Chapter 2
It wasn’t her finest plan, Isla had to admit.
Because there had been better plans. She was quite good at them.
She could plan a lovely picnic for the faeries made of trees and twigs.
She could sort an accounts book with helpful notes and tallies.
She could plan a filling meal with a limited pantry and no meat or eggs.
She could even manage a plan to ingratiate herself with the right people to get invitations to the most important balls of the season.
This may be the wildest plan yet! What else can I do? It’s dependent on so many things outside of my control. That’s where the real risk sits. And yet… I do believe I could pull this off.
Announcing a faux engagement wasn’t really the thing to be done, after all.
She twisted away from the door and back toward the window where she glanced out to the drizzly day where the sun was beginning to emerge at last. It was morning again. She’d spent half the night tossing and turning, the rest of it pacing.
I’m so tired. And yet I feel as though I could do this all day. What am I doing? What have I done? Maybe it is time to flee England once and for all… If I ran off, then perhaps my family would be better off.
The moment she had that thought, Isla knew it couldn’t be the case. No, her family needed her. It was only the four of them left. She couldn’t very well go off by herself, could she? No, her heart would never allow it. All she could do was be there for them, protect them.
“So now, I only have to––”
“Have to what?”
Screeching at the sudden voice, Isla whirled around while clutching her wildly-beating heart. Then there was more movement on the bed as Margaret stirred beside Lacey who was tilting her head in Isla’s direction.
“What time is it?” Margaret moaned.
“Early. Go back to sleep,” Isla told her.
Lacey made a face. “The sun is up. I can tell. And you were talking. What were you talking about? Who were you talking to? Margaret was asleep.”
“And I should like to be again,” their sister muttered before stealing an extra pillow to throw over her head, buried once more in the blankets.
The youngest kept that innocent look on her face. “Well?”
“I wasn’t talking to anyone. Just go back to sleep. Please.”
“It sounds like you are planning. Shall we have another game with the faeries?”
“No, I need to…”
What did Isla need to do?
For a moment, she forgot her entire plan. It wasn’t truthfully even much of one. The first step was to wait. That had been it.
I will wait it out to see if anyone notices or catches me in a lie.
And then I will use it to flirt shamelessly until I find someone to whom I can promise to betroth myself to instead, or perhaps some only slightly shameful work, and then I will break the engagement. All I need is… Time. It’s always time.
Humming, Lacey was nearly shoved out of the bed by Margaret’s wild leg striking the air––she liked her sleep very much––and then came to reach out to Isla. The girl found her easily and tugged on her dress. “Can we break our fasts out with the faeries? Today shall be a good day. I can tell.”
“Darling, it’s very wet and gray outside. It would be difficult to eat anything seated in the mud,” Isla told her neatly.
Lacey huffed. “I don’t care about the mud, Isla, you know that.”
“Yes, but Mother will care. She won’t want us sopping wet coming back inside. It made not be worth the trouble.”
“You’re awfully grumbly for the sort of girl who is engaged. I thought all girls were supposed to be happy,” the younger girl said in irritation. “Now you’ll never want another faerie picnic, will you? All grown up, a proper lady.”
“Lacey! There is no need for that.” Isla paused to wince over her sister’s words. “Fine. Very well. Dress and we’ll sneak out with a biscuit or two. But only for a while, do you hear?”
Beaming, Lacey’s mood shifted at once with glee. Her eyes focused on Isla’s ear. “Wonderful! The faeries will be so glad. Hurry up, Isla. Margaret, you can’t come.”
“Don’t want to!”
After Isla threw the last pillow, left on the ground at some point in the night, on Margaret, she put on her plain day dress before leaving the room with Lacey in hand.
The girl was nothing but trouble. Spoiled with awful eye sight, she still managed to charm or trick them into doing whatever she liked.
It’s not as though we could deny the baby of the family.
Most of Isla’s life had been taking care of Margaret or Lacey.
There had been nursemaids and governesses, but their mother was always so worried about them, always interfering with the servants.
So Isla had often been the go between as she convinced servants to stay just a little longer, to convince her sisters to ignore their troubles, and to make certain everyone played nice.
Exhausting, but someone had to take care of everyone.
Now Isla made her way into the dark kitchens to find some food for her and Lacey to sneak outside. Cook wouldn’t rise for another hour or so, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too sorely missed. It didn’t take long to find the last crumbs of their bread loaf before sneaking outside.
Maybe if she tried hard enough to believe, she could be taken away by the faeries that Lacey adored so much.
“You’re marrying a duke?” Her mother had said tearfully yesterday at the royal gardens. “Oh, we’ll be saved for certain! But how did I not know? When is the wedding? Why haven’t I met him?”
Isla had stumbled through one lie after another like a poor set of stairs.
“It was kept quiet because he’s… he’s very busy.
Traveling, that is. It was a whirlwind that first week we arrived and then he had to leave London.
The courtship happened so quickly. But I do mean to keep my word!
He’ll return and then we will announce it. ”
“What a glorious day! And what of his family? Perhaps we should meet them. Oh bother, what will we do about your trousseau? It’s hardly ready nor appropriate for a duke. Oh, a duchess! My darling girl a duchess.”
“No, no, you can’t… tell anyone,” Isla had said hastily even as she had an inkling it was too late. “He would be awfully upset. And we can’t upset him, can we? The man is very… very stern. He is a duke, after all.”
Her mother’s eyes had widened. “Oh, of course. A duke! Yes, yes, we will be quiet about the entire affair. How frightful. How wonderful. I shall do my best not to be anxious when we meet. Soon, I trust, soon we will meet him?”
“Yes, of course.”
There are so many lies I hardly know where the truth exists.
Lacey scampered around in the drizzly gray of morning in their garden. It was the one place in their rented townhouse where she was comfortable and well-rehearsed in her footsteps. She knew where everything was and no one had to worry about something going wrong.
This meant Isla could pace around the wet stone bench to move as well. Her attention was distracted from her sister while her thoughts sorted out once more what her plan would help her achieve. How she had to make it happen. How she needed to…
“Good lord, where is that girl? Isla! Isla!”
She jerked around to promptly trip over the stone bench. Half a shout escaped Isla as she tumbled down. Falling hands first, she landed hard and awkwardly on the other side of the bench––right into a puddle.
Pain seared through her elbow and hip from the awkward tumble. But the fall was over. She would be fine. Groaning, Isla tried to convince herself to pick herself back up. “Oh bother.”
One of four dresses now needed fixing. At this rate, she’d be wearing bedsheets out in public. Isla wrinkled her nose at the mud on her scratched palms. Struggling to rise to her feet, she managed a wave at the sight of her mother on the terrace in clear search of her.
“Isla! What on earth has befallen you?”
“Let’s not say,” Isla muttered while glancing back at the bench. She tried shaking the mud from her hands, only managing to fling a speck onto her chin that made her flinch. It was awfully cold and she hadn’t brought out her shawl. “Coming, Mother.”
Nearby, Lacey was twirling. “The faeries are spinning me! I won’t go inside now!”
“No one is asking you to,” Isla promised while she passed.
Her mother frowned upon her arrival at her side. “I don’t think a future duchess should be gardening.”
Not bothering to correct her, Isla shared a tight smile. “Why did you call for me? What is it?”
“What? Oh. Oh! Oh, you must come at once! We have mail. Isn’t that wonderful?
It’s darling! It’s magnificent,” her mother insisted.
She started for the door and then paused before reaching for Isla.
But it took her a moment to find a spot of Isla that didn’t have any mud.
This was a dainty grip that led them through the hall toward the front of the house.
There were four folded papers on the empty side table. Envelopes. All of them cream-colored in different shades, all with beautiful script on them.
Hovering over them and trying not to drip mud, Isla struggled to make sense of what these meant. “Well? What is it?”
“What is it?” Her mother echoed before laughing.
“These are invitations! Can you believe it? The ton! The ton knows us. They want us. How wonderful is this? Oh, someone must know about your engagement. Perhaps it isn’t so secret!
This will open the doors, I tell you, Isla.
It’s just what we need. Our names won’t do what they did back home, but this…
this is a miracle,” the woman insisted with a teary-eyed expression.
The sight twisted Isla’s stomach. “Oh. I… I see. That is very, ehm, lovely.”
She was going to toss up the partial bread crust she had eaten and the fish soup they’d eaten last night.
She was certain of it. Her stomach was churning madly and there was a thumping in the back of her skull that suggested she might even be dying.
The thumping was so loud, so obnoxious. She squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes it might go away.
“Oh! Who could be at the door?” Her mother cried. “Is it finally visiting hours?”
Opening her eyes, Isla realized the thumping was real. “What? No, it can’t be. It must be a bill collector, Mother, don’t open it––”
Too late.
It was not a bill collector as far as she could tell. The strange didn’t hold a folder or bag or files. All he carried was a cane, black and silver that glinted in the lighting.
Nor was it a visitor whom one might expect during typical visiting hours. Those were always fresh-faced young ladies, intelligent cat-eyed elderly ladies, or fat men with wandering fingers. There had never been a fourth type of fellow in Isla’s experience, but this one stood out.
She drew closer, unable to help herself.
“Oh. Goodness,” she heard her mother mutter. The accent was coming out thicker than usual. “Good day, sir.”
“Your Grace,” he corrected her curtly.
Isla clutched the wall, suddenly feeling faint. A dreadful feeling washed over her.
No. No, it can’t be. It couldn’t.
“Won’t you invite me in?” The stranger demanded. His hat shielded his gaze in the lighting, but his eyes were on Isla. She could feel them staring right into her soul. The mud was drying and crusting over her skin and she wished she could bury herself in it for good.
“I, oh, yes, of course. Do excuse me. Come in, Your Grace. And…” Her mother was anxious. She kept looking around the man and then back into the house. Even to Isla, who couldn’t help. “And might you… That is… Might we know your name?”
He was tall, so very tall. He would be a head or so taller than Isla who was on the smaller side along with her mother. Broad shouldered but slim, the man carried himself with ease in fine clothing she could see from there.
This was bound to happen, wasn’t it? I invited trouble. I invited him.
He crossed the threshold in a smooth motion. Still out of reach and yet Isla swore she could feel him. Smell him. Touch him. She tried to swallow and move away, but was frozen in place. How could she be afraid? Had she not practically willed him here? Whether a curse or a blessing…
While Isla was not the sort to be afraid, to live in fear, she couldn’t bring herself to move when he finally spoke his name.
“Ronan Ward, the Duke of Westvale, of course.” He removed his hat and now she could see the intensity of his gaze that was set on her. “I wished to speak to the woman I am meant to marry.”