Page 31 of Engaging Sir Isaac

His expression as she spoke went from shocked surprise to something else, something that made him turn pale and drop his gaze. “I have a few,” he muttered quietly, almost too softly for her to hear. What had happened? In a handful of words she had managed to send him into a cast down state, as though she had proclaimed a death sentence rather than attempted a jest.

Millie stepped closer to him, put a hand upon that arm barring his chest, and looked directly up into his eyes. “Sir Isaac, I can see I have wounded you. I do not know how, but I am sorry for it. Please, forgive me.”

He stared down at her, his eyes distant still, his jaw clenched over words or an emotion before he spoke, his body as rigid as ever.

“Was it the remark about friends? Or flirting?” she asked, aware she stood too close. But he had to see, especially after how difficult it had been to gain his trust before, that she did not mean to hurt him. “I am sorry—”

“You needn’t be.” His words were gentle. His posture relaxed again, and he dropped his arm, but caught her hand in his before it could fall back to her side. “Miss Wedgewood.” His nose wrinkled. “It is a horrible surname, you know.”

She dared a smile, though she kept it small. “I know. Thankfully, as a woman, I might one day change it. But you, sir, are changing the subject. I was still apologizing.”

“As I said. It is unnecessary.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. He started walking down the path, his horse following like an obedient dog. “You jested about pity. That word is not a favorite of mine. Indeed, I rather dread having it associated with me in any way.”

“Oh.” Her eyes lowered to the path. “Because of the war? Your arm?”

“In part, I suppose. Foolish of me, of course. Many a man lost an arm, and many more never even came home. But there is something to it, you know, when someone stares at where your arm should be. When someone pretends to ignore the way in which you lack the ability to function as a man ought to.”

“Dear me. That does sound rather daunting.” Millie’s mind searched for what to say on the subject. She had no experience with such a loss as his. She had seen artwork in the Royal Gallery depicting battlefields in France, full of soldiers, lunging horses, death on both sides. It was quite grim. But she hadn’t spoken to many who had actually fought in the war, or witnessed such horrors the way Isaac had.

“We all have our hardships to bear,” he said with false levity. “I imagine you could tell a few tales of woe yourself.” He offered a weak smile to her, which was not at all acceptable. He had been so cheerful before. So delighted to see her. Then he’d revealed a weakness, forced to it by her thoughtless words.

“Not quite the same as yours, but yes. I’ve had my share of difficulties.” She tipped her nose up in the air, briefly wondering if she ought to return to jesting, if laughter would be enough to restore balance. But that was a coward’s way out. A fool’s. She was tired of being both of those things. “Can you keep a secret, Sir Isaac?”

“A secret?” Isaac turned to his horse to take its lead, as the beast had started to lag behind to nip at the soft grass on the side of the path. They were at the road. “I think I can. Providing it does no harm to anyone I know.” He turned to her, curiosity in his eyes. “I cannot imagine you have too many secrets of a clandestine nature.”

“Not too many,” she agreed, tucking her hands behind her back. “But you ought to know this one. For a time, and among certain circles still, I am a person to be stared at, pitied, and ridiculed. You see, due to an unfortunate circumstance, I am actually quite ruined.”

His head jerked back. “What?” Then he leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I cannot—do not understand.”

She forced a smile, projecting a nonchalance she most certainly did not feel. “It is true. Ask anyone in Society about my elder sister, Emmeline. She ran off the night before her wedding. With a man decidedly beneath her station, and her prospective husband’s honor was damaged. He lashed out in every way he could, socially. Ruined my entire family. Father was turned out of clubs, had notes called in, lost several investments. Mother was given the cut direct. I was only fifteen at the time.” Her bravado failed her at last and she ducked her head, hiding beneath her bonnet’s brim.

Perhaps she had miscalculated. She hadn’t spoken of her sister’s wrong-doing to a stranger before. But Sir Isaac—she desperately wanted him to understand, to see why she could not see a lack in him as other’s might.

She knew too well that what a person could see on the outside had nothing to do with their honor, their virtue, or their heart.

When Isaac spoke, it was quietly, almost to himself. “That circumstance explains so much.” He appeared as though a great revelation had come to him.

“It does?” She tried to keep her surprise out of her voice. “What…what do you mean?”

“The Marchioness of Alderton would take no exception to a reputation such as that, and the family is quite above any censure. The Crown Prince himself would have to deliver a harsh blow to lower their importance and esteem. I understand your presence here now.” Sir Isaac turned away from her, his expression darkening. “From what you have said of your reputation, they really are one of the few families capable of restoring that sort of damage.”

Millie’s heart sunk. Damaged.

Yes. She was that.

There was no use giving him the rest of the story. He need not know exactly how close she had come to losing everything. She withdrew a step from him, moving back to the house.

“Miss Wedgewood.” His voice stopped her from moving again. “Are you safe in that house?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the manor. Why would he ask? He could not possibly care. He was all cold formality again.

Millie looked up the drive to the stately house, all shining white stone and tall pillars. “Yes. I believe so. Although I do not think I will be a guest there much longer. Lady Olivia and I do not suit one another. I believe she will ask me to leave. Possibly this evening, or tomorrow.” Not that he would care. Why did she bother telling him as much?

“Oh.” Sir Isaac tucked his horse’s lead beneath his arm and finally fixed his hat, adjusting it to the proper angle. “Esther will be terribly disappointed.” His sister. Not him. Of course not. How silly she had been, to imagine—it did not matter.

“As will I. Your sister is one of the kindest people I have ever met.” Millie did not bother to offer another smile that would surely falter and fall into a frown. “I had better return. My maid and I should start our packing.”

Millie started away, but Sir Isaac dropped his horse’s lead to put his hand upon her arm. She kept her eyes averted from his, no desire to speak to him more, not after his reaction to what she had revealed. She ought to have known better. No one accepted her once they knew of her sister’s choice, of Lord Carning’s anger. The might of his family’s importance brought to bear against the Wedgewoods’ insignificance cowed many who may have thought to continue a friendship.

“Then this is goodbye?” the baronet asked, voice lowered. Why did he pretend it mattered?