Chapter 8
The noise and the bustle of Hyde Park did nothing to quiet Isaac’s mind.
He had come here in the hope of putting an end to his many conflicting thoughts by distracting himself through company and laughter, but alas, thus far it had failed.
Instead of drowning himself in conversation, he stood silently and failed even to listen well to what was being spoken around him.
His eyes were darting from one face to the next, hope in his heart that one of them might be Miss Oldham – although quite what he would do or say should he see her, Isaac did not know.
The realization that it was not all as he had believed it had been a shocking one.
His body had rebelled at the idea, throwing up one argument and then the next against what she had said, trying to tell himself that she was lying or speaking only half the truth…
but he had not been able to forget the shock that had thrown itself into her expression when they had spoken.
There was very little doubt in his mind that it had been genuine.
Sighing, Isaac looked down at the ground and then squeezed his eyes closed.
If she had not written to him, then it meant that their separation had come from some cruelty or another, something that was deliberately setting them both apart but without explanation.
It made very little sense to his mind, for he could not imagine who would want to break them apart, especially when their connection had been hidden from the eyes of the ton.
Mayhap we were not as careful as we believed.
Letting out a long breath, Isaac lifted his head and looked over the crowd again.
These last few months, he had decided to resign himself to the fact that he and Miss Oldham were never to step out together, had concluded that there was very little point in allowing his heart and his mind to throw up question after question about what she had done and why she had done it.
He had determined to come to London and find another young lady to care for her in her place, but now, all such resolves had been shattered, leaving them like ashes in the wind.
Without warning, his heart slammed hard against his ribs, and his breath curled up into a heap in the center of his lungs.
His eyes fixed on the one person who had been the object of his affections for so long, the one who still was seated in his heart, should he permit himself to admit it.
She was walking arm in arm with her sister, only for another young lady and her companion to greet them both.
When she smiled, that gentle, unhurried smile that was so familiar to him, all the air in Isaac’s lungs was thrown out in an instant.
He could only stare, rooted to where he stood as his heartbeat thudded wildly, his pulse thrumming in his veins.
If he believed that the letter had not been penned by her hand, then there was no need for anger or sorrow to be directed towards her.
It was as if a veil fell away, leaving him in clear view of her…
and aware of just how much his heart yearned for her still.
Her gaze shifted, running over the crowd as her sister and the other ladies spoke.
Isaac dragged in air, his body jolting violently as her eyes settled on him.
Her back straightened, and her chin lifted, as if she were bracing herself against memories that were now, undoubtedly, assailing her just as they were him.
The crowd swirled between them, but she remained fixed in his sight as he beheld her.
His heart roared.
Hesitating, Isaac let out a long, slow breath, sensing the fight beginning to grow within his mind.
Part of him wanted to turn away from her, to break their contact and set his back to all they had shared and the confusion that now bound them.
These long months, he had built a foundation of belief that she had cast him aside, and he was now settled upon it, but now that foundation had cracked, no longer able to bear his weight.
He took a step forward but then stopped, waiting for her response.
Miss Oldham’s eyes flared. Then, she looked to her sister, leaned towards her, and whispered something in her ear. With a nod, her sister then looked directly at him before returning her attention to the conversation at hand.
Isaac’s breath trembled as he walked towards her, his hands in fists as he battled the tension that bit down hard upon him. Miss Oldham clasped her hands in front of her as she walked, her head lifted but her expression wary.
“Miss Oldham.” Bowing, Isaac cleared his throat, finding it difficult to look into her eyes as the noise of the park continued to hum around them. “I – ” He frowned. “Good afternoon to you.”
A smile flicked across the edge of her mouth, but it was gone the very next moment. “Good afternoon, Lord Coventry. It has been some time since we spoke, has it not?”
He nodded, a response stuck in his throat as her eyes finally seared his.
He had imagined this moment on many an occasion, but it was not with this confusion lodged in his chest. Instead, he had thought of the harsh words he would say, the bitterness he would express, and the regret he could offer her.
All of that was gone now with the steadfast awareness that she had not betrayed him.
“I – I am glad to see you.” When he did not speak, she did, her eyes darting away from his.
“I should like to talk a little more about all that has taken place between us, Coventry.” Something flickered across her face, her eyes closing as she released a slow breath. “Forgive me. Lord Coventry, of course.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” His voice faltered, hating the formality between them but recognizing that he had been the one to put it in place. Regret, thick and heavy, sank into his frame like ballast, weighing him to where he stood. “My mind, however, is in much confusion.”
The hint of a smile touched her lips as she opened her eyes again, although this time, her gaze did not sit anywhere near his face but instead, rested on his shoulder. “As is mine.”
“I want to believe you,” he said, his voice betraying him as it cracked with the swell of emotion within him. Heat surged up his neck as he looked away, trying to find the right words. “Your shock was real, I think.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulders slump, her head lowering a fraction whilst, at the same time, she maintained her quiet poise.
“I did not write that note,” she said, ever so softly. “I do not know what else I can say that would bring your trust back to me.”
When he looked back at her again, Isaac expected to see hurt in her expression, perhaps a sharpness in her eyes that spoke of the pain of his distrust. Instead, there was a softness there, a tenderness about her eyes and an openness in her face that offered him gentle understanding.
Shame expanded inside him, making him want to bury his head in his hands and groan aloud.
After the coldness he’d thrown at her, the guilt he’d placed upon her shoulders, and the lack of trust in his words to her even now, she was willing to stay near to him.
Something hot stung at his eyes, and he tightened his jaw, pressing the sensation back.
“Then I was wrong in my belief,” he rasped, as she took a small step closer to him. “If you say that you did not write the note, then I will accept your words as the truth. Just as I can see you have done for me.”
As he spoke, he saw the way her eyes flickered, taking in each sensation his confession brought.
“I should have fought for you and for what we had promised to each other,” he finished, heavily.
“I should have come to you, to beg of you to explain instead of allowing my pride to hold me back. Had I done so, then perhaps none of this would have taken place, and we would not have been lost to one another.”
Her shoulders lifted a fraction, then settled back down. Nothing was said, no comment made, no agreement or murmur of frustration. Instead, there was just the quiet acceptance of all that had been and could not ever again be changed.
“I want to understand,” he continued, a gnawing desperation in his heart.
“Perhaps we might walk together one afternoon? This afternoon is not the time for long discussions.” Relief began to rise up over him like a cresting wave, desperate to crash down and flood him completely – but he could not permit it until he heard her answer.
Miss Oldham frowned, a line forming between her eyebrows as she looked down at the ground between them.
“Please.” The word broke from his lips before he had an opportunity to pull it back. Aware that he sounded desperate, perhaps even a little pathetic, he kept his mouth tightly shut but his eyes held to her face, silently begging her for just one more opportunity to be in her company.
“What will it bring us, Lord Coventry?” When she lifted her head, he saw tears sparkling in her eyes. “What good will it do?”
It was as if he had stepped back some two years, to when they had first begun their acquaintance.
The desire then to be close to her, to have her hand in his, to enjoy the sweetness of her company whenever he could had been strong and unyielding – but it was nothing compared to the fervor within him now.
It was as if his love for her had been set into a box and buried deep, only to be forcibly and furiously brought to the surface in a single, overwhelming moment.
“I have felt many things these last two years,” he admitted, seeing her blink rapidly so that her tears would stay back.
“Anger, most of all — at your note, at your supposed disregard, which I know now was never yours. Anger with myself for believing it. And beneath all of it, a stubbornness in my heart that would not let you go.”
The corners of her eyes rounded.
“It did not leave me, no matter how many times I demanded it,” he finished, moving closer to her, the world around them fading.
“It only hid itself away — and revealed itself the moment I saw you again.” His throat tightened, afraid that she might step back and bring an end to this conversation and to any hope of their connection returning.
“Even if my heart is never to be given the joy of your hand in mine again, an understanding of what took place to separate us would at least give us both clarity. That is all I can offer you, Christina. Nothing more.”
It was an intimacy to call her ‘Christina’ again, especially so soon after their tentative reconciliation, but, to Isaac’s relief, she did not draw back from him.
His confession hung between them, an invisible threat that she could break at any time.
The seconds of silence between them were an unbearable eternity, forcing him to curl his fingers into his palms and squeeze tight.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes fixed on him, but he could read nothing in them.
Forced to wait, he shifted from one foot to the next, bracing himself for what he was sure to hear from her.
This silence must mean the end of things, the severing of the fragile bond that had only just been reformed.
His throat grew dry, the air around them growing heavier as he fought to stay silent.
She deserved this time to consider, to think about what he had confessed and what he had asked of her.
Her eyes closed, and a shuddering breath escaped her. “Coventry.”
His heart lurched, and he made to reach for her, only for her eyes to snap open. “We can make no promises to each other.”
Isaac’s heart seized as he froze to the spot, trying to comprehend her meaning.
“I cannot pretend that my heart has not held onto you also,” she said, her voice shaking as if she were walking through a vast sea of emotions, unable to find steadiness.
“But there is something more here. To be separated as we were, to be pushed apart without explanation – that concerns me. I want very much to be able to say what I hope for, but even voicing it brings me a great deal of concern.”
“I can understand that.” The relief was so deep, it was almost painful. “There is so much for us to consider. It feels as if the world has shifted one way and then tried to settle back to the way we knew it.”
“But it is still not quite as it was,” she whispered, the sheen of tears in her eyes again.
They stood there for a long moment, simply looking into each other’s eyes.
In that quietness, the broken, twisted parts of his heart slowly began to heal, unfurling and shifting as he held her gaze.
There was no doubt in his mind any longer, no whisper of confusion that she might still be pretending, deceiving, and discarding him.
No, there was only the truth that he loved her still and wanted to yield his heart to her again.
“Perhaps we might walk tomorrow?” she said, eventually. “My sister will chaperone.”
He wanted to step closer, to catch her hand in his and close the distance still between them. Instead, he only nodded.
“I should return to Sophie.” A tiny smile flickered across her lips. “I look forward to being in your company again tomorrow, Coventry.”
“I will wish the hours away,” he murmured, as she walked away, a glance flung back over her shoulder towards him. Healing had begun, certainly, Isaac did not know whether it would ever bring them back into one another’s arms – and how great a torment that would be
As she turned to go, she paused. "Coventry — bring your letter. The one you received from me — or rather, the one you believed was from me."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Because I have mine also. The one I believed was from you." Her chin lifted with a quiet determination he had not seen in her before. "If neither of us wrote them, then someone else did. And that someone left traces in the ink, the paper, the handwriting. I want to see them side by side."
It was the first practical suggestion either of them had made — the first step from confusion toward investigation — and Isaac felt something shift in his chest. Not the aching tenderness of their reunion, but something sharper: the recognition that Christina was not merely someone to be loved. She was someone to think alongside.
"I will bring it," he said. "Tomorrow."