Isolde was glad to leave the duke alone, needing a moment to herself to think about what had just happened and what she intended to do.
Mr. Pemberton showed her to her room, one right next to Cassian’s private quarters, and while he did not accuse her of any wrongdoing, he was not exactly warm or congenial. It was as if a silent understanding had been reached that so long as Cassian wanted her there, she could stay. But the moment it was sensed that she was bad for the duke…
Truly, when that moment comes, I will be glad to leave.
“If you require anything,” Mr. Pemberton said as he walked to the door, “I will send a chambermaid to assist you. This is your home now, as it is His Grace’s…” The side of his lip twitched. “Welcome to Blackthorne Hall.”
The door slammed closed, and Isolde jumped.
Alone now, she took in her new room. It was the size of her cottage, possibly even bigger, richly decorated, clean and sweet smelling, much more than she deserved.
Isolde wandered to the window. It provided a view of the back garden and the fields beyond. They were verdant and sparse, low rolling hills that stretched far until the blue sky above swallowed them whole. A most beautiful view, yet Isolde could not enjoy it.
She stared out the window as she considered her situation and what she would do. Although she was in the wrong, she reasoned that her intentions were pure. Cassian needed her, and for as long as he did, she would be there for him. She would not manipulate him. She would not try to make him do anything that he did not want to do. She was merely there to help him find his feet until his memory returned.
And my family too. If I can convince him to help them somehow, then maybe what I have done won’t be nearly so bad…
Once his memory returned, Isolde would admit what she’d done and accept her punishment. No excuses. No begging or pleading. She had done this, and the consequences would be accepted as such.
The view was divine. The room was impossible. But Isolde felt ugly inside—alone and shameful, and unable to appreciate this new world because she knew it was not forever. Nor should it be.
Seven
“Good morning, Miss Whitmore.” The chambermaid burst into Isolde’s bedroom and made straight for the curtains. “How did we sleep?”
Isolde moaned as she slowly came to.
If she were being honest, she would have told the chambermaid that her sleep was little better than a newborn’s. Still wracked with guilt, she’d tossed and turned as she’d tried to come to terms with what she had done.
However, as recent history had proven, honesty was not Isolde’s strong suit.
“I slept well—Argh!” she cried as the curtains flew open and the morning light spread its warmth and radiance across the room. It struck her right in the face, and she threw up an arm to cover herself.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” the chambermaid apologized. “Mr. Pemberton told me you wished to be woken with the sun.”
“It is fine,” Isolde said as she slowly adjusted to the light. “And there is no need to apologize…” She threw back her blankets and climbed from bed. “And truly, there is no need to dote on me. I am perfectly capable of opening my own curtains.”
The chambermaid was a young woman, possibly the same age as Isolde. She had a kind face with strawberry blonde hair and pink cheeks. She had large but dull eyes, and she looked blankly at Isolde as if she did not understand the words that had been spoken to her.
“I… but it is one of my tasks, Miss Whitmore. To see you up in the morning and assist you in readying for the day.”
“Isolde, please.”
“Excuse me?”
“You may call me Isolde.”
“That is…” The chambermaid started to look uncomfortable. “I would really prefer not to, Miss Whitmore.”
This was not Isolde’s world, and never had it been so obvious. To lie about her identity was one thing. But to live that lie—to give in to the new life and pretend it was something that she wanted and deserved—was another thing entirely.
“I am sorry,” Isolde said. “I did not?—”
“No, no,” the chambermaid hurried. “You do not apologize. Never, ever. Now…” She clapped her hands and beamed. “Breakfast will be served shortly, but let us see about a bath, yes? After which, I will have your morning dress ready and waiting.”
“A bath?” Isolde blinked. She had bathed before, of course, but it was not a daily occurrence. And when she did, she was always the one in charge of heating up the water, as well as being the last to use it, as her brother, sister, and father went first.
“Let me show you the way…” The chambermaid hurried to the door. “I informed the steward that you would be arriving shortly, so it should be ready as soon as you wish for it.” She looked happily at Isolde, apparently thrilled to be serving her.
