Page 28 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

Chapter Nineteen

Lady Isla was indisposed.

This is what Falks, the butler, told any visitor with a mournful voice and a long-suffering expression.

As a result, Isla received bouquets of flowers, well-wishes and concerned messages from all the visitors who had hoped to see her.

Algie, too, had sent up a basket of oranges and a cordial of Dr Rothely’s Purging Elixir, when she did not appear at breakfast the next morning.

It was entirely true. Isla lay in bed in a darkened room with a thudding headache. She had not slept a wink, but tossed and turned all night.

She was mourning Teddy.

Dear, sweet Teddy, who had turned out to be nothing but a fictitious creation, a charming illusion crafted by one of the most despicable men in London.

Teddy, who had claimed he loved her. Teddy, whom she had grown genuinely fond of and, in quiet moments, believed herself to be in love with as well.

Shy, sweet Teddy who would not harm a fly, who read every wish from her eyes, whose greatest passion (besides courting her) was clocks.

Perhaps he would appear again that morning, waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, a crooked smile on his face and a bouquet in his hand, and everything would be as it had been.

But no.

She need not ask why he had done it: that much was obvious.

Lucian Night had assumed the persona of Lord Thaddaeus Linwood to worm his way into her life and gain leverage over his arch-nemesis: her brother. It was a wicked, vicious plan, but also utterly brilliant. She had to grant him that.

Isla gazed sadly at the special orchids he had gone to such lengths to find for her.

The story had been so charming, but it was more than likely it had never happened at all.

The flowers stood in their pot on the table by the window and had wilted, clearly struggling in their current environment.

She would instruct the maid to remove them.

What was she to do now?

They had both betrayed her, the two men she had loved most.

One had been her life, her family. Her trust and faith in Algie had always been absolute.

There had never been a secret she had kept from him, a fear he had not eased, a doubt he had not assuaged.

Algie was her anchor, steady, unwavering, reliable.

Good-natured, kind Algie, who had rescued her from the orphanage and comforted her when she cried herself to sleep, aching for Jem.

Algie, who had always stood by her. Algie, who believed she could do no wrong.

But tonight, she had glimpsed something new: a cold, calculating harshness.

She had always known, deep down, that this aspect of him existed.

He was a politician, after all, a most successful one, and power demanded a certain ruthlessness.

But never had he revealed it to her, nor admitted so openly that he had used her for his own purposes.

A part of her comprehended why he had done it.

Lucian Night had presented him with an opportunity that was too good to refuse.

Yet instead of including her openly in his schemes, Algie had chosen to leave her in the dark.

He had said that Night was his marionette.

Well, so was she. He had pulled the strings, and she had danced to his melody.

Unwittingly, unknowingly, only to discover she’d been but a worm on a hook.

Fish bait.

It wounded her deeply.

She shivered, even though the fire blazed in the hearth, and she curled in the armchair, rubbing her arms in an attempt to console herself.

Then there was the other. Merely thinking about him caused a dull, throbbing ache in the area of her heart that nearly made her gasp.

If Algie’s betrayal stung, this one made her bleed.

Algie, she could forgive. It would be difficult, but one day, she knew she would work through it all and reach that point when she could release her anger and absolve him.

But Teddy. How could she ever forgive him?

How could she ever forgive herself?

How was she to endure the next few days, knowing what she did now?

Algie wanted her to continue the charade until the bitter end. She would need to go on playing the role of the enamoured betrothed in public. She’d have to smile at Night, pretending she had not witnessed his crimes.

She would have to feign affection, allow him to hold her hand as though nothing had changed.

She jumped up from her armchair and walked up and down, agitated. What if he tried to embrace her? What if he, heaven forbid, attempted to kiss her again? Would she have to permit it?

Isla let her head fall against the back of the armchair with a groan.

It was so utterly vexing, this entire situation!

The instructions she’d received from Algie were clear. She was to maintain a cheerful, tranquil facade, eagerly anticipating her wedding.

“Continue with the activities as planned,” Algie had advised.

“Let him take you on walks in the park, to balls, dinners, and so forth. Use every acting skill you possess. Do not let him suspect that you know of his true identity. Do not address what you have witnessed at the warehouse. My advice is that you act as though that scene in the warehouse never happened. Erase it from your memory. It’s the only way to remain convincing. ”

“What you’re asking for is cruel,” Isla whispered .

“I’m certain you can do this. Have faith. It won’t be for long, I promise.”

Now, as Isla prepared for their ride to Regent’s Park, she steeled herself, determined to behave as if nothing had changed. She tied the bonnet under her chin more firmly than usual.

Teddy arrived in his curricle.

He looked splendid, dressed in grey, with a beaver hat sitting at a rakish angle.

He jumped down with lithe grace and beamed at her when she stepped outside.

It was jarring to see him like this, when her last memory of him was in that horrible warehouse, spitting out orders to his minions in that cold voice of his.

She repressed a shudder and squared her shoulders.

Act, she told herself. Act.

She forced a smile onto her face.

“Isla.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I was terribly worried when I learned you were ill. Are you certain that you feel better now?” He looked at her with such earnestness that a lump stuck in her throat. His voice was affectionate and not at all cold and cruel.

“Certainly,” she managed to say. “I am much improved. Getting some fresh air will be quite the thing as I’ve been languishing in my room for the past few days.”

Her conversation felt stilted, but it was the best she could do for the moment.

He helped her into the curricle and tugged a woollen blanket about her with solicitous care.

“It is too warm for a blanket,” Isla protested.

“We need to make sure that you won’t fall ill again,” he said, and would have tucked a heated brick under her feet if she hadn’t protested vehemently that she would die of heat.

Teddy chattered cheerfully about this and that, including the clock he’d espied in Lord Alfred Hambry’s sitting room, quite by chance.

“It is a real Tompion clock, Lala, one of the year-long clocks,” he said, and proceeded to describe the longcase made of walnut, while Isla fiddled with the strings of her reticule, letting him talk.

“I tried to talk him into selling it to me, but he refused. I might not have offered him enough of an incentive,” he added in an afterthought.

“I was thinking it would be the perfect clock for the corridor in our home.”

Our home, he’d said. A touch of melancholy overcame her as she realised that would never happen.

“How many clocks will we have in our home?” she asked with a deliberately cheerful smile.

“At least twenty,” he replied promptly, then proceeded to describe them all with such earnestness that she found it difficult to accept that he was pretending. His face was animated, his cheeks were covered with a faint flush, his brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

Her gaze fixated on his lips, watching them move. His upper lip was fuller than the lower one, and the corners of his lips lifted upwards when he talked. His enthusiasm was infectious and charming. Surely, he couldn’t be that good an actor to feign such sincerity.

“You don’t happen to have a twin brother, do you?” she interrupted curtly .

He dropped the hand with which he attempted to indicate the size of the clock and gave her a startled look. “Not that I know of.”

“Pity,” she said under her breath.

Teddy parked the curricle under a tree by the boating lake. His tiger, John, jumped from his stand at the back of the curricle and retrieved a wicker basket.

“I thought we might take luncheon here,” Teddy said, gesturing toward the lake, “since the weather is fine, and the view finer still.”

The water lay still and glassy, disturbed only by the gentle drift of swans and ducks gliding between reeds. A soft mist rose in silver tendrils, lending the scene the dreamy quality of a Turner painting.

John spread a blanket beneath the shelter of trailing willows and unpacked their picnic: cold meats, a crusty loaf, ripe fruit, and a bottle of wine.

Isla felt her tension ease, caught up in the quiet romance of the moment. The crisp air sharpened her appetite, and she bit eagerly into a ruby-red strawberry.

“Food always tastes better out of doors,” she said, reaching for another. “Twice as good, at least.”

Teddy nodded, assembling a simple slice of bread with meat. “It doesn’t need to be champagne and caviar. Sometimes the plainest fare outshines a king’s banquet.” He held the slice toward her. “Here—try.”

She leaned forward and took a bite, her lips grazing his fingers. A blush bloomed in her cheeks. She touched her mouth, flustered, and turned her gaze to the lake.

There was something unexpectedly intimate in being fed.

Just when she wanted to turn to him to ask whether he could pour her another glass of wine, a girl stepped from the shadow of the tree.

“Would you have your fortune told, my lady?”