Page 7 of How to Bewitch a Duke (Lady Be Seductive #3)

Six

T he sky hung low with grey clouds that threatened rain, but the drawing room at Harwood Hall was aglow with soft firelight. Lady Isla Thompson sat near the window, her embroidery lying untouched in her lap, though the needle was still threaded and ready. She hadn’t stitched a single loop in over an hour. Her thoughts were not on her needlework. They were on Lucian and what she had read thus far in her mother’s journal.

She had not seen him since that day he had come to visit her, to beg her to forgive him—she had done everything in her power to avoid any place he might be because she was not ready to revisit that day, or any aspect of their past. But still, he lingered in her thoughts like the echo of a melody she could not silence. The pain of the past still clung to her, but so too did the memory of how it had felt to be held in his arms, to hear the low rumble of his voice speaking only to her. To see the ache in his eyes and know it was for her. She ought to hate him. She had told herself she did. But her heart was not so obedient.

Her mother’s journal had only made her question her decisions. What if she had been wrong by pushing him away? Should she have at least listened to what he had to say. He claimed that she would be in danger if he had remained steadfast in their love. Had it been that simple? He had broken her heart to protect her. Could she believe that? Her mother had believed in the power of love and had expressed that in clear concise words. Isla had taken those words to heart.

She reached once more for the small, leather-bound journal resting open on the table beside her. Her fingers lingered over the worn edge of the page—the same page she had read over a dozen times since last night.

Fear of the future will delay the first…

She did not know if her mother had truly possessed the gift of foresight as some in the village whispered, or if it had merely been a mother’s instinct to understand her daughters more than they understood themselves. But those words… they felt like a balm and a burden all at once. Had her fear—of pain, of loss, of loving a man who might hurt her again—kept her from something that could bring her joy?

She pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes drifting once more to the fire crackling in the hearth. If she allowed herself to believe him… if what Lucian said was true, then his sacrifice had been born of love, not cruelty. And if he had faced some great danger—if he had borne it alone, in silence, in order to keep her safe—then every angry word she had thrown at him, every ounce of her scorn, had been unjust.

A knock sounded at the door, firm but polite. Isla startled from her thoughts, the journal slipping closed in her lap. “Come in,” she called softly, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands.

The butler entered with a slight bow. “Your ladyship. A letter has arrived for you. Marked urgent.”

She accepted the missive, her pulse fluttering as she read the seal. It was from London—no crest, but the handwriting was unmistakable. Lucian’s. Once the door had closed behind the butler, she broke the seal and unfolded the letter with careful fingers.

Isla, my love,

I do not presume to ask for your forgiveness. But I do ask for a chance to speak. There are things I have kept from you—truths I thought would protect you, but now I see they only drove you away. I cannot live with that mistake any longer.

My past is no longer a threat to us. It has been resolved. My heart, however, still belongs to you. It has always belonged to you.

If there is even the smallest part of you that wishes to understand—please, meet me one last time. Tonight, beneath the willow where we first spoke of forever, and where I made the gravest mistake of my life. The place I hope, most fervently, will once again be a place of joy if the fates, and your gentle heart, allows it.

I will wait until sunset. If you do not come, I will understand. But I shall not give up hope.

Yours, Always,

—Lucian

Isla stared at the page for a long time. Her hand shook as she folded it closed and pressed it to her chest. The willow, their sacred meeting place. He remembered, of course, and so did she how much that location meant. The promises they had made each other there, and yes, the place he had broken her heart. They had had a conversation, a brief meeting, there recently—the night of the masquerade. That night had not gone well, but that was mostly because of her own fears.

She looked toward the window, where the clouds continued to gather over the hills. Rain would come soon. But still she knew, without doubt, that she would likely go meet him. Mayhap her mother had been right—perhaps love no matter how haunted by fear, could be enough. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to find out. She nibbled on her lips in contemplation, but she did not move from where she sat. There was much to consider, and she could not go to him without being certain of her own feelings.

A soft knock pulled her from her reverie, and moments later, her sisters swept into the room—Athena, radiant and flushed with happiness, and Maeve, equally glowing, though there was always something a little more solemn in Maeve’s smile.

“Oh Isla,” Athena said with a bright laugh, “I declare, this house is entirely too quiet without us.”

They were so alike in many ways, her sisters, and not just because they were twins. They both had an exuberance that stole her breath. She had never been that carefree. Almost as if she had been born with an old soul to restrained for something joyous to intrude upon her environment.

Maeve grinned. “Do not let Father hear you say that. He’s likely relishing the silence.”

Isla rose to greet them, embracing them both warmly, though their presence brought a sharp pang of longing to her chest. They looked so content—so complete in their joy. It was impossible not to feel a little envious.

“You are both glowing,” Isla said softly, meaning it. “Marriage suits you.” She smiled. “And father is not at home. He had business in London, but I suspect that Maeve is correct. He does enjoy his solitude; however, I have no doubt he misses you both.”

Athena squeezed her hand. “I do recommend marriage—at least to the right man. I hope you find your match one day.”

Isla opened her mouth to respond—perhaps to deflect, perhaps to deny—but Maeve interrupted gently.

“We’ve been speaking of Mama’s journal,” she said, settling into a chair near the hearth. “We hoped you have found time to read it, but we understand if you are taking your time. We both did.”

Athena nodded. “And it is important that you read it when the time is right for you.”

“I was never certain I wished to read her words. I feared it might hurt more than it would heal.” Isla shook her head and sighed. “But I was wrong to wait. I have started reading it and you are right that it is important. Her words…” Isla’s voice trailed off.

“Leave you breathless,” Maeve urged gently. “There is something there meant for each of us in that journal, have you just started reading it?”

Athena’s expression sobered. “It helped me see my own path, and I think it will help you too.”

Isla blinked. “I am almost finished with it, and I think you are right. It has helped me see what I should do?” She did not tell them that she had read every word. Isla did not know why she held that back. Perhaps because she was not ready to fully discuss what her mother had written.

Athena nodded. “I do not wish to rush you….” She nibbled on her lip. “But…”

“It’s the prophecy,” Maeve said. Of course they wished to discuss that part of their mother’s journal. Isla was still contemplating the meaning of it and just nodded at Maeve as if encouraging her to continue speaking. “You must read it. Promise us that you will.”

“I… I promise.” Isla frowned, but because she misunderstood. No, she frowned because she hated lying to her sisters. “Should I be concerned?”

They both shook their head, but it was Athena that answered. “No, I do not think you should worry at all, but it will give you insight.” She glanced at Maeve. “It is what led us to the men we both adore, and I think, that it will help you with your duke.”

Isla sighed. “I am not so certain about that…” A lot of hurt still laid between her and Lucian. “But I promise I will read it”

“That is all we can ask,” Maeve said softly. “And if after you read it you wish to talk…”

“I know where to find you both.” She smiled at them. “I will be all right. Neither of you need worry about me.”

“We cannot help it,” Athena said. “We love you.”

She smiled at them both. Isla adored both of her sisters, and she was so happy they had found love. She was not as certain as they appeared to be that she would have that for herself. Her chance had come and gone, and she had the heartbreak to remind her of that loss.

The visit with Athena and Maeve was far too brief, but it had been filled with laughter and memories. Once the door closed behind them, Isla was left in silence once more. She hesitated only a moment before retrieving the leather-bound journal. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the worn cover and turned the pages, the ink faded but legible. Then she found it—the entry they had mentioned to her—the prophecy—the words that had been haunting her since she had first read them.

One day, they will find men to love them. I’ve seen that too. Fear of the future will delay the first, and temptation will be too much for one twin, and heartbreak will be another’s undoing. In the end, if they choose the right path, it will lead to a happy future, and even if our family’s supposed magical abilities haunt them, that love will be enough to guide them.

Isla’s breath caught. Fear of the future… It felt as though the words had been written for her. She set the journal in her lap, her thoughts troubled as she considered the words in her mother’s journal. Was her fear of the future—of losing Lucian, of giving him her heart once more—delaying the very happiness her mother had foreseen? Had heartbreak undone her, just as her mother had said it would? She closed her eyes, feeling tears sting the corners. What if love truly was enough?

Did Lucian truly still love her? And what if… just once… she allowed herself to believe? The thought stirred something warm in her chest, something that refused to be extinguished, no matter how fiercely she tried to bury it. Hope—damnable, beautiful hope.

She knew what she had to do—where she had to go. Isla picked up Lucian’s missive once more, read it, and then held it against her chest. Her heart beat heavily inside her chest. Even though rain threatened to fall at any moment, she had to go to him. It was time to listen to him and then decide if they had a future together. Because she loved him, had always loved him, and if there was even a small chance of them finding happiness she had to take it.