Within a matter of no more than five minutes, Noah had arrived, proposed, and departed again, leaving behind at least two dizzied souls. Indeed, Isolde was not entirely certain of what she had said to her future husband, only that shehadaccepted.
“I shall fetch wine for us to celebrate! Oh, and I must tell the girls! They will be thrilled, for there is to be a wedding at last!” Isolde’s mother cheered, jumping to her feet and hurrying out with the same haste that had driven Noah in and out so swiftly.
In her absence, Vincent moved to occupy the spot she had vacated. The settee gave under his weight, for it was not a piece of furniture he used too often, but he did not seem to notice as he turned to look at Isolde.
“What is the matter?” she asked, puzzled by the abrupt change in him.
He took hold of her hand, worrying her all the more. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” He laughed stiffly. “I have been watching you these past days, Isolde, and… I could not help but notice that you have not been yourself. You have been quieter, more reserved, and though I should be glad of that, I find myself concerned instead.”
“I have not slept much, that is all,” she lied.
He saw right through her, shaking his head. “No, it is more than that. Even with your friends at the various gatherings we have attended this week, you have been… distant. I have never seen you stare off into the middle distance as much as you have done of late. So, please, put your old brother out of his misery. Tell me what is wrong.”
“There is nothing wrong,” she insisted.
“Isolde…”
She puffed out a breath and closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of her brother’s hand. “It is not the right word. There is nothing wrong, per se. I have just had a lot to think about.”
She paused, trying to find the right sentiment. “I have had to accept that I will never have what I wanted, and that has been hard for me because, as you said, I have obsessed over my wedding, my marriage, my dreams of romance, for years. However, Iamcoming to terms with it. I still have a duty to perform, and I will not be the one who lets you all down. I cannot end up a spinster, Vincent, so… I have had to make my decision, and that depth of thought has required a lot of staring off into the middle distance.”
An odd, wheezing sound emerged from Vincent’s throat. “What do you mean, you have had to accept that you will never have what you wanted? I thought the Viscountwaswhat you wanted—that offer of love that you had been waiting for?”
“I gave up waiting, Brother,” she replied, opening her eyes. “I grew up instead. You see, Mama said that she loved Papa in her own way, and theirs was not a love match. Flowers bloom where you water them, Vincent; I am putting faith in the notion that love can be the same.”
Her brother paled, his eyes scrunched as if he was trying to remember a name that was dancing on the tip of his tongue. “You… do not love the Viscount?”
“Ilikehim. I think we will be content,” she countered.
“Is there someone youdolove?”
Isolde dropped her gaze sharply, terrified that her brother would see Edmund’s name etched across her face. She really had tried not to, she really had thought she had not yet fallen for him, but there was nothing to be done: her heart wanted her masked savior, and she was the cruel master telling it that it would have to go without.
I love him and I hate him for making me love him. I love him, but he does not love me.
“Not especially,” she murmured, praying this would be the one occasion where her brother did not see right through her lies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hazy sunshine slanted in through the casement windows of Edmund’s study, the scent of cut grass and lavender drifting in on the mild breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma, considering the prospect of taking a late morning walk through the grounds.
I should purchase a dog. That would keep me occupied.
His restlessness over the past couple of weeks since Isolde’s rejection had proven to be rather useful, giving him more time to dedicate to his correspondence and estate affairs. Indeed, he hadalmostcaught up on everything that had been waiting for him in the two years that he had been on his grand tour.
But he could not shake the loneliness that had settled over him like a heavy blanket.
A knock came at the study door.
“Come in,” Edmund called, stretching out his aching arms.
The steward, Sinclair, walked in and bowed his head. “There is a visitor for you, Your Grace. I told him you were at your work, but he was insistent. I’ve left him in the Sun Room for you.”
Sinclair was a hard-edged man with thinning gray hair and sharp, blue eyes that could pierce right through any nonsense. He had been around for as long as Edmund could remember, moving through the ranks of staff. He had begun as a gardener’s boy, then a footman, then a valet, and now the steward of Davenport Towers. And he took great pride in that, even though he showed no emotion on his face at any time.
Is that what I will become?
The steward had never married and never shown any inclination toward the institution. Edmund could recall his father scolding many a member of staff for dallying with other servants, but Sinclair had not been among them. Not once. He was always alone, with the sort of demeanor that kept most people at a distance.
