As they waited, all three holding hands, Dr. Mercer—the man Ana was marrying came forward and took Ana away after a short introduction. The man looked too serious to Izzy, and she hoped her sister would get along well with him. As Ana walked away, Izzy looked over at Rosie. “I don’t know when we’ll see her again. Have we made a terrible mistake?”
Rosie squeezed the hand she was holding. “It will all be fine. I’m sure of it.”
But Izzy wasn’t like her sister. Rosie always wore rose-colored glasses. Even when their father had beaten her, she’d always come up with reasons why he was the way he was.
“Stay close,” she instructed her sister, her voice betraying none of the tremor that threatened to undo her.
And then, the crowd parted, and there he was. Even from a distance, she recognized him—the embodiment of influence and affluence. “I believe that’s Albert coming toward us,” Izzy whispered.
“Isabelle?” His voice cut through the clamor, clear and authoritative, reaching her like a lifeline—or a leash.
“Mr. Thoreau,” Izzy replied, her words measured, her tone respectful but devoid of warmth. “My family calls me Izzy.”
“Then I shall call you that as well. And you must call me Albert.” He looked at her carefully. “Who is this?”
Izzy smiled. “This is my sister Rosabelle, whom we call Rosie.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. His eyes swept over her. In that moment, Izzy understood that she was not merely a bride. She was an acquisition. “Welcome to Hope Springs.”
“Thank you,” Izzy replied, placing her hand in his with deliberate care. She turned to embrace Rosie, not knowing when she would see either of her sisters again.
She would endure. She would adapt. With one last glance at her sister, Isabelle squared her shoulders and walked alongside Albert Thoreau.
“We will go to church and marry. And then I’ll take you to my home and introduce you to my housekeeper, who will help you with whatever you need.”
“Of course,” Izzy said. She hadn’t considered she would have a housekeeper. It would feel odd not to do everything herself. She wasn’t yet certain what to think of Albert, but at least he’d been prompt in retrieving her from the train station. That was a mark in his favor. Though he did seem to be a bit too fussy with his appearance, his suit was perfect.
She knew the world was ruled by men like Albert Thoreau, but she would not let it snuff out the fire of her spirit. She was a fixture in his plan, yes, but not an inert one. She would learn, she would observe, and she would find a way to claim her place within this new life.
“Shall we?” Albert finally said, glancing back at her with an unreadable expression as they reached the end of the platform, the beginning of everything else.
“Let’s go,” Izzy affirmed.
The wedding was a brisk affair as if it were another transaction in Albert Thoreau’s ledger. As she stood beside him, clad in one of the two dresses she’d left her father’s house with, she hoped that life with him wouldn’t be anything like life with her father. She wouldn’t stay if he was violent. She simply couldn’t spend the rest of her life the way she’d spent it so far.
“Isabelle Grace,” the officiant intoned. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her answer was a faint, “I do.” No matter how nervous she was, she’d agreed to marry this man. Albert’s response mirrored hers in volume, though devoid of any detectable emotion.
The officiant pronounced them man and wife in a voice devoid of warmth, and as tradition dictated, Albert leaned down to bestow upon Izzy a quick kiss. His lips brushed against hers—a fleeting contact that left no impression of tenderness or promise. It was perfunctory. Izzy hoped he didn’t do everything that way.
*****
THE GRANDEUR OF ALBERTThoreau’s house loomed before Izzy as they approached, its towering presence a stark reminder of the life she was now bound to. She gazed up at the imposing structure. It was perfect. She only hoped he didn’t expect her to be just as perfect.
“Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Thoreau,” Albert said. There was no warmth in the welcome, no guiding hand at her back—only the expectation that she would step into the role she’d been given.
“Thank you,” Izzy managed. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, a stranger stepping into a play halfway through, the script long since written without her input.
As the door creaked open, revealing the cavernous foyer within, Izzy realized that this house was not a home but a fortress. And she, merely a silent figure moving through its halls, searching for a foothold in a world where she had yet to find her place.
“Shall we discuss the arrangements?” Albert’s voice was devoid of inflection as if he were inquiring about the weather rather than their shared life.
“Of course,” she replied, her tone equally measured. It would help to know exactly what he expected of her.
They settled into an ornate sitting room where the plush furniture seemed to mock her discomfort. Izzy perched on the edge of a velvet armchair. She folded her hands in her lap, clenching them tightly, so he wouldn’t see they were trembling.
“Your duties will be clear,” Albert began. “You will manage the household, host my business associates, and attend social functions as befits my status.”
