The door flew open and Mosley was pushed aside by a red-faced Mrs. White. “The good Lord works in mysterious ways. Thank heavens you’ve come. I’ve just received the worst news.”
Isaac sobered, straightening. “What’s that?”
Nora emerged from behind Mrs. White, wringing her hands, her hair down well past her shoulders in a storm of curls, her eyes red. “My sister has run of-off.”
Mrs. White gestured for Isaac to come in, so he did. He reached a hand to gently cup Nora’s elbow, but he quickly dropped it.
“Has she left a note? Is there any clue where she has gone?” he asked. He followed Mrs. White and Nora to the sitting room where her parents sat. Nora’s mother sobbed into a handkerchief, her father smoked a cigar, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Mr. Barnes,” Mr. MacAllen said. “This is a private matter. Mrs. White was ill-advised to invite you inside. Perhaps you can visit again another time?”
Isaac could judge the mood of a room. In fact, his life often depended on it. And while Mr. MacAllen acted as gatekeeper and Mrs. MacAllen fell to pieces, it was Nora who remained solemn beside him, attempting her best to bear the news on her shoulders, and hers alone.
Mrs. White cleared her throat, moving aside for the maid carrying in the tea service. “Mr. Barnes, I believe you may be able to help. It appears Maeve left with Mr. Knight—”
Nora inhaled a sharp breath beside him. With a quick side glance, he saw the tears in her eyes.
“Mr. Knight?” he parroted, regretting it instantly as Nora fled the room.
“You are just as surprised as we are.”
“I’m not,” Mrs. MacAllen said. “Nora pays no attention to Stuart as a fiancé should. No wonder the man—”
Rage, pure, steaming rage erupted within Isaac. “I fail to see how that man’s actions are any fault of Miss MacAllen’s.”
The woman sniffed back tears, indignant. “You wouldn’t understand. We have such different rules.”
He bit his tongue. Rules and etiquette and ceremony. Hang their ceremony when they could all so blindly turn their eyes away from Nora’s hurt and blame her for the wrongdoing of others.
“Have you alerted a constable? Are you worried for Maeve’s safety?”
“Safety?” Mr. MacAllen exclaimed, rising. “If others catch wind of what they’ve done—scandal!”
“Do you have any information to hint at an elopement?”
Mr. MacAllen puffed out his chest. “This is none of your concern.”
“I can attest that Mr. Barnes can help,” said Mrs. White. “ He is probably the best man to do so.”
Isaac swung to meet Mrs. White’s knowing stare. So she truly was a dear friend of Grembly.
Mr. and Mrs. MacAllen turned to one other, bickering. Isaac bowed his head and limped out of the room.
Nora stood alone in the library, a book clutched to her chest. She paced the middle of the room, her shoulders stiff, her eyes still red from crying. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Isaac closed the door behind him. “I don’t expect an apology from you. Nor do I need one.”
She whirled around, her eyes wild. “I don’t expect p-pity.”
He held his hands up in treaty. “Then what do you want?”
“I hardly know you.” Nora exhaled a deep breath. “I barely k-know myself, if I’m honest.”
“I’m not sure we ever know ourselves.” Isaac took another step, then another, slowly, as if he were approaching a cornered animal. “I can help if you let me. But you need to tell me what you need, Miss MacAllen. If you don’t want pity, then don’t take it. You’d be mistaken anyhow, because I don’t pity you.”
Standing almost toe to toe, Nora glanced up, her lips parted, her eyes wide. “Then what? Disdain?”
Heaven help him and this woman. He couldn’t fight the sound of the dry laugh that escaped him. “Quite simply, I like you.”
She drew back. “Like me?”
His hand hovered just below her chin as he studied her. He had always been quick to fall in love, but looking into those eyes of hers, it was already too late.
Before he could cup her face, Nora wrapped her arms around him and leaned against his chest. Everything within turned to ice as her body melted against his. His heart drummed in his ears until, inch by inch, he relaxed. Isaac rested his chin on top of Nora’s head before wrapping his arms around her in return. The two of them stood quietly for several minutes until their breaths matched—in and out—and the world came into focus.
“I will find them,” he said. “I will see that he does right by Maeve.”
She brushed her fingers over his cheek tentatively. “I like you too, Isaac.”
His name on her lips was heaven.
How foolish his thoughts. Mere seconds later, she raised to her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. Her lips traced the edges of his mouth as he opened up to her, his tongue gently darting against her own. It was a soft, quiet dance.
She kissed him as though she too had stumbled into love with a stranger. Love at first sight, love written in the stars. That was for the fairy stories he read to Minnie and Grace at Burton Hall. But no, this, every sweet press of her mouth against his, this was real. Beautifully real, and he didn’t want it to stop.
But they had just met. How could he feel this way? Surely, his heart was playing a cruel trick on him. He might like Nora—hell, he could almost believe he loved Nora—but it could never be that easy. He was leaving Scotland…
She drew back, not only breaking his thoughts, but possibly his heart. They couldn’t be through. They had just stumbled upon this…whatever this magic was between them.
Nora placed her fingertips against his lips, her cheeks pink. Together, they caught their breath, their shoulders rising and falling at the same pace.
She shut her eyes and moved away, the moment quickly unraveling around them. “Please don’t say anything.”
What could he say when he wished they were still kissing? But dread creeped in as she thrusted the book she was holding in his direction. Dread, because he was all too familiar to with what happened next—heartbreak.
He straightened, rubbing his nose with the back of his fist, then reached for the worn book, thumbing through the dogeared pages. “It’s a diary.”
“My sister’s. No one will listen, but Stuart has b-been with her since before we were engaged, it seems. She only made her debut this past spring, and she’s never been smart about protecting her reputation.”
“What about yours, Nora?”
“My reputation?” she asked with a crude laugh. Frustrated tears brimmed in her eyes once more. “I’m the slow invalid, the poor Ma-MacAllen girl to be pitied. Stuart running off with my sister c-changes nothing. If he is going to ruin her, then I want him to be responsible about it at least.”
“Maeve doesn’t deserve a say?”
“She has.” Nora waved her arm toward the diary in Isaac’s hands. “It’s confessions of love, details of…” She blushed again. “Well, he was anything but a g-gentleman, and he never really wanted me at all.”
Isaac sighed, biting his lip as he looked above her head, and out the window onto the garden as afternoon burned into early evening. “Then I’ll get you what you want.”
A knock sounded at the door, then Mrs. White entered. “Nora, dear?”
She swung her head around to meet Mrs. White, a passive look washing over her face. “I am through with crying over that m-man, Mrs. White.”
“As you should be, dear.” The older woman wrapped Nora in an embrace. “But your parents.”
“What of them? I wish to be anywhere but Scotland right now. I wish…” she trailed off. “Well, it has never mattered what I want.”
Mrs. White looked to Isaac, visibly frustrated.
“May I use your carriage, Mrs. White? I promise to return it.”
“Of course.”
Isaac grabbed the diary and marched out into the night.
There wasn’t time for sleep. He may
not know what would come of that kiss with Nora, but without a doubt, he knew he could find Maeve and Stuart. Finding people was his gift.
* * *
If not for her rumbling stomach, Nora would not have returned home. For the past three days, her morning hikes stretched well into the afternoon. There were too many things trapped inside her for her to sit still. Her parents didn’t seem to care much about her absence. They hadn’t stopped fighting.
Isaac hadn’t returned. Nor had there been word about Maeve and Stuart.
Nora frowned, rubbing the small patch of skin on her finger where her engagement ring had been.
She brushed off the fine veil of mist that covered her hair, curls springing up in response. It had been a cold, gloomy day. One where the fog was tired and hung heavy in the gray sky. It mirrored how she felt. With a shiver, she shook off her cloak and proceeded to the music room, thankful someone had seen to the fire.
Her mother had been roaming the halls the past few days, in between bouts of apathy and tears. She had turned on Nora, growing more agitated about Maeve’s situation, as if Nora was to blame.
And perhaps she was. If she had only paid attention to her sister, or doted on Stuart, maybe she would still be getting married in two months. Maybe, if she hadn’t insisted on riding that day ten years ago, she would have been the debutante of the season and not bargained away like chipped wedding china.
Nora drew a shawl over her shoulders and fetched the stitching she had worked on yesterday and made camp by the fire. If only she could shake this chill that had settled in her bones.
Keeping her hands busy or walking until her legs ached hadn’t helped. How easily her mind drifted to Isaac.
Isaac and that beautiful mouth of his and how he kissed her. He kissed her as if she deserved to be kissed.
His voice was like crushed velvet, smooth and lyrical in its cadence. It was a low rumble, an erotic purr almost. And it made her feel things. Like that time she had snuck several glasses of brandy after dinner. Isaac’s voice was a libation Nora was growing fond of, and though she didn’t wish to be caught, she never wanted him to stop talking.
Unless he was kissing her.
She would enjoy that very much.
And she remembered his embrace, and how for the first time in years, it had as if she had been welcomed home. A blush suddenly burned her cheeks. To be touched and wanted, such basic human cravings. And he had given them to her freely, with desire.
“You’re bleeding all over your stitching,” her mother snapped at her, rushing into the room.
Nora raised her finger, examining the prick of blood that had indeed stained the fine linen. She cursed under her breath, bringing her finger to her lips to stop the blood.
“If you’re going to use such language, then don’t speak at all. Heaven knows it would be easier if you couldn’t. Perhaps Maeve wouldn’t be in the position she is in.”
Taut from the anger thrumming inside her, Nora gritted her teeth, then rose. “Is there s-something you want, Mother?”
“I want my daughter back.”
For a moment, one fleeting moment, Nora wondered if she were the daughter her mother was talking about. Before the accident, Mother hadn’t been so cold. Before the accident, there had been kisses and hugs and smiles for Nora. She had been loved and well-dressed and cared for by her mother. And after…
Well, she hoped marrying Stuart would be a little better than the cold woman her mother had become. She had been wrong.
Nora strolled to the window overlooking the gardens and folded her hands in front of her. “What about m-me, Mother?”
Her mother sat, blowing out a heartless laugh. “You’re the reason this has happened to our family. Your father’s downfall in society will be because you couldn’t warm up to Stuart. If you had acted as though he were special, as if he were interesting…”
“He’s not and never was.”
“Nora Jane MacAllen.” Her mother tossed her hands into the air. “You’re the reason I’ll be gone into the grave early.” Then her mother fished out the flask she kept hidden in her dress and drank.
There was never any talk about mother’s flask. Or how, some days, her mother was asleep before dinner. Or how, when Mrs. White or others paid a visit, excuses were made because their mother could no longer speak properly or walk without assistance.
No, that was a family secret, not suitable for polite company.
“I don’t believe that’s true, Mother. I believe the reason you’re s-searching for is whiskey.”
Her mother sat up, her brown eyes wide and on fire. “I have done everything for you. Your tone isn’t appreciated.”
“You’ve allowed me to live in this house since the a-accident, and you’ve allowed father to trade me for s-social currency.”
“Exactly. You’re a smart girl. You know what becomes of a woman who waits too long to secure a husband. Your father has been kind, given your condition.”
Kind? Her family didn’t understand the meaning of that word. She was nothing but charity, best left alone and tended to only for the benefit of bringing around a brighter future for Maeve.
“My c-condition?” Nora asked, balling her fist. “I had an accident—”
“And I’ve wished you had died that day ever since,” her mother spat, jumping to her feet.
Nora gasped. “You don’t m-mean that.” Even as she gave her mother a sliver of space to excuse herself, Nora knew the truth. She had always known.
Her mother approached, her eyes narrow. “If something happens to your sister because you couldn’t keep your fiancé satisfied, you’ll be placed into an asylum. Don’t think it hasn’t been discussed between your father and I.”
“You all deserve Stuart then. The l-lot of you.” The ground beneath Nora wobbled, or perhaps it was her knees. She strode past her mother, knocking into the older woman’s shoulder, thinking bitterly that it might have been the first time they had touched in years. And it would be the last, because Nora would no longer stay under this roof. She would no longer be made to feel less than because of when or how she chose to speak after the accident.
With shaky legs, she made it upstairs to her room, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she could barely make sense of the thoughts tumbling through her head. She ran to her closet, tears burning her eyes as she grabbed a few dresses and kicked open her trunk.
Where did she even begin? What did one take and what did one leave behind when the future was already uncertain?
She stopped, gazing around her room as she observed the stacks of books piled high and Queenie sound asleep on the velvet armchair by her bed. She would need to take her grandmother’s combs with her. They were her favorite, and the only heirloom she had been given by her mother. She unwrapped the lace in her trousseau and carefully packaged up the combs, placing them into the trunk.
She would need to leave so much behind. She ran her fingers over the new dressing gown tied prettily with ribbons for her wedding night. A wedding night that was no more. Nora would need to mourn that later.
Nora wiped away more tears with the back of her hand, blowing out a deep breath as the world continued to spin.
A knock sounded at her door, and she startled, snapping up.
“Miss,” the maid said, before opening the door a crack. “I was told to inform you that your sister has returned.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She stood still a moment, feeling as if the spinning world had now collapsed, falling in around her, and soon she would be buried. No one would hear her cries for help.
If anyone had been listening at all.
She drifted to the top of the stairs as Maeve entered the foyer, Stuart hovering close behind her sister. He glanced up briefly, his eyes empty of feeling as her parents alternated between bickering and excitement at their younger daughter’s return.
Stuart Knight was a bastard, pure and simple. And if Nora ever worked up the nerve to confront her sister, she would have nothing but r
age left for the man who was to be her husband.
“Nora,” Maeve said softly, gazing upward. “I hope in time you can forgive me.”
Their mother wrapped her arm around Maeve and led her further into the hall, down to the parlor.
Forgiveness was something that would need to be fostered with time. Right now, the pain was still too much for Nora to be more than civil to her family. They wouldn’t understand because they never did. And in fact, as her father led Stuart to his office, she suspected they had already forgotten her.
She turned, taking the stairs slowly until her father called out from the doorway. “Mr. Barnes. Please, join us.”
She froze, clutching onto the rail tightly, afraid that if she let go, it may all be a dream. Hope burned in her chest, her heart picking up its pace as she looked over her shoulder to find Isaac standing in the entryway, brushing the rain off his black hair. His cheeks were ruddy, and his green eyes met hers.
This, whatever this was, this feeling that suddenly embraced her - she never wanted to let it go.
He tipped his head without breaking their gaze. The space between them felt just as large as it did small. It made no sense to Nora. Nor did the fact that she remained there instead of running down the stairs, grabbing his hand, and rushing out the door so they could kiss properly.
Instead, she simply mouthed “Thank you” before he turned and entered her father’s office, closing the door behind him.
Nora returned to her room and packed, then fell asleep on top of her bed, still dressed, dreaming of kissing Isaac Barnes.
Chapter 6
Isaac hadn’t slept well in days. And even though he had returned to Mrs. White’s cottage a few hours prior, sleep hadn’t come.
He pounded his pillow, then rolled over once more.
Whatever Grembly had intended this trip to be, Isaac knew it was coming to an end now that he had been spotted by friends in Edinburgh. He had healed enough that he could return to England and decide what was next. Or Grembly could anyhow. If the man had a heart, he might let Isaac enjoy what was left of the social season without needing to dodge bullets or jump out of buildings.
The Duke’s Improper Bride Page 5