“He is handsome.” Isabelle’s mind involuntarily took her back to that magical afternoon at the greenhouse.
“You’re blushing, dear,” Lily observed. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Certainly not!”
Lily made a tsking sound. “I may be unwed, but I’m not pea-brained. I’m sure it can’t have been easy for you all these years to go from being married,” she said meaningfully, “to,” she worked her fingers through the air, looking for the word, “not.” She ducked her head, her face reddening.
Isabelle giggled. “I should never accuse you of being pea-brained, but there are some conversations you aren’t quite prepared for.”
Lily cleared her throat. “In any event, all I mean is, I understand the added … strain this must be for you. Oh, bother.” She covered her face with her hand and collapsed to the sofa in a fit of laughter.
Her friend’s mirth was contagious, and Isabelle felt the corners of her lips tugging upward. One breathy laugh burst from her chest, and then another. A louder, more mirthful sound followed. She had to laugh at the situation, otherwise she’d go deranged from the strain. Soon, she was laughing so hard she could scarcely breathe.
When they calmed, wiping tears from their cheeks, Lily’s expression sobered. “What is it you want?”
The simple question struck something deep inside Isabelle. She smoothed her palms down her unattractive yellow skirt. “I want to go home. London isn’t for me.” Isabelle stood and restlessly paced the room. “You’ve seen how it is — the glances, the whispers, women holding their skirts out of the way so they don’t brush against mine. That’s what I want to talk to Alex about. I know he’ll be angry, but I just can’t bear it anymore.”
• • •
Alexander didn’t return until the sky had already darkened. By the time he arrived, Isabelle had worked herself into a nervous wreck imagining how furious he’d be with her for spoiling both their futures.
He strolled into the sitting room where she’d been pacing the floor the past hour, with an evening paper tucked under his arm.
Now that he was here, Isabelle was nearly overcome with trepidation. He’ll disown me for good this time.
Alex’s green eyes took in his sister’s disheveled appearance at a glance. “I was told you wished to see me. You look ready to crumble to pieces, Isa. What is it?”
“Oh, Alex!” She clamped her left arm across her middle and pressed her right hand to her cheek. “I’m so sorry, dear, but I need to go home. Coming to London was a dreadful mistake.”
He raised a hand. “A moment.”
“Please let me finish.” Tears burned her eyes. If she stopped now, she’d never have the courage to start again.
Alex sat in a chair, seemingly unperturbed — amused, even — at Isabelle’s distress. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle, his folded newspaper laying across his thighs. “Go on.”
Isabelle took several steps to the window. She saw nothing in the inky night but the lights from a few street lamps. All manner of city clamor was audible through the glass, however: horse hooves clattering against the cobbled streets, a door slamming somewhere, and very nearby raucous, inebriated singing. She covered her ears. Too much noise. Too much playing the merry divorcée. Too many balls and routs among people who would never accept her, no matter how she tried to ingratiate herself. Too many nights spent longing for the one man she would never have.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass. “Oh, Marshall,” she whispered. Why did he have to affect her so? How much easier her life would be if she could just put him out of mind. But he kept popping up in her life, kind to her one minute and accusing the next. Holding her close, and then pushing her away. Foisting her off onto a man who wanted to make her his mistress, and then jumping to her defense. It was too much. Her heart felt sick from the turmoil. She had to get away from him. And since he was in London, she needed to be anywhere else.
“I know you spent a fortune on my dresses. I’ll find a way to pay you back, Alex, I swear. But I want to go home. There isn’t anyone for me here. You’ve seen for yourself. If you want me to marry, I’ll marry someone in the village at home. Anyone. You can choose. Only,” she raised a hand, “not an old man. Someone who can,” she paused, a delicate flush climbing her cheeks. “I’d like to have children. Other than that, I don’t care. And then I won’t be divorced anymore, and you can marry a nice woman, and I’ll repay you, Alex.”