Sebastian scowled. He didn’t think that was the case. And yet, perhaps it was in some cases. They both had their limits. They both… didn’t know what to do about each other, he was beginning to realize. Just another discovery he didn’t like.
There has to be something I can do… I have found my way through every situation I have been put into. I have survived. And if I can help Isabel, I must.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Tiller called quietly. “I don’t think there is anything we can do here. At least not in this sort of situation. For whatever it is you wish to do most of all, well, I’m afraid you will need to find another way.”
“I just wish to protect her.”
Carefully gathering up the files they had spread out across the desk, the solicitor nodded. When he was done, he looked up and asked, “Does she wish for your protection?”
Of course she does. After what she has been through, why wouldn’t she? It is what every woman desires.
Except Sebastian could only shrug as he slowly realized Isabel had never actually asked him for it. Yes, she had thanked him whenever he was there for her. But she wasn’t asking him in advance of doing anything.
Even now, she hadn’t asked him to help or stop or respond to Thomas’s arrival.
“Thank you for your time. Please tell Mrs. Tiller I said hello.” Sebastian came back to his feet. “And stop by the kitchens on your way out, we’ll send you home with a fat basket of fresh bread and biscuits I know she’ll appreciate so long as you don’t eat them all on the ride home.”
Mr. Tiller chuckled. “You know us well. Thank you, Your Grace, and Happy Christmas. Do mind yourself.”
“I will.”
Once the solicitor was on his way, Sebastian grumbled under his breath and cleaned up his study. He thought about going to his weighted bag to work on his punching, knowing it would be nice to put his energy somewhere.
It wasn’t like he could let it out on the house or the people here. He could hardly sit still. The moment he’d seen Thomas Ravenshaw talking the polite butler into getting a foot in the door, Sebastian was ready to give the man a good punch. He’d read enough of the court cases and documents to know that the man was nothing more than a scoundrel.
But this wasn’t a situation where he could fix it with stealing a coin purse, punching in a ring, or instructing his servants.
Sebastian paced a little longer until his patience ran thin. Sweeping through the house, he returned to the front hall to find it empty; Wesley appeared a moment later to confirm that Thomas Ravenshaw had taken his leave.
“And the duchess?” He asked, for a second fearing she was also gone.
Gesturing toward the stairs, Wesley said, “I believe she went to her painting room.”
He was on the stairs in his next breath. Making his way to the painting room, Sebastian slowed before entry. The door was cracked open. He couldn’t hear much, but tilting his head he could see movement as his wife sketched something on her easel.
Sometimes Isabel painted when she was happy, or sad, or even angry. The household didn’t always know, and he certainly didn’t. After this morning, let alone the way they had left matterslast night, Sebastian didn’t know what to expect with her. So he lingered in the doorway.
Isabel was humming to herself. A Christmas hymn. The charcoal she was sketching with had darkened her fingertips. She had beautiful hands. He wished gloves weren’t so popular. Carefully and silently nudging the door open a little further, Sebastian tried to get a better look at what she might be drawing.
“You can come in, Sebastian.”
That made him freeze. He breathed out. “I didn’t make a sound.”
“No.” Pausing to straighten up, Isabel turned and met his gaze. “But I knew you were there all the same. Have you come to spy on me? To tell me what I should do?”
Furrowing his brow over her strange questions, he shook his head. “I only wanted to see that you were well.”
The shawl she had been wearing all this time slipped down her shoulder to rest over her arm. As he crossed the room to a nearby chair, standing as he tried to decide if it was worth taking a seat if she might toss him out, he studied her. Seeing Thomas had shaken her in a way he didn’t like. He had hoped she would let him toss the man out, but understood she was better than that. A true lady. Not a sham of the beau monde like he was.
“If you came to talk about my brother, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I don’t… I don’t wish to speak of it,” she said. Theway she lifted her chin and met his gaze told him she was daring him to even try.
“I didn’t ask about him. I asked about you,” Sebastian said. He gauged her reaction as he took his seat, and found no concern there. “Is it good you are working on something new?”
Frowning, she glanced between him and the blank canvas. “What? Oh. I suppose so. I don’t know. I think I need to start over.”
He tried again. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“No, no, I’ll be all right. I only wish…” She didn’t continue, instead shaking her head. “I’ll start over. This isn’t right.”
