Page 61 of Engaging Sir Isaac

“Please. Do not do that again.” Desperation filled each word.

The sweet fog that had wrapped around her thoughts, shutting out everything but Isaac, disappeared at once, chased away by the harsh winds of reality.

He remained upon the ground still, as though he had been felled in battle. Indeed, he spoke as a doomed man. “Not unless you mean to give me hope.”

Millie picked up her bonnet, where it had fallen and been crushed. Ruined completely. She twisted one of the ribbons around her fingers. “Hope for what, Isaac?”

He grunted as he sat up, facing her, still there upon the ground. “I have never met anyone like you, Millicent Wedgewood. Prospective villainess.” He shoved his gloved hand through his hair, his hat somewhere on the ground behind them. “I could love you.”

Her gaze shifted up to his, and she quite forgot to breathe for several long moments. “You could?” Her heart pounded anew in her chest, but its hopeful rhythm did not last long.

“Yes. Enough to marry you.” There was pain, so much pain, in his crooked smile. “But I do not think you want that.” He stood and turned his back on her, going after the missing hat. Millie lowered her eyes again to her bonnet, the ribbons crushed in her grasp.

“No. I suppose I do not. Or, rather, I suppose I cannot.” Everything would end for her family. Lady Olivia would revenge herself upon Millie, with Lord Carning’s help.

Was this why Emmeline had run away, hidden from Society, without regard for who she hurt? Because she had fallen in love?

Millie loved Isaac. She saw that at last. Sarah had been right, as she always was. Isaac could tuck Millie away in the country and love her forever and always, and she would be happy.

But Lady Olivia would surely make it difficult for them to ever enter Society again. Lord Carning would spread rumors, too, whispering in ears as he did before.

Just the same, Millie could not do what Lady Olivia wanted. She could not hurt Isaac. Never, in a thousand years; she did not know how to even pretend to hurt him.

“I need to go.” The words slipped from her lips, and she stumbled to her feet to obey her own pronouncement. “Thank you. For everything.” Her hands shook, but she forced a smile when she met his eyes again. “Good afternoon, Isaac.”

Millie did not believe in dramatics, so she did not run. She walked. Slowly and deliberately walked away from him. The short nap had helped, though the kissing had muddled her thoughts again. What was she to do?

She passed servants in the house. They either did not notice the state of her hair and clothing or they were exceptionally well-trained not to react to such things. Or perhaps they did not care.

She stepped into her room, and Sarah stood there. The maid stretched out her hand, a slip of paper in her grasp. “I know where your sister is, miss.”

Chapter 21

Isaac paced the nursery, his nephew cradled close to his chest sleepily sucking on his two middle fingers. The baby’s eyes were closed, and he cooed to himself sweetly as he fell into a doze. The warmth, the soft infant sounds, of baby Isaac soothed his uncle more than anyone’s words possibly could.

What was it about children, the tiniest in particular, that made one view life differently?

“I heard you were skulking in my nursery again.” Esther came up beside him as softly as she had spoken, her son’s only reaction to smile sleepily upon hearing his mother’s voice.

“I cannot help that my favorite person resides in your nursery.” He settled into a gentle rocking motion, swaying like a tree in a breeze.

“You ought to get married, Isaac. You will make such a wonderful father. Attentive. Doting. All your children will be spoiled rather terribly.” Esther kissed her baby’s head to punctuate her remark.

Isaac did not even try to make light of his sister’s teasing. His mind rested heavily upon matters too close to his heart. “My nephew will be the only child in my life for some time yet.”

“You sound as though you do not enjoy that idea. I will make certain my son does not take your remark amiss.” Esther settled in a chair near the nursery’s small hearth. “What happened, Isaac? I have not seen you in a bleak mood like this in some time.”

“Bleak?” He came to sit in the chair near hers, keeping his nephew cradled close to his chest. He lowered himself slowly enough that the baby did not wake from his gentle slumber. “I protest your use of that word, Essie.”

“It fits. You certainly carry on as a hopeless man. What is it that has upset you?”

Isaac leaned his head back against the small chair, meant more for a woman the size of his sister or a nursery maid than someone of his stature. “Nightmares. That is all.”

“I am sorry those still trouble you.” Her brows drew together in sympathy with his words. “Would it help if you slept somewhere else? I do hate that you are in that old house all alone.”

“There are a dozen servants nearby at all times,” Isaac countered. “I am not alone.”

“Servants are not the same as family.” Esther tapped the arm of the chair, studying him nearly as intently as she had when she’d painted his portrait. “You dine alone, you spend your days alone, and you go to bed alone with your nightmares.”