his shoulders? He’d been wrong not to tell them the truth, and yet how could she blame him for it? Why should he trust her—or Finn or Iris or any of them—when his own mother had lied to him? When everyone he’d ever called a friend had turned their backs on him?
“Lachlan regrets it now—not telling Finn the truth, I mean. You’ve all been so kind to us, so welcoming. We made a mistake, and all three of us see that now, but…oh, Hyacinth!” Isla turned an ashen face toward her. “What’s to be done about Lord Dixon? I suppose we haven’t much choice other than to let him tell thetonall he knows.”
“No, Isla. We’re not going to do that. Not when your family’s happiness is at stake.”
And my happiness, as well.
Hyacinth couldn’t imagine her life without the Ramseys. Isla with her fierce spirit, and Ciaran with his devilish smile…
And Lachlan. Most of all, she couldn’t imagine her life without Lachlan.
Isla was shaking her head. “But—”
“Listen to me, Isla. If we can just rid ourselves of Lord Dixon, the secret doesn’t have to come out. As you said, Lochinver is tiny and remote. There’s very little chance anyone else in London will ever hear of it.”
Isla went very quiet, and Hyacinth could see by the sudden pallor on her friend’s face Isla understood what she was saying. “If Finn heard of it, do you think he’d send us away?”
