Page 13 of Tall, Dark and December (The Rake Review #12)

EPILOGUE II: ISABELLA

WHERE A REBELLIOUS YOUNG WOMAN ENDS AN ASSOCIATION

I sabella winced when she bumped her injured finger as she alighted from the rented hack and slipped on the icy cobblestones. She’d jammed her needle into her skin this morning upon hearing her sister proclaim The Rake Review finished, the author retiring, which was the rumor around London after the year-long hiatus since the last edition.

The fog enveloped her legs past the ankle as she crept along the alley. The Belle had directed her to meet at the third door, bright blue and not easily missed, on the left.

When Isabella got closer, she observed a woman shrouded in secrets and gabardine standing there. The veil covering her face was too thick for Isabella to confirm her identity, although she had her suspicions.

Halting before the Belle, she held out the envelope. “This is the only information I was able to gather about the gentleman in question. I’m sorry, but I can’t continue to help you. I’ve been instructed that an embroidery business isn’t suitable for a woman on the hunt for a husband or related, by marriage, to a duke. Freedom is a rare thing in my world.”

“I understand.” The Belle paused, mist swirling, then whispered, “She loves him?”

Isabella frowned before the meaning of her question took hold. “Penelope? Gads, it’s more than love. She and West can’t stand to be away from each other for even an afternoon. They’re friends . If he weren’t the absolute best man in every sense, I’d be sickened.” She laughed, the pinch of jealousy she experienced over her sister’s love story surely indicating she was irredeemable. She loved Pen more than anything and wanted her to be happy.

Nevertheless, her loneliness was a defining presence of late, a stone upon her shoulders.

As if she sensed Isabella’s despair, the Belle reached out with a black-gloved hand and gently grasped her arm. “You may not believe it, but not all men are rakes. Some are… good .”

The word tiptoed through the mist, filled with its own melancholy.

Isabella started to ask: What happened to you to make you write this column?

But the Belle disappeared into the night before she could.