Chapter 17
Seventeen
“It is not such a bad thing to smile, Isolde. In fact, it is often encouraged.”
Miss Eleanor Hartwell was Isolde’s only true friend.
They had grown up together. Her family belonged to her father’s congregation, and the two girls were the same age.
While they were not as close as they could be, as Isolde had been too busy for friends these past two years, she was also the only person whom Isolde could think of inviting to her wedding… as sad as that was to admit.
In truth, when Eleanor arrived that morning, Isolde had almost burst into tears. She rushed outside, threw her arms around her oldest friend, and held her so close that she thought she might never let go.
From there, she had led the young woman inside—ignoring the way Eleanor had gushed at the expanse and expense of the manor—taken her to her room and told her everything.
It was a relief in many ways to have someone to speak to about her sins. And as she knew would be the case, Eleanor did not judge her.
Which is fine, as I have judged myself plenty for both of us.
They spent the morning getting ready together, after which they took a carriage to the duke’s parish not too far from the manor. They were then sequestered into a small room to wait until the guests arrived and the ceremony could begin.
“What is there to smile about?” Isolde sighed.
“Oh, I don’t know…” Eleanor studied Isolde. “Perhaps that gown? It is by far the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and you look stunning in it. I mean, when you used to picture your wedding day, did you even think you would wear a gown like that?”
Isolde winced as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
It was the same gown that she’d had fitted personally, the same that Cassian had been so eager and excited to see her wear. She wondered now what he would say when he saw her for the first time. Would he even notice? Would he even care?
In truth, the gown made her feel like a fraud. All of this… it was a lie. Yes, she was the cause, but that did little to make her feel better. If anything, it only made her feel worse.
“I do not care about the gown, Eleanor,” Isolde said and turned away. “I would rather wear nothing.”
“How very scandalous.”
“This is not funny!” Isolde cried and threw up her hands.
“I have ruined everything. And now I must live with the guilt of this, knowing that had I just done the right thing in the first place, none of this would have happened…” Her chin began to wobble.
“What have I done, Eleanor? How did I… I did not…”
“Do not cry.” Eleanor swept toward her and pulled her into a hug. “I know this might not be the wedding you imagined, but try to see the positive.”
“There is none.”
“Oh, that is not true.” Eleanor pulled away but held Isolde’s arms so that she could look at her. “When you first lied to His Grace, was this not what you expected to happen?”
“I…” She looked away. “I do not know what I expected.”
“You wanted his help,” she said softly. “And not for you. Your intent was not wicked. You did it for the right reasons, and that is what matters. Your family will be taken care of for the rest of their lives. Your brother and sister will never want for anything again. How is that not a reason to celebrate?”
“But Cassian… His Grace…”
“Does not deserve your sorrow,” Eleanor said rightly.
“He brought this on himself, and everything I know of him tells me that he is the last person who we should feel sorry for.” She touched under Isolde’s right eye where a tear dripped.
“Do not waste tears on that man, for he would not waste them on you.”
If only she knew the truth…
What Eleanor said might have been true a month ago. The old duke, the wicked tyrant who was feared across the estate, was indeed a man who did not deserve pity. That was the man who Eleanor pictured, and that was why she did not care.
Only Isolde knew the truth of it.
These past few days might have seen Cassian return to his old self.
He avoided Isolde entirely. His only communication with her was given through Mr. Pemberton.
The manor had descended into a most frightening and morbid place, likely how it had been before his accident.
On the surface, things were back to their old way… but was that the truth?
Cassian’s memories had not returned, which meant that he was not the same man who he had once been.
He was still that same kind and gentle soul.
The one filled with laughter. The one who made jokes, who hated being waited upon, who scorned his wealth and only ever seemed to care about how others were feeling.
He acted cold, he acted detached, but that’s all it was. An act.
No doubt he was still hurting, and no doubt he was broken. Isolde had done that to him, and try as she might, she would never forgive herself.
“Come now…” Eleanor took her hand and forced her to face the mirror. “Look at yourself, Isolde. You are about to become a duchess! Please, smile. This is meant to be the happiest day of your life.”
If only it was that simple.
The wedding might have been going ahead as planned, but it was not the dream wedding that Cassian had spent a week killing himself over.
He had stripped it down to its bare bones so that nothing of the once lavish ceremony remained.
Most of the guests had been disinvited; the reasons for which varied, but mostly he told people that Isolde had grown sick, so he wished not to exert her.
The decorations that had been ordered were destroyed so that the chapel was left plain and empty, nothing to suggest romance or that love was to be found anywhere.
And the post-ceremony breakfast had been cancelled.
Isolde’s family was not even allowed to come. As Mr. Pemberton told her, Cassian worried that if they were there, they might be asked about her and risk exposing the lie.
“Best that we are safe,” Mr. Pemberton had said. “Lest we find ourselves sorry.”
This was not the day that Isolde had expected, but it was the day that she deserved. It was businesslike in nature, a contract to be signed and agreed upon. As to what would happen next? She had no idea, and that scared her more than anything.
A knock at the door brought Isolde back into the room.
Mr. Pemberton stuck his head in and when he saw Isolde in that gown, a smile touched his lips, which he quickly smothered. “It is time, Miss Isolde. His Grace awaits.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pemberton,” she said with a warm smile. “I will be out in one moment.”
Eleanor took Isolde’s hand as if for protection. She smiled at her, still believing that this was somehow a good thing. But as Isolde slowly slunk from the room, she braced herself for a future that she did not want and could not possibly look forward to.
This is my punishment, and it is what I deserve…
Cassian stood alone by the altar.
He did not look at the priest. He did not acknowledge the few guests whom Mr. Pemberton had insisted he invited. If Cassian had it his way, he would have done this in private; a signed piece of paper and nothing more.
For three days, he had forced himself to come to terms with what had happened and the decision he had made because of it. Even now, he struggled to reckon with what he had learned about Isolde… what she had done to him… and how he felt.
He felt like a darn fool. Embarrassed. Humiliated. Time and again, he’d pictured those moments he’d spent with her, the things he had said, and how certain he had been that his feelings and what he knew in his heart were true… only, they weren’t.
How could I have been so blind?
And it wasn’t only that he had no memories of who he was.
What he still struggled to reckon with was how real his feelings had been.
From the moment he had first seen Isolde sitting over his bed, it was as if he had known her his whole life.
He knew her more than he knew himself, and he trusted her because his heart told him that he must.
Even this wedding was not what he claimed.
Yes, there was the perception of it all—that need to maintain the lie for the sake of honor and appearance.
But if Cassian was being true to himself, he couldn’t give less of a damn about what people thought.
Let them whisper. Let them judge. Let them mock!
It was not as if he knew any of these people, anyway.
No… as much as he hated to admit it, there was still a part of him that cared deeply for Isolde. She might have lied to him, and she certainly had hurt him, but the heart was a most strange beast, and one he could not control.
Dammit, he wanted nothing to do with her! But he could not stomach the truth of her words. Surely, not everything she had said was a lie. Surely, there was still a part of her that… no, Cassian. Do not dare think such a thing. She lied to you, she betrayed you, and she does not deserve your love.
He would marry Isolde, telling himself he had no choice, while secretly praying that… he was not sure. God, he hated feeling this way.
“Your Grace…” Mr. Pemberton came in beside him. “It is time.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly and formally. “Let us begin.” Cassian might not have had his memories back, but he could act the part. And he would do, if for no other reason than it was the only way to keep himself from breaking apart…
Isolde appeared at the other end of the church, and Cassian did not look at her.
She started walking down the aisle, and Cassian did not look at her.
She stopped when she reached him, stood in her place opposite, and he did not look at her.
He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He wanted to hate her. He wanted to loathe the very sight of this woman who had hurt him.
But Cassian feared that if he looked up and saw her face, if he found her eyes, then he would be reminded of the times that they had shared, just as he would be reminded of how much he had loved her.
So, he looked ahead, over her shoulder, and said nothing.
The ceremony proceeded in an orderly fashion.
The priest spoke the words and read the vows.
The small crowd watched on. It was a cold and sterile proceeding, closer to a funeral than a wedding.
And while Cassian could feel Isolde glancing at him as if with hope, he did not once try to find her gaze.
When it came time to give Isolde the wedding ring, he took her hand, and he winced at her touch. It was warm… it was gentle… it sent a pulse up his arm and through his body that had him wanting to turn and run for fear of what he might say or do.
And when the priest announced them as ‘man and wife,’ Cassian offered the priest a curt smile of thanks, but he did not move to kiss the bride.
That hurt more than Cassian thought it would.
For so long, he had dreamt of what it would be like when he was finally allowed to kiss her.
He had lain awake at night, imagining her taste, picturing how it might look and feel.
Would it seal their love? Would it confirm all that he knew about them?
Would it be the most perfect moment of his life?
He supposed that he would never know.
With that done, Cassian turned sharply and walked down the aisle, alone. He smiled and nodded toward the guests. He offered the odd wave. But he did not look back at his bride, who surely remained at the altar. If he had his way, he would never see her again.
But his actions were not born from hate. He behaved in this manner because it would make things easier. Cassian was not the man people seemed to think he was, but he wished that he had been. If he was that cold, cruel, even wicked duke, then he would not hurt nearly as much as he did.