Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
I sabella arrived home, though she had no idea how. She stripped and bathed without knowledge of her movements. She dressed and wandered to her mother’s sitting room in a fog thicker than the one rolling through the streets. She sat on the floor, her brain sparking for the first time since… since…
She swallowed and followed the spark of a thought out of the haze Mr. Rowan Trent had left behind, clouding her brain, buzzing through her body. Her legs collapsed in front of the large, old wardrobe at the side of the room, and she sank to sitting, folding them beneath her skirts. Such an unassuming bit of furniture. She’d never paid it much mind until her sisters had told her what it hid.
Books. Of the naughtiest nature.
A tingling type of secret, a purpose. The books gave her that and made her feel closer to her mother, too. She’d only been fifteen when she’d heard the maids gossiping in the hallway outside her door, worried about what would happen when the younger children were told they’d never see their parents smiling, breathing again. They’d known before she’d known. Who knew how many others had known before her? How small it had made her feel, how inconsequential.
Information, rumors, gossip—they powered the wheel of the spinning world. And if you were not in the whispering loop, you might fall off.
Or find yourself manipulated as Samuel was discovering.
The door behind her creaked open.
“Issy?” Imogen said, “Did you find it?”
“No.”
Imogen sat beside her, studying the wardrobe with a blank expression.
Felicity appeared on the other side, sinking to the floor as well. “Andromeda plans to conveniently lose the engagement announcement when one is finally produced.” Their sister’s husband owned several newspapers. “And Lottie says Quinton can manufacture some emergency at Clearford Castle that demands Samuel’s attention. We can remove him from London for a bit, delay the wedding even more.” Lottie’s husband owned the property next to the Merriweather family’s country seat. He could very well figure out some problem that needed the duke’s attention. Or create one.
“Temporary delays only,” Imogen said.
“If I had found the letter already, none of that would be necessary.” Isabella had stayed away from the Hestia for two days, attempting to find the right approach, one out of the keen eyesight of the Hestia’s owner. Because he was watching her.
Even when she thought he wasn’t. That she now knew. And he’d do anything to stop her. Including kissing her into a haze from which she might never escape.
Yet… he’d also told her to return, told her she could take what gossip she wished from his hallways and parlors, from his coffee-scented sitting rooms and kitchens. Because they were alike in providing homes for others. Such an odd thing to share with such a cold man.
Cold?
Ha! An inferno. The fire he’d set inside her still raged. Partly why she sat looking at the old wardrobe, thinking of the books inside. The fires they described between a man and woman were consuming Samuel’s life. They were consuming Isabella, too. She knew what happened between a man and a woman because she’d read more books than she could count about it. But now she knew what it felt like. Not the dispassionate, curious kisses she’d shared with suitors in the past.
No. Something else. Something more. Something quite… altering.
“I can still find it.” It was a black hole in the universe. The sharp teeth of the unknown snapping at her. Where was it? Where was it? The world would not be firm and still again until she had that letter in hand. “I know I can find it. I must. It’s the only real way. I simply need more time.”
“Another delay might be needed.” Imogen wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on top of her knees. “Breaking the engagement after the announcement, after banns have begun to be read, that would be difficult. But we can survive anything as long as he doesn’t marry her. We must do everything we can to keep it from happening.”
Felicity nodded, a sharp militaristic thing rather reminiscent of Mrs. Garrison. “I have begun to befriend Miss Haws as I promised. She is younger than me and appears grateful to have one of us taking her side, but I do not think I’ll have much luck influencing her away from Samuel.” Her nose wrinkled. “I feel a bit bad for her. For several reasons, not the least of which is that she seems to need a friend, and I am only pretending to be one. But I’m not quite sure she wishes to marry Samuel either. She wishes to marry a duke, generally speaking. But she seems frightened by Samuel in particular.”
“Surprising,” Imogen said. “After her attempts to touch him in the park.”
“I think she was trying to be brave. For her father. He seems to be the driving force behind her every action and thought. No mother, you know.”
They did know. They knew, as well, what that felt like.
So, too, did Rowan Trent.
Isabella shook him right out of her head.
“I have another idea.” Imogen stood and wandered toward the window, settling a flat palm against the glass. “For another delay that might offer us even more time.”
Something in Imogen’s tone finally ripped Isabella’s attention away from the wardrobe. “What is it? ”
“I think I shall marry.”
Felicity and Isabella launched to their feet.
“Who?” Felicity demanded.
“Marry?” Isabella cried.
Imogen turned around, her pale hair stark against the blue curtain. “Thurston.”
“Thurston?” Felicity’s mouth hung open.
“Yes. Lord Helston.”
“Surely you jest.” But Isabella’s gut knew the truth. Imogen would not jest about this.
“Thurston has suggested a marriage of convenience, and I have accepted.”
“We are speaking of the same Thurston, are we not?” Felicity asked. “Lady Templeton’s feckless oldest son? The man who refuses to marry. Who rakes about without a care in the world. The man who can’t make it ten moves in chess without you beating him?”
Imogen nodded. “He is a good friend to me, and our needs align. We both desire freedom, and that can be had in a marriage of convenience. I shall provide him with an heir when the time comes, but until then, and after that, we will be free to live our own lives. I may continue my studies, and he may continue his raking. Though I have asked him to please refrain from producing any illegitimate offspring. Seems terribly inconvenient for all involved. Especially the children.”
They had it all planned out, didn’t they, had put much thought into it. And she’d had not a clue. Isabella’s heart throbbed. “How long have you two been discussing this?”
“Since his return from Italy. We were discussing how much I would have enjoyed it, and he said he would like to take me, and I reminded him that was an impossibility, and he looked a bit befuddled at first, but then he remembered and laughed and said we should just marry one another.”
“What a terribly romantic proposal.” Felicity rolled her eyes.
But Isabella could find no joke in it. “You’ve been discussing marriage for a week and have said nothing?”
“I did not tell you, Izzy, because it did seem a joke. At first. But last night at the Springdale ball, he mentioned that, if the family was busy holding one wedding , they could not plan another.”
“You told Thurston about our… problem?” Felicity fisted her hands on her hips. Never a good sign for her levels of irritation.
Imogen lifted her chin. “And a good thing, too. He was clever enough to realize our little joke might prove useful in reality. We’re marrying. He’ll arrive this afternoon to speak with Samuel.”
Felicity’s arms dropped, her hands unclenching. “You’ll be Marchioness of Templeton one day, then.”
“And Viscountess Helston… how soon?” Isabella crept closer to her sister, looking for signs of doubt in her face. She saw none.
Imogen smiled. “I would think not too soon. One of the points is, after all, to delay Samuel’s nuptials. But we will also have to suggest that some urgency is needed, or they might decide to put off my wedding until after Samuel’s.”
“Urgency…” Felicity frowned. “You don’t mean you’ll suggest—”
“That Thurston and I have… anticipated our wedding night. Yes, we do plan to suggest that. Only, though, if Mr. Haws demands we wait to wed.”
“Have you,” Isabella asked, “anticipated?”
“Absolutely not. Thurston is a dear, and I am, as you know, terribly curious about male anatomy, but no. And we will not until he needs an heir.”
“That’s usually something a future marquess starts on right away,” Isabella said.
“Thurston wishes to wait.”
“His mother and father will pressure him otherwise.”
“Thurston might not be a lot of things. But he is stubborn. When he sets his mind to something, he does it. Or doesn’t do it, as the case might be.”
“You’re set on this path?” Isabella asked.
“I am.”
Isabella hugged her, and Felicity threw her arms around them both. Arms and skirts tangled, they looked at the wardrobe as one, as if doing so included their mother in the embrace.
“What if I find the letter?” Isabella pulled away from her sisters, wandered closer to the wardrobe, setting her hand on the door, right over the lock. “Will you still marry him if I find the letter and there is no need for you to?”
“Yes.” Imogen sounded unmovable. “It is what I want.”
“But what about… passion? Of the sort we know exists.” What about love?
“That exists in the imagination. It is what books like those are for—to provide what does not exist in the world.”
“Are you positive, Imogen? I think it might be rather possible for a man to kiss you like he’s starving. And you’re a banquet.” The silence that buzzed around them rushed more words from Isabella’s lips. “Our sisters, I mean. I, of course, have no firsthand knowledge. But I have seen them appear quite… dazed from amorous activity.”
Felicity raised an eyebrow, and Imogen fought a grin.
“Do not worry, ladies,” Imogen said. “There is no beast the Merriweather sisters cannot defeat. We will prevail.”
They would. Because they had to. For Samuel.
Imogen and the others were providing her more time. Isabella must find the letter. But how could she even search for it with Mr. Trent keeping such a close eye on her? And hand. And lip. And tongue.
Heavens, it was terribly hot in here.
She must avoid Mr. Trent and his kisses. For her family’s sake. And for her own.