Chapter 8
Thaddeus leaned back from his desk and groaned. He had been staring at trade contracts for hours. His eyes were tired, and his back was sore from leaning over the desk. He tossed aside the paper he’d been holding, and stood up, stretching as he went to look out the window.
The view showed him rooftops stretching out in all directions, and the Thames cutting through them like a dark line. His eyes followed the river’s winding path toward the city’s edge. Eventually, it wound its way back to his home.
He sighed. Usually he loved his time in London, but this trip had held no joy for him.
There was a knock on his study door, and before he could bid them to enter, it creaked open and Cassian stuck his head in.
“Hello, Harrow,” he said. “All right if I let myself in?” Without waiting for a reply, he entered the room and sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. “I heard you were in town, so it seemed only right to come pay a visit. Oh, and I thought we might have dinner.”
“Dinner?” Thaddeus asked. He wondered vaguely what time it was, and realized the sun was much lower in the sky than it had been last time he’d noticed.
“Yes, with Vivienne. You remember, from the ball? She’s in town with me and would love to see you again.”
“Ah, of course.” He dimly remembered that he’d already agreed to this dinner. His head gave a dull throb, and he wondered how insulting it would be to change his mind. All he wanted to do was finish his business here and get home.
He paused, turning over the thought in his mind, surprised at his own vehemence. He felt an odd sort of longing to be done with London and return to Hartington, a longing that he realized with some shock was homesickness. He’d never been homesick before.
He supposed it was due to his father’s death, as the man had been his main reason for staying away from home. Now, Hartington was no longer his father’s house, but his house.
His family was happier for it, he could tell – just little moments of lightness in his sister’s chattering, his brother’s laugh, and his mother’s easy smile. Without knowing it, the place had really started to feel like a home to him.
Another figure appeared in his musings, one with beautiful auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She did not smile as easily as the others, but when she did it was wonderful. And when he happened to be the cause of the smile, he felt as though he’d done something marvelous.
He pulled himself from his thoughts, suddenly aware that Cassian had started talking again. He pushed away the thoughts of Isolde. She had nothing to do with his homesickness, surely. After all, she’d barely been at Hartington a week.
“… so would you like to come round to mine, or shall we come to yours?” Cassian was saying. Thaddeus managed to pull himself back together in time to answer the question.
“Mine. I’d be happy to host you,” he said.
That was more or less a lie, but at least if they came here, he would be able to keep working until nearly dinner time.
He was suddenly contemplating how much of this work he could take back to Hartington with him.
Perhaps he need not stay as long as he’d anticipated.
“Splendid,” Cassian said, standing up with a grin. “We shall see you this evening.”
Thaddeus saw him out with a wave and then sighed. He poured himself a finger of whiskey to help ease his head and then went downstairs to let the cook know they’d be having guests.
***
Cassian and Lady Bradshaw were prompt in their arrival and dressed in the latest fashions. Vivienne, in particular, had obviously tried to look her best, and Thaddeus winced internally.
He had hoped that at the very least, this fake engagement would deter any women hoping to win his hand and make themselves a marchioness. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case.
He met them in the parlor for drinks before dinner and did his best to be a good host, though it had never been something he did well.
He’d poured whiskey for himself and Cassian, and it seemed to be hitting him hard, making him feel a bit fuzzy. Cassian and Vivienne mostly carried the conversation amongst themselves, though Vivienne did her best to draw him into it whenever she saw an opportunity.
He spent most of the time murmuring affirmatives and contemplating how, if Isolde had been there, she would have made the conversation much livelier and more interesting. She really was perfectly suited to be a lady of a grand manor.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d bungled the whole affair with his ridiculous plan. Perhaps if he’d just suggested they get to know one another first …
“Dinner is served, My Lord.” The footman’s announcement interrupted his thoughts, and he stood quickly with a rush of relief. At least now they would have food to occupy them.
He showed his guests into the dining room, and the aromas coming from the kitchen made his mouth start to water and his stomach clench. He stopped to think about it and realized he may have forgotten to have lunch. No wonder the whiskey was affecting him so.
As they settled around the table, Cassian and Vivienne resumed their conversation, and Thaddeus did not pay much attention to it until a certain pointed comment caught his ear.
“Of course,” Vivienne said, “only certain women are cut out to be wives. It’s a hard truth, but one men must face if they’re to be happy. It won’t do for men to tie themselves to an unfit woman, one who lacks obedience and causes trouble.”
Surely she could not be making a jab at Isolde? And yet her tone, laced with judgment, and her eyes glancing sideways at Thaddeus, left no room for doubt that she was directing her comment his way. He straightened himself up, smoothing out his frown.
“Fortunately for me, Isolde is not one to cause trouble. She’s been the picture of propriety, and I expect nothing less in the future.”
“Oh?” Vivienne said, her mouth forming a pretty circle and her eyebrows raising slightly. “Of course, if you say so, My Lord.” She shared a glance with Cassian.
“I do not just say so. It is the truth,” Thaddeus insisted.
“It’s just …” Vivienne bit her lip gently and averted her gaze, perfectly playing the part of someone reluctantly delivering bad news. “Well, forgive me, but that’s surprising, given the rumors.”
“What rumors?” Thaddeus demanded. He knew he was playing into Vivienne’s hands, but he couldn’t help it. Anger at anyone daring to slander Isolde ran hot through his body, followed by a chill that whispered there might be something he didn’t know.
Vivienne shrugged.
“I don’t like to repeat gossip, of course, but it does seem Miss Fairchild has been seen getting quite .
.. cozy, with a number of gentlemen. We did see her at the ball, of course – you remember I commented on how you ought to keep her close?
But since then, apparently she’s been out twice more and on both occasions was quite … free with her attention.”
Thaddeus held himself stiffly, doing his best to control the wild emotions warring within him.
He was relieved to know these rumors, if they truly existed, were nothing more than Isolde acting as they had planned. She was meant to be meeting other men, getting to know them a little.
That was a crucial part of their scheme. He had practically instructed her to do just that when he’d bid her farewell.
At the same time, Vivienne’s words were enough to send his imagination spinning. He pictured Isolde dancing with another man, smiling up at him; Isolde laughing, her cheeks rosy and eyes dancing; Isolde leaning in to speak in a low whisper, eyes warm with something softer and more intimate …
He scrubbed a hand over his face as if to dismiss these images. Isolde was not his, not truly, and he had no say over what she did with her attention or her affections.
And whatever she was doing, he felt quite certain that she would always act within the bounds of propriety. She had proven herself above reproach.
He said the last part aloud, and something in his tone must have warned Vivienne away from pursuing the topic further. She changed the subject and did her best to lighten the mood.
Cassian had smirked a bit at Vivienne’s insinuations, but Thaddeus’s reaction seemed to have warned him off making light of things, and he barely spoke for the rest of the meal.
The pair finished their food and hastily took their leave.
He saw them off into a gray and drizzly London evening and retired to his chambers, his bad mood worse than ever.
He tried to finish a bit more work, but couldn’t focus on anything, so he gave up and went to bed early. Sleep eluded him, however.
He tossed and turned, unable to stop going over the conversation with Vivienne. He didn’t believe the woman, of course, but somehow he felt he would not be at ease until he could see Isolde and get her account of the past few days.
Yes, that was it. If he could just get home and speak to Isolde, he would feel better. He would conclude his business tomorrow, no matter what, and be back in Hartington the next day, or the day after at most.
The decision eased the tension in his body, but his mind was still racing.
Finally, he pulled himself from bed, lit the candle on his bedside table, and stumbled with it over to his writing desk.
He took out a piece of paper and stared at it for a moment, words forming themselves in his half-awake mind.
He had barely dipped his pen in the ink before he found himself scribbling away.
Miss Fairchild,
I write to let you know that I shall be concluding my business in London early and will be back at Hartington sooner than expected. Moreover, I would very much like to spend more time with you once I am returned.