“That’s not it…she’s lovely…it’s just that this is very fast. I have not even found my sister yet—or spoken with my father. Just let me think on it, I pray you.”Coward.He would find himself married if he didn’t just tell Alan no. He understood Isobel’s reluctance to disappoint her father—he shared it. His heart was heavy, not wanting to understand why she’d done what she had. It was easier to think poorly of her.
Alan’s gaze narrowed on Philip, then he smiled smugly. “You do that, lad. I’ll get to work on those papers.” He winked. “Just in case.”
Philip tried not to smile sickly as he stood. He quickly said his good-byes and strode out of there as if Satan were on his heels. Stephen was waiting for him just outside the door and followed silently.
Philip was headed straight for the stairs that led down to the quay when he saw Gillian sitting before the fire, sewing. He put out a hand to Stephen. “Wait here.”
Gillian had seen him leave her father’s room and was watching them. Her welcoming smile turned to a small frown as Philip approached.
“Sir Philip?” she said, setting her sewing aside. “You look as if you’re ready to depart. Isobel will be disappointed if you don’t bid her farewell.”
“Er…we’ve said our good-byes.”
“Oh.” Her dark brows raised slightly. “I see.”
He sat on the hearth near her. “I wish to have a word with you.” He looked down at the ring on his finger. “A few words actually. First—your father wishes us to wed.”
When he looked up Gillian’s eyes were wide.
“Really? That’s wonderful! Now I won’t have to go to France!” She blushed and looked down. “Of course, marrying you rather than an old man would be pleasant, too.”
Oh God.Philip wanted the ground to open. This was not why he’d mentioned it to her. “Gillian, I cannot marry you. But I haven’t told your father that.”
The joy faded from her face, but she still gave him a small smile of understanding. “It’s difficult to tell my father anything these days, isn’t it? No one wants to upset him.” She patted his hand reassuringly. “Don’t fret. I’ll simply tell him I won’t have you, that I find you uncouth and repulsive.”
Philip laughed softly. “My thanks—I think.” He removed his ring and held it out to her.
She took it, raising her brows quizzically.
“Give it to Isobel for me. Tell her if she needs me, she has only to look. And please, tell no one of this.”
Gillian looked at the ring, her face grave, then she tucked it away in her bodice. “I promise.”
“And tell her…” He looked down at his hands, clenched hard on his knees, and sighed, releasing the anger that had bound him up. “Tell her I understand.”
Isobel’s sleep was fitful—filled with images of her night with Philip, yet colored with a film of sorrow, as if she watched through a frosted glazed window. When she finally woke she continued to lie in the darkened bed with the curtains drawn, staring at the carved wooden top of the bed. Was he gone? Traveling south to find his sister? Would she ever see him again? Somehow she knew Philip would go to great lengths to avoid her, perhaps even severing his friendship with her father, and her heart broke a little more. She never meant to make such a mess of things.
Slowly, she became aware of a soft humming and turned her head vaguely to stare at the back side of the curtains. Gillian. Relief washed through her that she must not endure this loss living in empty, loveless Attmore Manor, where everyone was afraid to touch her.
Isobel slid through the curtains into the sunlit room. Gillian looked up from her sewing and smiled. “Good afternoon! You are lazy—you must not have slept at all last night.”
Isobel’s face flushed as she shuffled to her chest, muscles she hadn’t know she possessed aching and protesting her movement. She rummaged about until she found her gloves. Her own feelings were raw; she couldn’t handle anyone else’s just then. She slipped on her gloves and turned to Gillian.
“I suppose I must face Father today.”
Gillian nodded sympathetically. “Aye, I’m afraid you must. But worry not—he suspects nothing and is actually quite well this morn.” Gillian set her sewing in her lap and raised her brows. “Father doesn’t want me to marry the Frenchman anymore. He has someone else in mind.”
Isobel came to the hearth and sat beside Gillian. “A Scotsman?”
Gillian nodded.
Isobel caught her sister’s hands and squeezed. “That’s wonderful!” When Gillian didn’t smile, Isobel asked, “Is he old?”
“No—he’s young and handsome.”
“Then why aren’t you happy?”
“He wants me to wed Sir Philip Kilpatrick.”
