Chapter 11
Eleven
“… I
wish I could remember,” Cassian said with a warm smile. “Just so I know whether or not you are lying to me.” He dropped the smile and looked at Isolde as if to dismiss her claims.
Her stomach dropped, and for a moment, she thought that he had finally caught onto her lies. Only then, the smile returned and he laughed and shook his head.
“You have made me out to be a hopeless romantic,” he chuckled. “And a little awkward to boot. I had hoped that I might have been more charming when I first started courting you.”
Isolde breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, just because you were so awkward does not mean that you were not charming. Or maybe I am just that easy to please.”
“Maybe you just knew how lucky you were,” he countered.
She laughed. “Yes, that must have been it.”
“I still cannot believe the chance of it,” he said with a glimmer in his eye. “But I should not be so quick to question fate.”
“Fate?”
“Is that not what it was? What else might you call it?”
Fate… he is not wrong, even if I might not be quite so excited to name it as he is.
Isolde and Cassian dined alone. It was the first time they had done so since arriving at the manor—that second evening was when Isolde had claimed a sickness, forcing herself into solitude, praying that a situation like this one might be avoided for as long as possible.
It was strange to think about that now. Although the danger was far from over, and although Isolde was still so aware of how precarious her situation was, even she could not deny how enjoyable this evening had turned out to be.
Cassian had been thrilled when she told him that her sickness had passed. He laughed. He hugged her. And he insisted that they sup together in celebration.
It was as romantic an evening as Isolde had ever seen.
The dining room was dimly lit. The silverware and porcelain glimmered in the candlelight as if set by diamonds.
Flowers were arranged along the table, their scent sweet and aromatic.
And to top it off, Cassian even had one of the footmen play the violin in the corner.
He insisted that she wear a splendid gown of yellow and amber.
Her hair was worn in tight ringlets. Her face was powdered.
The jewelry around her neck and on her fingers could feed her family for five lifetimes.
And that wasn’t to mention Cassian himself, dressed in a smart suit, looking every inch a duke.
They spoke as if they had known one another their entire lives. As each course was served, Cassian joked and made amusing comments about the lavishness of the meals, and how absurd it all was, while also checking that she had everything she needed.
Why is he so kind to me? I do not deserve this…
Then came the moment Isolde had been waiting for.
Finally, Cassian had her tell him how they met, and she spun a story about a storm in the night, one that forced Cassian to take refuge in her home, which then saw an evening spent together in the dark, rain lashing at the house, shaking it from its foundations, all while the two of them came to understand how perfect they were for one another.
“I take it that when I fell from my horse, I was on my way to see you?” he asked her as he sipped on a glass of red wine.
“I can only assume,” she said. “Unless you were on your way to see another woman on the estate?”
He laughed. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Even if I was, it is not as if you might remember it.”
“Mean,” he sulked playfully. “I like to imagine that I was on my way to tell your father of my plans to marry you. Apparently, even Mr. Pemberton did not know. No doubt we thought the secrecy necessary.”
“We did,” she said, unable to look him in the eyes because the smile they wore was like a knife stabbing through her chest.
“Slowly, the pieces come together,” he continued, still smiling, and still looking at her with infatuation. “After we realized how we felt, I take it that I looked into your family history?” He waited for her response.
“You…” She took a sip of wine to cover herself. “You did not tell me you were doing so.”
“That must have come as quite the surprise.”
“Well…” She swallowed her nerves. “I had already told you what my father had said. So, you were merely checking for yourself, I believe.”
He sighed and shook his head. “This world. Even if you were common, I know it would have made no difference to me, Isolde. That it turned out you had noble blood was lucky, yes. But I would have married you no matter what people said. Know that to be the truth.”
The lies came a little too easily. And the story that Isolde told fit together a little too perfectly. That Cassian was so eager to believe it, too… it is as if he needs to believe it.
Yes, Mr. Pemberton had given her permission to lie.
But that did little to make Isolde feel better.
And it did not help that Cassian was so utterly and hopelessly obsessed with her.
He looked at her across the table as if she were the center of his world, that if the walls might collapse and bury them, he would be glad that she was the last person he saw.
To make matters even more confusing, Isolde liked how he looked at her…
“I am so glad that you are feeling better,” he said as he put down his glass of wine. Then, he reached across the table and took her hand. “Knowing how ill you were, and that there was nothing I could do…” He sighed and shook his head. “It killed me, Isolde.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Cassian,” she said with awkward laughter. “There was nothing to be done but wait.”
“I know it,” he said. “But that logic did little to make me feel better. But you are well again now…” He squeezed her hand firmly as if worried she might let go. “Which means that from this day on, it will take the hand of God to tear us apart.”
“I… I…” Her throat constricted, and Isolde had to force herself not to look away. “I would like that.”
“You better,” he laughed.
Cassian let go of her hand and waved for the footman to attend to them. He asked what was for dessert and then requested that everything be brought to them to try.
“I will say this,” he grinned as the footman hurried from the room. “There are some things I like about being a duke.”
“Only some things?” she questioned with a wry smile.
“I do worry that I might turn into a tyrant,” he said, chuckling.
“That it might get a little too comfortable, and I will lose my head. Make me a promise.” He looked straight at her, suddenly serious.
“If I do lose myself in the noise, if you see me acting in a way that you do not recognize, tell me. Remind me of who I am and why you fell in love with me.”
It was as if he was trying to hurt her!
How could this man, one so kind and one so generous, be that same man who had once kicked her out and refused to help her family? One who had taken pleasure in turning her away? It made no sense!
Yet… that is who he is. Or I think it must be. When he remembers, will he transform back to his old self?
Did Isolde want that? She thought that she did, because that would make it easier. Only, as she looked upon Cassian, as she saw his smile and heard his laughter, she could not say for sure.
Truthfully, she liked this version of him, and should he change back to his wicked self, she would miss him, as she would miss how he made her feel… it was unlike anything she had felt before, and would likely feel again. In fact, Isolde knew now that when that day came, it might just break her.