A Marquess’s Bet on Love (Preview)

Chapter One

Isolde shifted uncomfortably in her seat and stared at her brother across the breakfast table, scrutinizing his expression in an attempt to determine how bad the news was.

Thomas had gotten better at hiding his emotions as he’d gotten older, but she could still read him well. And she knew, especially, what his expressions looked like when there was bad news to break to the family. Something he’d had to do too often lately, usually because of their father.

Their father, who was absent from breakfast this morning – another clue. Though she hardly needed such a clue, for she could have guessed as much.

There was something new this morning, though. Something about the way Thomas kept glancing at her and then away just as quickly. Something like guilt or shame. Thomas often tried to keep the worst of their father’s messes from her, but he did so with the intention of protecting her, trying to shield her from pain and heartbreak. In those moments, he was miserable and often suspicious, but rarely ashamed and never guilty. She had worked hard to instill in him that the only shame would be to follow their father’s footsteps, something all of them – she, Thomas, and their sister Cornelia – had sworn never to do. Between the three of them, they managed to keep their father’s drinking and gambling in check enough to preserve the family reputation, as hard as that had become in recent years.

So why should Thomas feel guilty? Isolde couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with her, specifically, and her stomach twisted with worry.

The feeling only intensified when Thomas asked to speak with her alone after breakfast. She followed him into their father’s study, cold because no one had lit the fire. Her father used it so rarely their small household staff had given up on keeping the fire lit.

She sat in one of the big armchairs by the empty fireplace, and he sat opposite, saying nothing now that they were finally alone. He stared over her shoulder, out the window to the meadows beyond, and swallowed hard.

So the news was terrible, then. She shivered from the cold and the sense of foreboding.

“Thomas,” she said softly, and Thomas snapped his gaze back to her.

“Our father,” he began, and then stopped. He took a trembling breath, and Isolde realized he was barely containing his anger. “Our father,” he tried again, “has made a marriage match. For you.” He pushed the words out through gritted teeth, and Isolde’s head spun.

A marriage match? While she was certainly of the appropriate age, she had not truly considered such a thing. There was far too much to be handled here at home. How could she possibly leave? And who would she wed? The more questions she thought of, the more her stomach dropped.

She looked up, intending to pepper Thomas with her questions, but stopped at the expression on his face.

“There can’t be more, surely?”

Thomas looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to face her while he spoke.

“It was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“He was at the club last night. Came home late, told me the whole story. Unburdened his guilty conscience.” Thomas’s voice had a bitter edge. “He was playing cards but kept losing. Lost until he had nothing more to bet. Except … your dowry.”

Those two words hung in the air for a moment, frozen. Isolde’s mind slowly put together the pieces for her. It was impossible, ridiculous, unbelievable. And yet, she believed it. Of course her father had done this. She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“He bet my hand in marriage in a game of cards.”

Thomas didn’t have to answer; it wasn’t a question. She forced herself to suck in a breath, then another one, until her breathing steadied.

“To whom?” she asked.

“The Marquess of Hartington.”

Isolde frowned, though more in surprise than anything.

“Hartington? The estate next door?”

Thomas nodded glumly. Isolde took in the picture her brother made, slumped in the chair, looking for a moment like a much younger version of himself – the little boy pouting because the world was cruel, and he didn’t think that was fair.

Her heart clenched in her chest. Even with everything her father had done, she’d never have expected him to do something this horrible. She was surprised to find that she could still be disappointed in the man, still feel betrayed by him. She’d thought she’d grown numb to his poor decisions and the disasters they wrought long ago. Apparently, not.

She shoved away a panicked urge to cry. She could not afford tears because she had to solve this, like she’d solved all the other problems her father had made. She focused back on Thomas. At least she would always have him and Cornelia. The two most important people in her life.

And she wouldn’t allow this to change that. She stood up, straightening her spine.

“Well,” she said, forcing a cheerfulness that she definitely did not feel, “I shall just have to find a way out of this.”

Thomas perked up a little.

“Do you think you can?”

“What else can I do? And what can’t I do when I have you and Cornelia to help me! We’ll manage somehow; we always do.” She frowned a little. “We really must do something about Father, though, Thomas. He can’t keep going like this, or there will be nothing left.”

“You let me worry about Father,” Thomas said, rising to stand beside her. “It’s my inheritance on the line. You’ll have more than enough to do trying to figure out a way to end this engagement.”

Isolde sighed. “I suppose he will come to call soon. The marquess, I mean.”

“What will you say to him?”

She considered the question, then set her mouth in a determined line.

“Let us see what he has to say to me.”

***

The marquess called in the early afternoon that same day, and Isolde wondered bitterly if he was that eager to claim his ill-gotten prize.

She had spent the intervening hours sifting through her memories of him, a tall boy who lived in the house across the fields, who often seemed to be looking for an escape from that house. His skin and thick chestnut hair were always touched with gold from the sun. She remembered him as kind, never lording his title over other children, and that he’d been particularly sweet to Cornelia, little more than a baby when they’d last met.

She wondered how a boy like that grew up to be a man who bet a woman’s future in a card game. Then again, she reminded herself grimly, it had technically been her own father who had brought her future into play. The Marquess of Hartington had just seized the opportunity.

Her father, never one to brave an unpleasant situation – and likely still worse for the wear from his night of drinking and gambling – had still not appeared by the time the marquess arrived. Isolde had considered using that as an excuse to turn the man away, but that would only have prolonged the inevitable, so she asked that he be shown into the drawing room.

“Lord Hartington,” she greeted him, dipping into as shallow a curtsy as manners allowed, and hoping he couldn’t see the way her legs trembled.

He was clearly surprised to see her alone there, but he quickly smoothed his expression into something courteous.

“Miss Fairchild,” he said, inclining his head politely. “I have come to speak to your father. Would you be so kind as to fetch him?”

“The viscount is not well this morning.” She would have normally attempted to conceal such a thing, but it seemed silly to try to hide the facts of the night before from a man who had witnessed them firsthand. “I can call my brother to speak to you if you prefer? Though we are engaged, as I understand it.”

She had not said it sharply, but he still winced at the words. So he had some sense of shame, at least. Good.

“I would not want to impose on your brother’s time,” he said, somewhat stiffly. Perhaps he was as uncomfortable as she was. “And perhaps this will be for the best. The matter concerns our futures, after all. We should discuss it directly.”

“Yes,” she said, feeling light-headed. “I hope we can come to an agreeable arrangement for all.” What that would be, she had no idea, but she barreled on politely. “Shall we sit?”

He took the seat she indicated him, and she sat opposite. She expected him to speak, but he did not, so she took the opportunity to further study him.

He was the same as she remembered him: the chestnut hair, chocolate brown eyes and sun-kissed skin – only taller and broader, filled out into a man with the weight to carry the handsome features that had made him look a bit too serious as a child. Except for when he laughed – she remembered he had a wonderful laugh, that lit up not just his face but the whole room.

She felt sudden warmth spread through her at the memory. Flustered, she looked away from him, trying to regain her composure.

“I apologize for the shock this must have given you,” he said abruptly, having apparently found the nerve to speak. She could hardly disagree with that statement.

“No girl expects to become engaged in such a way. Though indeed, I should have been shocked even if it were less … unconventional. I cannot say I expected to become engaged at all.” She had only meant to subtly underline the fact that they hardly knew one another as adults, and had not even been properly introduced in society, but he seemed to take it differently. He frowned.

“But surely you must have had many suitors?”

The question seemed so genuine that she wondered if he was unaware of the open secret of her father’s gambling habits. Habits that had not ruined the family yet but certainly didn’t make marriage to her a particularly enticing prospect. She’d heard he was abroad quite a bit, so perhaps he truly did not know. Regardless, this was not the direction she wanted to take the conversation.

“Not as many as you might think, My Lord,” she demurred, shifting her eyes to the side. He took the hint, thankfully, and did not press the question.

“I hope in time you will see that I did not act as rashly or as carelessly as it may seem,” he said, his voice softer. Dropped low like that, it had a pleasantly dark, velvet quality. She shivered but tried not to show it. She wondered what could he mean by that? How could she see this as anything more than it was – a property transaction between two men, neither of whom cared very much for her, the property in question? All the warm feelings from moments ago bled away, replaced by a bitter cold despite the fire in the grate.

“I shall not tarry or take more of your time,” he continued, “especially as I believe we will have much time to discuss such things in the future. In fact, that is my primary purpose for calling today. I’ve come to ask you to come to stay at Hartington.”

“Stay with you? Why?” she gasped, momentarily shocked out of her good manners. She hastily regained her composure. “Forgive me, My Lord. It was a kind offer, but I cannot say I understand why you’ve made it.”

To his credit, he did not tell her that she did not need to understand, as some men would have. But his response still made her heart sink.

“I’m sure you’ll agree it will be an agreeable arrangement. I should like to keep an eye on you, and for you to come to know my mother and sister. And me, as well, of course.”

Emotions swirled through Isolde: a hot spark of anger at the idea that she needed to be kept under scrutiny, a pang of frustration that her father had put her in this situation, and stronger than both those, a chill of fear at leaving her sister to fend for herself in this house. Cornelia wasn’t ready for that; Isolde had never planned to leave her to deal with all this alone.

And yet, even as she contemplated the many reasons she could not go, she knew that she must. He had phrased it like a question, but of course, it was not, not really. She wanted out of this engagement, but she could not achieve that by angering him so that he broke it off. A ruined engagement, on top of the rumors of how the engagement had come to be in the first place? She wasn’t sure her family’s reputation could survive that.

She allowed herself a brief moment to close her eyes – just a breath in and out to will herself to calm. Then she opened them, steeled against this new reality.

“Thank you for the invitation,” she said. “Of course, I would be pleased to come stay with you at Hartington.”

***

At least by the time Cornelia found her packing in her room later that day, she had managed to stop crying.

When Cornelia heard the news, she crumbled into one of the bedroom chairs, her lower lip trembling. At that moment, Isolde thought she might hate Thaddeus Harrow.

“But you cannot leave us, Izzy!” Cornelia exclaimed. “What will we do without you? How shall we survive? As it is, you can barely manage Father with Thomas’s help. Without you, it’s hopeless!”

Isolde had had all the same thoughts, but she couldn’t confide that to Cornelia. Her sister needed her to be strong and make the best of the situation, for all of them.

And besides, she’d had some time to think and had decided to see the whole thing as an opportunity. She pushed all the emotions roiling her stomach down as far as she could.

“Don’t be glum, dear – it isn’t hopeless at all,” she said, tugging Cornelia across the room to sit on the bed and wrapping her arms around her. “It’s awful to be parted from you, but I daren’t risk upsetting the marquess, or making a worse mess than things already are. And besides,” she let go of her sister to procure her a handkerchief for the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, “he’s powerful and well-respected, so perhaps this is a chance for us.”

“A chance? What do you mean?”

Isolde shrugged and tried to sound like she wasn’t making this up as she went along.

“Who knows what might happen? Perhaps if they take a liking to me, I shall be able to convince them to release me from the engagement quietly. I shall probably meet so many new people while I’m staying there. Have chances we have not yet had to find sympathetic allies.”

“Do you think?” Cornelia asked, still tearful but looking brighter.

“What are we always saying? That we must do something before it’s too late. This might be a chance to do just that. I should take it.”

“You’re so smart, Izzy,” Cornelia said and sniffed. “I love you so much.” She threw her arms around Isolde and squeezed her tightly. Isolde squeezed back, willing herself to believe her own words and hoping that, somehow, all this trouble could be worth it.

Chapter Two

Doubts plagued Thaddeus as he walked back to Hartington. He’d come in the carriage, but he sent it on and went on foot. It felt good to stretch his legs and get some of the tension from that meeting out of his body. He strode along the road, no longer worried about the dust that rose to stain his clothes.

He scoffed at himself for how eager he’d been to make a good first impression. What had he expected from Isolde Fairchild? Excitement?

Many women would be thrilled to marry a marquess, it was true, but he doubted any would be pleased to have it sprung on them in such a way. He realized he’d been hoping he might even get a bit of gratitude, but now he saw how ridiculous that was. Had he really thought she might thank him for his part in the whole affair? In her mind, he was probably no better than her father.

He didn’t bother to tidy himself up when he returned, instead settling in his study in his dusty clothes to turn over the whole interaction in his head. He had half a mind to go back and release her from the engagement altogether, except that he knew the news would already have spread. The engagement itself was scandalous enough. He needed to treat its end with a lot more delicacy, so that both their reputations could escape unscathed.

And in the meantime, he would feel much better knowing she was with him, at Hartington, away from her father and whatever other terrible ideas he might have. He pictured the gleam in Crowley’s eyes the night before as he’d goaded the older man into making the wager and shivered. Yes, best to keep Isolde close.

He frowned at the memory of her reaction to his invitation, the only time her carefully composed manners had slipped. Surely the idea of being closer to him was not so terrible? He’d have thought she’d be happy to be away from that house and her father. He certainly had been when his father had still been alive. It was still strange, being here without the shadow of his father’s presence – not feeling as though he wanted to flee every moment.

There was a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“Viscount Cassian, My Lord.”

“Show him in, thank you.”

Cassian swanned in, his dark blond hair disheveled in a way that suggested he’d been out riding. He combed it into place with his hand and dropped into the chair opposite Thaddeus’s desk, a teasing twinkle in his green eyes.

“And how are we feeling since last night’s … events?”

Thaddeus only groaned in response, and Cassian laughed. He seemed to be over whatever had bothered him last night. Well, at least one person wasn’t angry with him over this, then.

“I did tell you not to get involved,” he said.

“I can’t say I regret it, to be honest,” Thaddeus replied stubbornly. “I do not. I do, however, wish I could see how to best untangle the whole thing.”

“I was by earlier, but they said you were out. Did you go to call on Fairchild?”

Thaddeus nodded. “Fairchild wasn’t in a good state to receive company, if you can imagine,” he said dryly. Cassian snorted at this, and Thaddeus felt a twitch of irritation at his new fiancée’s father. “I still made headway with Miss Fairchild, though.”

“The daughter? Your intended?” Thaddeus rolled his eyes at Cassian’s gentle mocking.

“Yes. She agreed to stay here, and please don’t offer your opinion on the matter. I’ve enough opinions on all of this already.”

“You invited her to stay here?” Cassian asked, ignoring his request and raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“I just – Are you actually intending to go through with this? I had honestly thought you only meant to save the girl from Crowley.”

Thaddeus opened his mouth to agree, but Cassian continued.

“I mean, I have heard she’s quite the beauty. Maybe after seeing her today, you thought the better of relinquishing your prize?”

The tone of Cassian’s voice and his referring to Isolde as a prize made something snap in Thaddeus. The bad mood he’d been nursing all day turned hot.

“I know you’ve always kept yourself quite clean,” Cassian said. He sniffed. “Never even a hint of rakishness about you. But if you’re legally wed, well, that’s another matter, isn’t it?”

“Enough,” Thaddeus said, slamming his hand onto his desk. The sound made Cassian jump out of his lazy posture, his eyes widening. He could feel his breathing speed up with his emotions. “This may all be a mess, and apparently a joke to you – but as you said, that woman is my intended wife, and you should speak of her with respect.”

Cassian was staring at him. They rarely fought, and it was even rarer that Thaddeus was the one to instigate it. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him.

A knock on the door broke the tension, and Henry poked his head in without waiting for a reply.

“Ah, sorry Thad. I’ll come back in a bit.”

“It’s fine,” Cassian said frostily, standing. “I was just leaving. Good luck.” He snapped the last two words out as he slipped past Henry and out the door. Henry raised an eyebrow at the tone but evidently decided against asking about it.

He came in and took the seat Cassian had just vacated. Thaddeus tried to rein in his temper, realizing that his pulse was racing and his breathing rushed. He ran a hand through his hair, careless of how unkempt he must look.

“You already know what I’m going to say,” Henry sighed. “This is wrong. It isn’t the way one should go about these things, and it certainly isn’t the way to get Mother off your back about marriage.”

Thaddeus didn’t reply, and Henry leaned forward, nervous but obviously determined to say his piece.

“Maybe you’ve gotten a little … too used to doing things on your own, in your own way. While you’ve been away.” Thaddeus was sure that Henry didn’t mean that to sound like an accusation, like he was suggesting that Thaddeus had run away. But that was how it felt. The anger started to bleed out of him, replaced with guilt. “Just think of us, too, Thad. What you do reflects on all of us. Think of Tatiana’s future.”

His words cut more deeply than Thaddeus wanted to admit. His father had been buried a day and already he was flailing under the obligations of filling his shoes. And yet, for all his father had been a perfect marquess, he had been a terrible father. Cold, demanding, and willing to sacrifice anything for his reputation. That was not the sort of marquess Thaddeus wanted to be. He could not be.

He leaned forward and spoke gently, but firmly. “This might be a mistake, but it’s my mistake to make. You know I would never do anything that would harm you, or Tatiana, or Mother. Surely you know that,” he said, more to himself as he sat back and sighed. “Miss Fairchild is innocent in all this and deserves to be treated as such. For the rest, I shall figure it out. I’m marquess now, and I shall act like it, for better or worse.”

Henry looked at him for a long moment and finally nodded. He wasn’t convinced, but he’d decided not to fight. He stood and began to leave, but he paused at the door to say one last thing.

“This rivalry with Crowley will be the death of you, if you’re not careful.”

***

Isolde had sent word that she would arrive early in the afternoon, and to Thaddeus’s chagrin, it appeared the whole family had decided to welcome her. He doubted very much that Isolde wanted to be met at the door by a whole party of people, but there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps best to get all the introductions out of the way, anyway. He bounced on his feet as her carriage pulled up.

When Isolde stepped out of the carriage into the afternoon sunlight, he had to catch his breath. She wore a deep blue dress in a shade that matched her eyes and complemented her hair. It was simple yet well-made, showcasing her figure modestly yet undeniably. He’d noticed she was pretty the day before, of course – the rumors of her beauty were no lies. But between nerves and not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he hadn’t truly taken in the sight of her.

He’d been thinking that morning of the last time he’d seen her, a few years ago in one of his infrequent trips home. He’d been on a walk because he never wanted to be inside when his father was home if he could help it. He’d come around a bend in the path, and they’d nearly run into each other. She had her hands full of wildflowers that she’d picked, and one particularly pretty one that she’d tucked behind her ear. She had been lovely then in a still girlish way, smiling shyly at him as he stood aside to let her pass.

Now, as he held his hand up to help her down from the carriage, he could see she had fully bloomed into womanhood. All the hints of beauty that had been there from the start had come to fruition, and she was dazzling. He did miss the flower in her hair, though. He idly thought that he should put one there himself and then wondered what he was thinking.

He shook himself and realized everyone was waiting on him to make the introductions. He’d found it odd when he realized that despite the close quarters, his family had never formally met Isolde, or either of her siblings, in any social setting. Apparently, the Fairchilds mostly kept to themselves, making required social appearances but little more. Tatiana had told him that they were seen as always on the edge of impropriety, saved by the title and the careful behavior of the children. He’d thought back to their conversation, and Isolde’s comment about not having so many suitors as he might expect. More fallout from her father’s actions.

“Ah, sorry,” he mumbled to everyone’s waiting stares. He caught Henry giving him an incredulous look while Tatiana giggled behind her hand. He blushed.

“Mother, Henry, Tatiana, this is Miss Fairchild.” He paused a bit before adding, a bit weakly, “My betrothed.” He hastened on in the growing awkwardness, “Miss Fairchild, this is my mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Hartington, my brother, Lord Henry Harrow, and my sister, Lady Tatiana Harrow.”

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, My Lady, My Lord, My Lady,” Isolde said, softly but clearly, and dropped into a curtsy. She was the picture of a perfect lady, and he was seized with a desire to look over at Henry and demand he explain how she was in any way ill-suited to be the wife of a marquess.

He shoved that desire down without looking at it too carefully. It was irrelevant because they were not actually going to marry. But still, surely no one could find any objection to her.

His mother and Henry returned the greeting with a similarly formal tone, but Tatiana, bless her, bounded forward to take Isolde’s hand.

“Now that we’ve been properly introduced, I hope you won’t be so formal. I’m ever so excited to know you. I’ve often wanted to come over and say hello to you and your sister, but Henry said it wouldn’t be becoming. But now we’ve met, we must be friends, and you must introduce me to your sister, as well!”

Isolde looked a little overwhelmed at such a greeting, but she smiled warmly.

“Thank you, I’m sure my sister would love to meet you, if there’s an occasion.” She glanced carefully to his mother as she said that, as if tacitly acknowledging she wouldn’t be pressing any luck. He thought again about how there was nothing objectionable about her, and this time the thought made him feel a bit sad. How constrained she must feel to every social nicety, feeling that she could never put a toe out of line because of her family’s precarious position.

Tatiana pulled Isolde inside, still chatting happily. Henry and his mother followed behind, and he saw them exchange a glance, but he could not decipher its meaning.

“Tatiana,” he called, and his sister turned to him with a happy smile. He knew her support was born of her own dreamy, girlish ideas of romance, but he was happy for it all the same. “I have to attend to some business matters. Perhaps you’d like to give Isolde a tour of the house?”

“Oh yes, of course!” Tatiana beamed. “It’s a stuffy old place, but it’s not so bad. I shall show you all my favorite spots.”

Isolde still looked a bit overwhelmed, but she smiled and dipped her head.

“Thank you, Lady Tatiana. That would be lovely.”

“Just Tatiana is fine, please! After all, we are to be sisters, aren’t we? Let’s just be cozy, like good friends. I shall soon have you calling me Tati like Thad and Henry.” And Tatiana looped her arm through Isolde’s and started to lead her away – no doubt toward the library, Tatiana’s favorite haunt. As they walked away, Isolde threw a glance back at him, and he realized he was somehow the person she knew best in this situation.

Thaddeus felt a desire to laugh at the absurdity of it, followed by a twinge of regret. Perhaps he should have cleared his schedule and given the tour himself.

But no, of course not. She was in much better, more lively hands with Tatiana. And she likely didn’t wish to see him, anyway.

Suddenly feeling quite grumpy, he forced himself to turn toward his study.

“Thaddeus.” He hadn’t realized his mother was still in the entry, watching him.

“Yes, Mother?” he asked, cautiously. They had not fully discussed the situation yet, and he was afraid to know her thoughts. Unlike his father, she had always encouraged him to be kind and trust his instincts – but he feared this situation might be a bit too unconventional, even for her. Sure enough, her face was solemn.

“You are the marquess here now, and I am only too happy for it, my darling. I have full faith in you, and you have my full support. But …” she hesitated, glancing down the hallway, “are you sure this isn’t a mistake?”

I’m not sure of anything, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t admit that now, not when his mother had just professed her faith in his abilities.

He followed the direction of her gaze, watching Isolde listen quietly as his sister chatted about something. They had stopped near a window, the sun coming through to burnish Isolde’s hair.

And he realized that he was sure about one thing. He could not leave her to the whims of fate, not if there was something he could do about it.

“Please don’t worry, Mother,” he said, turning back to her and squeezing her hand where she’d laid it on his arm. “I’m sure.”

Chapter Three

Isolde was doing her best to keep her mind on what Tatiana was saying, but she was failing spectacularly. She wanted to be seen as a good houseguest, for her own sake, if nothing else, and she also wanted to humor Tatiana, who was obviously delighted to have made a new friend. Isolde wasn’t sure how old she was, but she must have been around Cornelia’s age, and so Isolde felt an instinctive warmth toward her.

Unfortunately, it was also a keen reminder that she’d just left Cornelia for she knew not how long, and her thoughts kept straying back to her sister. Though she was physically not far away at all, this new arrangement made her seem almost unreachable.

“Henry spends so much of his time in London these days,” Tatiana was saying, “so you won’t see very much of him, I don’t think. You’re stuck with me, though, I’m afraid! And this is our music room, of course!” Tatiana said, ushering her into yet another space in the house. Isolde realized she had not retained anything the girl had just been saying. She could feel a headache coming on from the effort of keeping her face pleasantly neutral. “Do you play at all?” Tatiana asked.

She had stopped with her hand on a beautiful piano, her green eyes bright with curiosity. Isolde had noticed she, her brother Henry, and their mother all had eyes that same shade of bright green, in contrast to Thaddeus’s warm brown ones. The three of them shared the same jet-black hair color as well, though Lady Harrow’s was turning silver. Their beauty was of a more striking, severe kind than Thaddeus’s sun-kissed charm. Isolde wondered if he took after his father. She could not recall much about the late Lord Hartington, other than she had found him scary as a child.

“Only a little, I’m afraid,” Isolde answered in response to Tatiana’s question. “Certainly not skilled enough to subject others to my abilities.” She and Cornelia had taught themselves, mostly. Cornelia had wished for lessons, but Isolde and Thomas had thought it wise not to incur any extra debts.

“No matter,” said Tatiana cheerfully. “Thad plays quite well; perhaps he will play for you sometime. You can turn the pages for him! Won’t that be sweet?”

Isolde nodded, though she didn’t actually know if that would be sweet at all. She wished she better understood what part she was meant to play here. Was that something he wanted from her – to sit by his side and aid him in his tasks? Things in her father’s house were difficult, but at least she knew her place and what was expected of her. The longer they wandered through Hartington, the more this tour felt like a metaphor for her situation – that she was alone, in an unfamiliar place, where she could not get her bearings. Not for the first time, she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes and quickly blinked them away.

Perhaps not quick enough, because Tatiana suddenly frowned a little, tilting her head to study Isolde.

“Goodness, look at me! I’ve just been chattering away, pulling you here and there, and you must be longing to sit and have a moment to settle in. Let me take you to your room so you can rest.”

Isolde felt she should lie and protest that she was fine, and they could continue the tour. That would certainly be in keeping with the plan she’d proposed to Cornelia, of attempting to build an alliance that could help them escape their father’s vices.

But she was suddenly too overwhelmed to lie convincingly, so she just nodded and said, “Thank you, Lady Tatiana. And thank you for showing me around, it was a lovely tour! Though I am not quite sure I got the lay of the land. I shall have to rely upon your help to navigate, I think.”

The suggestion delighted Tatiana as much as Isolde had hoped it would.

“Of course! You must rely on me for anything you need!”

And with that, she companionably tucked her arm through Isolde’s and led her back through the house. She thankfully did not linger once she’d seen her to the door of her room, only squeezed her hand and said, “I’m so glad Thaddeus finally fell in love!” before practically skipping away down the hall.

Isolde barely registered the room as she went in, instead allowing herself to fall to the bed, finally letting the tears fall. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself from making noise, but the sobs still shook her whole body.