Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
T he single bite of buttered scone sat like a stone in Isabella’s belly. She pushed the plate away and sipped at her tea instead. The warmth of it dissipated the throbbing in her head. Slightly. She pressed her fingertips into her temples and rolled them around. The last guest of last night’s entertainment had left but—she glanced at the clock on the mantel in the breakfast room—five hours ago.
She’d danced every damn dance after Rowan left. Better than crying.
And she’d laughed with every hopeful suitor. Also better than crying.
And she’d kept a watchful eye on every door.
But Mr. Haws had never arrived. Hopefully, he and his family scurried back to where they’d come from. She’d love to never see him again.
Samuel did not suffer from her own exhausted ill mood. He sat next to her, legs crossed, chomping on a point of toast and swinging his foot to a tune she could not hear.
Gertrude and June played in a spot of sun nearby, having finished their morning repast with record speed before returning to their entertainments—a doll for June and a book for Gertrude.
Imogen and Felicity ate more leisurely, reading the morning’s periodicals Mrs. Bevins, the housekeeper, had brought to them, freshly pressed.
Peace reigned once more, the futures of the Merriweathers theirs again to do with as they pleased.
But Isabella’s seemed a void, black and starless and stretching out into eternity.
And that merely fanned her rage. She was not one to become a puddle over a man! She did not need Rowan Trent. She had her family, and she would simply live with Imogen and Thurston all her life. Or with Samuel. Either would need a loving aunt to spoil their children. Better to keep a close eye on everyone, make sure they were—
She didn’t want Rowan to be right. But that had felt a little bit like arranging her life in order to keep track of those she loved. Felt like the icy, unbreakable chains of fear.
When Mr. Jacobs, the butler, appeared in the doorway, he cleared his throat, gaining the room’s attention. “Mr. Haws is asking to speak with you, Your Grace. Should I let him up?”
Samuel sat up straighter and uncrossed his legs. “Yes, do.”
Jacobs disappeared with a stiff nod, and Samuel stood, straightened his waistcoat. “Girls, please leave.”
As Felicity shepherded June and Gertrude out the door, Isabella remained seated. “I want to stay.”
“Me, too.” Imogen rose from her chair and stood next to Isabella, settling her hands on her sister’s shoulder.
Their brother inhaled deeply and exhaled with a rush. “You two… I do not think I would be feeling so free this morning without you.”
“We created this scandal,” Imogen said.
“It was our duty to extricate you from it,” Isabella added.
“I believe our mother created this scandal, but… thank you. I have felt so bloody helpless.”
Isabella rose and took his hand. “You were willing to set aside your happiness to save your sisters from ruination. That is not helpless.” She pecked him on the cheek, and Imogen kissed the other side .
Then Jacobs returned, Mr. Haws, pale and fidgety at his side. Jacobs left the room in awkward silence. Clearly Samuel would not speak first, but Mr. Haws, twisting his hat round and round and round in his short fingers, didn’t seem capable of it.
Finally, Imogen stepped forward. “Mr. Haws, good morning.”
“Clearford.” The word sputtered out of Mr. Haws’s mouth accompanied by a shower of spittle.
“Your Grace,” Samuel corrected.
Haws took two gulping steps toward them, and Samuel matched those steps with his own, nudging Isabella and Imogen behind him.
“It’s time,” Haws said, throwing his arms stiff to his sides. “I’ll suffer no more delays. It is unconscionable for my daughter to wait to wed in favor of your sister. Bethy is to be a duchess, after all. You should treat her as such.”
“Lady Imogen is my sister, and she will have the attention and celebration she deserves.” Samuel took one more step toward Haws. He towered over the other man by several inches, and Haws had to crane his neck back to make eye contact. “Furthermore, I will not be marrying your daughter.”
“You bloody well will!”
Haws shoved Samuel backward. Tried to.
Samuel didn’t budge. With one eyebrow lifted, Samuel stepped back several paces under his own control, sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you done making demands? I was enjoying my meal and my morning until your arrival.”
“You do not have a choice.” Haws trembled. “The letter—”
“This one?” Samuel whipped the worn square of paper out of his pocket and held it near his ear.
Sputtering, Haws lurched forward, but Samuel jumped out of his reach, slipping the paper into Isabella’s hands. Haws eyed it like a starving predator catching sight of the only meal it had seen in weeks.
“You’re not going to attack my sister, are you?” Samuel had given her the prize and the power, but still he stood in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the other man, his hands twitching, ready .
“That is my letter, girl,” Haws bellowed. “Give it to me.”
Isabella snorted. This man had blackmailed her family, had given Rowan a black eye. Did he think her a halfwit?
“You stole it!” Haws pointed at Samuel. “You paid a bloody thief to snatch it from me!”
“I did not. But try telling everyone that. Because you’ll also have to tell them what I stole, which would be bad for me, but then you’d also have to reveal why I’d want the letter stolen, what you meant to do with it, and on and on and, my dear Mr. Haws, it does not bode well for you , either. Your daughter does not deserve to be shunned, no matter what you deserve. So leave my home at once and never darken my doorway again. Do you understand?”
For a moment, it seemed like Haws wouldn’t budge, like he might tackle Isabella and wrench the letter from her grasp. Then all that hot air and bravado leaked out of him, and he left with heavy steps and rounded shoulders.
Imogen tumbled onto the sofa, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I did not expect him to give in so easily.”
Samuel collapsed beside her. “Me neither, truthfully. But he has nothing now. Nothing to bend me to his will. And no means of getting it back. Because we’re burning it. I should have burned it last night, but… I read it and… it was like hearing Mother’s voice again. I thought the rest of you might like to read it. Then we’ll burn it.”
Imogen jumped to her feet. “We must make haste. I’ll gather the sisters!”
Before she stepped outside the room, Samuel called out, “Wait.”
She leaned against the door frame. “Yes?”
“Thurston… why are you really marrying him? Did you establish this union simply to buy me time?”
“I want to marry him.” Imogen’s head tilted to the side. “Why does everyone think otherwise?” Then she bounded away.
Isabella took her spot on the sofa beside Samuel, and he rolled his head toward her. “Because they’re not a good match. Am I wrong about that, Issy? I’ve been wrong about so much else.” He covered his face with his hands and groaned, then growled, then dropped his hands to the sofa cushions in a world-spinning sigh. “Just before he died, Father told me that falling in love happens all at once. The lady appears, and suddenly your future, which had seemed at best foggy, is bright and clear. Her in every image of it. Before you meet her, it’s like viewing the inside of a house through a foggy window—nothing but vague shapes. After… like looking at the most realistic oil painting. Do you think that happened for Im?”
“I don’t know. I think, perhaps, it happens differently for everyone.” For Isabella, it had been more like a gradual certainty. Like a room in a house being redecorated in the dark. She knew things were rearranging, but she could not see what the end result would be. Then a thousand candles had flickered on at once, and she’d known. Everything was new. And everything was perfect, just how she liked it.
Not perfect any longer.
Samuel shifted to better face her. “The gentleman from last night—Mr. Trent. Admiral Garrison’s son, I suppose… How do you know him? I’ve heard the admiral speak of him, but Trent has never come around. I owe him an apology.”
Somehow, the corners of her lips tipped up. “I do not think you will find it easy to serve him one. He dislikes dukes, anyone with a title really. He dislikes company, too.”
“Titles and company can be tedious. I envy his ability to escape it.”
“I wish he would not.”
“Isabella.”
“Oh, do not speak to me in that gravelly, duke-ish tone. I was searching for your letter in his hotel—the Hestia on Conduit Street. It is where the Haws reside when in Town.”
“Isabella!”
“I was safe. I’m always safe. I know how to disguise myself well, and the Hestia is the safest of hotels for maids. The others aren’t nearly so strict in keeping watch over their well-being.”
“You’ve snooped around other hotels as well? What for?”
“I hate not knowing.” The simplest way of explaining it.
“I don’t understand.”
She didn’t want to say the words out loud. But if Rowan was right, if she hid behind her gossip as he hid up in his rooms, she needed to say them, to confront her fear, and file its teeth to nubs. She inhaled, exhaled, and dove in to the day that would always ring loud in her memory. “You kept Mother’s and Father’s death from us. I hadn’t even known they were leaving. What if I could have done something for them? What if I could have kept it from happening? If I’d known, Samuel, perhaps they’d still be here. And I can’t… I can’t fathom the possibility I might lose someone else when I could have done something. Helped in some way. I had to snoop about hotels to find out about the men my sisters would marry or the women who wished to be in our book club. Or the suitors who courted us, or the women you courted. And then to find the letter. Because not to do something, anything… I feel so… helpless. The world spins by so quickly it is all I can do to hold on.” Controlling it? Next to impossible.
Samuel’s hand slipped into hers, squeezed. “I should have told you. But still, you could have done nothing. And even with all your lurking about, you’d not have stopped Haws from blackmailing me.”
She closed her eyes and tried to give that truth home inside her chest. Some things she could not know, would never be able to control, and she would have to find peace with that.
Samuel squeezed her hand again. “But you did help me retrieve the letter. Thanks to you, Sister, I can choose a bride myself. Perhaps not quite by myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve had an idea for a while now, but I think I’ll take action on it. I’m hiring a matchmaker. There’s a woman in Edinburgh with an excellent reputation. I’ve contacted her already.”
“Why would you do that?”
“So she can focus on marrying off my sisters, and I can focus on… being your brother. And finding a bride.”
If she’d not already used up all her tears, that would have turned her into a watering pot.
He elbowed her in the ribs. “Tell me something about Isabella, something I don’t know.”
“I’m in love.” The words fairly popped out of her mouth, and she slammed her hands down on top of her lips, hoping to block the tide rising up in her from further escaping.
It came out of her eyes instead, and her brother wrapped her in his arms.
It seemed, after everything, she still possessed more tears to shed.