According to Vincent, Edmund had spent several months exploring Italy; it was not a leap to believe he had bought a mask from the city that was famed for its masquerades.
“Izzie?” A hand fell on Isolde’s shoulder, making her jump.
The jolt snapped Isolde out of her trance, and she whirled around to look into the worried face of her sister. Teresa was paler than usual in the glare of the moonlight, her brow furrowed, her eyes searching Isolde’s features as if she might find the problem written somewhere on her porcelain skin.
“Have you been crying?” Teresa gasped, sinking down into a crouch at the side of the writing desk’s chair. She settled her hands on Isolde’s knees, peering up. “What happened? Are you well? Shall I fetch you a handkerchief? Some brandy, perhaps?”
Isolde managed a smile, grateful for her sister’s sweet nature. “That will not be necessary. I am quite well; it is the dust in this room, nothing more.”
“Please, Izzie, do not lie to me,” Teresa said softly. “You so rarely cry, so… I am certain something is wrong. You can talk to me, if you would like to.”
Isolde dabbed her eyes with her sleeve and curled a hand around one of Teresa’s. It was true that she rarely cried. When she was much younger, her mother had told her that it made her look terribly ugly. Ever since, she could count on one hand the number of times she had shed a tear, but they were flowingfreely now. And, being unaccustomed to them, she did not know how to get them to stop.
I doubt I cried so much when Papa died…The thought jarred her.
“I had a strange evening, that is all,” she said, after a moment or two.
“Did you find out who sent you the gown?”
Isolde swallowed uncomfortably. “I did.”
“Was it the Viscount?” Teresa’s eyes sparkled with hope.
Isolde shook her head. “It was not the Viscount. It was someone who should not have sent it. Someone I do not wish to talk about.”
“Is that someone the same someone who usually stays in this room?” Teresa asked, too perceptive for her own good.
Fresh tears welled in Isolde’s eyes, catching on her eyelashes, clumping them together. “I really do not wish to talk about it. I know you are a wonderful listener, Tess, but… I cannot speak of it. It is… an open wound at present.”
She could sense Teresa’s curiosity, as tangible as a sea breeze on a warm day, but Teresa simply nodded in understanding andsqueezed Isolde’s hand gently. If it were Prudence, Isolde would not have been permitted to leave the room until she revealed everything, so she was secretly glad their youngest sister had not been summoned by the sound of her creeping around.
“Goodness, that is beautiful,” Teresa said, staring at the mask that now rested on Isolde’s lap. “Did you find that in here?”
Fighting past the lump in her throat, Isolde nodded. “I did. It belongs to… It belongs to…”
For the life of her, she could not say it. Speaking it aloud would mean that it was real, and the mysterious masked savior she had been hoping to encounter again was the same man who had put a severe dent in her heart that night. Perhaps a crack, if she was being honest with herself.
“Edmund?” Teresa prompted.
Isolde scrunched her eyes shut, like that could somehow hide the blunt truth from her.
His name circled around and around in her head, taking her back to the library, mentally kicking and screaming. How his voice had rumbled as he had asked, “Why do you keep calling me by my name?” How his throat had bobbed, giving her a sudden desire to touch his neck, to feel that intriguing movement.
He told me to stop it.I kept pressing him, reminding him of his note. If I had not, maybe I would not be feeling this way.She frowned, wondering if she was more at fault than she had thought.
Glancing at Teresa, she almost asked for her sister’s opinion. Maybe, Teresa had read some manner of book about the art of rejection and what it meant when a gentleman kissed a lady, rebuffed her, then promptly left with the declaration that she would probably never see him again.
“Yes, the mask is his. I found it by accident,” Isolde said, as evenly as she could. “I had intended to pack his belongings to send on to his townhouse.”
Teresa smiled. “Would you like me to help?”
“Pardon?”
“Would you like me to help you pack his belongings? I hear it can be very cathartic, and though I do not profess to know what has happened tonight, I can make a reasonable guess,” Teresa replied softly. “I…didsee something in the drawing room that day. I saw more than I should have. But, my dearest sister, please rest assured that your secret is safe with me. And if you have decided to loathe Edmund, then I shall join you.”
The sisterly gesture was so sweet that it nearly brought on a fresh wave of tears and stole Isolde’s voice from her. All she could do was nod and be grateful, once again, that it was not Prudence who had intruded. If Prudence had had the slightest inkling of what had occurred at the ball, she would havescreamed for their mother without hesitation. A sweet gesture in its own way, but not at all what Isolde needed.
“But may I ask you one thing before we begin?” Teresa said, getting to her feet.
