Page 88 of Isabel and the Rogue

Reaching into her pocket, Isabel extracted the latest letter she received from Gabby. Receiving mail was difficult, as it had to be redirected several times before it found its way to this small hamlet outside Monterrey, oftentimes arriving soiled and damaged. Miraculously, this particular letter had been delivered unscathed, and Isabel traced her fingers over her sister’s swooping handwriting. Gabby had written of her work with her women’s group, and described a fundraising event they were planning for John Stuart Mill to stand for Parliament. The man had apparently advocated for a universal education system that included women, among other things.

Isabel closed her eyes for a moment to offer up a prayer for her sister and her safety. She’d certainly read enough news reports to know how suffragists were treated by the authorities, both in England and the United States.

After sharing details of the latest dinner party Ana María and Gideon had thrown to drum up support for a new initiative he was introducing, Gabby mentioned she had met with Lord Westhope while on a walk in the park. He’d been escorting Miss Fairchild, a development that had Isabel smiling ear to ear. The viscount had been kind, inquiring after her health, and specifically asking how Isabel was doing, and not for the first time did Isabel wonder how different her life could have been if she had deeper feelings for Lord Westhope. He was the first man to show an interest in her from first association, and her recollections of the times she spent with him were fond ones. Isabel wished she could write to him, tell him of the books she was reading, her work with Señora Maza de Juárez, and the effort to win back Mexico from the French…but then the viscount’s loyalties lay elsewhere. She was happy he’d turned his attentions to Miss Fairchild, and thankful to Gabby for passing along his well-wishes. She stored them away with her memories of him.

It was Gabby’s parting lines that drew her eyes again, as they had the first time Isabel had read the letter.

I miss you, hermana. Every day. All day. But I am happy you have found contentment in your work for the rightful president, and I pray your chance to find true happiness arrives for you soon.

Arrives soon? What an interesting sentiment, but then Gabby possessed a fanciful flair that used to exasperate Isabel but now charmed her.

True happiness. What did that look like? Isabel pondered the question as she refolded her sister’s letter and clutched it in her hand. Not long ago, she thought it meant contributing to the war effort. Being recognized for her intelligence. And Isabel had achieved that. She experienced immense satisfaction helping Señora Maza de Juárez and her daughters raise funds for soldiers and their families, and ensuring hospitals were stocked with the supplies needed to support the Mexican troops. Isabel also regularly sent the First Lady, who was living in exile in the United States and acting as a Mexican diplomat, translated reports to share with allied American officials. In addition, she acted as an intermediary between Señora Maza de Juárez and her husband, and their letters to each other were funneled through Isabel, a responsibility she did not take lightly.

Her father had initially pushed back against the idea of Isabel working, even though it was at the president’s request, but Padre Ignacio and Fernando had eventually convinced him that Isabel’s talents were best utilized serving the republic. Elías Luna had never thanked her for the intelligence she’d uncovered or congratulated her on the accolades she’d received from Presidente Juárez, yet he was quick to introduce Isabel as his daughter to members of the cabinet. The first time he’d done so had shocked Isabel so completely, she had excused herself after the introduction and rushed outside to compose herself.

Isabel was busy. Her life was interesting and challenging…and yet she felt empty. A yawning cavern existed where her heart used to be, and no amount of praise, whether from the president or her own father, could fill it.

Tipping her head back, Isabel let the sun soak into her skin. Let its warmth permeate her bones. She had missed this while in England. For the first month they were in London, Isabel was certain she’d never be warm again. Now she feared that coldness had crept into her chest, where it sank in its claws and created a lair.

“Enjoying the sunshine?”

Every muscle in her body froze as that voice swept over her. Fluttering her eyes open, Isabel gasped when she saw him. Standing not four feet away, in an impeccable suit, was Sirius. His blond hair was a bit longer now, the curls she knew were soft as down brushing against his ears, and his cheeks were tan, as if he’d spent days toiling in the fields at Dancourt Abbey.

Or on the deck of a ship sailing toward Mexico.

Slowly rising to her feet, Isabel gaped at him, certain he was an apparition she had conjured with the yearning ache in her heart. She ripped her gaze from his face to look around, certain she must be dreaming, but the plaza looked as it always did. All was well…except for the panicked roaring in her ears.

Licking her lips, Isabel opened her mouth to greet him, to demand to know what he was doing there. Instead, a choked cry rushed up her throat.

“Oh, please don’t cry, darling,” Sirius murmured, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. He paused before he touched her, a shadow falling over his expression. “I didn’t come here to upset you.”

“I don’t understand,” she rasped, moving closer. “Why are you here?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pupils of his blue eyes large as they stared back at her. “Because you’re here.”

Isabel wrapped her arms tight about her waist. “You left England…because of me?”

Sirius nodded, taking a step. “There was nothing left for me there after you left.”

“B-but what about your work for the Home Office?” Static filled her mind. “What about Dancourt Abbey and the men who live there?”

The corner of Sirius’s mouth kicked up. “I was offered retirement from the Home Office. My work no longer brought me purpose, and there were other, younger men to take over my assignments.”

“And the abbey?” she whispered, her hands flexing in their urge to reach for him. “What of Dancourt Abbey?”

Sirius shrugged, glancing down at his feet. “The abbey will always be mine, but with the help of my solicitor, I have drawn up guidelines for how the land and the manor will be used in my absence. They’ve provided a level of control and independence to the men who live there, and my hope is that they will be content to live there for years to come.”

“That’s wonderful,” she murmured, understanding why that was important to him. Sirius had worked so hard to care for the men who had cared for him, and he had readily, unselfishly, offered Dancourt Abbey as a refuge.

And he walked away from it for her?

“So as you can see, darling, I had no reason to stay in England.” Sirius reached up to gently brush a curl from her temple. “Especially when my heart lay elsewhere.”

Leaning into his touch, Isabel closed her eyes as she dared to ask, “Where?”

“Right here,” he answered, dragging his knuckles across her jaw. “It’s always been right here, with you.”

“Did you know that before or after I left?” she asked archly.