Hers was a light breeze. “You…you don’t think it’s shameful?”
“Damn shameful I cannot hold you in my arms and waltz across the floor as I’ve dreamed for days. And nights—oh, the nights!”
She tried to tug away.
When he held firm, she turned her head to the side and he saw moisture dampening her lashes. He shook her to bring her head around. “Why?”
“Why do I behave like a heathen?” she fairly spat at him, going rigid beneath the grip of his hands. “Why do I contort my body in vulgar ways befitting a damn hedge whore?” He gasped at her language. Not so much stunned at hearing the words, but stunned at hearing her speak them—and in regard to herself! Before he could protest, she railed at him. “Or why do I hide from you? From everyone? Why won’t I dance with you? Is that what you demand to know?” Her body went slack, all the fight and flame drained from her. “Because I’m nothing but a wretched, damaged female whose only purpose in life is to draw in air that better belongs to another!”
With that, she wrenched from his slackened hold and jerked back only to round on him, suddenly breathing fire again. “Is that what you wanted to hear? What Father disciplines into my head every time he catches me moving in any manner he considers unbecoming—which means anything not sitting prim, back starched straight, hands folded, feet on the floor—and still as a grave!—in a bloody chair!”
“Isabella…” he murmured, but she wasn’t finished.
“Do you know he released my governess the moment the physicians told him my sight would never be normal? That the quote you so admired and everything else I’ve learned since is whatever Mama could bring to hand and share with me?” Her pale eyes flashed sparks at him. “That the first time Father caught me moving to music in my head he locked me in my room for three days so I could ‘contemplate upon whatever reprehensible actions had drawn this particular punishment to me’? What else do you demand to know?”
She cocked her head and evaluated him in such a way he felt like a slimy insect about to be dissected. “Well? I’m sure there are thousands, no, make that hundreds more because ever since The Disastrous Accident he hasn’t wanted to look upon his imperfect daughter and orders me from his sight any time I dare cross his path!”
Her tirade had drawn the attention of the musicians. They’d stopped playing and three of them were leaning over the balustrade. Nicholas waved them back. A gold sovereign or two should ensure their silence. He’d see to that after he saw to the mistaken woman trembling before him.
Her heart bled a river of crimson; her wings ceased to sway. If she’d had air to breathe, it would’ve escaped on a sigh, one of despair.
Not once since joining this dimension had hope and happiness seemed so unattainable.
She’d known of course, how he’d spurned their only child, first for daring to be female then with more vehemence once it became clear no male heirs would follow. Had known his anger increased once Isabella was no longer a “perfect” little lady to parade before any marriage-minded lords or their sons as a pawn for his political aspirations.
Had known his contempt raged stronger than compassion, his fury fiercer than love…
But knowing how her precious daughter had been treated and witnessing the effects with the clarity of one in the beyond were two vastly different experiences.
Oh, my darling… What has he done to you?
“Nicky’ll take grand care of her, just see if he doesn’t!”
Startled by the exuberant voice, she turned to behold an adorable golden-haired child. A beaming girl who’d joined her atop the lonely nimbus. “He calls her Issybelle too. Have you noticed? She’s perfect for him, I think.”
Yes, and I think he’s perfect for her.
Marveling at the miracle she’d had no hand in, she extended one feathery wing. The child eagerly nestled beside her. “Are you not delighted?”
Most assuredly she was beyond delighted, for now she had someone to share her hope. “Aye, moppet, I do believe they are rather magnificently suited.” As are we.
So much became clear in an instant.
Why she’d chided him for aspiring to perfection.
Why she hid her love of dancing, though he still believed that particular word to be woefully inadequate for the splendor her limbs wrought.
Why she embraced his kisses—and dare he think him specifically—as she did, so uninhibitedly, so recklessly for one of her quality. So wonderfully. And as one set free for only a short time—with every expectation of being locked away again after a brief reprieve.