“Yes, Mother.LadyGabrielle was rather battered by her travel through Brimmond Wood, and I was simply offering her one of the gowns that I have no use of.”
The duchess gives us both an incredulous look. “I sincerely doubt your clothing would fit her. You have notably different silhouettes. Is this a ruse to drag her to your chambers? We spoke about the rules when here at—”
“I am quite fine in my current gown, Your Grace,” I interrupt loudly. “Your daughter was merely being kind.”
Isabeau shoots me a smile that does little to quash my interest in the idea that I could have had an excuse to go to her chambers.
“You do appear to inspire that in her, don’t you?” The duchess summons a servant. “Go to the east wardrobe for one of last season’s gowns. You’ll have to hem something, as even beside me she is more petite, but our bosoms are more similar.”
To me, she says only, “Go to the study first. My daughter can show you to the door, but His Grace has requested that she not join you.”
“I do not need a replacement gown, Your Grace,” I start, but the duchess ignores me and walks away.
The affront on Isabeau’s face is marked, but she still walks me toward the study. Again, my hand is on her elbow, and again, my heart aches at this simple touch. I can find my way to the study without escort, but I don’t mind her presence. At all. I should, but I tuck each moment away in my memory to treasure.
“The duke is unwell?” I ask as we walk. “Is that the cause of your heartbreak?”
“He has lived eight decades.” Isabeau’s voice is harsh as she admits, “The illness in his chest grows worse. I fear ...”
I step in front of her and embrace her tightly. “I’m sorry, Isa. I know how close you are.”
A sob chokes Isabeau as I hold on to her. It feels as if we are girls again, closer than friends, foolishly swearing to stay that way unto eternity. Of course, now, Isabeau towers over me, tucking me under her chin.
A few tears slide from her eyes.
“If you need a friend, send a messenger,” I whisper. “Despite everything, I would still offer you my friendship.”
“Despite everything?” She jerks away from my embrace. “Thank you. I ... apologize for my behavior. I’ll leave you to your meeting with my father.”
She pivots, and I watch her stride away, seemingly offended, but I can’t chase her. I know what conversation awaits me, and it’s not the conversation I once dreamed of having with both of our fathers.
Being the Hunter comes first. Now and always. Everything else must wait when Hunter business is pressing.
Chapter 3
“Geasa, whether in the sense of [taboos] or of obligations, could be imposed by anyone, and must be obeyed, for disobedience produced disastrous effect.”
—The Religion of the Ancient Celtsby John Arnott MacCulloch [1911]
I push open the heavy oak door that leads into the study where my father sits with the duke. The room is lit by several small lamps, and the duke is reclining on a settee with a sheepskin over his legs for warmth. Even with the fire blazing, he looks drawn.
A tea tray sits on the small table in front of them. Steam lifts from a cup, and the scent of something floral tints the air.
“Is my daughter well?” the duke asks. A genial smile hovers over his lips, and I am reminded that he never objected to the moments when Isabeau and I stole away.
“She offered me a less distressed garment, as did Her Grace.” I am not interested in pleasantries or memories, but I cannot be impatient with a dying man. His skin has a waxen look to it, as if it’s ready to slip away.
“Ask my sister to tell Isabeauwhatyou are after her mourning period,” the duke orders. “I could tell her now, but she has enough weight on her. I worry how my family will react to my passing.”
My father is uncommonly silent. The box of samples sits on the table, open to reveal its ghastly contents.
I startle. “Is that safe? The contaminations—”
My words are cut off as the duke laughs. “I’m already at the last edges of dying, Gabrielle. If I see the dawn, I will be surprised.”
I am unsure how to reply.
The duke coughs, and blood blooms on the cloth he holds to his lips. He sees me catching sight of the stains. “I have lived a long life. My dearest dreams came true when I found love. The rest ...” He shrugs. “It matters little.”
