at the Earl of Carnwood’s youngest sister-in-law if he dared.
‘Wulf FitzDevelin may not get past generations of rank and privilege and be-damned-to-the-rest-of-you, but Dev can do it with a few flicks of his pen and a lampoon from a scurrilous friend who owes him a favour.’
‘You’re him; a famous writer? That Dev?’ she said, incredulous he was the scourge of liars and hypocrites and fools she’d found so irresistibly funny when he wasn’t directing his fury at her.
His more usual style of showing the folly and misfortune of his fellow man took his writing beyond satire. She admired his compassion and delight in ordinary and extraordinary people of great cities and small places alike. In his mind she probably qualified as liar, hypocrite and fool. That idea added a layer of sadness to her guilt she didn’t want to think about right now.
‘Luckily for me there’s no law to stop a bastard being a writer or vice versa. And I thought I was so cynical nothing could shock me, but you proved me wrong tonight, Miss Alstone; I hope you’re proud.’
‘Not really,’ she made herself say as if she was thinking about something more important than a trifling sin she could take to church with her on Sunday and come away with a feeling of absolution.
‘Mention this aberration to my brother and I’ll not only deny every word and ruin you, I’ll take your family and friends down with you.’
‘Don’t threaten me,’ she flared back at him, even as fear for those she loved and wanted to protect flared fiercely in her heart and hurt more bitterly because he was the one trying to put it there. ‘Nobody will rule me or mine with fear or beatings or nasty little lies ever again,’ an Isabella even she hadn’t known was so furious about her childhood spat like a cornered tigress. ‘Stay away from me and mine and your brother as well,’ she went on in a forceful whisper for fear of being overheard. ‘I’ll do what I can for your half-sisters, Mr Wulf, as long as you’re not glowering at me from the sidelines as if I’m the She-Wolf of France and Lucrezia Borgia rolled up together.’
‘Your namesake the Queen Isabella, so-called She-Wolf of France?’ he taunted her.
‘A poor choice of words doesn’t change facts.’
‘I doubt you worry very much about them at the best of times, miss. Luckily for you I haven’t the stomach to stay here and watch you promise to wed my brother as if you’re worthy of even a single hair on his head.’
‘You love him, don’t you? All those stories about you being heartless and impervious to love and affection are more of Lord Carrowe’s lies,’ she said, so shaken by the fact the notorious Wulf FitzDevelin had turned out to be nothing like the man he’d been painted she forgot she was the one doing battle with him right now.
‘I feel very cold and resistant to you, and if you don’t hurry back inside, your undeserved reputation as a cool and lovely lady of fortune will be blasted for good. I’d be the first to dance on her grave, but Magnus wouldn’t like it.’
‘I certainly won’t risk notoriety for the sake of someone who thinks he can threaten all I hold dear because I was stupid.’
‘Stupid? A little more than that, Miss Alstone,’ he said with such revulsion in his voice she decided to let him have the last word, since he liked them so much.
She gave him one last challenging look to dare him to do his worst, then turned her back. He was a mirage—a wonder that turned out nothing of the kind. Magnus and his sisters and her own loving family were real; they mattered. She used her memory of the ballroom’s layout and decorations to sneak back inside unnoticed. She would get her breath back and confess to nodding off in a quiet corner from exhaustion and nerves. Yes, she could put Isabella Alstone back together and even look glowingly happy when her engagement to a good man was announced. Just a few more moments away from the stares and speculation of the cream of local society and she’d be able to playact with the best of them.
Six months later Isabella wished she couldn’t remember that night of rebellion as if it was only moments ago. She watched her very pregnant middle sister walk towards her like a ship in full sail and did her best to swap prickly memories for here and now.
‘Are you hiding up here because you think it’s the last place anyone will look, Izzie?’
‘If I was, it clearly hasn’t worked and, no, I’m not hiding,’ she lied concisely when Kate reached her. The need to find peace felt urgent after all these weeks and months of turmoil, so here she was on the top floor of the newest part of Viscount Shuttleworth’s grand and sprawling mansion, watching the spring landscape below and trying not to think.
‘That’s your story,’ Kate said sceptically. ‘I never believed them when you were the baby of the family and a sweet smile and tall tale got what you wanted nine times out of ten, and I don’t believe you now.’
‘Well, I’m not a baby anymore, so stop thwarting me for the good of my soul and trust me to know my own mind.’
‘You’re my little sister, Izzie, and trying to pretend all’s well with your world when it obviously isn’t won’t work. I can tell how sad and confused you are about whatever has happened between you and Magnus these last few months while I’ve been stuck in the country like a cow out at pasture. Don’t shut me out, love; I’m on your side whether you want me there or not.’
‘You wouldn’t leave me alone even if I wanted you to, so it’s as well I don’t,’ Isabella joked, then sobered when she saw genuine hurt in her sister’s eyes. ‘I know how lucky I am to have a lionhearted older sister like you, Kate. When we were little and Miranda eloped, then Jack died, you protected me like a lioness. You must have been so sad and lost yourself, but you somehow forced our aunt and cousin to stop beating and bullying me until I was as silent and cowed as Magnus’s poor little sister Theodora. I’m sorry it cost you so much to keep me safe, but you have a family of your own to spoil and protect now, my Lady Shuttleworth, and I can take care of myself. I’m sad about the end of my betrothal to Magnus, but I expect I’ll get over it soon enough.’
‘I don’t think you will,’ Kate argued as if wistfulness and guilt were written all over Isabella’s face and she really hoped they weren’t. ‘And you were quite right to put an end to it if you didn’t love him.’
‘Although you’re the worst-tempered and most infuriating sister I have, Katie darling, you’re loyal to a fault,’ Isabella tried to joke; because she had a sore heart and conscience she didn’t want Kate to know about. And she did love Magnus, just not in the way a wife should love her husband.
‘You only have two sisters.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Hmmm, I know when I’m being led away from a subject, so trying to make me angry won’t work. I’m not as gentle as Miranda is most of the time, but I can control my temper when you’re not around to goad it. And you should humour me, since I’m in a very interesting condition,’ Kate said with a rueful rub of her swollen belly.
‘You’d hate it if I did.’
‘True, but I might secretly be flattered you wanted to cosset me so badly you held that clever tongue of yours for once in your life.’
‘You
