After reading the letter one final time, she dashed across the room and pulled the chair out by her desk. She whipped out a piece of parchment, dipped the nib of her quill into the ink, and then she sat, staring at the blankness in front of her, entirely unsure what to write.
Isaac paced in his chambers after reading Diana’s letter. He had been overjoyed to read she was looking forward to seeing him, too. Of course he was. But he couldn’t help feeling a twist of anxiety and guilt. Her letter was both a joy to his heart and a rip in his gut, something both good and bad. He felt on a knife’s edge, and whichever way he fell, someone would be hurt.
That he liked Lady Diana was obvious—he could not hide it even from himself. He thought of her day and night. She entered his dreams, she filled his soul. Everything he did, he managed to link it back to her—she would enjoy this dinner, perhaps I will bring her to the opera one day, Diana would be a wonderful addition to the Dukedom.
Try as he might, he could not rid himself of her, and so, his heart sang when Hobbes entered with the letter, lightly dusted with her scent so that she filled his room. He had never expected to feel like this—not with her, not with anyone in his entire life—and yet he did.
But as he thought about it, his gut twisted that little bit tighter, his lies and his plans getting all the more tangled, until he struggled to see what was right and what was wrong. And it was in these moments that he became cross with himself, irate at his own weakness, his foolish belief that love could be his. It was in these moments that he reprimanded himself for failing his brother and his father.
It was then he reminded himself not to fall in love with her, not when he knew what he would soon have to do to her.
But must I?
He and Thomas had worked on the plan for years and for the most part, Isaac agreed with it. But then there were other times when Isaac felt as though he was being pulled along on a journey he was not altogether sure about. He chewed his lip as he thought, still pacing back and forth in his room, the letter still clutched in his hand.
He had let Thomas down badly. He knew that, and he knew how hurt his brother was even that it was not Lady Celine but Lady Diana, now. To tell Thomas his doubts or even his feelings for Diana would be disastrous. Whenever Isaac waivered, Thomas was always there to back him up, to remind him of their purpose, and Isaac would once again be determined to fulfill that purpose.
I must talk to Thomas.
He had made his decision. Talking to his brother would relieve his confusion and his concern. He carefully folded the letter and placed it under his pillow, then went in search of Thomas. At first, he could not find him—he was neither in his chambers, nor the dining room.
“Hobbes?” he called when he saw the butler pass through the hall.
“Yes, Your Grace?” Hobbes stopped and stood completely still, his shiny shoes clipped neatly together.
“Do you know where Thomas is?” Isaac asked.
“Last I saw him, he was in the drawing room again, Your Grace.”
“Getting drunk?”
“I—” Isaac knew how uncomfortable their bickering made Hobbes, but he always sided with Isaac in the end, as his employer. And so he waited. “Yes, Your Grace, I believe so.”
“Thank you,” he said, then turned in the direction of the drawing room.
He burst through the door, calling Thomas’ name as he went through, his desire for reassurance being overtaken by his fury at Thomas’ irresponsible behavior. Thomas was sprawled on the sofa, the brandy decanter dangling from one hand while he held a cigar in the other.
“Ah, Isaac,” Thomas said, and made some small attempt to sit up, but then he fell back, giggling like a maiden.
“You’re getting drunk, again?”
“Just a tipple, Brother,” Thomas said with a smirk. “Just a tipple. If Father taught us anything, it was a true appreciation of fine brandy.”
He held the decanter up as though in toast, but Isaac shook his head at him.
“It is not an appreciation you have, though, Thomas. It is a problem. You cannot appreciate the drink when you have drunk far too much.”
Thomas sneered at him, scoffing at Isaac’s words.
“Did you only come to berate me, Brother? Because if you have, I’m really not in the mood.”
Isaac sighed, then sat in the chair opposite Thomas. He reached over and took the decanter from his hand, then poured some into two tumblers on the table in front of him. He handed one to Thomas and took one for himself.
“Thank you,” Thomas said, eyeing Isaac suspiciously.
“I did not come here to berate you. Quite the opposite, actually. Although I cannot deny I do not approve of you drinking directly from the decanter.”
Thomas sat up a little straighter at Isaac’s words, and smiled a little.
“Really?” He sounded like a little boy who had the chance at a treat, eager but uncertain.
“Really,” Isaac said. He always softened when he saw his brother smile. Having his brother smile was something he had aimed to do for the longest time, and whenever it happened, he rejoiced. “I don’t like it when we bicker, you know.”
“Me neither,” Thomas said with a half-smile, nodding his head in agreement. “So how was your day?”
“Long,” Isaac replied, pleased Thomas was making an effort. “But it was acceptable. I had a meeting with Lord Chatworth over some investments he and I share. It was profitable enough, I suppose.”
“Ah, the delightful Lord Chatworth. Is he still as arrogant as ever? I remember when he had meetings with Father. He would always come out of them looking smug, while Father looked positively exhausted.”
“Indeed,” Isaac said with a chuckle. “Not much has changed, really, except he is a lot older and I am a little more forceful than Father.”
“The meeting went well, though?”
“Yes, our investments are safe,” he said. “And you, Thomas? Have you done anything useful today?”
He didn’t mean to put the harsh questioning into his voice, but he had been unable to stop it. That Thomas did little was a note of resentment for him. Thomas paused and pursed his lips, seemingly as irritated by the question as Isaac himself was.
“I—”
“You’ve done nothing, haven’t you? Not even a walk in the garden.”
“You know how much I hate the sunshine,” Thomas said with a sulk. “I would much rather find something indoors to do.”
“I know, but it will do you good now and then to get out from the gloom. You won’t even open the curtains, for goodness sake.”
“I will go out for a walk tomorrow,” Thomas said with a sigh, a child conceding to his father. “All right?”
“And while you’re at it, you could look for some employment.”
“Are you that keen to have me out of the house?” Thomas snapped.
“No, Thomas, you know that’s not true. But a man needs to work, or he loses all his spirit. You don’t want to fade away into nothing thanks to your inactivity.”
“I’m not inactive,” he replied. “I have our plan to keep me busy. You need me, remember? Without me—”
“Ah, yes, the plan,” Isaac said dryly, interrupting Thomas.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “I have been meaning to ask—that old manufactory we played in as a child. Do you remember it?”
“The cotton place? Of course I do. Father had investments in it, I believe.”
“I heard it has closed down.”
“Yes,” Isaac said, looking curiously at Thomas. “It moved to bigger premises, I believe.”
“And what is there now?” Thomas asked.
“As far as I am aware, it is derelict. Where is this going, Thomas? What have you on your mind?”
“It matters not,” Thomas said, waving away the question. “Just a thought I had. Now, tell me, how’s it going with Lady Diana? You have not given me an update for a day or two.”
“Yes,” Isaac said, answering with a nod and a sm
ile.
He swirled the brandy around in his glass, letting thoughts of her overwhelm him. In this place, with Thomas, he felt almost like a different person. He felt pleased with how well their plan was going, and not at all concerned about the outcomes.
“Yes?” Thomas asked. “I take it that means things are going well?” His voice had a hopeful note to it, and he leaned forward eagerly.
“I wrote to her, asking when I could see her again.” Isaac thought then of seeing her again, and the turmoil returned, the pull between her and his brother. How dearly he wanted to see her again. He didn’t look at his brother for fear he would see the twinkle in his eye.
“Is that all?”
“No,” Isaac tutted, finally meeting Thomas’ gaze with an eye roll. “I wrote all the things maidens like to hear. I miss you, I had a wonderful time with you. All the usual stuff, you know. I am sure she is swooning over it at this very moment.”
Thomas squealed with glee, his eyes wide with delight. Isaac shifted uncomfortably. He was a little disturbed by Thomas’ reaction—so base, so childlike, but he let it go. Thomas had first spent many years convincing Isaac it was the right thing to do, and then they spent time discussing and plotting, deciding which tortures were best. And then finally, they waited for the lady to come of age. Now that things were finally coming to fruition, and Isaac let his brother enjoy the moment.
“And?” he asked, bouncing in his seat. “Did she write back”?
“Yes, she wrote back,” Isaac said, and again he couldn’t stop the edges of his lips from curling up, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to thoughts of Diana, of her lips so soft and tender. He looked at the floor, but in truth he looked at her, and at the words she had written to him.
“Well?” Thomas asked. Isaac’s head shot up, back in the room all of a sudden, images of Diana fading to nothing.
“Well what?” he asked, irritated by Thomas’ interruption.
“What does it say?” Thomas asked, eager and wide-eyed. “Let me see it!”
“No,” Isaac said, shaking his head in surprise. He had not expected Thomas to ask that, although now that he had it seemed natural enough.
“Why not?” Thomas downed his brandy and refilled the glass again, though Isaac had not touched his yet. Isaac stared into the golden liquid, trying desperately to think of a reasonable excuse.
“Well, I—” Isaac trailed off, a confusion expression on his face.
He couldn’t say why exactly he didn’t want Thomas to see the letter, other than to him, it was deeply personal, a gift from a lady who had made him feel the spark of life for the first time since he was a child.
It was something he wanted only for himself, a part of her she had offered him and no one else, and he wanted to treasure that. But what can I tell Thomas? He set is jaw and returned his gaze to his brother.
“I destroyed it,” he said simply, then drank back his brandy in one.
“Why on Earth would you do something like that?” Thomas asked, leaning forward to refill Isaac’s glass. Isaac pulled it back out of his reach.
“Not for me, thank you,” Isaac said, eyeing his brother. “I’ve had enough. As have you.”
“Don’t avoid the question,” Thomas said, putting the decanter on the floor by his feet.
In easy reach.
“All right,” Isaac said. “The truth is, I didn’t see the purpose in keeping it. It is not important, is it? I am not meant to be some fop in love with the girl. No, it is nothing but a tool in our war.”
“You didn’t think I’d want to read it?” Thomas asked, shaking his head at Isaac in disbelief.
“To be honest, Thomas,” Isaac said with a sigh. “I was so embroiled in the plan that the thought didn’t even enter my head. As soon as I had read it, I threw it on the fire. It is nothing important.”
“You had the fire lit?” Thomas asked, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “In this heat?”
Isaac felt himself redden, realizing his mistake.
“In the kitchen,” he said quickly. “The fire on the stove.”
“You read the letter in the kitchen?”
“Yes,” Isaac said, not making eye contact. “I was in the kitchen. It is my house, I can go wherever I wish.”
Thomas eyed him suspiciously and rightly so. Isaac knew he had made quite a fool of himself in his claim—the chances of him being in the kitchen at all was slim, but to be in the kitchen reading a letter? Isaac knew how ridiculous it sounded, but he couldn’t very well backtrack now.
“If you say so,” Thomas said, not believing. “But don’t become so embroiled in the plan again, or you may find yourself rather too involved with her, if you catch my drift.”
“Yes, I understand what you are saying,” Isaac said.
“And don’t forget, Brother, I am part of this, too. I expect to be involved in all everything.”
“Even the wooing?” Isaac said, hoping the tease would hide his embarrassment at being chastised like a child.
“Don’t be facetious,” Thomas said, a serious expression on his face. “You know very well how serious this is.”
Isaac said nothing but stood to leave.
“Don’t drink too much, Thomas. I worry for your health.”
“Remember, Isaac. We’re doing this for Father.”
Chapter 15
“Goodness, I’ve barely recovered from the last ball and we’re onto another,” Celine said as they walked into the manor house and toward the ballroom.
“You’ll get used to it,” Diana said with a grin.
The pink of her gown had turned from dusky to bright, the silk shining under the lights. She wore long white-satin gloves, and her hair twinkled with tiny diamonds. Diana felt incredible, and she was excited for what the night had to offer.
Celine had chosen a bright cerulean blue, a color that matched her personality, and she skipped ahead, urging Diana to hurry. They were to attend the coming out of a good friend of theirs, Emmeline Arnold, and Celine was excited to no longer be center of attention.
“Do you think she’s nervous?” Celine asked.
Her hair bounced around her face; her lips were plump and pink. Diana was pleased to see her looking so happy and fresh, and she knew she had paid special attention to her appearance in anticipation of seeing Lord Percival again.
Just as she had done for the Duke of Gallonon.
“I don’t doubt it,” Diana said. “Weren’t you nervous? I know I certainly was.”
“Yes, I suppose I was.”
“Suppose?” Diana asked with a laugh. “You were shaking, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes,” Celine said, a faraway tone in her voice, “quite absurd to think of it like that now. How quickly things change.”
This ballroom was not so far through the labyrinth of the house as it was in the castle, so it didn’t take them long to reach the double doors that opened into it.
“Ladies Diana and Celine Allen,” the Master of Ceremonies announced, and they walked in with less awe than the week previously.
It was a less grand affair that Celine’s ball, the room sparsely decorated and somewhat smaller. The people, although there were many, were less flamboyant and there were larger gaps between groups. But it was nonetheless a pleasant atmosphere and the music was provided by a string quartet in the corner.
“Lady Emmeline,” Celine gushed as she saw her friend, walking quickly to her. “You look positively delightful.”
“Thank you,” Lady Emmeline said with a nervous smile. She shifted from foot to foot and looked about her awkwardly. “There are so many people here. Mother has introduced me to some, but I don’t even know where to begin. It’s so exciting, don’t you think?”
She was a short girl of twenty years and her frame was well-filled out despite her short stature, making her look dumpy and stout. She had a pleasant enough face though, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes that shone with kindness, and with curly-blonde hair that bounced around her. She wore
a gown that complemented rather than accentuated her figure.
“Yes,” Celine said, then looked out over the room. “Goodness, Diana, it’s all of the same people who came to mine. Look, there’s the Duke of Renwald. And Lady Honeyfield. Lord Percival, too.”
“Indeed,” Diana said with a laugh. “What else did you expect? A whole new set of people at each ball?”
“No, I—” Celine flushed, and Diana tapped her arm sympathetically.
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