Chapter 28 #2
Tristan sighed and sank into the seat opposite him. “You are truly determined to be insufferable.”
Silence.
Tristan tried again, this time with barbed humor. “If this is about guilt…”
No reaction.
“If it is about public embarrassment…”
Still nothing.
“If you are grieving the loss of your dignity, I assure you, you never had much to begin with.”
Cassian exhaled heavily, but not in amusement.
Tristan’s jaw tightened with irritation. “For heaven’s sake, Cassian, say something.”
At last, after draining half the glass, Cassian muttered, low and bitter, “She deserves better.”
Tristan slowed.
Cassian stared into the amber liquid, his expression hollow. “Isabella deserves someone who does not bring chaos wherever he goes.”
Tristan leaned forward slowly. “You think you are chaos?”
Cassian’s lips twisted humorlessly. “I know I am.”
“Cassian.”
His grip tightened on the glass. “Everything I touch, I ruin. Everything I protect, I endanger. She saw me lose control. She saw what I am capable of. And she…” His throat worked. “You did not see her face; she was terrified of me.”
Tristan’s voice softened. “You do not know that.”
“I do,” Cassian whispered. “And for her sake, she should stay away.”
Tristan opened his mouth but fell silent.
Cassian closed his eyes and took another drink.
And the study sank into a heavy, suffocating quiet.
Isabella refused to hide in light of the scandal that had rocked the ton. She had done absolutely nothing wrong, so she wasn’t going to recoil like her husband had and give the people more to whisper about.
Even though her heart felt fractured, even though she had slept poorly for days and eaten little, she still attended the Laurels’ meetings. She stood firm before whispers, faced down rumors, and defended the group with a voice steadier than her spirit.
During one meeting, a lady nervously asked if they should cancel upcoming gatherings in light of the recent ‘incident.’
Isabella lifted her chin. “Absolutely not. We will continue exactly as planned. We adjust; we do not retreat.” Her tone was gentle but unyielding.
The Laurels looked at her as though she were a commander on a battlefield and nodded, agreeing amongst themselves.
Later, when she arrived home, Lady Kendrick caught her in the foyer.
“My dear,” she said softly, “if you wished, you might spend a day or two with your family. Only to ease the tension.”
Ease the tension. A delicate way of saying, escape the emptiness of her marriage for a little while.
Isabella swallowed and nodded.
“Perhaps… yes. I think that might be wise.”
Lady Kendrick squeezed her arm. “This is your home. Nothing is going to change that. And Cassian…” She hesitated. “He will come around.”
Isabella wished she believed that, but she smiled and nodded regardless.
The next morning, she departed Everthorne townhouse and rode toward Ironstone, her family estate.
She had barely registered the journey there, but when the carriage pulled up before the grand stone steps, Isabella released a breath she had been holding for days, taking in the familiar scenery and somehow breathing better.
Christine came out first and greeted her the moment she entered, though Isabella could tell her stepmother saw the exhaustion in her eyes.
“You look pale,” Christine murmured, touching her arm. “Come, sit. I will fetch tea.”
As Isabella sank onto the drawing room sofa, Christine returned with a small smile. “I have arranged just the remedy.”
Isabella blinked. “What remedy?”
The door opened in that moment, and Beatrice entered with her usual elegance and a bright smile, though her eyes flashed with worry the moment they met Isabella’s.
“Bella,” Beatrice breathed, crossing the room in a heartbeat to embrace her tightly.
Christine excused herself quietly, leaving the twins alone.
Beatrice pulled back.
“I came as soon as I heard. Though apparently, there is no scandal after all. If anything…” She sniffed. “… Lord Falchester is being shamed to bits.”
A faint, incredulous laugh escaped Isabella’s lips. “Shamed?”
Beatrice nodded firmly. “Indeed. The ton believes he has not ‘recovered from his infatuation’ with you and wanted you regardless of your marriage. And your husband saw through his pitiful attempts and beat him accordingly.”
Isabella closed her eyes with relief. “I am thankful it turned out that way.”
Beatrice’s gaze narrowed. “Are you? Truly? Because you do not look relieved. You look…” Her voice softened. “You look rather heartbroken.”
Isabella swallowed, her throat tight. “I am not heartbroken.”
“You are lying.”
Of course, she was, and Beatrice saw through her lie. She looked down at her fingers, finding them more entertaining than responding to her sister.
“Tell me.”
Isabella hesitated, but Beatrice’s hand closed around hers in the gentle, familiar way only she could offer.
“Tell me,” Beatrice repeated, raw concern in her eyes.
So, Isabella did.
“It all began at Lady Darby’s winter ball.
He misunderstood the look on my face and thought I was afraid of him.
But when I went to him to let him know it was nothing like that, he pushed me away.
It has been days since then, Bea, but my husband won’t see me.
And Lord knows, I have tried to get through to him, but he has made it impossible.
Beatrice’s eyes glistened as she listened.
“It aches, walking through the same house without seeing even his shadow.”
“Oh, Bella,” Beatrice whispered, wrapping her arms around Isabella. “I had no idea.”
Isabella leaned into her sister’s embrace, but even warmth and comfort did little to ease the emptiness in her chest.
Beatrice tried distracting her afterward, talking of dresses, gossip from the ton, her toddler’s amusing mishaps. Isabella laughed when expected and nodded where appropriate, but each smile felt thin.
Each breath felt heavy, and she was coming to terms that nothing, not tea, not conversation, not the softness of home, could fill the void inside her.
She realized with a quiet, aching clarity that she missed her husband. Terribly.