Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“You are a vision, Lady Isla,” their Aunt’s maid, Jenny, said as she gently coaxed a few stray curls into place around the edges of the veil, while the rest of Isla’s long locks cascaded artfully down her back in a half-up, half-down hairstyle.
Five days. It has only taken five days for me entire life to change before me very eyes.
Isla stood in front of the gilded mirror in her modest quarters at Aunt Honoria’s London townhouse, staring at the person in front of her.
Instead of her usual simple reflection, she saw a stranger in a fine silk gown. It was an elegant dress, adorned with lace applique and pearlescent beads that fit her tall, curvy frame.
If only I could wear the veil in perpetuity, she thought as she fidgeted with the strange attention, running her gloved fingers over the netting of the veil.
Her sister, Eilidh, adjusted the gossamer of the veil to cover her face.
“Hold still, sister,” Eilidh murmured, her breath warm against Isla’s ear as she brushed the sleeves of the gown. She stepped back, her eyes wide as she took her in. A soft smile blossomed on her face. “Oh, Isla. Truly, if only maither could see ye now. Ye are so beautiful.”
Isla felt a sudden, sharp ache in her chest. She could not recall the last time someone had called her beautiful, and meant it, nor had she ever missed her mother quite so much.
She was not like Eilidh, vivacious, effortlessly beautiful, and confident. Her younger sister possessed the kind of beauty that made passersby stop in their tracks to just savor her features. A true diamond.
Isla, on the other hand, learned long ago that people only stopped to gawk and stare at her deformity.
“It is the veil,” Isla said dryly. “And the gloves, of course.”
“Nonsense!” Eilidh cried. “Ye are a perfect bride. I wish this were to be a grander affair, where people could really see ye.”
“Ye ken I wouldnae like that. This is just as well. And more than I ever imagined for meself,” Isla said as her voice caught in her throat.
“I shall wait outside if you need anything further, Lady Isla. Do take a moment. This is a big day, for you both,” Jenny said with a wide smile.
The door clicked shut, and Eilidh gripped Isla’s hands, holding on as if letting go might shatter something precious. Their gazes locked, a silent current of sisterly devotion flowing between them, filling the room with unspoken reassurance.
“I cannae thank ye enough for this. For saving me. For saving our family. Ye were so brave riskin’ everythin’ for a wee wretch like me.”
“Ye’re nae wretch, sister! When ye were born, I ken ye were mine to take care of forever. Maither and faither would have it nae other way, nor would I.”
“Callum and I are so lucky to have ye. I daenae ken what I’d do without ye…”
Isla’s heart felt too large for her ribs. She pulled her sister’s hands to her chest.
“We are family, Eilidh,” she said. “And I will protect us always. Always. Do ye understand me? Never be afraid to come to me, nay matter what. I am yer big sister, no matter who I am married to.”
Eilidh’s bright blue eyes swam with unshed tears. “But I should be the one comfortin’ ye today! Ye are the one sacrificin’ yer freedom, marryin’ a stranger! Aye for all the rumors, I barely ken what the man looks like. Is he handsome?”
Isla let out a gentle, soft chuckle, a sound she rarely made. Even she could not deny the absurdity of the situation.
Yes, Eilidh. Impossibly so. I havenae been able to stop thinkin’ about that every night leadin’ up to this.
“Aye, perhaps…”
“Mìle fàilte dhuit le d’bhréid, fad do ré gun robh thu slàn. Móran làithean dhuit is sìth, Le d’mhaitheas is le d’nì bhi fàs,” Eilidh said, in earnest wedding blessings.
The comfort of her sister’s words washed over her, their meaning easing the tension in her body.
A thousand welcomes to you, from your earliest days in health. May your life be long and peaceful, and may goodness and growth follow you always.
They closed the small distance between them, arms wrapping around each other with the ease and intimacy that only sisters share.
For a fleeting heartbeat, Isla felt herself transported back to the stone walls of Dalrigh Hall, to the days when she was fourteen and Eilidh barely three. She could see her little sister, ringlets bouncing, darting about with her dolls, utterly carefree.
The weight of their mother’s expectations—to care for her younger siblings—had always pressed upon her, but it was a burden she had embraced gladly. She loved them fiercely; after her frightful accident and the resigned acceptance of a spinster’s life, they had become her whole world.
What will me world be like now?
A firm, unmistakable rap sounded on the door.
“May I enter, my dears?” Aunt Honoria, their mother’s English aunt and the Dowager Countess of Swinton, called as she sauntered in.
She was wearing a deep, purple dress adorned with feathers, her white hair pulled up in an elegant chignon. She resembled their mother, which was something that always pulled on Isla’s heart. It was a slight upturn of the eyes and her high cheekbones.
Eilidh quickly dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and stepped back.
Aunt Honoria paused dramatically, her gaze running over Isla’s gown as she clicked her tongue in approval.
“The Duke, I dare say, will be quite taken with you in that gown, my dear. One might almost wonder, had your brother not been so kind as to bring you to London, you might still be lingering in the unmarried ranks of our… more seasoned ladies. But now, well, you present yourself, my dear, as nothing short of magnificent.”
“Aye, ye are a vision, Isla,” Eilidh cooed. “I will say it again!”
“And this, my dear, one must say, is precisely the course to take,” Aunt Honoria interjected, her tone bright with approval.
“It mends old grievances and secures our footing in the ton, to be sure. You have acquitted yourself admirably, Isla. Sharp as ever, my dear; your wit has served you well. Though, between ourselves, one could scarcely hope for a better match than a Duke.”
“Thank ye, Aunt,” Isla replied, trying to keep her posture rigid beneath the praise.
Aunt Honoria’s gaze, however, had already wandered toward Eilidh. Isla knew all too well that it was her younger sister who truly embodied the family’s promise. With a delicate nudge and a conspiratorial wink, Aunt Honoria addressed her.
“And who can say, my sweet diamond? If fortune smiles upon your sister, as I have every confidence it will, why, you may find yourself quite agreeably engaged before the year is out!”
“It is November, now, Aunt Honoria,” Eilidh replied.
“Aunt, please,” Isla interjected quickly, a gentle scold in her tone. “Give me sister a moment to breathe. The lass has been through enough, barely dodging a scandal. We must allow the dust to settle.”
“It is quite all right, Isla,” Eilidh said with a smile. “We are all swept up in the excitement of the occasion! But I must say, Aunt Honoria, today, it is me sister’s time to shine.”
“Of course, dears.” She wrapped her shawl tight around her as a loud knock came from the door.
“Lassies! It is time to go!” Callum’s voice cut through the door. “The carriage is outside and ready to bring us to the church.”
Isla took one last deep breath, pulling on the courage she’d found at the duel.
She turned her back on the stranger in the gilded looking glass.
“Here goes nothin’,” she mumbled to herself, then walked out of the room.
The wedding was a small, quiet affair, held in an obscure church outside London to avoid the scrutiny of the ton.
No grand ceremony, no flower decorations, no fanfare.
Isla drew in the chapel’s cool air, carrying the faint, earthy scent of damp wood.
Her eyes swept over the assembled guests, counting carefully.
Only her closest family, Callum, Eilidh, and Aunt Honoria, were present.
Aunt Honoria had also informed her that the Duke’s sole guest was the Marquess of Murkwood, a trusted friend, who now stood at the altar, waiting.
“It is time, sister,” Callum said as he lifted her veil and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Are ye ready?”
“Ready as I will ever be,” Isla replied as Callum lowered the veil back into place and she took a steadying breath.
Callum walked Isla down the aisle, his arm stiff and formal in hers. She could feel his tension; nervousness not merely for standing in as her father, but for the near duel, for Eilidh’s fate, for the weight of his title and his own uncertain future.
Isla, for her part, remembered the dreams of her childhood: a summer wedding set against Scotland’s green, rolling hills, her father proudly at her side, her mother in the front row dabbing her eyes with her grandmother’s heirloom handkerchief.
The vision of joy and ceremony was long gone. Now she felt like a pawn on a chessboard, her hand resting on the sleeve of the brother who, only days ago, had intended to kill the man who was waiting for her at the altar now.
When they reached him, Callum stopped abruptly before the Duke. His grip on her arm tightened—a silent, powerful message, a farewell, a warning.
He leaned close, his breath brushing her ear, words carried only to her and the Duke, private and urgent. “Yer Grace, ken that I am not leavin’ the country anytime soon. Ye hold her safety, and me family’s name, in yer hands.”
“Lord Dalrigh,” the Duke replied with a sharp smile, his voice just as low as Callum’s. “I always uphold my end of a bargain. Your sister’s care is my concern from this day forward.”
Isla’s eyes flicked between the two men, sensing the sharp tension crackle before it dissipated. With a wry nod, Callum walked to his seat in the pews next to Eilidh and Aunt Honoria.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, “we are gathered here today…”
Isla tuned out the words, grateful the Duke had arranged for a private ceremony.