Page 35

CHAPTER 35

S he looked at me like I’d broken something I could never mend.

There were moments, Isaac had come to learn, when silence lingered not as peace but as unrest. His study—usually a haven of measured thought—felt close, heavy. He stared at the ledgers before him, though he had not turned a page in some time. His mind had drifted once more to Fiona. To the carriage. To the hurt she’d tried, and failed, to conceal.

She had looked at him as though he had wounded something sacred.

He was still weighing the words he had spoken—and those he had left unsaid—when the door opened without ceremony.

“Are you making it a habit of dropping by unannounced now?” he asked without looking up.

Elaine’s voice answered with a soft chuckle. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I lived here once, as you well recall.”

He lifted his eyes to her with a faint smile. “That does not mean you are invited now that you’ve claimed another roof.”

“Bold words for a man whose household runs on the grace of its female occupants,” she said, sweeping into the room as though it still belonged to her.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a raised brow.

“I sent Fiona a note yesterday to say I would call today,” she continued. “There was no reply. So I thought it best to come and see for myself how matters stand.”

“Ah,” Isaac murmured, sitting forward. “She is... not feeling her best.”

Elaine’s posture stiffened. “Oh dear. Where is she? What happened? Has she seen a physician?”

“One question at a time, Elaine,” Isaac said, lifting a hand. “And no, a physician would not be of use in this case. She will be well again soon. She is stronger than she lets on.”

He did not know precisely why Fiona had drawn a firm line regarding her father. He suspected, but he had not pressed. Part of him wanted to honor her decision. But another part—older, colder—could not countenance leaving the matter as it stood. Not when there were threats in play.

Canterlack was not a man to be ignored.

And Holden, for all his failings, was now kin.

Elaine narrowed her eyes. “What have you done to her this time, Isaac?”

“Why must it always be me?” Isaac protested, lifting his hands with exaggerated incredulity.

Elaine offered a knowing smile. “Well, you did say it is not something a physician could remedy.”

“So naturally, you presume I must be the ailment?” he asked, though the corner of his mouth twitched with reluctant amusement.

“Well, you are a handful, little brother. You have always been,” she replied, her tone light but laced with affection.

Isaac chuckled despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. But it did not last.

“I gave Fiona the key to the room,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Elaine’s brow furrowed for a heartbeat before comprehension dawned.

“You did well, Isaac.”

“She found something,” he continued, opening the drawer at his side and withdrawing the small leather-bound journal.

He handed it to her, watching as she accepted it with both hands, her fingers brushing reverently across the worn cover. Her breath caught faintly as she opened to a page, eyes skimming the inked lines.

Moments passed.

Then a tear dropped onto the parchment.

“Elaine,” Isaac said softly, reaching across the desk.

“Mary had been happy,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the page. “She did not deserve the fate she met.”

Her shoulders trembled as more tears welled. “All for what? For placing her trust in a man who betrayed her heart.”

“If only I had been there for her...”

“You did what you could, Elaine. We both did. There is no changing what came to pass,” Isaac said, rising and crossing to her side. He drew her into a quiet embrace, resting his chin against her hair as she wept.

Mary had seen little hope for herself after their father died and left the family in financial ruin. She had chosen love. She had chosen him... That wretch

But he had not chosen her back.

“Why must it always be me?” Isaac protested, lifting his hands with exaggerated incredulity.

Elaine offered a knowing smile. “Well, you did say it is not something a physician could remedy.”

“So naturally, you presume I must be the ailment?” he asked, though the corner of his mouth twitched with reluctant amusement.

“Well, you are a handful, little brother. You have always been,” she replied, her tone light but laced with affection.

Isaac chuckled despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. But it did not last.

“I gave Fiona the key to the room,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Elaine’s brow furrowed for a heartbeat before comprehension dawned.

“You did well, Isaac.”

“She found something,” he continued, opening the drawer at his side and withdrawing the small leather-bound journal.

He handed it to her, watching as she accepted it with both hands, her fingers brushing reverently across the worn cover. Her breath caught faintly as she opened to a page, eyes skimming the inked lines.

Moments passed.

Then a tear dropped onto the parchment.

“Elaine,” Isaac said softly, reaching across the desk.

“Mary had been happy,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the page. “She did not deserve the fate she met.”

Her shoulders trembled as more tears welled. “All for what? For placing her trust in a man who betrayed her heart.”

“If only I had been there for her...”

“You did what you could, Elaine. We both did. There is no changing what came to pass,” Isaac said, rising and crossing to her side. He drew her into a quiet embrace, resting his chin against her hair as she wept.

Mary had seen little hope for herself after their father died and left the family in financial ruin. She had chosen love. She had chosen him... That wretch.

But he had not chosen her back.

Isaac had only been sixteen at the time. He could scarcely offer her more than fierce promises and a boy’s conviction. She had looked elsewhere, and who could blame her? He had not been enough then.

But he would be enough now.

When Elaine had taken her leave, Isaac found himself wandering the corridors with uncharacteristic aimlessness. It had been hours, and Fiona remained unseen. The quiet was beginning to gnaw at him.

I miss her.

He made his way to her chambers and paused before the door. With a quiet knock, he waited.

“Enter,” came the soft reply.

He stepped inside.

She was seated on a chaise by the window, her gaze far away, fixed on the gardens below. The light from the glass bathed her in the late afternoon sun, but even that warmth could not mask the shadow that dulled her expression.

When she turned, her eyes—those rich hazel eyes that usually danced with mischief or sparkled with resolve—held a dimness that stopped him short.

“Isaac,” she said with clear surprise. “I did not expect you.”

He arched a brow, drawing closer. “I do occasionally emerge from my lair, you know.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and she shifted on the cushion. “So it seems.”

He extended a hand. “Come with me.”

Her brows lifted. “Where are we going?”

“You shall see,” he replied, taking her hand and drawing her gently to her feet.

Whatever it takes to see the light return to your eyes, I shall do it.

“To get some air,” he replied, leading her gently from the chamber.

She followed, her steps hesitant at first. But instead of turning toward the garden stairs as she’d expected, Isaac guided her through a corridor and onto the high balcony adjoining his study.

The moment she stepped out, her lips parted in astonishment.

A low table had been laid with a linen cloth, upon which rested a silver tea service and an array of delicate cakes, scones, and preserves. Cushions and rugs were arranged across the floor, lending the air of a private garden fête—only elevated high above the grounds.

“My, an indoor-outdoor picnic?” she gasped, turning toward him. “What a marvelous idea.”

He gave a faint smile, watching her expression carefully. “Glad to see that you approve.”

Her eyes sparkled for the first time in days. “Did you go out of your way to impress me, Your Grace?”

“I was hungry and feeling generous,” he said as he helped her to sit among the cushions. “So I had the tea prepared and extended the invitation to you, Fiona. Do not grow too pleased with yourself.”

She laughed—light, bright, like glass catching sun—and the sound unfurled something warm in his chest.

As she poured out their tea with quiet grace, he said, “Elaine called earlier. She mentioned sending you a note.”

“Oh dear,” Fiona said with a small gasp. “I had meant to respond. Truly. But the day quite escaped me.” Her shoulders dipped in rueful admission.

Isaac lifted the teacup she had just handed him. “It is no matter. She left her regards and said she would call again another day.”

He took a sip and paused mid-swallow. His expression twisted faintly. “I do not know why I expected this to taste any different.”

“Do not call it grass, Isaac,” Fiona warned, raising a brow as she added sugar to her own cup.

“Well, that is what it resembles,” he said, shrugging as he took another sip with resigned fortitude.

She reached over and gave his arm a gentle swat.

Isaac chuckled, setting the cup aside. The laughter lingered for a moment, then faded into something softer.

“I gave Elaine the journal.”

Fiona looked over at him, her expression still and attentive.

“Thank you,” he said, the words quieter now.

“I hardly did anything,” she replied, glancing down at her saucer.

“You found the journal. You placed it in my hands.”

He turned to face her more fully. “You gave me courage, Fiona.”

She blinked at him, visibly startled.

“In more ways than one,” he added, and reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek with reverence.

How is it you steady me, when I did not know I needed anchoring?

Against his better judgement, Isaac found himself succumbing to those emotions once more as he kissed her lips, pulling her closer him as though he never wanted to let her go.

He did not want to let her go. Ever.