Chapter 4
Thoughts of Isolde consumed the rest of Thaddeus’s evening, and he strongly suspected his dreams as well, though he could not remember them when he woke.
Her face and its many expressions throughout their conversation the night before – shocked, grateful, carefully pensive – kept appearing in his mind unbidden, as did her wide blue eyes, and her porcelain skin turned golden by the low rays of the sun, and even her lips, which he had noticed were a particularly pretty shade of pink.
Irritated that he should still be so fixated on her when they’d clearly established a plan to solve their predicament, he finally had his horse saddled and went for a ride in the park.
He tried to settle into the rhythm of his horse’s stride as he usually did, letting all the thoughts clear from his mind.
Instead, he found himself letting the horse walk, finding its own way while the reins lay slack in his hand.
He kept replaying the moment he told her that he did not intend to marry her, that she was free to find another suitor. Every time he thought of it, he felt a sick twist in his gut.
She had seemed amenable to the idea, even pleased, but the more he knew her, the less convinced he was of any suitor worthy of her. The idea of her being courted by another man, perhaps a string of men, all of them unworthy, made his stomach turn.
She was so self-possessed, taking all of this absurd situation in her stride and making the best of it. It somewhat astonished him.
To be so graceful, intelligent, and poised, on top of being so beautiful and good-natured – he wasn’t sure he’d known a finer woman.
Was it possible that there was a gentleman who existed that would care for her as she deserved, rather than dulling the brilliant light she seemed to give off?
If there was, he did not think he had met the man.
He sighed in frustration. This line of thinking would do him no good. He shook out his shoulders, making his horse prance a bit.
Retightening the reins, he urged the horse forward again and cast about for something else to occupy his mind. His thoughts turned to Isolde’s sister.
He’d given it some thought the night before but could think of no good plan as of yet. It wasn’t as though he could find a man to pretend to court her, as well.
Perhaps the solution was simply to find a decent man to genuinely court her.
He frowned to himself. He was not in the know of the ton’s eligible bachelors, nor had he ever wished to be before this moment.
He would have to see if he could casually get some information from his mother, or maybe Tatiana.
Yes, Tatiana would likely tell him everything he wished to know – he just needed to find the right prompt to get her talking without arousing her suspicion.
She was cleverer than she let on, a deception he often wondered if she created on purpose to trick people into underestimating her.
He remembered how warmly Tatiana had greeted Isolde and felt a sudden pang of guilt. He hoped that his sister would not grow too fond of Isolde. A flicker of doubt about his plan paused his thoughts. Was this too much of a trick on his sister? And for that matter, the rest of his family?
Coming to know Isolde better, though, had only solidified for him that he’d done the right thing intervening in the bet. And now they must do something to resolve the matter.
If there were hurt feelings among his family afterward, he would have to face them and do what he could to make up for it. There was no turning back now.
He sighed. At least the younger Fairchild daughter was in no immediate danger, not like Isolde had been.
As if summoned by bad memories, a horse rounded the bend ahead of him, carrying none other than Crowley himself.
Thaddeus started to turn his horse’s head to make for a different path, but Crowley put his hand up and called out to him. He swore under his breath and guided his horse back toward the man.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Crowley said jovially, as if they were friends and not men in opposition much more frequently than they were aligned.
“Don’t know that I’ve ever seen you out riding in the morning before.
I did hear Miss Fairchild is already making herself quite at home under your roof.
Not feeling suffocated by her already, poor chap? ”
Thaddeus internally cursed the gossips in this town who shared their news with such a man. Externally, he gave Crowley a tight-lipped smile. “Perhaps I simply choose my outings carefully to avoid unwelcome company.”
Crowley’s wide grinned slipped a bit, but he pulled it back up.
“Come, let’s not snipe at one another. After all, it’s me who lost the bet, eh?
Though between the two of us,” he leaned toward Thaddeus as though confiding in him, “she always seemed rather a miserable woman. Pretty to look at, but not the sort you’d want to live with.
So maybe I won after all, eh?” He punctuated this with a wink, and Thaddeus felt himself flushing with anger.
He knew Crowley was goading him, but he couldn’t help the words that hissed out of his mouth.
“Miss Fairchild is every bit as lovely and pleasant as she is beautiful. It may sting to have thought you would have her and then lost her, but you must surely know she was always too good for you. Nurse your wounds, and then move on, before you get yourself into trouble.”
Crowley’s face turned red, and he started spluttering a response, but Thaddeus wasn’t in the mood to hear it. He kicked his horse into a canter and left Crowley coughing in the dust kicked up by his horse’s hooves.
And this time he did lose himself in the movement of the horse, letting the wind rush past him, soothing his burning temper.
He didn’t slow down again until he was far away from Crowley, realizing regretfully that he’d gone the opposite direction from Hartington and added a good half hour to his ride home.
Perhaps it was for the best, though, as long after the horse slowed, his own heartbeat continued to race. He struggled to pull himself together and calm the anger simmering in his veins.
He mentally chided himself at letting Crowley get to him. He was usually better at controlling himself and his emotions. But somehow that barb directed at Isolde had stung as though it had been aimed at him.
He urged the horse into a gallop, giving him free rein to run and willing himself to get lost in the movement as well. By the time they neared Hartington, both he and the horse were breathing hard.
He slowed them down as they approached, and a bit of movement in the drawing room window caught his eye. Isolde was settling into the window seat, gazing out in the distance.
She was looking away from him, her expression relaxed. Without meaning to, he pulled the horse to a stop, lingering to watch her. She looked beautiful, the windowpane framing her like a picture, but more than that, she looked content. Happy.
He felt a sudden urge to make sure that she looked that way every day.
Beneath him, his horse shifted, anxious to get on to the stable where oats and a good brush down awaited.
“Patience, patience,” he said gently, but gave up his view and guided his mount away from the house. He stole one last look back at Isolde, and he swore to himself that, however impossible it seemed, he would find a man good enough for her.