Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

" W ill you be at the dinner party tonight?" Vincent asked, leading Edmund to the front door.

Edmund barely heard his friend's question, his gaze turned back toward the staircase, wondering what Isolde was doing. She had not given him a second glance when she left the drawing room, and it stuck in his chest like a rope of thorns, wrapping around the hilt of the icy blade that she had firmly driven into his heart with the words, "Besides, I already have another proposal to consider, and that is an offer of love."

"Tonight? I… had not given it much thought," he replied. "After all, I assumed I would be in Davenport for the foreseeable. I also assumed that you would not want to be in my company for a while."

In truth, I expected that I would lose both of you in one fell swoop.

Whether or not the kiss had ever been revealed to Vincent, Edmund had known that he would not be welcome at the Grayling townhouse or the Grayling estate again. Not until Isolde was married and living elsewhere, at least.

He had not thought that day would come so soon, nor had he suspected how much it would hurt.

Vincent laughed and patted Edmund on the shoulder, though there was a warning in his voice as he said, "As long as you swear not to cause any further upset or do anything to disrupt this… courtship of hers, I see no reason why we cannot continue on as before. It was clearly an error in judgment. If Isolde can move past it, so can I."

"If it is what she wants, I will not intervene," Edmund replied, hating each word.

Vincent smiled. "Good. Well then, I shall see you this evening. If not, then let us make time to attend Golding's one day this week—perhaps, if all proceeds well with the Viscount, I will have something to celebrate." His eyes brightened. "I could even bring him along. It would be a fine thing to get acquainted with him, if he is to be one of the family."

Like one of the vivid, visceral memories that assaulted his mind from time to time, Edmund suddenly saw the version of the future that had just been set in motion: Noah becoming like a brother to Vincent, Noah and Isolde greeting her family on the porch of Grayling House after months apart, Noah and Isolde celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, holidays as a couple and as an extended part of the Wilds family. Then, Noah and Isolde announcing the arrival of their first child, their second, their third, building a family together.

It was a vivid future in which Noah had taken the place that Edmund had not realized he wanted for himself.

"Edmund?" Vincent nudged him. "Are you well? You cannot be that appalled by the idea of inviting this Viscount along to Golding's."

Edmund shook off the visions, forcing a smile. "Not at all. The more the merrier." He opened the front door and stepped out. "I will see you this evening."

"I look forward to it," Vincent replied, raising his hand in a wave as Edmund walked off up the street.

Out of sight of the townhouse, Edmund paused and bent at the waist, stooping to catch his breath. He knew he was doing the right thing by Isolde, giving her the chance to find someone worthier, but he had never expected that denying himself the privilege of a happy future with her would sting so much.

I should have asked her differently. He flinched, expelling a rough breath. I should have told her that I would try to be what she wanted, if she would just say yes.

But it was too late now. She had rejected him, and rightly so, for he had made a very poor offer. To make matters worse, he had not even offered the full extent of what he was willing to give, if it meant that he could have her as his wife.

When he had made the vow to never marry, he had meant it wholeheartedly. He had wanted the punishment of it, to alleviate just a little bit of the guilt he carried with him. But, stubborn and defiant and tricky as she was, Isolde had swept back into his life like a whirlwind and turned everything upside down.

And I already miss it…

He had kissed her because he had wanted to. He had kissed her because she had captured his heart. He had kissed her because she was the only woman in the world who could make him give up that vow. He had kissed her because he had wanted more, and he had fumbled it completely.

Now, he would have to watch another man take his place. If that was not punishment in its most ironic form, he did not know what was. But he did know that it was going to hurt like nothing he had ever felt before.

Being seated in the same spot on the settee, with the same cup and saucer in her hands, drinking the same lukewarm tea, Isolde had to wonder if she was stuck in some bizarre dream. A nightmare of unsatisfying marriage proposals on a ceaseless cycle.

"Is that him?" Her mother, seated beside her, snapped her head up at the sound of a carriage rattling by the drawing room windows.

Isolde took a sip of the cooled tea. "I assume he will knock, Mama. Are you trying to make me nervous?"

It had been five days since Vincent had ushered Edmund in to make his offer of a marriage of convenience. She had seen him twice in the interim: once at the opposite end of a long dinner table, once from afar, at a sedate gathering that did not have enough guests to be called a ball. On both occasions, despite everything, she had hoped he might engage her in conversation or ask her to dance, but he had kept his distance, just as he had said he would.

"Goodness, I am nervous," Vincent chimed in with a laugh, brushing his palms against his waistcoat as if they were clammy. "Yet, if I may say so, you look rather calm, Isolde."

Isolde shrugged. "I see no reason to fret. After our discussion at the theater last night, I am certain he will propose today, and I know what I wish to say, so there is nothing to worry over."

And I do not care enough to be nervous, she neglected to add.

She adored Noah, and looked forward to spending time with him, but it was not a romantic affection. It was more like the relationship she had with Vincent, like siblings. She felt nothing when Noah accidentally brushed her arm or bumped into her or swept back a lock of her hair. Her heart did not skip a beat when she held his arm during a promenade, or she looked up into his eyes.

"But you have been obsessing over this day for years," Vincent pointed out, observing her with bemusement. "This is what you have been working toward—a dream realized."

She put on a smile. "And I am telling you, I feel no reason to be nervous. If you know it is the right thing for you, how can there be nerves?"

The knock they had been waiting for sounded throughout the townhouse, and though Isolde jumped at the noise, the knowledge that Noah had arrived still did not stir up any anxious anticipation. In truth, she was just eager to get it over with. The sooner she was married and committed to her decision, the sooner she could begin life anew, perhaps finding a different dream along the way. One that might come true, this time.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Noah chirruped, ushered into the drawing room by the housekeeper.

He stood by the door for longer than expected, holding his hat in front of his stomach, fidgeting with the edges. Clearly, he had not escaped the day's bout of nerves, his brow glistening with sweat though it was not too warm outside.

"Good afternoon, Noah," Isolde replied, offering a smile.

Noah glanced at Vincent and Isolde's mother, a line of confusion appearing between his eyebrows. "Are you both going to remain here?" he asked awkwardly, shuffling further into the room. "Or should I request a moment alone? I do not mind, either way."

"It is nothing they do not already know, Noah," Isolde said with that same, patient smile. "Do not be anxious. You have no need to be."

His throat bobbed as he edged ever closer, though he did not sink to one knee as he ended up in front of her. Instead, somewhat clumsily, he stood with the backs of his calves pressed against the edge of the tea table, peering down at Isolde from his not insignificant height.

"Well then…" he said, his voice cracking. "Apologies, I have not done this before."

Isolde laughed softly. "Take your time. There is no rush."

He cleared his throat and gripped the edges of his hat tighter. "Lady Isolde, I was… um… wondering if you would grant me the pleasure of… uh… consenting to be my wife?"

"Of course, Lord Mentrow," she answered without a moment's hesitation, for she had already spent five nights going back and forth, tying herself into knots about how to proceed.

Every possibility had screeched to the same outcome: she either married Noah or she returned to sifting through suitors, without the keen eye of Edmund this time. And if there was no one suitable, she would have to wait until next Season, disappointing her family in the process. If that was not a success, she would be firmly on the road to spinsterhood, which was something she simply could not do.

Noah seemed surprised, looking to Vincent for some kind of confirmation. "Is that it, then? Are we engaged to be wed?"

"You certainly are," Isolde's mother crowed, clapping her hands together.

Indeed, she appeared to be the only one thrilled by the occasion. Isolde felt nothing but a faint relief, Vincent had suddenly turned pensive, and Noah looked like he might keel over if he did not get away from the drawing room soon.

"Splendid! In that case, I shall… speak with my family, and we must arrange a dinner or something of that ilk, to make arrangements and to ensure that everyone is acquainted," Noah said, relaxing slightly, as if he had just had to undertake a less than pleasant task that he had been putting off for a while. "Isolde, I… um… I am glad that you accepted. I look forward to… well, marrying you."

Isolde smiled. "Likewise."

Within a matter of no more than five minutes, Noah had arrived, proposed, and departed again, leaving behind at least two dizzied souls. Indeed, Isolde was not entirely certain of what she had said to her future husband, only that she had accepted.

"I shall fetch wine for us to celebrate! Oh, and I must tell the girls! They will be thrilled, for there is to be a wedding at last!" Isolde's mother cheered, jumping to her feet and hurrying out with the same haste that had driven Noah in and out so swiftly.

In her absence, Vincent moved to occupy the spot she had vacated. The settee gave under his weight, for it was not a piece of furniture he used too often, but he did not seem to notice as he turned to look at Isolde.

"What is the matter?" she asked, puzzled by the abrupt change in him.

He took hold of her hand, worrying her all the more. "I was about to ask you the same thing." He laughed stiffly. "I have been watching you these past days, Isolde, and… I could not help but notice that you have not been yourself. You have been quieter, more reserved, and though I should be glad of that, I find myself concerned instead."

"I have not slept much, that is all," she lied.

He saw right through her, shaking his head. "No, it is more than that. Even with your friends at the various gatherings we have attended this week, you have been… distant. I have never seen you stare off into the middle distance as much as you have done of late. So, please, put your old brother out of his misery. Tell me what is wrong."

"There is nothing wrong," she insisted.

"Isolde…"

She puffed out a breath and closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of her brother's hand. "It is not the right word. There is nothing wrong, per se. I have just had a lot to think about."

She paused, trying to find the right sentiment. "I have had to accept that I will never have what I wanted, and that has been hard for me because, as you said, I have obsessed over my wedding, my marriage, my dreams of romance, for years. However, I am coming to terms with it. I still have a duty to perform, and I will not be the one who lets you all down. I cannot end up a spinster, Vincent, so… I have had to make my decision, and that depth of thought has required a lot of staring off into the middle distance."

An odd, wheezing sound emerged from Vincent's throat. "What do you mean, you have had to accept that you will never have what you wanted? I thought the Viscount was what you wanted—that offer of love that you had been waiting for?"

"I gave up waiting, Brother," she replied, opening her eyes. "I grew up instead. You see, Mama said that she loved Papa in her own way, and theirs was not a love match. Flowers bloom where you water them, Vincent; I am putting faith in the notion that love can be the same."

Her brother paled, his eyes scrunched as if he was trying to remember a name that was dancing on the tip of his tongue. "You… do not love the Viscount?"

"I like him. I think we will be content," she countered.

"Is there someone you do love?"

Isolde dropped her gaze sharply, terrified that her brother would see Edmund's name etched across her face. She really had tried not to, she really had thought she had not yet fallen for him, but there was nothing to be done: her heart wanted her masked savior, and she was the cruel master telling it that it would have to go without.

I love him and I hate him for making me love him. I love him, but he does not love me.

"Not especially," she murmured, praying this would be the one occasion where her brother did not see right through her lies.