Page 119 of Duke of Diamonds
He turned to her with a brow raised.
“I wished to ask if my mother might remain with us for a time,” she began. “Just until I can arrange a house for her.”
He studied her closely now. “Has something happened?”
Fiona nodded. “I went to visit her this morning. My father... there was a broken vase. He threw it, and it missed her by inches.”
Isaac’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms without a word, holding her close.
“She shan’t return there,” Fiona whispered.
“She won’t,” he said against her hair. “I shall have my solicitor make arrangements for a house. Somewhere safe. Comfortable. Hers entirely.”
Fiona drew back slightly to look at him. “You will?”
“You are my wife, Fiona. Of course, I will.”
“Thank you, Isaac.”
He gave her a look that made her heart skip, and before she could think to resist, he leaned in and kissed her.
“Must you always look at me with such heroic gratitude?” he murmured when they parted.
“I cannot help it if you insist on being heroic,” she teased.
“I was heroic for agreeing to drink your dreadful tea,” he said, brushing a curl from her cheek.
“You call it dreadful and yet you continue to request it.”
“Only because I enjoy the way you pour it... with such self-importance.”
Fiona gave his chest a playful shove. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, catching her hand, “you married me.”
She smiled up at him, then gently withdrew her fingers.
“I shall let you return to your work.”
Fiona stepped out and drew the door softly behind her. Smoothing a hand down her skirts, she proceeded to rejoin her mother.
Fiona stepped into the storage room, and as the door closed behind her, she let her fingers trail along a stack of framed canvases leaning against the far wall.
Perhaps Isaac won’t mind if more of Mary’s paintings were placed around the house,she mused.She belonged here, after all. Her presence needn’t remain hidden.
She moved through the room, the candlelight catching on gilt edges and muted hues, some bright, others faded. Several trunks were arranged in a corner, their brass fittings dulled with time. Fiona crouched before one, easing open the lid with care.
Inside lay odds and ends—brushes, folded linens, a scattering of keepsakes. At the bottom, nestled between a bundle of letters and an embroidered handkerchief, lay a silver locket. She drew it out gently and opened it.
Inside were two tiny portraits—one of a young Isaac, the other unmistakably Elaine. Fiona smiled, touched by the innocence in their painted features. She set the locket aside carefully atop a nearby chest.I’ll show it to Isaac later,she thought.He ought to have this.
Just then, something else caught her eye—a leather-bound volume tucked beneath a faded shawl. Her breath hitched.
It looked remarkably like the journal she had discovered before.
Fiona lifted it with cautious hands. The cover creaked softly as she opened it. And there, in the same elegant script, was the name she now recognized all too well. Mary.
She stared at the page a long moment, then pressed the journal to her chest.Tomorrow,she promised.I will go through everything else tomorrow. Tonight... I must read this.
