They were at Maria’s library, of course. Maria and her husband were not manning the library today, and had instead left a pair of nervous-looking young women in charge.
Viola sighed, pushing her spectacles up on her nose. “I’m sorry, Isolde. Can’t you just be firm with your parents, and tell them you aren’t interested in the slightest?”
“I’ve tried that. They all seem to think I’ll change my mind. I’m starting to believe that I’m the mad one.”
“Well, we know you aren’t.”
“I simply had to escape the confines of the house, you see. I am utterly weary of being dictated to regarding my identity and my desires for life. It is most unjust.”
Viola made a soothing clucking noise with her tongue and reached out to pat Isolde’s shoulder.
“This shall pass, you know. Seasons don’t last forever. Just keep refusing Lord Raisin, and he’ll get tired eventually.”
“I’d like to think so, but he hasn’t gotten tired so far.”
The bell hanging at the door tinkled, and both women automatically glanced over their shoulders.
It was the middle of the day, and the library was quiet. There were a few ladies browsing the shelves, and one gentleman who appeared to be on the brink of tears, reading a mathematical text in the corner.
A little girl came in, glancing nervously around. She appeared to be around thirteen years old, neatly dressed, and tugging awkwardly at one long plait.
It was fairly clear that it was the girl’s first time in the library. She stood in the doorway, peering around, unsure of where to start. The two girls who were meant to be watching the library made no move to greet the girl.
Biting back a sigh, Isolde strode across the room.
“Welcome, my dear,” she said, flashing a smile. “Have you a subscription? You won’t be allowed to take books home if you don’t have a subscription.”
The girl nodded, looking relieved, and took out a new card. Isolde inspected it and handed it back.
“How lovely. I bet you’re excited, then?”
“Oh, very much. I like the Lady Author who writes those funny, witty books. I just read her newest one, Pride and Prejudice. Do you know it?”
Isolde broke into a wide smile. “I certainly do. Would you like some other recommendations?”
“Yes, please.”
“Are you here by yourself? Don’t you have a mother or a sister here to watch you?”
“I’m alright by myself,” the girl said defensively. “My brother brought me here, and he said to wait until he comes back for me.”
“I see. Well, you can call me Isolde. What’s your name.”
“My name is Amelia.”
Perhaps Isolde ought to have put two-and-two together, but in the end, she and Amelia had been talking and browsing the shelves for close to half an hour before the bell tinkled again, heralding another visitor.
Amelia glanced over her shoulder, and her face lit up.
“Clayton! There you are!”
Isolde’s heart sank before she even turned around.
Just as she’d expected, Viscount Henley stood there, broadshoulders filling the doorway, his cape speckled with waterdrops from the lightly falling rain outside. His gaze met hers, and Isolde suddenly felt as though there was a hook lodged in her gut, and when he looked at her, somebody gave the hook a slow but steady tug. It was the strangest feeling, but not an unpleasant one.
Oh, curses, Isolde thought.
“Lady Isolde,” the viscount managed at last. “I see you’ve been taking care of my sister.”
