Page 8

eight

A fter the walk with Isabella, Anthony found it difficult to focus on reading his correspondence.

Isabella’s sense of unworthiness troubled him, but her happiness and desire to live hurt him as well, like when a wound was cauterised.

Before talking to her, he’d had no idea she perceived his family as so overwhelming and intimidating. If he were to propose to her instead of Helen, she would be crushed. Unless he reassured her he would support her.

His family needed a duchess like her, a woman who stood next to him, proud and strong. Hell, he needed a woman like her, as selfish as it sounded. She made him want to be alive and laugh again. She saw things he didn’t. Her light would balance his darkness.

His last entries in his diary were all about Isabella and the joy she brought to his life. He felt like a thief, stealing her merriment and laughter.

He wasn’t sure what to do about his supposed betrothal to Helen, and reading the report from his steward didn’t improve his mood.

The steward had quietly inspected Maiden Hill, and the result had been abysmal although not surprising. The roof was unstable. A side of the house had collapsed as the result of having meddled with the underground tunnel. Maiden Hill would need months of work to be rebuilt. The grounds would require an army of workers to be cleared.

The more Maiden Hill rotted, the more guilty he felt. His parents were buried in the family’s crypt in London, but their souls rested in that manor.

Von Gruner didn’t care about Maiden Hill and what it meant to the Beauforts. Or rather, he knew exactly what it meant and tortured them on purpose.

He folded the report and pushed his anger down.

“ Bonjour .” Patrick entered the study, chomping on an apple. “Want some?” He offered him the apple. “It comes from our orchard. It’s so delicious you’ll write about it in that gloomy diary of yours.”

He leant back in his chair, not at all amused.

Patrick had the decency to stop smiling. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to make fun of your condition.”

Condition . The word made everything sound more serious.

“Never mind. Sit.”

Patrick pulled a face. “Oh no. What is it now? Can’t you ask your secretary? He’s more prepared than I am on whatever you’re about to ask me to do.”

“I know he is. I want to talk about Isabella.”

“All right.” Smirking, Patrick eased back on the chair. “Do you want to have a tumble with her before marrying her sister? I approve and understand. That’s interesting.”

“That’s shameful. Stop thinking with your bollocks for a moment.”

“Sure.” He lobbed the apple core into the hearth. “Tell me everything. Did she cause trouble? I hope she did. She’s one wild lady. I’m sure she’s just as wild in the bedsheets.”

“Dammit!” He thumped the desk, causing the ink bottle to rattle. “Stop talking about her in these terms, or I swear I’ll cut all your expenses and you’ll have to work.”

Patrick held up his hands. “Fair enough. I had no idea you cared about her so much. What about Isabella?”

“Do you have any intentions of courting her?”

The smirk disappeared from Patrick’s face. “Courting her? I like her, but why are we talking about marriage after I play one chess game with her?”

“I just want to make sure you don’t hurt her in any way.”

“I won’t. I promise. She’s going to be part of this family, and I’m not stupid enough to bother her.”

“So you aren’t interested in her.”

Patrick shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Good.”

“May I go now?” Patrick half-stood up.

“I haven’t finished yet.”

Patrick huffed, sitting down again. “Yes.”

“From now on, I want you to work close to my secretary when I’m busy.”

“Anthony!”

“Brooks can work unsupervised, but you can’t. You’ll follow his work closely and learn what he does.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re part of this family and you’ll share the responsibilities.”

“I’m the spare.”

“What if something happens to me?”

“I am an optimistic chap.”

“Patrick!” He raised his voice.

Patrick rested his forehead on his head in a dramatic pose. “I’ll die out of boredom working next to Brooks. I need entertainment or I’ll go mad.”

“It’s incredible how you set very low personal goals and then fail to achieve them consistently.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I’m not made for a life of duty. I wouldn’t have been born as the spare otherwise.”

“Thank you for your enthusiastic cooperation. I’m impressed.”

“Joke if you want. May I go now?”

He gave him a sharp nod.

As Patrick left, scoffing, Anthony couldn’t stop a smile of relief. He was free to pursue Isabella.

* * *

Not a drop of ink had been spared for Helen in Anthony’s personal diary, which made him feel guilty.

As he promenaded next to her along the path in the garden, he cast glances at her. She was composed, serious, and elegant while Isabella was loud and vivacious. She was talking with Patrick about the latest types of dances, waving her arms about and improvising the music and steps. She and Patrick had nothing in common.

Patrick was a rake who enjoyed spending his days playing cricket, ravishing ladies, and cheating at cards. She was an innocent, vibrant young woman who just wanted to be free. Yet they talked and talked as if they’d known each other for years.

“Your sister seems to enjoy herself,” he said just to break the silence.

“I apologise for her behaviour.”

He stiffened. That was the wrong thing to say. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to apologise on her behalf.”

“She’s boisterous and loud. I understand you’re used to more sombre people.”

“I’m used to honesty.”

“Oh, she lies sometimes, too.”

He exhaled through his teeth. The situation had to be his fault. Everything he said came out twisted. “You can express your opinion about anything you want when you’re with me. I would prefer it.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“You don’t have to agree with me all the time.” There. He had to be blunt.

Another smile.

“What do you like to do in your spare time?”

Her eyebrow twitched. “I like playing the piano. Would you like me to play the piano for you?”

So Helen lied sometimes, too.

“Later, perhaps.”

“Of course.”

Isabella hooked her arm through Patrick’s, and they improvised a gallop in the middle of the path. She smiled so brightly her whole face transformed. Patrick laughed, too. Grandmama, sitting on a bench with Lady Montrose, frowned. All normal.

“That’s what I mean, Anthony,” Helen whispered. “Mother asked Isabella to behave, but she didn’t listen.”

“They aren’t doing anything inappropriate, and Patrick is as boisterous as Isabella.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Naturally. You’re right. There’s nothing wrong. I actually admire her spontaneity.”

Bloody hell. Did Helen have an opinion that was her own? Although the last statement seemed her first genuine one.

There was a quick exchange of glances between Isabella and her mother, and the moment after, Isabella stopped dancing. Her merriment vanished, and her cheeks paled as she talked in hushed tones with Patrick.

Anger flared up in his chest. Anything she did was criticised and doused by her family. She already doubted herself without the added worry of being perfect all the time.

The more he thought about her, the more he believed she would be his perfect duchess. And the more he thought of her as his duchess, the more a fluttery feeling in his chest started. He liked her. He liked himself when he was with her. Her light and happiness were becoming an addiction for him.

The only question was if he had the right to take her into a family where her light and fire would be challenged further.

* * *

The crushing feeling on Anthony’s chest was utterly unjustified as he bade farewell to Isabella the next day. The speed with which her infectious personality had affected him was ridiculous, but he was going to see her soon.

Her family’s luggage was gathered in the courtyard, taken care of by the footmen. Lord and Lady Montrose were talking with Grandmama. Helen was exchanging a few polite words with Patrick, which left Isabella only for him.

“Thank you for your company,” he said, fighting the urge to take her hand.

“I’m sorry to have attacked you,” she whispered. “And thank you for not mentioning the incident to anyone.”

“I would never, but I doubt anyone would believe me.”

Once the carriages were ready, he helped her get in. He wished he could pull her close and ask her to stay with him. When she sat down, he reluctantly left her hand.

“Have a pleasant journey back.”

The others talked and bade farewell, but he kept his attention on Isabella’s bright face. The moment the footman shut the carriage door, darkness claimed his thoughts. Now that he’d experienced her joy, he was afraid of returning to his solitude.

“Why are you so forlorn?” Grandmama asked. “You’re going to see her soon.”

By ‘ her ’ she meant Helen, but he didn’t correct her assumption. He didn’t want to tell her Helen was never going to be his wife.

He wanted to keep his secret for a little longer and cherish Isabella’s presence in his heart.