Page 32 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

“Aunt Isobel? Are you still awake?” Clara asked as she opened the door. She peered inside, her curls wrapped in a rose-colored scarf to match Isobel’s—a much-loved birthday gift from a much-loved aunt.

It was late, and the candelabra in Clara’s hand cast long, flickering shadows on the walls of Isobel’s bedchamber. She wanted to say no or that she was too sick. She wanted to be left to her grief, but Clara’s expression reminded her so much of how she felt that she couldn’t deny her.

“What has you looking so morose?” Isobel asked, pulling the covers back and patting the bed beside her.

Padding across the floor, Clara let out a huff of a breath. “I got another letter from Mr. Briggsly,” she said, her frown deepening as she placed the candelabra down and scooted under the covers.

“And? I thought you were becoming fond of him?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m as fond of him as you are of Dick .”

“Clara!” Isobel scolded half-heartedly.

“He should have defended you the other day with his parents—he was the only one who could have done so. Instead, he sat there like a coward. Besides, you didn’t mind me calling him that before,” she said slyly.

“Just don’t let your father hear you. He’ll think I put you up to it.”

“He’s fully aware I am responsible for my own detours from polite society, and that I’m more than capable of my own mischief, thank you very much,” Clara said with pride.

Isobel couldn’t help but smile a little. The distraction was nice—it took the edge off her own unbearable misery. “Fine, then, you rebel. So, the esteemed Mr. Briggsly wrote to you. What about that, particularly, has you so upset?”

“I think he is intending to propose.” Clara didn’t hide the disgust from her voice.

“You can tell him no,” Isobel offered.

“Yes, but if it isn’t him then it’ll be Lord Carson or the younger son of the Duke of Roring, whose name I scarcely remember. I swear more appear each day, and Papa won’t let me get away with not being married until I’m your age, you know that.”

“I do, but I also don’t think he expects you to marry the first gentleman who shows interest. Despite his many flaws”—Clara snorted at this—“he isn’t trying to get rid of you. He’ll want the match to be the best match for all involved. You have plenty of options.”

“But isn’t it seen as some sort of omen if one doesn’t marry in their debut Season?” Clara whispered. Shame and something else that Isobel couldn’t quite identify laced her words.

If that was the case, Isobel had collected quite a few omens. “Well, why don’t you want to marry, is the question.”

“You can’t tell Papa. Swear it.”

“Unless you’re plotting something truly devious, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Clara gave her an insistent look.

“I swear!” Isobel exclaimed.

Her niece pulled the covers all the way up to her nose as she said, “I want to go to medical school.”

Isobel’s heart cracked. She knew all too well how it felt, wanting to be someone or something she couldn’t be. “Oh, my sweet girl. They don’t allow women into those institutions.”

“I could be the first,” she said. And her fire swept through whatever uncertainty she had been feeling as she rolled on her back and slapped the covers down with her arms. “Or I could apprentice with a midwife or a doctor. That’s what I truly want to do anyway.

I want to revolutionize the way women are treated when it comes to their health, especially concerning childbirth.

If we are going to be seen as nothing but brood mares, the least society can do for us is make it to where we don’t die in the act. ”

Ah, that was the real reason, then. Her mother, Hetty, had died giving birth to her. Everything suddenly made sense. Her thirst for knowledge was fueled by something much deeper. If anyone could convince a medical school to let her in, it was Clara.

“Well,” Isobel said, nodding slowly, “I think it is a fine idea. And perhaps if you said it just like that, your father would have no option but to listen. You can also get married and become a midwife.”

“Do you really think Papa would allow it?”

Isobel sighed. “I don’t really know,” she answered honestly.

He was fiercely protective over Clara and was always concerned for her well-being.

Isobel thought about the last thing he’d said to her.

He saw it as a woman’s role to marry, like the rest of society, but would he deny his youngest daughter this?

Clara blew out a noisy breath. “Me either, but I suppose I can be brave and at least ask him. Now, what’s wrong with you? Beyond having caught a cold. You’ve been particularly mysterious and glum these last couple of days.”

Clara had always been overly perceptive. There was no point in lying about this. “I feel … heartbroken,” Isobel replied. Even the word made her want to cry, but she wouldn’t dare do so in front of her niece.

“Hmm,” Clara hummed. “Are you in love with someone, then?”

Isobel’s heart palpitated. Love . “What makes you say that?”

“Because for a moment there, I thought you had maybe started to fall in love with Lord Richard, but that isn’t the case, is it?

Especially after that dreadful afternoon with his parents—do not get me started on that debacle again.

Oooo , do tell me who it is. It’ll distract me from my own sorrows,” she said, dramatically placing the back of her hand to her forehead.

Isobel groaned. Had she truly been so open with her emotions? She didn’t think so. Clara just had the uncanny ability to sit quietly and observe so as not to alert her father to the fact that she should be in a lesson.

“You’re not acquainted with him,” she said carefully. “And it doesn’t matter. We can never be together.”

“Is he married? Is he a prince? No—a servant, then?” Clara’s enthusiasm grew with each guess.

Isobel flapped her hand to make her stop. “None of those, but it doesn’t matter. I’m to be wed to Lord Richard.” Even if she could get out of the marriage, it was too late. Ved was probably already gone.

“That’s the only thing stopping you?” Clara asked much louder than she needed to, incredulity dripping from every word.

“Not exactly,” Isobel said miserably. “Even so, I can’t end a betrothal for no good reason only to wed someone else.” Hell, she wasn’t sure the bruises she had would be a good enough excuse. But even if she dared to, she had no way of reaching Ved if he were already gone.

An ache ricocheted through her ribs at the thought.

“How about if the reason is that his head is so far up his own ass?”

“Clara,” Isobel groaned, but couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity.

“I’m merely saying,” she amended, “there are several reasons to call off the wedding. You didn’t know about the special license, nor did you really even get proposed to the correct way.

I’m surprised he even got you a betrothal gift, that’s how sudden it was.

Probably snatched it off some unsuspecting fool on his way over that day. ”

They laughed, as quietly as they could, until tears overtook them from trying to stifle the sound. Isobel’s head pounded with the effort, but it felt good to feel something other than sadness for a brief moment.

When they settled, though, Clara was still set on getting answers. “So, you love this mystery gentleman?”

Her heart answered before her lips. “I think I do. And if I don’t now, I definitely could love him. It would be very easy to.”

“Does he let you be yourself? Make you laugh? Cherish you?” Clara asked excitedly. “Is he everything Dick isn’t?”

Isobel nodded, unable to open her mouth lest a sob escape her.

“And,” Clara continued, “have you ever felt like this before?”

“No,” Isobel said quietly. “Never. I thought feelings like these only existed in books.”

Clara gave her a sideways glance. “Like the novels you hide behind your side table?”

“Oh, God. Please don’t tell me you’ve read them!”

The face Clara made was answer enough.

“You are the worst!” Isobel hissed, grabbing a pillow and weakly hitting her with it several times. She should have known that nothing was safe from her niece. Clara had probably been snooping when she should have been practicing her piano forte or memorizing poems.

“That is beside the point,” Clara said, easily defending herself from the onslaught.

“You can’t let something like that go—only a madwoman would do such a thing.

I know he’s the reason you’ve been spending time away.

You’re visiting him, and that says more than anything how smitten you are.

You don’t give your company so freely to just anyone. ”

“I think it might be too late,” Isobel said, collapsing against the pillows again. The heartbreak swelled in her chest, leaving her unmoored. That pit of unending despair gaped open within her. She’d known the disappointment would hurt. What she hadn’t known was how much her heart would.

He was already gone. And if he wasn’t, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t want her. He was set on vengeance and saw their connection as a weakness. That singular night lived in its own universe, separate from reality and duty.

“It’s not too late. Trust me,” Clara said as she blew out the candle she had come in with and settled at Isobel’s side. “This is how it always works in the books, too. Right when you think all hope is lost, that’s exactly when the main character acts.”

Isobel frowned at the truth of it.

Clara yawned and concluded with, “You more than anyone should know that.”