Page 94 of Her Beast of a Duke
The following day, Isabella walked alongside Hermia and Phoebe through the village just beyond Branmere Hall. It was a quaint place, similar to Rochdale, and Hermia immediately made a beeline for a bakery where she seemed to know the owner quite personally.
What is that like?Isabella wondered.To be so integrated into the life here that you are welcomed everywhere?
“I like the flower stall,” Phoebe told her. “I have made it a weekly thing now to bring my papa some flowers. He says he does not care much for flowers, but I once found a four-leaf clover for him, and he kept it. I think he still has it, and Iknowhe keeps a flower from every bunch I buy him.”
“I think that is very sweet, Phoebe,” Isabella answered. She still felt very hollow and aching in her body, but she wanted to try to put on a brave face for the young girl. “What is your favorite flower?”
Phoebe hummed, making a spectacle of putting her finger on her chin and thinking. “All of them! I do not want to pick favorites because then it makes it seem as though the other flowers are not good enough. But they are, so I like to keep my papa’s gifts varied.”
“She is going down the alphabet,” Hermia said quietly. “She is quite keen to find a flower for every letter. So far, despite the lack of order, she is succeeding quite well.”
Phoebe nodded, proud of herself, and for a while, as they strolled through the village and perused the bakery and the flower stall, as well as a lake that Hermia took her to, she felt the heaviness lifting a little in her heart. For the first time since the ball where everything had gone wrong, Isabella felt as though she could breathe slightly easier.
It was not a feeling that would last, but she savored it nonetheless.
Still, throughout the trip, she thought of Oscar. She thought of how he was enduring. If he was still buried in his study or chambers. She wondered if Morris still cried for the two of them, or if he noticed Isabella was gone at all. She wondered if Oscar might have mentioned her in that journal, the words he might have written down without ever voicing.
Did he apologize in his journal? Did he admit his faults and wrongdoings? Did he blame her?
She pushed those darker thoughts aside, buried her pain once more, and bit into the pastry that Phoebe had recommended she buy, and she forced a smile as the flavor of apple burst over her tongue.
At Rochdale Castle, Oscar shut himself away in his study and pored over ledger after ledger that he had already read through a dozen times. He kept staring at his journal, and he did not think about the ink-stained pages he had scrawled through the day after he had ruined everything between Isabella and himself.
He grabbed it roughly and read the last page.
And now she has gone, and all I did was watch her leave with her packed belongings.
For he had let her leave, had he not? He could have asked her to stay, could have gone to his knees and begged for forgiveness, but Oscar did not have it in him. As he buried himself in parchment and ink, he had buried his own mind and heart in that cold, dark place he knew so familiarly, so nothing hurt.
He looked up, startled, as his study door flew open. There in the doorway was not his wife. Heaven, Oscar had a moment where he hoped it would be, and his heart rose. But no, it was Edmund, not his Isabella.
“We must speak,” Edmund said sharply. “And you will not turn me away like you did yesterday.”
“I did not turn you away.”
“You did not even look up at me or answer when I spoke, so yes, you did. But I will not watch you spiral, Oscar. I have seen it before and will not again.”
“Then leave me in peace,” Oscar muttered. “Leave me be?—”
“Damn it, I am yourfriend,” Edmund hissed, striding toward his desk. Oscar flinched back as Edmund slammed his palms onto his desk to get his full attention. “I am your friend, and I will not let you go through this alone, but I will not coddle you. I will not say,poor you,no, for I care too greatly about Isabella to do that. She is hurting; you are hurting, and as your friend, I cannot watch this continue.”
“Then I?—”
Edmund shook his head viciously. “Do not order me to leave. I will not listen.”
“Edmund,” he growled. “I am spiraling just as hard as I did when my parents—when they… when they did what they did that night. I am not myself; I am not in my own head. Do you not understand?”
“No!” Edmund cried. “No, I do not, but that is why I persist. You have forced your wife out of your joint home, but you will not order me out. I know you think nobody should or that you do not deserve it, butIsabella cares.Goodness,Icare. And you know what, Oscar? People who care do not just let you wallow like this. It is scary sometimes.”
Oscar stared at his friend, but he could not feel anything. Not even a pang of guilt at that point. There was simplynothing.An empty chasm had opened in his chest where he wanted his heart to be, but it was long gone and buried.
“Edmund,” Oscar said, his voice still in that cold tone. “Do you know what Isabella said at the ball the other night? She said that she was not in a loveless marriage.”
“How can you quote her but not process what that means? How could you let her leave knowing that she believes that?”
“Because she ought to be!” Oscar snapped, rearing up to his feet, matching Edmund’s stance. “Because it ought to be loveless, so she does not get hurt like I have already hurt her. I am a beast! The ton says so, I believe so, but she…she insists that she does not, but for how long? What lengths will make her see?”
“Why do you want her to?”
