Chapter 10
Isla cringed in her half-hidden windowseat when her mother entered the small library and went to inspect the haphazard fire in the corner.
“Were you burning paper? Again?” Mrs. MacLaren asked with a frown. “That is very expensive, Isla. Surely that is not an expense we can spare. Is it?”
“No, Mum. Mother,” Isla corrected herself. She forced a smile. “It was only a small scrap.”
The woman put her hands on her hips. “’Twas more than a few scraps. I’m not blind yet, dear. What is the matter?”
She gave a quick shake of her head before finding an immediate change of subject. “I’m only trying to work on my stitches again. It’s a handkerchief for my intended.”
“Oh!” Mrs. MacLaren hurried over with delight as thought Isla might actually be able to stitch something beautiful for once. “Oh dear. Hm.”
As her mother frowned deeper and tugged at the spare threads and knots that Isla was utterly helpless in fixing, Isla glanced toward the fire herself.
It was true that burning paper was an expense they couldn’t toy with right now, and it wasn’t as though she should have been using paper for what she was writing…
Penning notes about my intended isn’t going to bring me any peace, that is for certain.
It didn’t exactly bring me any peace. What else am I to do?
The duke hardly tells me anything. I understand the man is private but I know so little of him.
Any question I ask him is hardly well received…
who else am I to ask? Everything I know of him only fills a scrap.
As for the questions I have for him, they fill pages.
“Have you considered starting over?” Her mother asked with wide eyes.
Sighing, Isla reached back out for her items. “I suppose I should. Can you at least tell what it is supposed to be, Mother?”
“Oh, yes. It is… A crown and the letter W. Very nice dear, but if you want him to use it, it must be perfect. Should I call in Margaret to advise you?”
It was neither a crown nor a letter. Isla inspected her attempted horse for a moment before offering a sigh and an answer.
“I don’t think so. She is having a tea party outdoors with Lacey and I should hate to disturb them. I have some more time before the wedding, of course, so I suppose I must start over.” She looked around for the scissors before her mother handed them to her. “Thank you. What if we––”
There came a knock at a distant door that stalled her.
“Oh, let me see to that,” her mother announced. “I’ll come see you after and perhaps I can help, eh? Just a moment, Isla.”
Except the moment the woman had taken her leave, Isla dumped her embroidery supplies on the bench before rising to her feet.
Already she had taken a lengthy stroll this morning to the market with their cook for weekly shopping, and chased Lacey about the house.
But there was still a bundle of nerves dancing through her body.
She had hoped to ignore it by writing about the duke and then embroidering a small gift for him when the lists and questions didn’t help.
Nothing seemed to help. Isla felt the tightness in her chest grow a little more every day with the upcoming wedding. None of this made any sense and yet it didn’t feel as though she had any options. There was no freedom in anything she did. Trapped under her own roof, she hardly knew what to do.
“Isla? Isla. Isla!” Her mother was quietly calling for her, the hiss growing frantic as they ran into each other at the hall. “You have a guest!”
“What? Who? The duke?” Isla hastily fiddled with her hair and dress, uncertain if she was presentable.
The look her mother gave her said otherwise. “Whatever is the matter with you? You’re about to be a duchess and cannot keep… oh, put your hands down. It’s helpless. No, it’s not the duke. Go on. Go! You cannot keep him waiting!”
“But…” Isla was already being pushed down the hall. She had little time to think as she found herself in the drawing room. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Lord Percival Dunn, the Earl of Quinceton, watching her. She snapped it shut. “My lord. Hello.”
I thought by claiming Westvale I should never encounter him again.
“Go,” her mother nudged her further into the room. Then she slipped in behind with a forced smile. “My good lord, here she is. What a lovely surprise to have you here. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Isla spoke without thinking as panic made her stomach squeeze. “What are you doing here?”
Slowly lifting a brow, the tall portly man with chicken legs took a shuffling step forward.
Already she could smell the staleness of him.
There was a glistening shine to his lips and she noticed some sort of dull powder wrapped around the edge of his nostril.
“Indeed, a surprise. Won’t you join me, my dear girl? ”
She eyed his flimsy attempt at covering the blatant balding before taking her own small steps to sit down. Already her mother had claimed the chair that was furthest from their guest, so she had to sit on the couch. She thought he would surely take the loveseat that was behind him.
Instead, the lord moved closer to take the couch next to her.
As her eyes settled on their knees that were too close to touching, the man spoke up loudly.
“I thought it best to offer my personal congratulations for the wedding. It was in the post the other day that you are to wed the Duke of Westvale. What a… fortunate opportunity you have here.” The final words were said through gritted teeth.
Oh dear. Oh bother. I don’t like this at all. And I can tell Mother isn’t about to do anything to help.
All her life it had been a struggle to manage a relationship with her mother.
Isla had been closer to her father, and that had been difficult for Mrs. MacLaren.
And then he had passed, which forced them together.
Her mother relied on Isla to do so much without knowing it.
And now… Now what was she supposed to do?
Isla’s eyes bugged wide while the earl took her hand onto his lap.
“My lord,” she started.
“What a shame it is to know what we will miss now. I had hoped that I had convinced you, selfish man that I am, that we might be a fine fit together.” Lord Dunn squeezed her hand tightly when she tried to tug free. “If only I might have had more time to spend with you.”
A small sound escaped her mother. “Oh! What a thoughtful gentleman you are.”
She couldn’t see the grip he had on her, Isla realized. She braced herself, exhaling as she tried to tug free again. “My lord, I appreciate the consideration and time for which you have spent with us. However, there was no formal agreement in place.”
“Who needs a promise or papers when it was clearly a promising match?” Lord Dunn said, his quiet voice still stern. “Never did I imagine I was dealing with someone dishonorable.”
Standing with a jolt––fast enough that he loosened his grip and she broke free––Isla smiled through gritted teeth.
“I never promised you a match, my lord. I made that very clear that while I appreciated the time and attention you gave myself and my family, that I could offer you nothing more than friendship.”
But preferably nothing at all.
“I still believe I was treated wrongly, misled to assume a match was possible. It broke my heart to see the announcement that I have not been able to climb out of my bed for days,” he muttered.
“Oh, how tragic,” her mother said as she rose to her feet.
When Isla turned to give her a look, the older woman wasn’t even giving her a glance.
“I’m very sorry, my lord. The match truly did come out of nowhere.
A very nice surprise, to be certain, but very unexpected.
How I wish we could have been more honest with you. ”
He harrumphed.
Isla didn’t like the look in his eye. The man meant to hurt them, she feared. She clutched her bruised wrist in one hand as she blocked him from her mother and spoke forcefully. “Thank you for your time, my lord, and for your congratulations. Shall I see you out the door?”
“There is no need. I know when I am no longer welcome. I only hope that someday you learn your limits. Good day.” Lord Dunn pursed his lips, wet and slippery like eels. While he leaned on his cane, the earl made his way out the door and down the hall.
It was only when she heard the door shut that Isla could breathe again. She looked down to her hands, seeing they were shaking. Ignoring the wrist, she struggled to inhale deeply and calm herself.
Her mother had followed the earl so see him out. As she returned, she shook her head. “What a pitiful gentleman.”
“Pitiful! Mother, he said I was dishonorable,” Isla protested.
All her mother did was wave a hand in the air. “Don’t be petty, Isla. The poor man is grieving. He could have had a lovely and spry young wife if you had only accepted his suit. Clearly, he needs someone to care for him.”
“He has plenty of servants.”
“Servants are not the same, Isla, you know this. No, he needs family. His children hardly give him the time of day. It’s very sad.”
No matter what Isla tried to say about the short visit, her mother merely brushed the encounter off. The woman went to check on her other children while Isla paced about the room.
Dark spots were already forming beneath the lace of her short gloves.
They made her queasy, especially when she thought about his eyes on her.
There was something about the earl that had always made her uneasy.
It was simple to blame to his brusque manner and appalling scent, but this encounter felt like something more.
There was something cruel about him. Vindictive, even. I don’t like it. Something tells me that Dunn won’t easily forget how I avoided a union with him. Thank the lord for Westvale. I would rather a mysterious and strange husband over Dunn any day.