Page 77 of My Duke, The Stranger
“Why do I find that hard to believe?—”
“Will you stop!” Isolde laughed as she said it. “You are sick, Thomas and Marianne cannot possibly care for you. And until you are well, this is how things will be.” She raised a warning eyebrow at him.
He shrank back, but likely that was just because he did not have the strength to argue. “As you say. I blame myself, I suppose. Serves me right for raising such a headstrong daughter.”
She laughed. “I do not know what you were thinking.”
“Oh, I knew what I was doing.” Lying in bed, he looked at her with such love and affection that it almost managed to fight back those feelings of sorrow that suffocated Isolde so that she could hardly breathe. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”
She took his withered hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps I will speak to Cassian about bringing you to the manor where you can be looked after properly.”
The words were spoken to comfort her father, and they turned to ash on her tongue because they were also a lie. Cassian did not know where Isolde was because she had not told him. Worse still, she doubted that he would care.
“Me, living in a manor like that…” He laughed but it was broken by fits of coughing. “What a thing. I am so proud of you, Isolde.” He looked at her with those big eyes, and she had to look away to stop herself from crying. “How this came to be, well, I cannot say that I condone it. But it happened, you are clearly happy, and that is all I ever wanted for you.”
She squeezed his hand, her arm shaking as she fought back those tears. “You speak as if this is the end, Father. But you will be well soon, and once you are, well…” She forced laughter. “First of all, this parish will need some fixing. I will be sure to speak to Cassian about that too.”
Another lie. Another moment where Isolde hated herself. But that was common of late. She spoke the words to make her father feel better, knowing they did little, while knowing that each lie told only made her feel worse.
How has it come to this… no, it was always coming to this. My lies have caught up with me, and I deserve whatever comes.
It had been three days since Mr. Harwood had come to visit Isolde, since he had lied to Cassian’s face, and since Cassian had walked out of the room without giving Isolde any sense at all of whether he believed the lies, or whether he believed her. Three days, and since then… nothing.
Cassian had been avoiding her. From sunrise to sunset, he was absent from the estate, seemingly determined not to see her.
If she had wondered what Cassian thought about Mr. Harwood’s accusation, she knew the answer by now. And while she wanted to speak to Cassian directly, to beg him to believe her, she also saw no point.
The simple fact was that her husband did not trust her. And because he did not trust her, he likely never would. Perhaps they would get past this one lie, and perhaps he would finally decide that he believed her. But what of the next lie? Or the one after that? At what point would Cassian realize that Isolde was simply not worth the cost.
Worse still, Isolde could not blame him.
She was done trying to justify her actions. She was done making excuses for them. Perhaps if she had followed through and ended up helping her family, she could make her peace with what had come. But she hadn’t even managed to do that. And now, all she could do was wait for the inevitable…
One day soon, Cassian would call her into his office, he would tell her he wanted an annulment to their marriage, and she would have little choice but to bow her head and agree.
It was lucky then that she did not love him…No, that is also a lie.
“You know who you remind me of…” Her father’s voice was weak, and his eyes could hardly manage to stay open.
“Who?” She smiled down at him.
“With the light, how you look just now.” He coughed. “You look just like your mother. Or how I remember her.”
“Is that so?”
“I don’t tell you enough how much you remind me of her,” he said. “She was headstrong like you. Oh, you’d better believe it.” He laughed at the memory. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who can argue quite like she could. Well, until you came along, that is.”
That her father spoke so openly about her mother was proof that he thought his life was coming to an end. Isolde hardly remembered her mother at all. It was strange, as she had not been that young when she died, but memories were odd like that. Likely, the pain of her death was enough to see them buried deeply so they couldn’t hurt her.
Isolde almost laughed at the notion. Hadn’t she told Cassian to do the opposite? Hadn’t she told him that painful memories were to be cherished because they made a person who they were? The good and the bad; they were what defined you.
“Tell me again, how you met,” Isolde said as she held onto her father’s hand. “I have not heard the story in so long.”
“Oh, now that is a story.” His eyes glazed over and for a moment, her father almost looked like his old self. “You think that you and His Grace have a romantic story?” He chuckled and wheezed. “Let me tell you, that is nothing.”
“Remind me,” she said with a smile.
“I can still remember the first time I saw her,” Isolde’s father began. “I was hosting a sermon. The services were bigger back then. Nearly fifty people, at the least. And I knew all their faces too. Every one, by name. But I didn’t know her.” He looked past Isolde as if at an old memory. “I’ll never forget it. When I saw her. I lost my place…” He laughed again. “Had to start over.”
