Page 108 of Duke of Diamonds
“Papaaaa!” Mozart cawed, flapping his wings with all the theatrics in the world atop Rebecca’s head.
“He is your wife’s little darling, which makes him yours as well,” Elaine observed with an impish gleam.
“I did not sire this impudent bird,” Isaac replied, giving Rebecca a playful spin in the hope that momentum might dislodge Mozart. The parrot clung stubbornly.
“Had he any notion of manners, I might have afforded him a measure of consideration,” Isaac muttered, drawing further laughter from Fiona and Elaine.
“I cannot believe you are allowing yourself to be vexed by an innocent little bird,” Elaine said, shaking her head in mock disapproval.
“Innocent?” Isaac looked positively scandalized. “This bird has made my life utterly miserable since his arrival.”
“Meeezable... Isaaaac,” Mozart mimicked.
“You see?” Isaac gestured with indignation. “And it is always the impudent words.”
“Technically,” Fiona interjected, her eyes glinting with mirth, “you returned and found him here. He had already made himself quite at home.”
The laughter that followed filled the drawing room with warmth—the kind of laughter that stayed behind, long after the echoes had faded. The afternoon passed in cheerful noise, and for a time, everything felt light.
Later, when the house had grown quiet and the long shadows of evening stretched across the corridors, Fiona made her way to Isaac’s study. He sat behind his desk, a pen resting in his fingers, though the page before him remained untouched.
She approached with quiet steps and placed the journal upon the desk.
He looked up, his expression questioning.
“I received the key,” she said. “And I found this in the room.”
She gestured to the worn leather volume. “It appears to be a journal—Mary’s. I believe it ought to be in your keeping.”
Isaac stared at the book for a long moment, his features unreadable in the dim light. Fiona folded her hands before her, feeling the silence stretch between them, taut and uncertain.
“Thank you, Isaac,” she said at last.
He lifted his gaze from the journal and met her eyes. “For what?”
“Trusting me with your past,” she replied, her voice steady despite the weight behind her words.
“Do not say that,” Isaac said, shaking his head. The movement was slight, but something in his expression shifted—guarded, remote.
An inscrutable air settled about him, the kind that no amount of warmth could quite penetrate. Fiona could sense it at once.
He has not told me everything.
“It is something worthy of gratitude,” she said, refusing to step back from her place. “You need not pretend otherwise.”
He opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came. He closed it again, brow furrowed.
“Fiona—”
But the knock at the study door cut clean through the silence.
Mr. Everett stepped in with practiced composure. “Pardon me, Your Grace. A messenger just delivered this—it is an invitation to the Harringtons’ ball. The lady of the house requested the presence of both Your Graces.”
Isaac accepted the envelope, his gaze lingering on it for a moment.
The moment between them was broken. The conversation left behind, like a letter never sent.
CHAPTER 34
