Chapter 16
Sixteen
Isolde spent the night pacing her room.
She could not sleep. She could not sit down. All she could do, and all she did, was replay what had happened with Cassian over and over and over again.
It was even worse than I thought…
Now that it was done, Isolde was able to reckon with her expectations and what she might have wanted to happen.
It would have been easier if he had just been angry with her.
If he had shouted and screamed and demanded that she leave and never come back.
Perhaps a punishment of some kind? If he had told Isolde that her family was to be banished from his land?
Maybe even a petty response, a claim that he had never loved her at all.
Any of those would have been reasonable.
Rather, it was the coldness that came from Cassian that hurt Isolde the most. The way he had looked at her… as if he did not know her… as if he still believed that she was lying because surely the woman he knew could not have done such a thing… that was what she struggled with as the hours wore on.
She had hurt him; of that, there was no doubt. A man who was broken, who relied on her to make him whole, and she had taken advantage of him and wrecked him beyond repair.
The hours stretched long into the night until the darkness was broken by the dim rays of the rising sun. Isolde started when she noticed the time, and she looked to the closed door as she had been doing since she first walked into the room.
Would he even come? And if he did, what would he say? Nothing good, she was sure. What was more, she did not know if she wanted to hear it.
Why did he ask me to stay? Is it so he can think of a way to punish me? I deserve it, I know. But I do not know if I can bear it.
All night, Isolde had waited for Cassian, and now that morning had arrived, she realized that to wait would be to invite more pain and humiliation and suffering.
Would it not be better if she just left?
That way, she could pretend that this had never happened, and he might be able to forget her once and for all.
Doing him a favor… yes, that was how Isolde chose to think of it.
With her mind made up, Isolde determined that she needed to leave. She looked around the room, realized that she owned nothing but the clothes on her back, and decided that she must leave as she had come. In a way, it reminded her of that night two years ago, but it was somehow even worse.
Slowly, she crept from her room.
The halls stood empty and quiet, as if the entire manor was asleep.
She kept her head down as she hurried, praying that nobody would see her.
Her footsteps echoed throughout the manor, her racing heart thumped loudly, and she did not dare glance into any of the rooms that she passed or look over her shoulder.
She fled. That's what she did. It was for the best.
When she reached the foyer, she breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty. The large doors were unattended, and she hurried toward them…
“So, it is done?” spoke a voice from her right.
Isolde paused at the doorway, her stomach dropping, and she had to fight the urge not to ignore it. She might have done, but she felt that she owed another an explanation… not to mention, an apology.
“I told him…” She sighed and turned to find Mr. Pemberton walking slowly toward her. “Last evening, I… I told Cassian everything.”
“His Grace,” Mr. Pemberton corrected.
“Yes,” she winced. “His Grace.”
To Mr. Pemberton’s credit, he did not look pleased with himself. In fact, he almost looked upset. His expression was soft, his brow was furrowed, and his lips were pressed together as if he was holding back a thought or a comment that he was not sure he should say out loud.
“I am sorry, Mr. Pemberton,” she said to him. “I am sorry for what I have done to… to His Grace, and the pain I caused him. I never meant it.”
“I know you did not,” he said as he reached her. “While I do not think that wanting to help him was your primary concern, I see now that hurting His Grace was not your intention.”
“My family,” she said in a whisper, her head bowed. “I only wanted… It does not matter. I will not make excuses. I will not pretend that I have that right.”
“An honorable thing,” he said. “I spoke with His Grace last evening…” She looked at him hopefully, as if he might confirm that Cassian was well and had not suffered. “I will not tell you what was said, but know that I will not gloat for this outcome. I am as responsible for it as—”
“No,” she cut him off. “As I am sorry for what I have done to His Grace, I am just as sorry to have put you in this position. You did what you thought was best, and I fear I have made everything worse.”
“Perhaps,” he said with a frown as if he did not believe it.
“I will not deny that the next few days, possibly weeks, will be a challenge. Nor will I forget these past two weeks either.” It was subtle, but she saw the hint of a smile behind his eyes.
“It has been so long since I’ve seen His Grace so happy that I had forgotten what it looked like. For that, I thank you.”
She started. “I… I do not deserve your thanks.”
“Believe me, with all the scorn of which you are sure to find yourself on the receiving end, perhaps a little thanks should be taken in stride.” He smiled gently at her. “Farewell, Miss Isolde Whitmore. It has been a strange thing, but I feel that you might be missed.”
Isolde still felt wretched. She wanted the ground to open so that it might swallow her whole.
And it would take a long time for her to forgive herself for what she had done…
if she ever did. But Mr. Pemberton’s words were kind, they were honest, and they went a little way toward saving her from total damnation.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile. “For everything.”
He nodded once, and she turned to open the door…
“I don’t remember giving you permission to leave.” The voice was like the rumbling of thunder on the horizon, the kind that demanded attention.
Isolde froze with her hand extended. A ripple of fear ran down her spine. Her breath caught in her throat. She thought to force herself to open the door and run, but she could not escape the way Cassian’s voice wrapped around her like a hand and held her in place.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton said. “I was not aware that you had woken.”
“That would require me to have slept.” His voice was distant as it had been last evening. No emotion. No warmth or anything that Isolde recognized. “Did I not ask you, Mr. Pemberton, to ensure that Isolde did not leave?”
“You did, Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton said. “But I thought—”
“You thought to disobey me,” he cut over the steward. “A common theme, of late.”
Isolde took a deep breath and finally turned.
Cassian stalked down the staircase, taking one step at a time. He stood with rigid shoulders, a puffed-out chest, and his head held high as if to force his presence on the room. But it was his eyes that Isolde found, as cold as his voice, and utterly devoid of anything resembling a smile.
He made sure to look directly at Isolde as if he wanted her to know that she had no effect on him.
“You thought to disobey me,” he said to Isolde.
“I…” Her voice cracked. “I thought it might be for the best if… if I left.”
“To save yourself, no doubt.”
“No,” she said. “I wronged you and I… I… I did not want to cause you any more pain.”
He reached the lower landing and stopped.
“You presume too much, Isolde. That anything you have said or done has any effect on me whatsoever. In fact…” His eyes burned with fire.
“I find myself relieved. Your lies, while despicable, were like a chain around my ankles that I did not know how to remove. And now that they are gone, I have never felt freer.”
He was lying. He had to be lying.
Only… Isolde studied the duke. She met his eyes, searching them for a hint of the lie, the pain he surely felt. But in them, she saw nothing but emptiness. He looked at her as if she were a stray cat that had wandered into his home and now he had to decide what to do about her.
“I spent much of the night thinking about what to do with you,” he continued, still standing across the room. “And it is my decision that it will be best if you and I…” He breathed in deeply. “If we continue as we planned.”
“What?” she started. “What does that—”
“We will marry,” he spoke over her. “The arrangements have been made, and to break them now will cause unwanted suspicion and rumor to which I will not be a party.”
“Your Grace…” Mr. Pemberton swept towards him. “Are you sure that is—”
He held up a hand to silence his steward.
“I have spent all week preaching to the ton that this marriage is what I want. Time and time again, questions were asked, which I disavowed resolutely. To go back on my word now will make me look weak, and that I cannot abide.”
Isolde was stunned. She heard what Cassian was saying; she just didn’t know if she understood it.
“Further to that point, if I do cancel this wedding, people will surely dig their noses in where they do not belong. They will learn the truth of who you are, Isolde, and the consequences of this will ruin me, my name, and my legacy.” He curled his upper lip.
“All that is to say, your lies have made it so that I am trapped. Well done.”
“Cas— Your Grace,” she stammered, taking a step toward him, then forcing herself to stop. “That is not… I did not mean—”
“It does not matter what you meant to do,” he spoke over her coldly. “It is done now, and it cannot be changed. But you should be glad, Isolde. Thrilled, even. Go on. No need to pretend that this is not the news you hoped for.”
The man who spoke to Isolde was not one whom she recognized. Oh, sure, he looked like him at first glance. The same rugged looks. The same powerful frame. The same lips, nose, and eyes. Only… He’s not the Cassian I know.
His voice was cold and cruel. His gaze was domineering and harsh. And not for a second did Isolde get the sense that he cared one bit about her. This was business, plain and simple. His memories might not have returned, but his old self had.
“Please…” She took another step towards him. “You do not have to do this. I do not… I did not want this.”
“Lies,” he said to her. “I hoped we were past such things by now. Speaking of lies.” He narrowed his eyes.
“After we wed, you will continue in the pretense of your lineage, should anyone ask. For that reason, I will have no choice but to take care of your family, lest someone learn of their poverty and wonder why I have not moved to help them. They will be taken care of, as will you. Again, congratulations, Isolde.”
She winced and stumbled back. Shame took her. She tried to look pleadingly at Cassian, needing him to know this wasn’t what she wanted. But when he looked at her, it was as if he saw right through her.
“As to our marriage,” he continued. “It will be in name only. I might call it a marriage of convenience, but that convenience extends in only one direction.” His lip curled again.
“And once this marriage is made official, then we will decide how things shall proceed. But know this.” He widened his eyes.
“This is my home, I am in charge, and that you will be allowed to remain here is a sign of my mercy and has nothing to do with how I feel about you. Do you understand?”
She said nothing.
“Do you understand?” he barked.
“Y—yes,” she whimpered and reeled back. “I understand.”
“Good.” He looked at Mr. Pemberton. “Mr. Pemberton, show Isolde back to her room and then come and see me.” With that, he turned and stalked back up the steps, and not once did he look back.
Isolde stayed where she was, stunned by what had just happened.
Deep within her subconscious, there was a voice that whispered to her that this was a good thing. Had she not gotten what she wanted? And was she no longer living a lie? Her plan had worked perfectly, and relief was what she should have felt.
But she did not feel relieved. She did not feel gladdened. She felt worse than she ever had. Not for herself. Not for her future. But for Cassian, because the man who she had just seen was not him.
I broke him… ruined him completely… and for that, I will never forgive myself.