Page 78 of My Duke, The Stranger
“But you didn’t talk to her,” Isolde guided him because she knew the story.
“I was too scared,” he said. “I spent that whole sermon trying to work up the courage, and when it ended I panicked.” He shook his head. “I did everything but approach her. And that whole time, she just sat there, looking lost…” He drifted for a moment, a frown across his aged face.
“When did you speak to her?”
“The next time,” he said brightly. “Truly, I could not believe that she came a second time. I was awkward, unable to form words with my tongue.” He laughed again. “But she was sweet, so kind and softly spoken. We didn’t say much but it was enough for me to know.”
“Know what?”
“That I would marry her,” he said seriously as if the question was a silly one. “She came every day after that. Always sat in the same place. And always she waited until the end so we could speak. Which, I promise you, I got a lot better at doing.”
She laughed as she pictured her. Her mother’s face might have been fuzzy, but she could picture her father and mother in the chapel, speaking together, young and happy as love bloomed between them.
“It didn’t take long for me to realize that she needed help either,” her father continued. “She was running, though she wouldn’t tell me from what. Never did find out…” He pushed his lips together. “We used to joke about it. Seeing as I didn’t know where she came from, who she was…” More laughter. “We joked that she was an angel sent from heaven. Which she was.” He sniffed. “She was my angel, and she saved me, even if I didn’t know I needed saving.”
“I wish I had known her better.” Isolde’s throat tightened.
“Oh, me too. She loved you so much, dear. And she would have loved to have seen what you became—what you’ve made of yourself.”
Isolde winced and said nothing, unable to agree with her father’s assessment.
“In some ways, I guess you’ve become what she was,” he said with a smile. “An angel, that is. Come to save the duke from himself.” He chuckled as his eyes began to close, his voice growing weary. “As he’s saved you. Don’t…” He yawned, his eyes fully closed. “Don’t you forget that, Isolde. You’re strong… but you need… someone to… care for you…” Slowly, surely, her father drifted off to sleep.
Isolde was grateful for that, as by that time, her eyes had welled with tears that she wasn’t certain she’d be able to keep back for much longer.
For a time, perhaps she might have agreed with her father. She had saved the duke, and showed him who he could be if only he were brave enough. Just as he had saved her, because she might have been happy before he came along, but she had always been missing something… A different type of happiness, found for a short time.
That was no longer the case. She had not saved Cassian, and he had not saved her. Soon enough, he would realize that, and their marriage would be at its end. It wasn’t what Isolde wanted, but she had slowly come to accept that it was the only way forward.
Worse still, I deserve as much.
With her father fast asleep, Isolde left him alone in his room. She went outside to find Marianne and Thomas. She spent an hour with them both, playing and laughing and focusing on her love for them, rather than her own depressed mood. At least when all this was done, she would have them to return home for.
After that, and with no other choice, Isolde climbed atop her horse and made her way back to the manor. It would be sunset by the time she arrived, and supper would be almost ready. She allowed herself to wonder for a brief second if Cassian might finally join her.
But, as she started down the road, and watched the sun slowly sinking, she knew that was unlikely. Her fate was sealed, her path was set, and there was nothing she could do to change that.
At least alone with no one to watch her, Isolde could finally cry. And she did just that, letting the tears fall freely. Pain… It was necessary, and one day, if she was lucky, moments like that one would remind her of the good times that she hoped to have in the future. Even if that future promised to be without Cassian.
Thirty-Two
Isolde waited all day for Cassian to come and see her. Where the week before this, she had known he would not do such a thing, she was certain that today would be different. Not that his visit was something she looked forward to, because the reason would bring her no joy, but it was going to happen. She was certain of it.
So, when Mr. Pembroke appeared in the back garden and waved to her, Isolde’s stomach dropped and her heart tore that little bit more; it was nearly in two pieces by that point, surely one more gut-wrenching revelation away from being utterly destroyed.
He cannot even bring himself to deliver his bad news personally. How far we have fallen…
Isolde sat underneath a large oak tree, using the shade of the canopy to guard her from the midday sun. As Mr. Pembroke approached, she closed the book she was reading and slowlystood. Then, she forced a smile, not wanting to appear so obviously distraught.
“There you are, Your Grace,” he said as he hurried toward her. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”
“Only you?” she asked with a fragment of hope. “Not…” She grimaced and could not bring herself to look at Mr. Pembroke. “What of Cassian?”
“He is busy, Your Grace.”
“He has been all week.”
“It has been a most trying week, Your Grace. I assure you, it is not to be taken personally.”
