Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Being a duchess wasn’t just about attending parties and being seen by members of the peerage.
It wasn’t just about public perception and what others thought of you.
It was also about how one conducted themselves at home, and Isolde was determined to do everything that she could to prove to Cassian that she had what it took.
Why do I even bother? It is not as if he cares…
That was a thought that came to Isolde often, and when it did, she pushed it away and refused to consider its meaning.
Yes, Cassian had been rather honest and brutal to her after the supper at Mr. Brook’s home. And yes, when they had returned, he was just as cold.
On the surface, it looked as if he wanted nothing to do with her at all, and that he might be happy if she stopped pretending entirely. But it was what lay beneath that surface that Isolde focused on.
There had been moments at Mr. Brook’s home when Cassian had almost appeared like his old self. The barest hint of a smile. Light found behind his eyes. And more than once he had looked at her in ways that she remembered… ways that told her how he truly felt.
He was not entirely lost to her, and Isolde would not give up on him.
The first task that she sought to perfect was managing the household staff. Technically, they were her charge, and she was responsible for how they operated within the manor and across the estate. Thus, the morning after Mr. Brook’s supper, she met with the head of each department.
“You do not need to give them new instructions,” Mr. Pemberton told her as he readied her for the meetings. “In truth, most of them are well aware of what they should be doing.”
“Then what is the point?” she sighed. “I do not want to treat them as children. Should they not be allowed to do as they know is best?”
“It is not about treating them as children,” he assured her. “Rather, it is about showing them that you are in charge. Let each know that if they have any questions or problems, they are to speak to you before His Grace. Let them know that this is your home.”
She did the best that she could.
Truthfully, it was not so difficult, and most acted surprised that she was so kind to them. It told her of what this manor must have been like before Cassian lost her memories, and it made her determined that the manor not return to such an awful state.
Another task that she set herself to was correspondence.
Now that she was a duchess, she was inundated with letters from various ladies of the ton who wished to spend time with her.
They made it seem as if they wanted to be friends, as if they were just so excited to meet her.
What they were actually doing was trying to worm their way into her good graces…
“The trick is learning who to respond to and who you should not waste your time with,” Mr. Pemberton instructed her as they went through each letter. “Most of these can be ignored.”
“But how will I know who I should and shouldn’t respond to?”
He shrugged. “With practice, Your Grace.”
She winced whenever he called her that, and she very nearly told him not to, only she held her tongue because she knew he would deny her. Also, she knew that it was something she had to get used to.
“Perhaps a hint?” she asked as she offered Mr. Pemberton a coy smirk. “Which of these is a must respond? Surely there is one I have no choice in?”
“You are a duchess, Your Grace. If you wished it, you could ignore them all.”
“I will rephrase.” She looked pointedly at Mr. Pemberton. “Tell me who I ought to respond to so as not to cause any concern, or risk drawing attention to myself.” She blinked. “And yes, that is a command.”
Mr. Pemberton nodded and even smiled slightly at her tone. “Lady Highmere is a known socialite and the wife of a marquess.” He reached forward and plucked a letter from the pile. “If you can befriend her, it will go a long way to helping your reputation.”
“Lady Highmere it is.”
Isolde spent the rest of the day composing her letter. She started shortly after midday, expecting it to take only a few minutes. As the daughter of a vicar, Isolde was well versed in her letters, and she often helped her father with his sermons because he was too old and frail to do so.
What she came to learn, however, was that writing a letter to a marchioness was no easy task.
“Your lettering is messy,” Mr. Pemberton told her as he read through her first letter. “See here…” He indicated to the ink smudges on the page. “Lady Highmere will notice such things.”
“Smudges?” Isolde scoffed. “Who cares?”
“Lady Highmere will.”
She groaned. “Do you know how hard it is to write without smudging the ink? I will have to wait after each word for the ink to dry. It will take hours!”
“That will give you time to work on your phrasing…” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“As well as your grammar. This here…” He ran his finger along a sentence at the top of the page.
“This is far too colloquial. And this here…” He brought her attention to another sentence.
“This is informal. You do not know Lady Highmere, so you should not write to her as if you do.”
“Will she even notice?”
“Of that, I have no doubt.”
Isolde wondered what Cassian would say about such things. The old him, that which she had gotten to know, would surely find it all rather silly. In fact, if he had learned what she was doing, he might have mocked and teased her… that thought brought a smile to her lips.
The new Cassian, however, was as determined to act as a duke as she was a duchess. She was not doing this for herself, but for her husband, and thus snatched the parchment from Mr. Pemberton and sulked back to her room to try again.
And then again.
It took her five tries before she produced a letter of correspondence that was acceptable, and the thrill that Isolde felt was beyond anything that she expected.
She took the letter back, literally shaking with glee, and the first thing that she wanted to do was rush up to see Cassian and tell him what she had done. Of course, she did no such thing, because he would not care.
“Right,” she said with determination. “Now, who should I write to next?”
Mr. Pemberton looked at her simply. “That is for you to find out for yourself, Your Grace.”
“But—”
“Might I suggest that you take this as an opportunity to learn more about the ton? As a duchess, it is only right that you know each family. And not just their name, but their history. It is expected.”
She scrunched her face. “And how will I do such a thing?”
“Simple,” he said. “The library will have all the information that you seek. But do not rush, Your Grace. Take your time, for such things are…”
“I know, I know,” she grumbled as she turned and skulked away. “They are expected.”
She heard Mr. Pemberton chuckling as she left.
And so came the next arduous task that Isolde dedicated every waking hour to. From sunrise to sunset, across the remaining week, she locked herself away in the library as she pored over large tomes that detailed the various families of the ton, as well as their histories.
Surprisingly, it was not nearly so awful and boring as Isolde expected it to be. It was interesting to learn more about those names that she already knew, as well as learning more about Cassian’s family as well.
She lost herself across those days, flipping through pages, writing down notes so that she would not forget. And when a storm blew in, throwing the library into darkness, she simply lit a candle and carried on.
“What are you doing?” a voice broke through her concentration.
“Oh!” Isolde started in surprise and looked up, gasping to find Cassian standing over her. He wore a scowl, as he so often did, and he made sure to stand several feet back. “Cassian! I did not hear you come in.”
“What are you doing?” he asked her again as he eyed the tome in her hand.
“I am…” She chuckled. “Just some light reading.”
“Not the word I would use.”
“If you must know, I am reading up on the various families of the ton. Their histories. Who married whom and why… it is actually rather interesting.”
His frown deepened. “Why on earth are you doing that?”
“I told you that I was committed to doing whatever I must to play the role of a duchess, Cassian.” She looked at him without any inflection, no sense that she was bragging or trying to make it appear as if she wanted his praise.
“And learning about each family is a part of that. Although…” She grimaced and rolled her eyes at the tome on her lap.
“I will confess, I had no idea it would be quite as much work as it is. And while it is not a bore, I will not lie to you and say it is fun either,” she finished with laughter.
“Isolde…” He bit into his lip. “You do not have to go to nearly so much effort.”
“I do,” she said. “And I want to.”
“No, you do not,” he said through a clenched jaw as if he was angry at her. “I appreciate what you have done, just as I appreciate that you are trying. But you are wasting your time here.”
“It is not a waste.”
“It is,” he said sharply, and she jumped in surprise. “It is not… I am not worth the effort.”
That comment caught her by surprise and when Isolde looked closer at Cassian, noting his anger, she realized that it was not directed at her. He stood back, he was turned away, and there was a battle raging behind his dark eyes that she had not expected, just as she did not understand the cause.
“I…” He took a deep breath. “I understand why you did as you did. And while I do not condone it, nor do I forgive it, I accept the reason. You did what you thought was right, to a man who you knew deserved it. It is that simple.”
“Cassian…” She sat up and he flinched away. “What… that is not true. You did not deserve what I did to you. I am in the wrong, and I accept that.”
“No…” He shook his head. “I would not punish a knight for slaying a dragon, just as I would not punish you for taking revenge on someone who deserved it.”
“What are you…” She did not know what to say.
He turned half away from her, his head bowed, his voice low as if he spoke to himself. The storm outside raged so that she heard the wind and the rain lashing the manor. But that was nothing compared to the storm that played havoc with Cassian.
“I remember what I did to you,” he said in a whisper, as if each word hurt to repeat.
“The night you came to me… how you begged me for help… and how I…” He winced.
“How I laughed at you before having you dragged from my home. I forced your action, Isolde. And what you did, I cannot help but think that I deserved it.”
“What? No.” She put the tome down and rose to her feet. Then, she went to Cassian, wanting to put her hands on his shoulders, to bring him in close and hold him. He needed it! But as she moved for him, he backed away… “Cassian, how can you say that?”
“It is true,” he said. “Tell me I am wrong about how I treated you.”
“That is not…” She swallowed. “Perhaps what you did was wrong, but I know you, Cassian. You might not think so, but I do. And because I do, I have to believe that you did what you did for a good reason. A reason that if you had your memories, you would know was right.”
He scoffed. “That is not true, Isolde. If anything, all my memories would do was prove how rotten a person I am.”
Isolde could not believe what she was hearing. Stranger still, she could not believe how much she disagreed with Cassian’s words. Regardless of who he was and what he had done, he did not deserve to be treated as he had been. Nothing made what Isolde did right.
“The man who kicked me out that night, Cassian, that is not you…” She edged toward him, but he took another step away. “The man who I took advantage of is kind and caring. He is… he is loving and giving and—”
“That is not me,” he hissed and turned on her in fury.
“I know you think it is, Isolde. I know that you are desperate to believe it so. But it is not who I am!” He was shaking with anger, his hands clenched into fists by his side.
“Every day, new memories return, and every single one— every one!” he snarled.
“They all prove the opposite. I am who I am and hoping otherwise, living in a fantasy world where it might change isn’t going to make a difference.
” He sneered as he looked at the books strewn around the library.
“And all of this, trying to appease me, is a waste.”
“No,” she said as she brought herself up. “I do not believe that. Not for a second.”
He chuckled bitterly. “There is an irony here, you know. If I was that man, then maybe I would find it in my heart to forgive you and move on. Isn’t that who you think I am? The type to do such a thing?”
“You—”
“You chose the wrong man to take advantage of, Isolde,” he said coldly, his eyes empty, his words like a slap across the face. “Next time, choose a kinder man to deceive. It might end better for both of you.”
With that, Cassian turned and stormed from the room.
Isolde remained where she was, staring after him, her body shaking. But not from fear. Not from worry. Rather, it was sadness, utter despair as she watched the man whom she knew forcing himself to be someone he was not.
And try as she might, Isolde could not imagine how she might convince him of the truth. Worse still, she sensed that if she did not manage it soon, then he would be lost completely. As would she.