Chapter 8
Eight
“Istill cannot believe that all of this belongs to me,” Cassian said as he looked about the garden. “And this home… these lands.” He shook his head. “How can one man ever need so much?”
Isolde watched Cassian curiously, similarly to the way she had been doing all morning.
He was so innocent in the way he acted, and so vocal when it came to speaking his fears and his thoughts.
He did not pretend to be strong and confident.
He did not bother with false charm or arrogance.
He was real… totally unguarded and honest in all things.
“It is not about what one needs,” Isolde said. “From my experience, it has more to do with showing others what you are able to afford so that they might respect you.”
“Respect me?” he frowned. “Why would owning so much be worthy of respect?”
“Why should it not be?”
“I would have thought…” He clicked his tongue in consideration. “Is not the type of man I am more important? Is that not how one earns respect?”
“It can be…”
He stopped short beside her. Isolde did not notice at first and she walked a few steps ahead before realizing that she was alone. She turned and then frowned when she saw the worry on Cassian’s face.
“Is something the matter?”
“I might not remember who I am, Isolde, but that does not mean I am blind to it. I have seen the way that the staff treats me, just as I have noticed that such treatment is not nearly so enthusiastic or…” He grimaced. “I cannot escape the feeling that the staff fears me. That they hate me.”
“Cassian…” She had no idea what to say.
“What sort of man was I?” he asked her. “Before the accident. Mr. Pemberton assures me that I was well liked and…” He laughed and shook his head. “That I was respected by all who knew me. But I sense that if I asked him when my wings would grow in, he would tell me any day now.”
Isolde looked away awkwardly, as she knew where this was going.
“My memories are sure to return soon.” Slowly, he walked to her.
His voice was low, and she heard the worry crack through it.
“When they do, a part of me fears what I will learn about myself. Was I kind? Was I loved? Or was I the type to instill fear in others, as if that was the only way to gain respect?” He scoffed. “As if such a thing is so important.”
“You were… You were…” Her voice trembled.
“Clearly, it could not have been all bad.” He took her by the hand.
“Otherwise, I doubt one as pure and sweet as you would have fallen in love with me.” He brought her hand to his chest. “Tell me I am wrong in this, Isolde. That my fears are misplaced. Tell me I was not the worst of men and that the only reason you are with me is not because you feared saying no.”
Just when I thought things could not get any worse…
Isolde forced herself to look into Cassian’s eyes. They sparkled in the morning sun, brimming with fear, like a child who had wandered too far from his family and had no idea where they had gone. More importantly, the look in his eyes made him appear human in ways she had never imagined possible.
As she met his eyes, as she felt his beating heart, she could not see the man he used to be anymore. Maybe he would return one day? But until that day came, Isolde reasoned that there was no need to tell him so. And maybe… what if the accident has changed him? What if this is who he now is?
“The servants are just nervous about your condition,” she forced herself to say.
“And you are right. I…” Her stomach twisted with guilt.
“I would not be here, were it not for the type of man you are. Kind. Gentle. The type who…” She forced soft laughter.
“Who does not need a large home to prove himself.”
“Truly?”
“You are not wicked or evil, Cassian,” she assured him, almost believing it. “Now, put those thoughts out of your head. Today is too lovely to waste on such awful things.”
He smiled and it was as honest a smile as she had ever seen. “How did I get so lucky to meet you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Lucky? I do not know if I would use that word.”
“Nonsense. I mean…” He chuckled. “Imagine if I had woken up to find out that my fiancée was not the most beautiful woman in all of the world? If that is not luck, I do not know what is.”
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that all that matters to you? Beauty?”
He grinned. “You will not make me feel guilty for thinking the sun shines only so that the world might be bright enough so that your beauty can be seen by all.”
She blushed furiously and looked away, hating how charming his words were, just as she hated how much she liked hearing them.
“It is more than your beauty, Isolde…” His voice turned serious.
“It is everything. The way you make me feel. The way you make it so that I do not care about anything but being around you. And truly, had I woken up to find that you were a grizzled old crone…” He laughed as he looked at her, his eyes sparkling in the sun.
“I would still feel the same about you. Know that to be true.”
The guilt inside Isolde crashed, and she thought she might be sick.
“Come…” She kept her hand in his and turned to lead him back along the garden path. “We are trying to restore your memory, no? It will be hard to do that if we spend the whole day in one place.”
“True, true,” he agreed as he allowed himself to be led. “A small part of me was worried about what might be revealed, but I ought not to be. The sooner I get my memories back, the sooner we can get on with our lives together.”
Isolde grimaced as she looked ahead.
What would happen when that day arrived? Mr. Pemberton was willing, for now, to put up with Isolde, not wanting to upset Cassian. But he knew the truth of it, and she did not doubt that he would not hesitate to expose her the moment he sensed the time was right.
Not that he would need to. Once Cassian’s memories returned, he would realize he had been lied to. And Isolde sensed that her weak reasoning of doing this to help him would not sound nearly so righteous when that day came.
Do not think of that right now, Isolde. Focus on the present… focus on why you are really here. To help your family… they are what matters.
It was a strange morning that followed that conversation.
At first, Isolde was beside herself with guilt.
She was lying. She was taking advantage of Cassian.
She was the worst of people, and no number of excuses would change that fact.
For this reason, she assumed it would be a most wretched day, one sure to leave her feeling sick and shame-filled and wanting to be done with this place… and herself, for that matter.
Only, that wasn’t the case at all.
They started their morning walking through the back garden, and Cassian was nothing but friendly and loving and made wonderful company. He laughed constantly, he always smiled, and whenever he sensed that Isolde’s mood was not piqued, he sought to change it.
Next, they wandered around the nearby lands of the estate. There were rolling meadows and golden farms, framed by the bright sun, and the longer they walked, the more Cassian spoke, and the easier things became. Why, Isolde might have even gone so far as to say that she enjoyed herself.
“We really should have taken the horses,” Cassian said as they trudged.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure that is such a good idea?”
“I know how to ride a horse, Isolde!”
“Do you, now?” She looked him over. “How is your head, by the way? Still throbbing from… what was it again? An accident while riding a horse?”
“Oh, that is unfair!”
“Just the truth.”
He laughed. “But that was the old me. Anything that happened before the accident does not count.”
“It sounds like an excuse to me.”
He laughed and hurried to her side, again taking her hand and holding it close as if he feared letting her go.
Once they finished walking the estate, they returned to the manor for lunch. It was a simple meal, as Cassian did not wish to bother the cooks, and they spoke throughout—the type of pleasant conversation had when two people were getting to know one another better.
“You still owe me a story, by the way,” he said to her with a grin.
“And what story is that?”
“How we met, of course. Your father is a vicar, no? Strange that I would be allowed to marry the daughter of someone who is not noble.”
Her cheeks colored and she looked away. “That is… it is not so simple as that.” She prayed silently that he would not press her further.
“I know the reason,” he said with a grin. “I must have insisted. Yes, so besotted was I by you that I did not care about your birth.”
She said nothing, not wanting to encourage him. But again, she was reminded of the tight line on which she walked, that soon the truth would be revealed, and that once it was, there would be no escaping what she had done.
After their lunch, they spent the rest of the day walking the manor.
“It is so strange…” Cassian and Isolde stood before a large family portrait; it was almost as big as she was, and it featured Cassian with his mother, his father, and his younger brother.
Cassian himself was just a boy of maybe ten.
“I know that is me and yet…” A shake of the head. “Somehow, it looks like a stranger.”
“What of your brother?”
A shake of the head. “I will have to ask Mr. Pemberton about him. He did not mention that I had one.”
“What of your father and mother?” she asked. “Do they…”
“Nothing.” He narrowed his eyes as he looked closer. “They are strangers to me. My mother…” He indicated to the woman. She was a frail thing, almost as small as a child. “She looks sick. I wonder if she was.”
Isolde laughed softly. “I think she might have preferred to be called delicate.”
“My father, however…” His eyes narrowed further on his father.
The man in the portrait looked strikingly similar to Cassian.
Only, the old Cassian. His dark eyes, his darker features, and a look of menace and power that could be felt through the painting.
“I sense that I might not have liked him so much.”
“Oh?”
“Well, look at him,” Cassian said to her. “He is intimidating, no?”
She shrugged. “He is your father. I am sure you loved him.”
“Maybe…” He continued to look at his father, and he gave no sense that he might be a man who Cassian had ever loved. Nor did the man in the portrait look like one who wanted such a thing.
They spent the rest of the day looking at various portraits of family members through the ages. Time and time again, Cassian would stop and stare and Isolde could see the frustration in him. He was clearly embarrassed that he could not remember, but she sensed something else.
Is he relieved? As if he knows that his memories are not ones to be cherished…
By the time that afternoon found them, Isolde had almost forgotten what she had done. Despite everything, she was just so comfortable around Cassian. How warm he was, how kind. And the way that he constantly looked at her… it made her glow, for reasons she did not want to consider.
“Your Grace!” Mr. Pemberton found them in the library, which they had visited to research family history. “There you are.”
“Ah, Mr. Pemberton,” Cassian smiled at him. “My second favorite person in this place.”
Mr. Pemberton came to a stop. His eyes fell on Isolde, and she sensed his annoyance. She looked away because she did not want him to think that she was enjoying herself, as if this was all part of her plan.
“I am sorry to disturb you, but as I mentioned earlier, the physician wishes to check on your health. To see if there are any…” He glanced at Isolde again. “… changes to your condition.”
“I can assure you there are not.”
“Be that as it may…” He looked pointedly at Cassian.
Cassian sighed. “Might I order you to go away?”
“You can try, Your Grace.”
“Very well.” Cassian was sure to take Isolde’s hand. “I will see you later, yes?”
“Only if you wish it,” she said quietly, as if to do so might somehow dampen his feelings.
“Oh, I think we both know the answer to that.”
They left her then, for which she was glad. Alone now, Isolde reminded herself for the hundredth time what she had done. She should not be enjoying herself. She should not be enjoying the duke’s company! What she ought to do was make him hate her, so that he might ask her to leave.
But the thought of doing that stung in ways she refused to consider. Despite it all, Isolde was seeing a new side of the duke, a side that was not what she expected, and a side that she rather liked.
This brought her no comfort, of course. If anything, it only made things worse… as if things could be any worse than they were.