Page 111 of Duke of Diamonds
Thus, she drew in a long, steadying breath, schooling her expression with care before she turned from the door and walked slowly away. Her steps were measured, though her thoughts spiraled.
Why did he never speak of it?
The carriage ride home was quiet but for the rhythmic clatter of hooves. Fiona sat rigidly, her gloved hands clasped in her lap, her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the window.
“Are you quite well?” Isaac asked at length, studying her in the dim glow of the carriage lamps. “You’ve been most silent. And you look rather pale.”
She turned her head toward him, her face unreadable.
“Why did you not tell me, Isaac?”
He blinked. “Tell you what?”
“That my father approached you for money. To settle his debts.”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in surprise. Before he could answer, she pressed further.
“Did he ask you to keep it from me?” she asked, recalling the furious vow her father had uttered behind that closed door. “Is that why?”
Isaac exhaled sharply through his nose. “Do you truly believe I would take instruction from him on such a matter?”
“Then why did you not tell me?” Her voice rose—not in volume, but urgency. “I had to overhear it like some stranger loitering in a hallway.”
It is bad enough that he married me from obligation. That I am already more burden than bride. And now—now my father goes grovelling to him, begging for coin. As though I’ve brought nothing to this marriage but disgrace.
“I saw no need to trouble you with it,” Isaac said with a slight shrug, his gaze fixed on the passing night beyond the carriage window.
Fiona’s brows drew together. “Do you not think I had a right to know?”
He turned to her then, brow raised. “Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill, Fiona?”
The words struck like a slap.
Because it is not a molehill to me.
Because she wanted more—needed more—than to be treated like a fixture in his life. A duty he had taken on with grim resolve. She had married him for far more than obligation, even if she had not dared to admit it aloud. Was it so much to hope he might see her the same way?
“You needn’t concern yourself. I have everything in order,” he added.
“Do not oblige him,” she said quietly.
He studied her for a moment. “May I ask why?”
“The reason matters not. I simply ask that you do not.”
She could feel it now—a resolve hardening inside her. She would find the funds herself, even if it meant parting with her personal effects. Jewelry, trinkets, whatever she could sell. She would not allow her parents to become beholden to him.
Especially not her father. George Holden was not a man to be trusted with debt—or with power.
Isaac opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the carriage slowed before Craton Manor.
Fiona moved swiftly, her hand already on the door latch.
She descended before he could offer his hand and did not wait for him to follow.
She ascended the front steps alone, back straight, chin high—but her steps felt leaden.
And by the time she reached her chambers, that brave front had thinned.
