“Marie’s happiness matters more to me than a title—more so than ever, considering I’ve been neglectful in raising her. In any event, you are a viscount’s son. You will inherit consequence in time, and you already possess a respectable fortune.” He paused. “She is expensive, however. Consider yourself warned.”
Oliver grinned. “So eager to be rid of her?”
“My sister Elizabeth has that honor, and she is delighted to welcome you as a brother-in-law, if you are suitable.” Nicholasshrugged. At first, seeing Oliver the way he had, he had assumed there would be some terrible consequence from his identity having been discovered. But now he was here, he wondered why he had come to think that. He and Oliver had gotten along from the very beginning, and he had no fear that the other man would betray his false identity to theton.
Marie had picked well; this was a man who would treat her with kindness and laughter. There was little more that could be asked of a husband. A woman could do a lot worse.
“What of your marriage?” Oliver asked. “Or does our newfound connection not allow for that question?”
Nicholas recalled the conversation they’d had about Isadora. “Things with my wife are…” He hesitated, but the truth was far easier to access than he could have imagined. “Good,” he finished. What a relief to know that was the true situation.
She made him happy, and more than that, she met him every step of the way. She had ripped at his clothes with just as much animal eagerness as he felt for her. She craved him almost as much as he craved her. And even when they were being carnal, there was an ease that came from her company.
He could see himself spending the rest of his days the way he had been spending the last two. And he no longer had any pressing need to visit the boxing club, or to fight until his knuckles bruised and his blood pulsed in his body. His emotions had an entirely different outlet, and it felt…
Yes,good,he supposed, was a fitting word.
He smiled. “I am happy,” he said, and then, because the feeling was so very novel, and because he enjoyed the sound of the words so much, he repeated the sentiment, “Weare happy.”
Isadora felt as though she were floating on air. The days dripped past like treacle, sticky and sweet. One particularly hot day, they took the coach into York and visited a small parlor that served, amongst other things, ices.
Isadora had once tasted ices at her father’s house. The cook had discovered a recipe book for the flavored frozen desserts, and she had presented it at dinner. Ever since, Isadora had secretly been on the hunt for the delicacy, but it hadn’t been until she’d come to her aunt and uncle in York that she had encountered the parlor.
Of course, her aunt and uncle had not permitted her to so much as step foot inside the small, cool shop. But with July’s suffocating heat, there seemed nowhere better to come than this shop.
A wish fulfilled.
A woman in a cap served them the frozen confectionery in bowls. Flakes of ice melted on Isadora’s tongue, and she made a quietsound of contentment. The flavor of strawberry sank into her, and she beamed at Nicholas.
“This is almost as good as I remember from my childhood,” she sighed wistfully.
“Will anything live up to that memory?” he asked.
“No,” she answered cheerfully. “But I’m happy to settle for something close. What do you think, Sophia?”
The young girl had her eyes closed as she savored every bite, and Isadora laughed. Who could have thought she would have access to this kind of happiness? All her life, she had conditioned herself into thinking she could belong anywhere—but she belonged to Nicholas and Sophia, and both parties made their commitment to her plain.
She belonged. She loved them. And she thought they might just love her, too.
They ordered more ice cream and then left the shop into the blinding sunshine, walking along the pavement beside the cobbled road, drinking in the sights and sounds of York in summer.
It took Isadora far too long to realize Sophia was no longer with them. Strolling as she was with her arm in Nicholas’s, making idle conversation and licking her rapidly melting ice cream, she had just assumed Sophia was following on her other side.
A bolt of panic dispelled her contentment, and she broke away from Nicholas. He’d had the same realization, and his eyes met hers in horror. York was not the most dangerous of cities, but it was certainly not the best place for a girl of tender years. Sophia was untutored on the dangers that might befall someone like her, and she was too trusting.
In her world, everyone had always acted in her best interests. Servants, family, even tenant farmers.
“Did she stop to look in a window display and get lost?” Isadora said, flustered, although it didn’t matter—what mattered was finding her before anything happened. She picked up her skirts and hurried back in the direction they had come, ice cream forgotten.
How could she have stopped paying attention to Sophia for even a second? Guilt scorched Isadora’s insides, and she couldn’t meet Nicholas’s gaze. If someone had hurt Sophia, she didn’t think she could ever forgive herself.
They turned a corner, back toward the ice shop, and Isadora’s heart lurched out of her chest at the sight of Sophia’s blonde hair, tied as it was in ribbons. Marie stood beside her, and besideherwas a gentleman whom Isadora only half recognized.
Nicholas let out a quiet curse, but when Isadora glanced into his face, she saw only relief.
“Brother!” Marie called, waving a handkerchief at them as though she were some Medieval maiden. “I found a runaway.”
Sophia scowled, twisting free of Marie’s hand. “I do not need to be treated like a baby.”
