Page 18

She said this gently. But it was also such a stubborn, definitive, astute assertion that it jarred him. In part because he was unaccustomed to being countermanded by a woman. He both did and did not like it.

She’d said it as though she saw in him qualities that made him worthy of being gazed upon by her lovely eyes. Qualities he had perhaps dismissed as of no worth.

It made him want to be the person she thought he was.

Perhaps he already was that person?

What if he was only this person with her? A strange panic clawed at him.

His throat felt tight. “ You are a good person,” he said quietly and firmly. As if correcting a fine point.

Her cheeks pinkened. “You ought to know. You were the top boy at university, after all.”

This time his laugh was pained. As if his spirit had to stretch to contain the sheer magnitude of all he felt about her.

“I have worries, too, Mr. Redmond, and some are frivolous and admittedly selfish. I am not at all perfect and I do not always feel like a good person, either.”

“If I could, I would take all your worries away.”

He’d said it without thinking, and too fervently.

Which shocked both of them.

Because that little catch in her throat was the sound of him taking her breath away.

Her eyes had gone stunned and starry. Her hand flew to her heart.

She looked to him like precious softness itself and it seemed absurd not to gather her into his body to protect her, to be as close to her as possible. Suddenly, at the mercy of his reflexes, he was moving toward her to do exactly that, and she was moving to meet him.

“Isaiah!”

He froze, jolted.

Then spun about.

His sister stood in the doorway of the town hall, beckoning him with swoops of her hand.

What the devil ? Isaiah shaded his eyes. The curricle the Redmonds used for short drives in good weather waited outside the town hall, a pair of matched grays in harness.

Why on earth had Diana driven into town when the picnic was due to begin in less than an hour?

“Isaiah, will you come and help me adjust the bunting?” she called.

He closed his eyes and swore softly. “If you’ll forgive me, Miss Sylvaine.”

He pivoted, and went.

Damned if Isaiah could see anything wrong with the bunting, but he gamely climbed the ladder beneath the swag at which his sister pointed. They were alone in the town hall. It was redolent of newness: paint and plaster and fresh-cut wood. The building ought to last for generations.

“Why on earth are you here, Diana? Shouldn’t you be home preparing for the picnic?”

“Isaiah...what are you doing?”

“I thought I was meant to adjust the bunting,” he said dryly.

“I meant, what are you doing with Miss Isolde Sylvaine?”

His lungs seized.

He slowly turned to look at his sister.

Her expression wasn't wholly judgmental. It was also worried, and soft, and a little frightened.

That's when he knew that confusion and desperation were likely written all over his face.

Which made him furious, which was how he felt any time he felt exposed.

He turned abruptly away again. How and why did she suspect anything?

Did anyone else suspect anything?

He loathed worrying his sister.

How he wished to God he dared confide in her.

The only person to whom he’d ever confided his real worries was Isolde.

“She's very amiable, Isaiah, isn't she?” Diana went on brightly, in a rush. “Miss Isolde Sylvaine. Her manners and her sister’s manners are a bit, ah...lively. But she's a good girl and a good person.” She said all of this gently, but firmly.

They both knew the unspoken end of the that sentence was: ... and that's all she is.

She hadn't money, a title, or a particularly distinguished family name. She would elevate no one's stature or fortunes. No Redmond would even consider such a match.

And if he was a gentleman—if he was a genuinely decent man—he would not trifle with Miss Sylvaine. That was Diana’s implication.

Especially since his own engagement was presumed imminent, and there would be no recovering from the social disaster of jilting the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s daughter.

Barring road accidents or highwaymen, Fanchette would likely arrive this afternoon.

He knew his sister was by way of giving him a verbal shake, as though he'd inadvertently taken opium and needed sobering.

How on earth had she noticed? Had he been obvious, after all?

Or was it merely a passing suspicion? His thoughts roiled.

He was forcefully reminded that everything he did reflected on her, and their family. Everything he did influenced her opportunities in the world.

And she was already so uncertain of them. His stomach felt leaden.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know she is a good person.”

He couldn’t meet his sister’s eyes.

“ I’m very much looking forward to seeing Miss Tarbell,” Diana added more cheerfully, still firmly. “I’m sure she’ll be the most beautiful girl at the Assembly and all of our friends here in Pennyroyal Green will be quite in awe of her.”

After a moment Isaiah said, quietly, “No doubt.”

Isolde released a long, shuddering breath as the door of the hall closed behind Isaiah and his sister. She feared her heart might explode like a firework.

If she was not mistaken, whatever was happening between her and Mr. Redmond had nearly just ignited into something from which there would be no return.

How on earth had it come to this point? The momentum seemed dizzying yet inevitable, as though the two of them were at the mercy of a natural law. There was no turning around mid-air when one decides to take a flying leap, after all.

She was uncertain what to do now. She’d earlier agreed with Maria that she would meet her at the foot of the Redmond’s drive just before noon, since they would be approaching from opposite ends of town. It was a short enough walk for both of them.

Should she wait for Mr. Redmond and Miss Redmond to emerge from the church?

But the curricle was only a two-passenger carriage.

And she could not, of course, walk alone with Isaiah.

The town hall door suddenly swung open. Isolde watched Isaiah and his sister board the curricle. Isaiah glanced swiftly, once, in her direction, then ducked his head as he took the reins and snapped them over the backs of the gray horses.

The swift little carriage drove away.

Isolde stared after them, stunned. Perhaps there was an emergency involving the picnic or something else at their home?

But it stung like a shunning.

An odd foreboding settled over her. She shrugged, as if to shake it off.

With hands suddenly clumsy with nerves, she moved to the side of the churchyard opposite the vicarage and fumbled with the latch on the gate.

It finally gave.

She closed the gate behind her. When she turned, she jerked and took a step backward, shocked, her heart jolting.

A man was standing near the fence.

He was half obscured by the drooping willow boughs, and so still she could have easily missed him if she hadn’t paused.

Her senses knew first. Spangles rained from her scalp over her arms and her eyes blurred in shock.

Then her very being clanged with an almost violent joy, like the bell in the church tower.

“Jacob?” It was more of an exhale than a word.

But the man didn’t reply.

Perhaps she was hallucinating him?

Finally, he said, “You look well, Isolde.”

A peculiar unease crept into her joy. It was, indeed, his beloved, familiar voice. But his tone was flat and his expression unreadable. So very unlike him. Never had he regarded her in any neutral way.

His eyes seemed more brilliant in his sun-gold face, which was all elegant planes and angles now. Not a hint of boyish softness remained. His shoulders seemed broader. He was lean. Too lean.

He was Jacob same, yet so different. Thrillingly so.

Frighteningly so.

She suddenly felt very shy and uncertain.

Perhaps he felt shy, too?

The notion of a shy Jacob Eversea seemed more outlandish than a hallucinated one.

She took a tentative step closer. “But when did…”

The rest of her sentence evaporated in the face of his mercilessly inscrutable expression.

“I arrived in Pennyroyal Green a few hours ago and stopped in at Smithfield Curtis. Whereupon Mr. Curtis suggested I might want to visit the churchyard this morning to admire the preparation for the town hall celebration.”

The back of her neck prickled with portent. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“How…how long have you been back in England?”

“Yesterday. I visited White’s to catch up on the news. Had a look at their betting book, in fact.”

Bewilderingly, his delivery was almost accusatory.

Suddenly, all at once, his familiar spirit seemed to reanimate his cold stillness. He huffed out an impatient breath. “Isolde…I heard you.”

A terrible tension, some suppressed emotion she couldn’t identify, thrummed in his words.

“I beg your pardon, Jacob?”

He yanked off his hat and pushed a hand through his hair. “I…I heard your voice. Yours and…” It was as though the next word was so covered in brambles and excrement he could hardly get it out. “…Redmond’s.”

Realization crawled over her skin on icy, spidery legs.

He’d been watching her and Isaiah for some time.

Someone must have told him she would be here.

With Isaiah.

And Smithfield Curtis was one of the main gossip hubs for Pennyroyal Green.

Clink, clink, clink . A cascade of far-too-late realizations crashed like dominos in her mind. Her heart began rabbit-kicking with dread.

“Mr. Redmond is helping with tidying up the churchyard in preparation for the festivities,” she said stiffly. But her mouth had gone dry. “As was I.”

The flash of cynicism in Jacob’s eyes frightened her. “You were laughing with him, Isolde.”

“I often laugh. You know that I do. With everyone.” She’d tried for insouciance, but the words sounded gruesomely brittle in her own ears. They sounded like guilty guilty guilty.

A horrible silence ensued.