“And what is that?”
Vincent turned on the threshold. “You must convince Isolde of your feelings first. I know she loves you, but we both know how stubborn she can be.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Drizzling rain spattered the pavement as Isolde climbed down from the carriage, pulling her cloak tighter around herself to hold back the chilly breeze that tried to sneak inside.
Standing there as Teresa emerged behind her, Isolde stared at the pretty shop, urging herself to find some excitement in the sight of the beautiful gowns displayed in the windows.
She felt nothing, just a desire to get back into the carriage and return home.
“Shall we have tea instead?” Isolde asked her sister.
Teresa weaved her arm through Isolde’s. “Afterwe have chosen a gown for you. Vincent was most insistent, and I do not want him to be cross with us. The wedding is not so far away, and you cannot wear something you already have. Mama will not allow it.”
“No, I suppose the weddingisrather soon,” Isolde mumbled, shivering at the thought.
Since accepting Noah’s proposal, she had tried her very best to conjure some enthusiasm about marrying him. After the engagement had been announced, many letters of congratulation had arrived at the townhouse, but she had not bothered to read any of them; she had left that to her mother. A mother who was slowly losing her mind at her daughter’s new habit of retreating to her chambers, refusing all invitations, withdrawing from society altogether.
Noah himself had visited a handful of times, and though the conversation had been as pleasant as always, she suspected that he was as uninspired by the wedding as she was. He had asked her many times, in a nervy voice, if they were doing the right thing, and she had answered vaguely, since the course they were on could not be changed now.
“I do not profess to be at all fashionable, but I am here to help you,” Teresa said, pulling Isolde toward the shop door. “And think on this—the sooner we choose something, the sooner we can have scones and tea.”
Isolde managed a wan smile. “That is certainly a motivating thought.”
The two sisters were greeted warmly by the vibrant Madame Versailles, who shuffled out from behind her counter to embrace the women. She smelled of violets and rose water, and hadmischief in her eyes as she ushered Isolde to a chair in the corner.
“You stay there while your sister and I select some fabrics for you,” the modiste insisted. “I’ll have some tea fetched for you, to whet your appetite for the gown of the century. I have so many ideas. Truly, I will be inundated with brides wanting the same when I am done with you!”
Isolde perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair. “I do not want anything elaborate. The simpler the better.”
“Nonsense,” Madame Versailles retorted. “It is your wedding—youmusthave a gown worthy of your beauty and future happiness.”
Then make it black,Isolde resisted the urge to say so, weary of her melancholy. She did not want to drag anyone else down with her, when it was her own fault that she was about to be unhappily married. Yes, Edmund did not propose in a romantic fashion, and had not offered her particularly enticing terms, but at least she would be married to him if she had accepted. And he was the only husband she wanted.
As Madame Versailles disappeared into the back room, where them modiste kept her best fabrics, Isolde dipped a hand into her reticule and drew out the bronze mask of thorns and roses.
She traced her fingertips across the winding, weaving shapes, noting the spots where she had begun to wear the metal to a shine. Part of her wondered if she ought to ask for a gown thatmatched it, if such a thing were possible, though she figured that would only make the wedding more difficult.
At that moment, the shop door opened, tinkling a bell above the lintel.
“It is a private appointment! Please come back later!” Madame Versailles shouted from the back, though she did not emerge to see who had entered.
Isolde did not look either, transfixed by the beauty of the mask and the memory of the man who had worn it. She did not mind if there were other people at her private appointment. Indeed, she did not know why her brother had gone to the trouble of arranging a private appointment when everyone knew she was getting married anyway.
But when the bell did not chime again, signaling the customer’s departure from the shop, she finally glanced over… and gasped with such force that it promptly sent her into a coughing fit.
“Are you well? Do you need water?” Edmund rushed to her, sinking to his knees in front of her, taking hold of her hands as she spluttered and wheezed.
She nodded as best she could. “I am… quite well. You startled me… that is all.”
“I am sorry,” he said softly, peering up at her. “I did not mean to scare you. I thought you had heard the bell.”
“I did,” she rasped, “but I did not… expect to see… you. Why would… I?”
He winced, no doubt aware that she had a point. “I thought it best to stay away, but that was before. That was when I thought that you would be happy if I was away from you, and I have it on good authority that you have not been happy. In truth, neither have I.”
As the coughing eased, she stared at him, astounded by his words. After everything they had been through, every hurt he had inflicted, did he really think she cared if he had not been happy? Did he not realize that she hadhopedhe was as miserable as her, even though she knew she should not wish that on him?
