Chapter 7
Seven
“Good morning, Miss Whitmore.” The chambermaid burst into Isolde’s bedroom and made straight for the curtains. “How did we sleep?”
Isolde moaned as she slowly came to.
If she were being honest, she would have told the chambermaid that her sleep was little better than a newborn’s. Still wracked with guilt, she’d tossed and turned as she’d tried to come to terms with what she had done.
However, as recent history had proven, honesty was not Isolde’s strong suit.
“I slept well—Argh!” she cried as the curtains flew open and the morning light spread its warmth and radiance across the room. It struck her right in the face, and she threw up an arm to cover herself.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” the chambermaid apologized. “Mr. Pemberton told me you wished to be woken with the sun.”
“It is fine,” Isolde said as she slowly adjusted to the light. “And there is no need to apologize…” She threw back her blankets and climbed from bed. “And truly, there is no need to dote on me. I am perfectly capable of opening my own curtains.”
The chambermaid was a young woman, possibly the same age as Isolde. She had a kind face with strawberry blonde hair and pink cheeks. She had large but dull eyes, and she looked blankly at Isolde as if she did not understand the words that had been spoken to her.
“I… but it is one of my tasks, Miss Whitmore. To see you up in the morning and assist you in readying for the day.”
“Isolde, please.”
“Excuse me?”
“You may call me Isolde.”
“That is…” The chambermaid started to look uncomfortable. “I would really prefer not to, Miss Whitmore.”
This was not Isolde’s world, and never had it been so obvious. To lie about her identity was one thing. But to live that lie—to give in to the new life and pretend it was something that she wanted and deserved—was another thing entirely.
“I am sorry,” Isolde said. “I did not—”
“No, no,” the chambermaid hurried. “You do not apologize. Never, ever. Now…” She clapped her hands and beamed. “Breakfast will be served shortly, but let us see about a bath, yes? After which, I will have your morning dress ready and waiting.”
“A bath?” Isolde blinked. She had bathed before, of course, but it was not a daily occurrence. And when she did, she was always the one in charge of heating up the water, as well as being the last to use it, as her brother, sister, and father went first.
“Let me show you the way…” The chambermaid hurried to the door. “I informed the steward that you would be arriving shortly, so it should be ready as soon as you wish for it.” She looked happily at Isolde, apparently thrilled to be serving her.
Isolde grimaced, wanting to dismiss the young woman, but knowing that she could not. I am in this now. It is best that I act the part…
“Lead the way,” she sighed.
Despite Isolde’s determination not to enjoy the way that she was being doted upon, even she could not deny how nice it was to have all these luxuries being forced upon her.
How transcendent it was to have a bath drawn for her own use, to have a woman help to clean her, and then return to her room where a newly pressed dress lay waiting.
She had never been dressed like this before. To simply stand there and have someone help her into the garment. To then have her face powdered, her hair combed and styled, and jewelry chosen for her that matched her outfit and was probably worth more than her entire home.
“There is really no need,” she said for the hundredth time.
“Of course there is,” the chambermaid said. Her name was Grace, Isolde had learned, and she had worked at Blackthorne Hall for two years. “You are engaged to His Grace. No expense should be spared.”
“His Grace…” Isolde looked at her reflection in the mirror, and she tried to see in it whatever it was that Cassian apparently saw. To her eyes, she was a simple vicar’s daughter, nothing to look twice at, and certainly not worth the adoration in which the duke held her.
“It is so good that he is well,” Grace continued happily. “We were all so worried for him.”
“Were you?” she frowned as she turned and looked at the chambermaid. “Worried, I mean.”
“Yes…” Grace blinked. “Of course we were.”
Isolde had only met the duke once before. It had been a short interaction, and it had left a rather torrid impression of the man who was now her fiancé. But during that short meeting, Cassian had confirmed all the horrible things which Isolde had heard about the man whose land she now lived on.
It was said that he was cold and cruel. It was said that he had a heart made of stone. It was said... well, all manner of awful things. And they were proven right!
“Tell me, Grace, you have worked here for two years, yes?”
“That is right,” Grace said happily as she fussed with the hem of Isolde’s dress.
“So, it is safe to assume that you have met His Grace before. That you have interacted with him…”
“Oh, not really,” Grace said. “I have seen him about, of course. But rarely do my tasks require me to come into direct contact with him. Mr. Pemberton is the one who deals with the staff on His Grace’s behalf.”
“Still, you must know quite a bit about him,” she pressed cautiously, not wanting to imply the wrong thing. “And I am sure the other members of staff speak often of His Grace. Rumors and whatnot.”
It was only then that Grace seemed to understand where this conversation was going. She stopped her fussing, folded her hands before her, and bowed her head. “I do not listen… what people say… it does not bother me. Nor do I pay it any mind.”
“You can tell me, Grace. I do not mind.”
She could not have looked more afraid. “His Grace… he has a very stressful life. The pressure that comes from such a position. I do not presume to judge… if he is a little short tempered or… or if he becomes upset that things are not done how he wishes, that is his right.” Her chin started to tremble.
“Please, Miss… I love my job here. I do not want any trouble.”
Isolde had been right, then. What she had heard about the Duke, as well as what she had seen with her own two eyes, was accurate. Even if Grace had said nothing, the fear that such a simple question had struck into the heart of the poor girl was enough to confirm Isolde’s suspicions.
It was strange to pair that image of the duke with the man whom Isolde had met last night and today.
How kind he had been. How bright-eyed and even humble.
How could losing your memory change you so much?
Surely, such things were ingrained? Surely, even if he did not know who he was, his personality would remain as it had been?
“Forget I said anything.” She touched the young girl gently on the shoulder. “Now, you mentioned breakfast?”
Grace beamed, and the fear in her fled. “Yes! Shall I show you the way?”
“I would love that.”
Yesterday, the duke had been kind and loving.
He had been gracious, and he seemed uncomfortable with the attention given to him by the staff.
But as Isolde was led downstairs and into the breakfast room, she wondered if that was just a phase—a natural reaction to his lack of awareness and his efforts to come to terms with what had happened.
Likely, even if his memory did not return, his old ways would slowly come back to him.
In fact, Isolde hoped that they did. If he were to transform back into the monster, then it would be far easier for her to reckon with her lies.
What was more, it might mean that when the truth was finally revealed, she would welcome it.
One can only hope…
The breakfast that was served was once again unlike anything that Isolde might have expected or could ever have imagined. She sat at the end of a long table. The cutlery was made of silver, the porcelain shone as if infused with diamonds, and even her cup sparkled in the morning sun.
And then there was the food! Freshly baked bread with a dozen different spreads to choose from. Eggs cooked any way that she wanted. Pork and lamb served cold. Juice squeezed at her command. Tea ready and waiting. And if none of that appealed to her, she might select some fruit to be prepared.
Isolde stared at her plate, one piled with fried eggs and toast, jam on the side. Behind her stood a footman, ready for her to ask for something else, if she needed it.
She was hungry, she realized, but she could not eat. It was as if she did not deserve this lavish feast…
“I know that look.” Cassian’s voice drifted from across the room.
She looked up, found Cassian leaning against the doorway, and despite herself, she smiled. He was dressed in a simple white shirt with breeches, his dark hair was messy, stubble on his chin, and his smile was all teeth so that they glimmered in the morning light.
“Let me guess, you have no idea where to start.” He pushed himself up and walked toward her, still smiling joyfully. “I have not even seen what is on offer, yet I sense I might feel the same as you do.”
“It is a lot,” she said meekly.
“Mr. Pemberton was sure to inform me that if I wished for a cow to be slaughtered and served, I could have it.” He rolled his eyes. “I thought to ask what if I preferred dragon? Somehow, I imagine that even that might be available.”
Isolde laughed at the joke. “I like to eat diamonds in the morning. Do you think they might find some for me?”
“We can check!” Cassian lit up and pointed at the footman. “You there. Do you know if the kitchen has any diamonds for my dear fiancée?”
The footman gaped. “I… that is not… I can ask, Your Grace.”
Cassian chuckled and waved him down. “I jest, I jest. Do not look so stricken.” He shook his head and, once he reached where Isolde sat, he took her hand. “I am so glad that you are as bewildered as I am. It will make this thing that much easier to get used to.”
Isolde looked at her hand, ensconced in the duke’s palm. It was warm and inviting, and she sensed that he held it not so that she would feel at ease, but for his own comfort.
Then she followed that hand upwards, found his smiling face, and her smile grew to match his own. Once, he might have been a cruel and cold duke who thought himself about everyone else. But now… he simply wasn’t that same man.
“As am I,” she said. “This is all… well, it is a lot. I feel as if I do not deserve it.”
“Same here.” He squeezed her hand and then released it before taking a seat at the head of the table. “Apparently, I do, though. Or so Mr. Pemberton assures me. What is more, he insists that I indulge myself, as if doing so might see my memory return.”
“So, you do not…” She tried not to look away. “Nothing has returned?”
“Nothing of substance,” he said simply. “The physician assures me that I am in good health, and that the injury to my head is not permanent. As to my memory?” He shrugged. “That will return in time, or so he claims. As to when it will…” He scoffed. “Today, tomorrow… next year. Who can say?”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Isolde asked. “For your work? For…” She swallowed. “For us?”
“It means that we must make each day count,” he said as if he believed it.
“I was not speaking in exaggeration when I said that you are the one thing that feels familiar to me, Isolde. When I look at you, it is as if I know you… as if I always have. Sadly, it is but a feeling, and outside of that feeling, you are a stranger to me.”
“I am sorry…”
“Don’t be.” He made sure to look at her, the light still warm behind his eyes. “Frankly, I prefer to see the upside to it.”
“Which is?”
“The physician has insisted that I spend the next few days becoming familiar with this manor and its history. My history, as it is.” He sighed and shook his head.
“He thinks this might help with my memory. However, as far as I am concerned, you too are a part of my history. The only part that matters.”
Isolde forced a smile and prayed that he would not notice the guilt and the shame that overtook her.
“So, let us learn together,” he continued. “As I revisit my past, let us revisit our own. I want to know you as you know me, Isolde. If the only memories that return are those of you, I will count myself lucky.” He looked at her expectantly.
“S—same here,” she choked.
“It is settled then.” He beamed and stretched himself out. “Let us break our fast, then we will spend the day together. I want to know you, everything there is. I only ask that you be patient with me.”
“I will be,” she said. “I… I promise.”
“This will be fun,” he said as if he truly believed it. “It is not often that a couple has a second chance at a first impression. And falling in love with you all over again, why, I cannot think of a better way to spend my time.”
“Nor can I,” she somehow managed.
Was it so wrong that Isolde almost looked forward to spending time with Cassian? If this was his true self, if he stayed this way, then she wondered what these next few days might bring. His words… how he looked at her… it was unlike anything she had felt before.
How is this the same man?
Of course, these thoughts only made her feel more rotten. She was committed now, and she had no choice but to do as she had promised and play the role that she had trapped herself in. But what would come next? At what point would her secret be revealed? And how would Cassian react?
All good questions, for which she had no answers.
As things stood, Isolde’s only option was to go along with it all and pretend that she was not walking down a path that was sure to lead to her doom.