Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The group had moved to the drawing room after dinner. There, they sipped at brandy and spoke among themselves in smaller groups. The duke was in deep conversation with Sir and Lady Owen, as well as the earl and his wife as they talked about the current darkest political problems.

Eliza and Mr. Langley had moved aside as they discussed a nearby piece of artwork at great length. Eliza had known the artist once, which seemed to be a fascinating fact to Mr. Langley.

To Isabella ' s delight, she found herself seated in an armchair next to Mr. Alton and away from her mother ' s prying ears.

" Ethan seems to be enjoying himself," Mr. Alton said. " That's a rare occasion. He can sometimes find such comfort in misery. It truly is a talent."

Isabella chuckled. " Eliza has a way of bringing joy out of anyone. She could make a stone laugh in glee."

She got the coveted bright smile from Mr. Alton that she was so desperately after. While their conversation was polite and perfectly normal, it was difficult to avoid talking about the gunman.

" I've never seen anything like it," Isabella said. " I must admit. It was rather exciting."

" Exciting?" Mr. Alton questioned. " You weren't purely terrified?"

Isabella covered her mouth for a moment. " Should I have been?" she asked. " It was dangerous, yes, but London can be so boring. I don ' t get a lot of excitement outside of my books. I'll be remembering this for the rest of my life."

" I hope not," Mr. Alton said. " You shouldn't allow it to frighten you like that."

" Oh, fond memories," Isabella corrected him. " I've always wanted to experience something a little wild. That fits the bill, don ' t you think? Nobody got hurt."

Mr. Alton smiled again. " You surprise me," he said.

She hoped it was in a good way, but she found him difficult to read. He had shown the same smile to everyone in the room more than once that night. And his eyes seemed to have a sparkle no matter the circumstances.

So, there was nothing he did that seemed peculiar toward her. It made her feel somewhat crestfallen. She sipped her brandy, hoping it would make the conversation flow a little easier. The brandy was smooth and did a good job of warming her up from the inside.

From the side, Mr. Langley and Eliza burst into joyful laughter. It turned heads for a brief moment, and Isabella was certain her mother would have something to say about it. That it was too loud or unladylike for Eliza to be laughing so loudly with a dinner guest.

" Who do you think it could be?" Isabella asked. " Everybody loves the duke. I can ' t imagine anybody wanting him dead."

" Politics have a way of complicating things like that," Mr. Alton said. " He wouldn't have to do anything wrong. In fact, perhaps he did something right, and it angered the wrong crowd."

" Who would stand to gain from his death?" Isabella asked. " I've been mulling it over every day since."

" Those are strong thoughts to occupy the mind of a woman," Mr. Alton said.

" Do you think I ' m too fragile for it?" she questioned.

His eyes glanced over her body for a second and she felt a bolt of excitement rush through her.

" Not at all, Miss Owen," he said. " I was merely being polite, I suppose."

" How very boring of you," Isabella teased. " So tell me. Who do you believe benefits from the duke ' s death?"

" The duke was making waves in the movement to stop the war," Mr. Alton said. " He has a good following. As you said, everybody loves him."

" I feel you have a further argument there," Isabella said.

Mr. Alton leaned forward a little. Close enough that she could smell the product in his hair. He had done his best to comb it down, but the curls made it nearly impossible.

" There are people who profit from the war, Miss Owen," he said quietly. " Few families make a lot of money when men are killed on the battlefield. Greed will make people do horrible things."

Isabella felt a chill on her skin. " Well, I suppose that ' s true. Manufacturers of weapons, uniforms, and the like. I believe there ' s a small fortune to be made."

" You catch on quickly," Mr. Alton said.

" So you suppose it could be someone who wishes the war to continue?" Isabella asked. " Surely someone couldn't be so sadistic. They've already made more money than they can spend. Why go to such extreme lengths for a little more?"

" A lot more," Mr. Alton said with a shrug. " I've seen people do worse for less, Miss Owen. It is unfortunate, but human nature is complicated."

" I ' m afraid I must disagree with you there," she argued. " Human nature is quite simple."

Mr. Alton leaned back. Surprised, perhaps that she would disagree with him like that. He took a moment to consider her words and then shook his head.

" I ' m afraid I don ' t understand," he eventually said. " That has not been my experience."

" I think we all chase the same thing," she explained. " Fulfillment. It's the thing that drives us. To find meaning in our daily actions and bring a reason for waking up in the morning. So, who then, would gain fulfillment from the murder of the duke?"

" I suppose I've never seen it that way," Mr. Alton said.

Isabella was enjoying herself immensely. Mr. Alton entertained her conversation, despite it being highly opinionated. She just couldn't help it. All the schooling in the world could do nothing to switch her mind off.

The only thing that ever worked was if she was granted the opportunity to say her thoughts out loud. Otherwise she would spend weeks plagued by them. She would dive into great detail about it all in her mind and ponder for hours about it.

It was refreshing to speak to someone who was willing to listen, and eager to continue the discussion.

" You ' re an interesting woman," Mr. Alton said. " I must confess that I ' m rather enjoying myself."

" As am I," Isabella confessed.

She wished desperately that they could be alone in the room, away from her parents' prying eyes. Or the distraction of Eliza and Mr. Langley as they chuckled on the sidelines. Isabella knew that soon enough her mother would bring the duke back to rejoin the conversation with her.

That was, after all, the goal of the evening. Lady Owen would likely not sleep that night if she felt that the duke had paid her daughter too little attention.

" What fulfillment do you suppose the thieves of the world achieve if that is their only goal?" Mr. Alton asked, furthering her theory.

" I suppose they might need to feed their families," she answered. " Or they seek the thrill of nearly being caught. It ' s not unheard of for criminals to continue to commit crimes to return to the prison cells."

" Why would anybody wish to return to such a vile place?" Mr. Alton asked.

" There are those in the world whose lives are worse than prisons," Isabella explained. " They go back because it is more comfortable. Behind cell bars, nobody can hurt them. They are safe from danger, I suppose."

" That ' s an odd theory," Mr. Alton said.

Isabella shook her head. " It ' s not a theory. I read a book written by an inmate. He explained it all in great detail."

" That ' s hardly a book for a woman such as yourself to be reading," Mr. Alton said quickly. " It must be full of inappropriate talk and subjects not fit for polite conversation."

" Do you imply that I am impolite?" Isabella pressed.

" Not at all Miss Owen, merely that books of such nature are not fit for a woman like you," he answered.

They had been doing so well. She had been enjoying the conversation, and he had seemed interested in it all. For the first time in her life she had felt as though someone heard her. As if one of her opinions mattered.

To her disappointment, that dynamic had changed. He was just like any other man. Afraid that her intelligence might make him seem foolish, or ignorant.

" You don ' t know me, Mr. Alton," she accused him. " So such a statement isn't relevant. Perhaps a book like that is perfect for a woman like me."

Mr. Alton smiled. " Perhaps."

Something in her chest felt as if it shifted. She had never been so insulted.

" What precisely do you mean by that?" she questioned.

" I don ' t mean you any offense," he quickly corrected himself. " It ' s just that I don ' t think you ' re like any woman I've ever met in my twenty-nine years. I saw how you threw that book at the gunman. You did so without a second thought. You behaved on instinct."

" Do the women you know have no instinct?" she snapped.

" Not like yours," he answered. " It's a remarkable trait. Rather intriguing. How often do you behave so instinctively?"

She wasn't sure if it was reasonable, but she was flattered.

" I ' m afraid I spend most of my day reading. The opportunity to behave instinctively doesn't come along very often."

" That ' s an excellent way to spend the day," he said with a smile.

There was something different about his eyes and smile then. As if his mind was searching for the answer to something, or about what to say next. She quieted then. Isabella didn't know what to say to bring the conversation back.

She ' d allowed herself too much freedom with Mr. Alton. Isabella had been too eager. So eager for a listening ear that she ' d forgotten she was trying to impress him.

" Forgive me," she eventually relented. " I ' m afraid I've let the conversation get away from me."

" Please, do not apologize," Mr. Alton said. " You've left me with much to ponder."

" Is that so?"

Mr. Alton nodded. He brushed his fingers through his hair, trying desperately to smooth it down.

" I find myself pondering my purpose now," he explained. " Asking myself what it is that grants me fulfillment. If that is supposed to be the precipice of my existence."

" Your life is full," she said quickly. " Fuller than anyone I've ever known."

" I do much, yes," he explained. " But I do not know that I am fulfilled. That sensation seems to have escaped me despite it all."

Isabella had never considered that the impact of her opinions could be so strong. She had not meant for him to question the world and his place in it.

" What brings you fulfillment?" he asked.

She eyed him for a moment. She had learned one thing about him then. He wanted a purpose and hadn't found it yet. She appreciated his willingness to follow her conversation and take it to heart. It meant that he had been listening deeply.

" Nothing," she answered honestly.

Isabella wondered why she was being so honest with him. The occasion certainly didn't allow for it. Yet, she found herself confessing anyway.

" I ' m afraid I have not found that kind of joy yet," she said softly.

She wondered what he would think of her then. Would he see her as a silly woman? Someone who spoke about things that she did not understand or experience? Did that make her foolish?

Isabella wanted to retreat into her armchair and disappear from the room. She had gone too far and instead of it feeling good as it had in the beginning, she had broken her own heart. Isabella had no fulfillment, and did not know herself well enough to know what might give it to her.

Mr. Alton raised his glass toward her, and she followed suit, uncertain what he intended to celebrate.

" Here ' s to the search," he said with a wink, his charming smile back in full force. " May we both find fulfillment, and, thereby, purpose."

They clinked their glasses together and sipped their brandy, a quiet promise to each other to do just that.