Page 18

CHAPTER 18

F iona straightened slightly in her seat as Isaac entered the drawing room, her breath catching with a small, unbidden start.

I had not realized tea was meant for three.

Elaine swiveled around at the sound of his approach, her hands planting firmly on her hips.

“You are late,” she said.

Isaac leaned down and kissed his sister’s cheek with a careless air.

“You said afternoon, dear sister, and you never specified an exact hour. It is still afternoon, and here I am,” he said.

Fiona watched the easy exchange, piecing together all those furtive glances Elaine had cast toward the clock and the door.

She had been expecting him all along.

Isaac turned to her, bowing briefly before brushing his lips over her knuckles. The brief contact sent a surprising warmth up Fiona’s arm, and she lowered her gaze, uncertain how to respond.

“I did not realize you would be joining us,” she said, striving for lightness.

“I had no choice,” he returned.

Elaine gasped, a sound of mock outrage.

“Isaac!”

Fiona let out a soft chuckle, the last of her tension uncoiling.

So this is the man I am to marry. A man who cannot dissemble even if he tried.

There was something oddly refreshing in it—a bluntness that made the world feel less treacherous.

Elaine hurried to smooth matters, clasping her hands with mock severity.

“What my brother meant,” she said, “is that since he is so fashionably late, he would dearly love to take you for a ride and enjoy the rest of this fine afternoon.”

Fiona turned a curious glance toward Isaac, catching the faint hesitation that flashed in his eyes. He said nothing to contradict Elaine, but it was clear enough he had come under duress.

Elaine pressed onward with breezy cheer.

“You likely walked or rode over, but never fear—I have had the Darlington barouche readied and waiting out front. You shall have it at your disposal,” she said, as though bestowing a royal favor.

Elaine had orchestrated every moment of this encounter.

There was no mistaking it. No coincidence lived under this roof. Everything, from the glances at the clock to the ready carriage, had been arranged with the precision of a seasoned general.

Before either she or Isaac could muster a protest or suggest an alternative, Elaine summoned her butler with a cheerful clap of her hands.

“Fetch Lady Fiona’s shawl, if you please,” she said.

Within moments, Fiona found herself bundled into her outerwear and practically shepherded to the front steps, where the waiting barouche gleamed in the afternoon light.

Elaine beamed at them both, entirely unrepentant.

“Have a swell afternoon,” she said, grinning from ear to ear before sweeping back into the house with a swish of her skirts.

Fiona turned to find Isaac already reaching for the reins, his movements brisk and economical. With little ceremony, he helped her into the carriage and climbed up beside her.

They set off at a steady pace, the clatter of hooves filling the tentative silence between them.

Isaac cleared his throat after a moment.

“Never mind my sister,” he said. “She is too nosy for her own good.”

The dry affection tucked into his words caught Fiona unawares, and a small snort of laughter escaped before she could smother it.

Isaac turned his head, one brow lifting in question.

“What amuses you?” he asked.

Fiona lifted a gloved hand to her mouth, composing herself.

“Oh, nothing special,” she said. “Only that Elaine said something quite similar about you earlier.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“About my nosiness?”

“Oh no,” Fiona said, laughter dancing in her voice. “She spoke of your... lack of spirits instead.”

There was no delicate way to phrase it—but then, she doubted Craton would value delicacy.

Isaac shook his head, a rueful smile ghosting his mouth.

“She is as relentless as she is nosy,” he said, giving the reins a light flick.

Fiona stole a glance at him, noting the firm set of his jaw and the easy, unhurried way he handled the reins. There was something reassuring in his presence—a quiet steadiness she had not expected to admire. She caught herself, dropping her gaze to her lap and smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her skirts.

“I suppose it must be a sibling thing,” she said after a moment. “What is it like?” she asked, her voice low, almost hesitant. “To have a sibling?”

Isaac gave a huff that could have been a laugh, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Oh, it is the worst thing imaginable,” he said.

Fiona arched a brow but said nothing, sensing more would follow.

After a pause, he added, “And the best thing possible.”

There was a softness to his words now, and a curiously wistful distance clouded his gaze.

Fiona shifted in her seat, feeling a sudden hollow ache within her chest.

What must it be like to have someone always there? Someone bound to you not by duty or convenience, but by affection?

She would never know. Her childhood had been a lonely one—a series of silent meals and careful steps, always watched, always judged. No partner in mischief. No ally to share whispered secrets with.

A longing stirred within her—a wish she had buried long ago. To have a family. A large, boisterous one. A house full of laughter and quarrels and reconciliations.

But that dream seemed as distant now as the stars.

Especially with the man beside her—a stranger she was to wed. A man whose heart, she feared, might never be hers.

Isaac’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Did you ever wish for a sibling?” he asked.

Fiona traced the embroidery on her glove, considering. “I never gave it much thought growing up,” she said slowly. “But lately... yes. Lately, I have found myself wishing for it.”

Isaac glanced at her then, and something unreadable flashed in his eyes. He tightened his grip on the reins, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

He sees it, Fiona thought. He sees the loneliness I try so hard to hide.

And perhaps—perhaps he remembered, too, the bruise she had worn when last they met. The price she had paid for being alone in the world.

Fiona shifted slightly, smoothing the folds of her skirt, a prickling self-consciousness creeping over her.

Let it not be pity I see in his eyes. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Isaac adjusted the reins with a careful hand. “Elaine was always dragging me into her chaos,” he said, his mouth tilting into something close to a smile. “I spent half my youth pulling her out of one scrape after another.”

Fiona glanced at him from beneath her lashes, catching the faint softening of his expression.

“She speaks fondly of you,” she said.

Isaac gave a low chuckle. “She embellishes more than she ought. I was merely the long-suffering brother who tried to prevent her from setting the house ablaze.”

Fiona laughed lightly, and he continued, the lines around his mouth easing further.

“Now, of course, she has her own terrors to manage. Rebecca fancies herself a pirate these days. She staged a mutiny against her nurse only last week.”

Fiona pressed a gloved hand to her mouth, stifling her mirth.

“And David?” she asked.

Isaac’s gaze softened even more. “David believes himself the guardian of all. He insists upon escorting his sister even to the breakfast table, lest the ‘goblins’ steal her away.” He shook his head, though a clear fondness lingered in his voice. “He is all seriousness and solemnity. I fear for what he shall become once he is truly of age.”

Fiona’s chest warmed at the picture he painted—a man who hid loyalty and affection beneath layers of indifference.

He cares deeply, she thought, surprised. More deeply than I ever imagined.

And with that realization, a stubborn flame of hope stirred within her.

Perhaps, underneath it all, the beast possesses a heart after all.

She watched him from the corner of her eye—the firm line of his jaw, softened now by memory, and the steady strength of his hands on the reins.

Dare I reach for the sound of that heart?

The carriage rolled through the bustling streets of London, the genial afternoon light casting a golden haze over the city, and Fiona found herself pondering the answer.

“You are terribly quiet,” Isaac said after a moment, glancing her way. “Have I bored you into a stupor?”

Fiona smiled, tilting her head. “Not at all. I was merely marveling at your hidden depths, Your Grace.”

He lifted a brow. “Hidden depths?”

“Indeed. I had thought you merely a brooding figure who scowled more than he smiled.”

“A flattering portrait,” he drawled. “And what am I now, in your expert estimation?”

“Marginally less brooding,” Fiona replied, a mischievous sparkle lighting her gaze. “And perhaps only slightly terrifying.”

A laugh rumbled from Isaac, low and genuine.

“You wound me, Lady Fiona.”

“I believe you shall recover,” she said sweetly.

Isaac turned more fully toward her, the reins slack in his hands, his gaze steady.

“I might—if you promise not to think too ill of me.”

Fiona felt an unfamiliar warmth bloom in her chest but held his gaze without flinching.

“That depends entirely on your future conduct,” she said.

“Then I must endeavor to charm you yet,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a smile that was entirely too wicked for her peace of mind.

The carriage turned onto a quieter lane, the clatter of hooves muffled by softer streets. For a moment, it felt as though they were the only two souls in the world.

Fiona looked away, biting back a smile. Perhaps there is hope for us after all.