Leaning back, Isla hoped that would be all of the conversation. She wasn’t certain she could bear much more. The weight of her choices was beginning to drag her down into a slump once again. It nauseated her and it was all she could do not to weep.
The life she was signing herself up for promised no joy. The little window she had still to enjoy anything was quickly shrinking and she couldn’t bear it. Everything felt so difficult and so miserable.
“Isla?”
Please don’t.
She struggled to lift her gaze. “Yes, Genevieve?”
The other woman scooted to the edge of her bench, leaning forward while she held onto the seat. The lamps of London shined across her face in glimpses while they made their way down the street. Beautiful in a gown of dark purple and red, the other duchess offered a tentative smile to her.
“I cannot help but be curious if something is amiss. Particularly if there is something I can do to help you. I did not expect, you may imagine, to find myself going from the townhouse that Ronan owns to your mother’s house. Is there anything you might be willing to share with me? I won’t share with anyone, of course.”
“No.” Isla gulped down the nausea. “No, thank you. All is well.”
The other woman was more persistent than she might have anticipated. Though Genevieve attempted to remain calm, the way her eyes darted about belied the truth. “I’m afraid that’s not all that sparked my curiosity. There is talk about town regarding your current… situation.”
No longer able to look her in the eye, Isla turned toward the window. The moving scenery didn’t help. Nor did the musty smell of the streets passing through. She clenched her hands in her lap.
They were close to her home now. Or rather, her mother’s. All she had to do was survive until then. Survive while her stomach twisted and her skin itched all the way to her ears and she couldn’t think of doing anything but crying.
“I’m not particularly certain about what exactly she is saying.” Genevive had decided to keep speaking even though Isla wasn’t engaged. “There are a few versions, I’m afraid. None of them are particularly generous of you or your marriage. Some say you found the duke incompetent. Some say he attempted to hurt you, or worse. Someone even said you’re leaving him for someone back in Scotland. Are you leaving London? Leaving England?”
“No, I… I mean, yes. I don’t know,” Isla stammered, her tongue twisting over the lies. “I don’t know what she is saying.”
“It must be difficult, whatever this is. I cannot imagine… Might I be able to assist you? If you can tell me even a note of what is happening, perhaps I can be of some service,” Genevieve added gently.
A hand reached out for Isla and she jerked back this time. “No! I…” Before she knew it, she was knocking on the roof of the carriage. It started to slow. In front of her, Genevieve looked at her with an open mouth of surprise. “I need to go.”
“What? I don’t understand. Did I say something wrong? I’m awfully sorry, Isla. Please don’t go. We’re not yet to your house. I would hate––”
But Isla was already out of the carriage and closing the door.
“Isla!” The duchess called to her through the window. Desperation and exasperation lingered in her tone. “What is it? I only want to help. I am worried about you. I would like to be your friend.”
“No. No, I cannot!” Isla called over her shoulder. She hurried off the street, her blood pumping and part of her feeling guilt the more distance she put between them. “I fear we shall never speak again. It’s for the best. I… I’m so sorry.”
She looked back to show that she meant it, a bitter smile that only lasted a moment. And then Isla hurried down the lane past the three houses before reaching her house.
Fortunately, she had a house key in her reticule. In case of Genevieve or anyone following her, Isla hastily made her way inside and closed the door behind her.
“Back so soon?” Her mother appeared from the nearby parlor. She had a small plate of biscuits in hand. “Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were at a dinner party.”
“I was. Now I’m back.”
“You look cold. Are you crying?”
Her cheeks were wet now that it was mentioned. Isla hurriedly wiped at her face, wrinkling her nose. “No. I don’t know. It was cold outside. That’s all. I am going to bed, Mother.”
She hoped that was enough. It should be. She didn’t know what her mother was doing lately but it didn’t matter. There was no way for her to keep talking with the woman in case the truth spilled out. Or anything awful could happen. She just needed to be alone.
Footsteps trailed after her toward the stairs. “Bed? You’re always abed now, Isla. You’re not even supposed to be here. Why won’t you go back to your husband? I can’t imagine you mean anything you’ve said here.”
“Can’t I? I always mean what I say, Mama.”
“But you’re a married woman. A duchess. The Ton looks to you, darling, and you cannot disappoint them. Or your husband. Perhaps I should bring him back here. You know, he––”
Stumbling on the steps, Isla couldn’t fathom seeing Ronan again. No, she couldn’t bear it. Seeing him again would surely break her.
