Page 72 of The Truth About Myths
She laughed, and the sound grated on his ears. "She might amuse herself with you for a while, but such a brilliant scientist should know… She won't marry you."
Henrique clenched his hands. He didn't need Rafaela to remind him of life's facts, damn it.
"Don't you see? Isabel is just like Canastra. She loves her duty above all else." Rafaela sneered and left the room.
Chapter 27
"Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make".Euripides,Medea
Isabelopenedhereyesto a room beset by dawn. A thick and pounding migraine assaulted her head, and she repented waking up. Memories of the night before crumpled her defenses, and she accepted her pain with a groan. She had hurt herself, and the fault was entirely hers. Hadn't she known all her life that passion led to disgrace? To think she could have ruined her reputation for that… that—for once, she could not find an epithet to call Henrique. Still, a treacherous part of her, the one who mutinied every time he came near, couldn't understand his betrayal. She rubbed her chest, trying to soothe the ache inside, telling herself it would soon fade.
If only she could believe in animal spirits as Henrique did. Why did women and men have to be so different? While men flew from attraction to attraction, never cooling their wings, women longed for the same love, their life's purpose diminished by a quest from myth—a man who gave constancy as he gave passion.
Sophie flung the door open.
"Mon Dieu, Dolly isn't here?"
"I'm certain she overcame her fears and decided to sleep alone."
"Her bed is made."
Isabel flinched. Sleeping after noon was Dolly's motto, and she would rather make merry than her bed. "Are you sure she isn't sleeping in her bedroom?"
The maid wrung her hands, her eyes downcast.
Isabel flung open the door to Dolly's room. If the chamber's stillness wasn't telling enough, then the ominous envelope atop the counterpane became doom's messenger.
With legs shaking and spirits sagging, Isabel opened the letter.
Your Highness,
You are right. I'm much more than an illustrious nose. I decided to follow my dreams.
I hope with all my heart you will understand.
With all my regard,
Dolly
Isabel lowered the sheet and stared into Dolly's empty armoire. She had eloped. Lady Dolores had ruined herself. Her brain searched for guilty parties and latched onto the most obvious culprit—Henrique. Why had she allowed him to convince her? Charles Whitaker, a man in love? A reformed rake? Impossible. She should have sent Dolly to her father the moment Charles arrived here. But no, she had permitted their interactions, even allowed herself to be convinced of his feelings.
"Do you think she went far?" Sophie asked.
"I don't know what they plan to do."
But Charles' best friend must be privy to their direction.
Isabel marched out of her room. Outside Henrique's door, Isabel paused.
She would not show him how his inconstancy had hurt. By God, she would not. She would ask for Charles's whereabouts, nothing more. Girding herself against his caressing eyes, she knocked.
Diomedes opened the door, unleashing a racketing noise from inside. His blond hair was disheveled, and purple lines marred his fair skin.
When he saw her, his eyes widened. "Yes?"
"I want to speak with him. Now."
"A second, if you please. I'll see if Viscount Penafiel is receiving." Diomedes closed the door in her face.
