I. Ysabella Everard

A/N:

Hello, Dear Reader!

If you came here after reading the new edition of Sleeping Engagement, please be reminded that this story is currently being edited offline. Expect certain detail or plot inconsistencies in this story and the rest of the Everard titles. I hope you can be patient with me as I work hard editing the entire series!

Thank you!

J.D. Ruiz (greenwriter)

---

After having nearly read all eight of their grandmother’s novels about the Town, a place that may or not be fictional for they are yet to discover it from their grandmother, Valerie and Violet still had too many questions in their minds.

The third book spoke of their grandmother’s story, of the beginning of her childhood in a place and society built hundreds of feet belowground centuries and centuries ago. It spoke of interesting characters and stories that caused the twins hungering for more answers.

“Gramp is not your cousin, is he?” Valerie asked for the nth time. “Because that would be weird. I don’t care if the Town lives in a Victorian or Edwardian or whatever era it is, but if my calculation is right, you and gramp got together in year 2028 or so. That is no ancient time, gram. And correct me if I am wrong, marrying your cousin can be considered incest then, even now, in most parts of the world.”

“Unless the Town is really real,” Violet interjected, looking at their grandmother for clues. “Unless it is real and you guys really did follow a different societal norm.”

“It is still bothersome to think about, Vee,” Valerie murmured.

Their grandmother simply chuckled.

Violet groaned. “Why don’t you just tell us everything? We came all the way here to-”

“I am hurt, dears,” their grandmother said, hands on her chest, “that you came not to be with your grandparents but to satisfy your curiosities.”

The twins shared a pained look. “We do miss you both, of course,” Valerie said in haste, “but we are also immensely, irrevocably curious.”

“Your grandfather and I had a somewhat different sort of story, dears,” Fiona Trilby said. “It was complicated at best, but it was utterly rewarding in the end. You can ask him about how we started if you truly wish to know the details, but I am telling you that your gramp is no storyteller.”

They grumbled. Their grandfather was not someone who would mince words. He’d simply take the fun out of the story to get it done, possibly in one sentence if he could manage it. Their grandmother may be playing with them by delaying the tale, but they both knew the woman would be the best source.

“Fine,” Violet said, giving up. She held up her hands in surrender. “We will wait until you can’t wait to tell us your story.”

“I just can’t get it why mom never told us,” Valerie said with a frown. “Does she know?”

“Of course,” the old woman replied.

“But she never told us!” they chorused.

Old, nearly grayish eyebrows rose to form a questioning look. “Have you ever asked?”

They groaned. Of course they have not. Who would have thought that their grandparents could have had such a story?

“Never think that old folks are boring, my dears, for once in their lives they did live as young as you. Be curious with everything as your mother was when she was young.” The twins had a sudden urge to call their mother, but the woman was pretty much like their grandfather. She would be a sore storyteller. Fiona Trilby stood to her feet. “Get your things settled in the guest room. Your gramp will arrive any moment now. He will be utterly happy to see you both.”

Violet and Valerie dragged themselves to the direction of the guest room when Valerie stopped to face their grandmother once more. “Gram, one question…”

“So long as it is not about your gramp and I-for I would need a far greater time than a weekend with you two to tell you everything-you can ask me any question, dear.”

Valerie formulated her words carefully. “Ysabella has always fascinated me, but I never thought she could be like that. Reading the three previous books before her story gave me a glimpse of a childish eighteen-year-old who was obsessed with a man ten years her senior and I must admit that in some occasion she did piss me off-she and Emma, especially that time when they got themselves dragged into Meriwether and the bandits-but I was surprised of her character. I still am, actually.” She paused before she continued, “I wonder, since you told us that you have added some bits and pieces to make the stories exciting, if she really is the woman you painted her to be. The one in her story is quite different.”

Fiona Trilby sighed and smiled. “Yes, I did add details here and there to fit my fancy, but I swear to you that every bit of character in those books has not been tampered with. Ysabella Everard, my dears, was a whole bunch of everything.” Her eyes twinkled at the memory. “Emma may be fun and the two of them could do so many crazy things when they put their minds to it, but Emma is not as much fun without Ysabella. Emma had her own quirks, but Ysabella Everard… now, that lady had so much of many things in her that I myself even found it hard to believe she was but one person. She was exciting, fun, peculiar-everything any storyteller could imagine a character to be.”

“She was also quite determined. Too determined, in fact,” Violet added with a snort. “Wakefield did not know what was coming for him.”

Their grandmother nodded. “She was determined, yes, but what she felt toward Lord Wakefield was more than what her family had anticipated.”

“No one took her obsession too seriously, really,” Valerie said. “Even I thought she’d get over the guy, but I was proven wrong. She chose to waste years chasing him!”

“I remember the day she lost him and I remember Maggie crying for her,” their grandmother said, her eyes watered as she ventured into that memory. “Ysabella Everard was one of the bravest girls I had ever known. She loved fully, lived her live with naught but the desire to be happy, and yet she also had her heart broken too many times than she deserved.”

“All because of one man,” Valerie sighed.

Fiona Trilby nodded. “All because of one lord.”

II. Everything Starts at the Theobald’s

Dear Lady Weis,

I am quite glad that you enjoyed your vacation with your family, though I must admit that I am utterly curious where you went as it would give me an idea who your family might be. Lord Samuel Theobald is off limits, of course, and I intend to keep my promise not to inquire. I am at the edge of my seat as I know for certain that this letter shall be delivered straight to his Buford estate and I shall have no way of finding out how it shall be delivered to you.

By the by, I did go to the hunting trip but all the while you have occupied my mind. I could have no more thoughts other than you, who you are and what you are doing at the moment.

P.S. I was not able to shoot a single animal. The Everards did have a good laugh over brandy at my expense and I have you to answer for it.

Yours,

William

---

The man looked quite happy, but the answer he provided did not sit well with the woman who handed him the flower. “His lordship is out today, my lady,” Mr. Morris said. The middle-aged man was the only face she had seen step out of the Wilburn estate for two years. Two years!

“Mr. Morris,” Ysabella Everard said with a sweet, gentle smile, “if you would be so kind as to provide me with details as to where Lord Wakefield may be at the moment, I would be so thoroughly pleased and grateful.”

Mr. Morris’ face contorted with discomfort. “You very well know the answer to that, my lady.”

Ysabella rolled her eyes. “What has he told you this time if I may ask?”

The butler looked over his shoulder, through the doorway, to the left and right, before finally leaning closer, just enough to whisper, “His lordship has given specific instructions that no female Everard, married or not, can know of his whereabouts. He threatened to kick me out.”

Ysabella’s mouth gaped open. “Kick you out! That is horrible, Mr. Morris! You are the best butler there is!”

The man leaned away, clearing his throat with pride. “I do agree, my lady.”

Ysabella shrugged. “It is not a sin to come by every Friday, is it? And it is very well not against the law to talk to an excellent butler!”

Mr. Morris nodded his head vigorously. “I agree, my lady.”

“Very well, then,” Ysabella said, smiling more widely, “tell his lordship that I have personally picked that flower from our gardens. And please, Mr. Morris, dare not tell me what he does with the previous ones I have given. I am afraid it shall hurt my feelings,” she said with exaggeration.

Mr. Morris solemnly nodded. “I would plant them if I could grow them, my lady. They are quite lovely.”

Ysabella gave a snort and turned around. “Do tell Lord Wakefield that my flowers do not bite,” she uttered as she walked away. “But I might,” she added to herself with a chuckle.

“Have a great day, my lady!” the butler called after her before disappearing back into the manor.

---

Wakefield watched Ysabella Everard walk down the street alone without a companion through the small gap of the curtains. She stopped for a few seconds, some free locks of her wavy black hair swaying in the process, to look at both sides of the street before she crossed in an unhurried fashion like she had always done every bloody Friday for the past two years since she befriended his mother.

His mother, Lady Esther Hayward, lived merely a block away from his estate. Ever since Ysabella Everard decided to pursue him, she managed to find a way into his mother’s heart and eventually into her home every week for tea and on her way from there she never missed the opportunity to walk by his estate and drop a flower from the Everard gardens. Never, in the two years that the young Everard had started her weekly visits, did Wakefield take the courage to face her and personally reject them. He always believed she would grow tired of it all, but it had been two bloody years since he first thought of it. Two bloody years and the chit had not missed a single Friday and he was starting to finally lose his patience.

Sooner or later, the young girl would have to know that nothing would come out of her so-called courtship. Courtship by a lady was not done in this society and it was not definitely doing them both any good.

“My lord,” Morris’ voice said from behind and Wakefield turned around to see the butler walking into the room with a daisy in hand. He stared at the white flower dryly and walked back to his table. “Lady Ysabella has—”

“Throw it out,” he ordered the butler knowing full well what the man would do.

The butler shook his head and laid it on his table like he did every week. “I do hate to see it go to waste, my lord,” Morris replied the same words he gave a week before and the previous weeks before that. “Would you like it placed in a vase?” he added the same offer he gave last Friday and every Friday before that.

“No,” Wakefield snapped, waving his hand. “Go.”

Morris nodded and stiffly turned around.

“Morris,” he called, stopping the butler. “What did you whisper to Lady Ysabella before she left?”

Morris cleared his throat. “I was not aware that you were watching, my lord.”

“Answer the question.”

“I simply told her you threatened to kick me out should I ever expose the details of your whereabouts.”

He let out a loud snort. “You oaf. You were trying to get her sympathy!”

“I am merely trying to save you from the weekly peril you have to face, my lord.” The butler’s tone was leaning more to sarcasm than genuine concern, but Wakefield let it pass.

“Did I receive letters this morning?” he hopefully asked, changing the subject.

“Apart from that lovely flower on your desk, my lord, you did not receive anything else.”

Wakefield scowled at the man. With another wave of his hand, the butler left him alone.

Wakefield threw the white flower a glance, shook his head and continued with his work, trying to force his mind to not think too much of the anticipation he felt for a letter he was expecting.

Mayhap she had been busy, he thought. He shook his head. He must truly go back to work.

He ought to finish them before he’d go to Grey’s later tonight where he would drink and play cards with his friends until the wee hours and if time would allow it, visit one of his special female acquaintances before the weekend.

The Theobald party was nearly a few days away and he was not able to find a good enough reason not to be his mother’s companion this year. He’d been trying to tell himself that he had been trapped for it was what it felt like, really. The old woman trapped him to coming to the weekend party like she did three years ago.

He tried to imagine what he’d likely encounter this weekend and he came to a conclusion that he would indeed need to visit one of his very willing lovers. The Theobald party would be filled with husband-hunting chits and their mamas and he better come very much sated as to avoid temptation, most especially now that he was quite certain Ysabella Everard would be in attendance.

---

“I gather you were at Lady Hayward’s estate?” Emma asked later that evening as they were preparing for bed.

Ysabella looked at her sister, merely eleven months younger than her, and one she considered her twin as most people would refer to them, and smiled. “Yes, of course. She inquired why you failed to come.”

“I hope you told her I am quite busy,” Emma uttered, brushing her hair.

“I did, though I believe she did not believe me.”

“Why is that?” Emma asked with a frown. “I do enjoy her company.”

“Mayhap because she sensed that I did not believe my own words when I said them,” Ysabella carefully replied.

Her sister’s frown deepened. “Why would you not believe that I was indeed busy?”

“Because you were not, Em.”

Emma simply rolled her eyes. Ysabella knew her sister too well. She knew what Emma was thinking even if her mouth was closed.

“Now, tell me what you are truly thinking,” she prodded.

Emma shrugged. “I was simply not in the mood to walk by Lord Wakefield’s estate and witness you knock on the door and deliver a flower. I have always thought it is nonsense.”

“We do grow great flowers in our gardens,” Ysabella reasoned. “It is not nonsense to give a man a flower. Which law prohibits it?”

“I might just ask Cole about that, you know. He ought to make a law about it.”

“And since when did you start addressing our brother-in-law, a Man of Courts, by his given name?”

“He asked me to.”

“And why has he not asked me?”

“Well, I did ask him and he said it is very fine to call him Cole. I find it rather awkward to call him Lord Cole every bloody time.”

“I shall ask him as well, then.” Once Emma was done with her hair, she sat in front of her sister with a loud smile. “Are you not excited for the Theobald party?”

Emma shrugged. “Quite.”

She gave her sister a pointed look. “You must be jesting, Em. It is the Theobald party! Everyone is excited to attend!”

“You are merely excited because Wakefield will be there this year.”

“Of course. Everything starts at the Theobald’s as what they say.”

Emma snorted. “Ysa, if you must know, it has been nearly three years since you’ve met the man, two years since you have decided to seriously pursue him as what you would call it—”

“Court,” she corrected.

Emma rolled her eyes. “— court him and nothing had come out of it, bad or good. Our niece Lindsay is nearly three years and yet Wakefield has not even shown his face to you whenever you deliver your flowers to his door. Soon, our niece will be old enough to even masterfully write the very words that you refuse to say: obsession and failure !”

Ysabella simply straightened her shoulders. She had heard far worse words from her sister that she could not even let them affect her anymore.

“If mother knows everything you are doing, she shall have a faint,” Emma uttered. “It is a good thing you stopped that ill idea about Lady Weis. It was the most stupid thing you have done, really, if I must say. Our family has suffered enough scandals of late and even though the Everard name is strong enough for society to forget them, deceiving Lord Wakefield as Lady Weis would surely, if not entirely, put a dent on our reputation, not speaking of what it would cause his friendship with our brother Levi and the entire family.”

Ysabella immediately turned away from her sister to clear her throat. She climbed out of Emma’s bed to go to her desk. “As you continue to berate me, I shall spend my time writing Aurora a letter. It is high time our friend finds herself a husband.” She refused to hear anything more about Lady Weis.

“I thought we both agreed to match her with Nick?” Emma asked with a yawn. “We have seen how he could not keep his eyes off her.”

“Our brother may not be easily pushed as Ben and Levi, Em,” she said, sitting in front of her writing desk. “We must make certain that Aurora will be very much ready to attract as much attention in the Theobald party this time. The last was a failure, as you can remember.”

“Mayhap you must focus on finding yourself a husband instead.”

“I have already found one, Em. He simply does not accept it just yet.”

Her sister ignored her statement and slipped inside the covers. “Do turn off the lamp once you are done. You forgot to do so the last time.”

“Of course,” Ysabella murmured as she started writing. She wrote to Aurora a short note of which colours of gowns would suit her best for the Theobalds and offered a few of her jewelleries to go with them. Once she had sealed it, she looked over her shoulder to check on Emma. Her sister was already fast asleep.

Ysabella grabbed another paper, dipped her pen in the inkwell and began to write…

Dearest William…

III. Let the Chase Resume

Dear William,

Would you believe that I have ventured into Haram? The place’s reputation as Wickhurst’s sinful place does not quite suit it. I did find many things that were quite marvellous, in my opinion. For one, I discovered a bookshop that sells the rarest editions. Truly, one ought to give Haram a chance!

As to your inquiry about the cat, it did manage to escape me once again. I am quite inclined to ignore your suggestion not to cage it. I am afraid that it will someday go and never return.

I did read the Herald. It is sad news for Benedict Everard and his wife, really, but I am quite certain that Lady Agatha will soon heal from the loss of her unborn child. I do hope that as a friend of the family, you did find a way to offer them comfort.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

It was not difficult to find a way to deliver her letters to Wakefield. It simply took two maids who were related to one of Samuel Theobald’s footman who would in turn post the letter to Wakefield’s residence. Either of the maids would then meet with the said footman during one of their trips to the market and deliver any reply from Wakefield straight to Ysabella.

Samuel was forced to turn a blind eye as Ysabella had found out about his well-kept secret. That said secret seemed to be stronger still to this day as no one in the Everard household, except the two very trustworthy maids, knew of Ysabella’s secret. Add to the fact that it was Samuel who did challenge Ysabella to write the first letter to Wakefield, the man was very willing to keep his mouth shut to save his own skin from the rest of the Everards.

So, no, it was indeed not difficult to post the letters without getting caught, but to keep it a secret was. She hated that Emma did not know. She had never lied to her sister. But then she merely lied once and it was when she promised to stop sending any more letters to Wakefield as Lady Weis. Never did Emma ask or doubted that she sent more and it had been slowly eating her inside to have kept her sister in the dark for two years now.

She had kept telling herself that she was not doing anything foul. Lady Weis was simply to be one of the reasons for Wakefield to love her. She only wrote to him as a friend, giving him advice on matters at hand and possibly, in the future, advice on love. Yet Ysabella knew she had also been fooling herself. Two years of writing to each other and her infatuation grew to one of love. It could no longer be denied for as Lady Weis she discovered more of the man beneath his rakehell façade. Undeniably, it was the number one reason why she could not seem to stop writing back.

But it would soon have to end. It was not going anywhere. Every moment she tried to bring out the subject of Ysabella Everard as a possible prospect for his attention in her letters, he would simply change the subject or ignore any statement she made regarding the beautiful and vibrant Lady Ysabella Everard. Afraid that he would suspect, she had ceased to discuss herself in Lady Weis’ letters.

“Ysabella, dear,” Their mother’s voice drew Ysabella away from her thoughts, “I have acquired news that Lord Nimrod would also be in attendance.”

Ysabella groaned. She saw Aurora and Emma share an amused look. “He is?” she asked dryly, rolling her eyes at their red-haired friend and sister.

“Yes. And if I am not mistaken, he is the best of all your suitors. I wonder why you have not yet considered taking his hand. I would, really, if I were you. He is good for you.”

Their mother’s blue eyes stared at her with meaning.

“If I may speak, mother,” Nicholas said beside her, voice filled with amusement, “I do not agree that the man is good for Ysabella.”

Ysabella turned to her brother with a surprised smile. Nicholas slanted his green eyes down at her and added, “He is perfect for her.” Ysabella scowled at him while Aurora and Emma chuckled.

“Thank you for your unwanted opinion, brother,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “But I can very well decide for myself whom I marry.”

“Who? Wakefield?” Nicholas asked, following his question with a roaring laughter.

Ysabella’s smile tightened into a grim line. She must stay calm. Her family had never taken her advances toward Wakefield quite seriously. In fact, they, with the entire population of Wickhurst, all believed, save for Emma, that she had merely been making fun of the lord.

“Lord Wakefield may not be the only person out there,” she said, pulling at her skirts as the carriage slowed down. “Who knows, brother, I may find myself a more suitable man—far better than Lord Nimrod or Wakefield.”

Nicholas gave a snort. “I suggest you take Nimrod now, Ysa, before he and others discover someone else much younger than you.”

“Oh, truly? And whom might you be speaking of then? Aurora, perhaps?”

Nicholas stiffened and Ysabella did not miss the look he stole Aurora. “Among others, yes,” he replied, clearing his throat. Aurora’s face had turned scarlet. Emma threw her a wink of approval. Their mother, entirely ignorant of their secret glances said, “We are here. Best we go straight to our chambers and freshen up before the ruckus begins.”

Ysabella climbed out of the carriage with a smile. She had not seen Wakefield for months. He had been very good in evading her presence.

But not at Theobald’s, Ysabella said to herself with quiet confidence.

---

“I am very pleased that you have gracefully agreed to accompany me here,” Lady Hayward said as Wakefield guided her toward the first ball of the Theobald party.

He did not mind accompanying the woman, really, but this very weekend party had a reputation of producing marriages, most of them forced or accidental. That very idea drove most eligible bachelors to the gaming rooms outside the ballroom and that was the very first place he was eagerly planning to escape to the moment he delivers his mother to her friends.

“You ought to consider finding someone you might want for a wife, darling,” Lady Hayward said beside him, leaning her blonde head closer so she could maintain her whispered voice and still be heard. “Before that sweet Everard girl succeeds,” she added with a smile.

“I would not wish to discuss her, mother. You very well know what I think of her. She is my friend’s younger sister. She’s a child who cannot still grasp what she truly wants.”

“A child?” Lady Hayward chuckled. “William, dear, have you not seen the girl of late? She has suitors tailing her at every turn and yet you still see her as a child! Goodness gracious, son, are you blind?”

“She is too young for me, mother.”

“So was your great grandmother when she married your great grandfather. He was twenty years older.”

“And she went off to run away with a lover,” he finished.

“Hmm. I must not have mentioned them after all,” his mother murmured. “But if I must be honest, son, I would not mind in the least if Ysabella Everard should be my daughter-in-law.” She tilted her head up at him to meet his deep blue eyes. “But I do mind that you do mind it greatly. So be assured that you shall not find me pushing that sweet girl at your direction.”

“Then perhaps you would be so kind as well to limit your time entertaining her every Friday,” he hopefully said.

“Not a fair chance, dear. I immensely enjoy her company, as well as that of her sister, Emma. I merely wish you would give her the chance to entertain you. You shall find her to be quite fun, really. Do try to come and join us for tea one of these days.”

“I would love to join you for tea any day, mother, but not Fridays.”

His mother gave a disappointed sigh before she jumped to wave a hand at a friend.

He’d stay a few minutes more before he’d slip into one of the gaming rooms, he thought, eyes scanning the room in full alert.

And then he started to search for someone, someone he had never laid eyes on but hopefully might recognize. She had not shared whether she’d be here, but a man could hope, he thought.

He felt a tinge of anger ebbing inside him, caused by the growing desperation to have a face to the woman who had changed his life. Yet, even he knew her name was not really Lady Weis. He knew she was wise enough to have not given him her real name. If she was here, she’d recognize him, mayhap even be laughing at him and yet here he was, utterly ignorant of her identity.

He shook the thought away. She had her reasons not to reveal herself. He may choose to try to understand them, but he was slowly losing patience. Soon, he knew, he’d find a way to find her.

He’d find her and she would not have a chance to escape for he would not let it.

---

“You look beautiful in blue, Aurora,” Ysabella said to her friend.

“Thank you,” Aurora said, shyly fixing the red curls beside her face. “And you do look great in black.”

“I wanted to look mature,” Ysabella grinned.

“For Wakefield, of course,” Emma uttered beside her. “I would gladly be willing to match you with anyone, Ysa, even with someone twenty years your senior, but I just can’t do it with Wakefield.”

“And I wonder why,” Ysabella uttered dryly.

“The man has been making it quite clear that he is not dallying with his friends’ kin and you have not seen any hint of success. Not one, really.”

“We never imagined Ben would marry Agatha, or that Levi’s friendship with Tori could turn to love,” she reasoned.

“We simply made a way for the couples to be together, but the truth of the matter is that they were already attracted to each other before we even decided to make a match out of them. We saw the attraction and we worked on that,” Emma said. “You are attracted to Lord Wakefield, but I do not believe it is mutual.”

“Well, it can turn into—”

“Hello, Ysabella,” a very familiar voice spoke from behind Aurora. Her friend turned and stepped aside to reveal Adam Nimrod, a brown-haired man tall enough to tower everyone in the room.

“Adam,” Ysabella muttered, giving a short curtsy with Aurora and Emma. “I did not know you are in attendance,” she lied.

“I am,” the young lord replied, displaying his white, perfect teeth. “How have you been? Did you receive the flowers I sent you?”

“I am…oh, goodness, there is Mother and I think she is looking for us,” she uttered, looking behind Adam to where their mother was standing talking with Lady Theobald. “We are very sorry, Adam, but we must attend to Mother. She had not been feeling well earlier and I want to see if she is all right. I hope to see you later, yes?”

“I—of course,” Adam said, his smile fading.

Ysabella threw him one last smile before grabbing Emma and Aurora’s hand.

“Will you be attending the season!” he nearly shouted after her.

She looked over her shoulder and scowled when Emma answered for her. “Yes, we shall, Lord Nimrod!”

“Come, come,” she hastily muttered to Aurora and Emma, “before he decides to join us.”

She looked over her shoulder to see that Adam was still looking after them. He raised a hand to acknowledge her and Ysabella turned away, dragging her sister and their friend farther away.

“I believe he has already turned away, Ysa,” Emma said, tugging at her hand to stop her. Ysabella paused and checked for herself. Adam was indeed no longer looking at them.

“Why don’t you give the man a chance, Ysa? He seems rather nice,” Aurora asked, looking at her warily.

“I cannot waste my time with a man when I am in love with another,” she answered.

“It is a losing battle to try to convince her that men like Adam Nimrod are good enough to warrant her attention,” Emma told Aurora.

Ysabella ignored her sister’s remark. She threw Aurora a glance and saw that her friend was looking over her shoulder at Adam’s direction.

She had long guessed that Aurora may fancy Adam or may even think herself in love with the man, but she also believed that a pairing between Aurora and Adam would not simply do.

The Nimrod’s business had started to decline in the past year, the reason why they might be pushing Adam to marry into a wealthy family like the Everards.

They would not approve of Aurora. She may be beautiful and smart, but her family was not doing well in Granville. They had no title in their name. And while those things may not matter when two people are in love, Ysabella would not wish to see Aurora hurt. Adam seemed determined to follow his family’s wishes and it would be quite difficult to make him notice their friend.

Aurora deserved someone who would cherish her for who she was, not what she could offer.

Which is why Nicholas was perfect for her. Their brother simply had to be ready to give up his rakehell reputation and devote his attention on Aurora. And perhaps he should during this weekend party , Ysabella thought as her eyes searched the ballroom.

Aurora and Emma had started a conversation about a book her sister was currently reading when Ysabella’s eyes found not her brother but the very man she intended to see tonight.

He was walking his mother to a group of ladies, entirely ignorant of her presence from the other side of the ballroom.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Ysabella said, already stepping away from her companions. “I have a dance to claim.”

“You mean chase,” she heard Emma utter behind her.

A wicked smile curled her lips. Her sister was correct.

It was time to chase a lord.

Again.

IV. Caught

Dearest Lady Weis,

I wish that this letter finds you well.

I am quite at awe that you would spend hours under a hole to wait for rain. I have spent more time hunting in the woods and under many other holes all over the Town and never, not even once, had I thought of waiting for rain.

Ever since I was young, my mother would prohibit me from coming out of the estate when news of rainfall from aboveground would come. I believe it has become a habit that I do not venture out when the rainfall bell rings.

What does it feel like, rain?

Yours,

William

---

Ysabella sauntered toward Wakefield who was facing away from her. She was entirely aware of the amused glances following her. They were waiting for what scene she’d do next to entertain them. Most gave her encouraging smiles.

They thought she was on a mission to frustrate an elusive rake and that amused them.

For a moment Ysabella wondered why society never took her seriously, why they still thought that this chasing game was anything but serious on her part. But then, it was quite helping her cause. They did not judge her as a desperate woman out to seduce a lord, but merely a naïve girl having fun. Why would she be serious, really? Her family was rich and she had suitors waiting for her to be ready to choose once she was over her childish games.

Mayhap their picture of her was helping after all, she thought as she straightened her back and squared her shoulders, her feet closing the distance between her and her target.

His back was still turned to her, not aware that he was about to be trapped.

“Hello, Lord Wakefield,” she uttered in the most womanly voice she could muster.

She saw his shoulders stiffen before he slowly turned around to face her.

Her breath was nearly snatched out of her at the sight of him. His golden hair was naturally ruffled, as though he did try to tame them but greatly failed, his deep blue eyes, though looking faintly discomfited, were as lovely as she remembered.

William Hayward was not merely gorgeous with those thick brows and finely shaped nose, nor was he magnificent with those square jaws and firm lips.

His beauty was nearly sinful, forbidden.

Her heart hammered against her chest, not because at the sight of him, but because she was standing before him. Finally. After many months.

She found it hard to breathe not because he was here, but because she knew the man, mayhap even more so inside than outside. She knew his favourite colour, she knew of his fears and insecurities, of his naivety on simply things, of his innocence on trivial matters.

She knew him and she wished he knew it.

His firm lips formed a forced, tight smile. “Lady Ysabella,” he greeted more formally than she would have hoped.

At the corner of one eye she saw Lady Hayward looking at them from her circle of friends.

Focusing her eyes on the man before her, she sweetly smiled. “Have you received the flowers I personally delivered to your door, my lord?”

His jaw clenched, mayhap because someone chuckled behind them at her open question.

His tight smile did not waver. “My butler was given instruction to do whatever he wishes with the flowers, little one.”

Ysabella nearly groaned in frustration. She hated the words little and one in one sentence. “You keep breaking my heart, my lord. I am starting to truly feel the effects, if you must know.” His eye twitched as she moved closer, breaching acceptable distance between two unmarried individuals of the opposite sex. “Tell me again why we cannot be?”

She smiled when his face showed frustration. “For one, your brothers will hang me,” he uttered through his teeth, nearly hissing.

Ysabella blinked. Of course, it was her brothers. But it was better that he detested their reaction than detesting her, she thought. “They might beat you, but they will not hang you. How do you fare with beatings?”

“They will never allow it,” he uttered dryly.

“They allowed Lord Devitt to marry Margaret. After they beat him. Do you bruise easily?”

His face contorted with discomfort, slowly turning scarlet. She could not tell whether or not he was angry or embarrassed. Both did not seem good, of course, so Ysabella chuckled and decided to let the man go for now.

“I am merely trying to make a point, my lord, do not fret,” she uttered, slowly stepping away from him. “I have not asked you to marry me, you know. I simply asked why you think we cannot be.” She tore her gaze from him and looked around. “I have attracted attention once again, I fear. My apologies,” she said with a curtsy. “I hope to see you around. My dance card is empty. Would you like to sign your name?”

His eyes narrowed, making the deep blue depths even darker.

With a dramatic sigh, Ysabella said, “As I have guessed. Of course, you will not. Very well, have a nice evening, my lord. I shall see you around.”

---

Wakefield let out a sigh of relief when Ysabella Everard finally turned around and walked away. His eyes followed the young girl for a few seconds, taking in the sight of her.

He must admit that the chit was indeed beautiful as most of the Everards are. But she was way too young, too immature for his taste. He could easily find an easy woman to bed with the same dark hair, green eyes and full lips. He could not know what she was like under that heavy gown, but he was certain there were enough women out there who could offer better rewards. He could easily dress the same woman in black gown and satisfy his urges.

He needed not one Ysabella Everard to fill his nights. Or his future, he added in his mind with a shiver.

What he needed was the woman behind those letters, the woman who wrote with such maturity and kindness, and the woman who had showed him selflessness and love for all things simple, dangerous and mysterious.

The woman whose mind and heart he wanted to claim.

Ysabella Everard was no Lady Weis. She was an Everard, rich and spoiled. She grew up with naught but pretty things fed to her without question.

Taking his eyes off the chit, he turned around to find his mother looking at him with amusement. With a groan, he took the first step to escape this dratted ballroom.

If Lady Weis was not here, then he’d rather spend his time with fellows who cared naught for all these dashing extravaganzas.

He escaped to one of the gaming rooms.

---

Ysabella sulked in one corner while Aurora and Emma talked with Nicholas who seemed to have found refuge from the desperate girls and their mamas in the presence of the two young ladies. For a moment she watched while her brother closely studied Aurora as she spoke, his eyes traveling to her mouth.

She hid a smile, enthralled with excitement for the two.

Once she and Emma worked their magic, Aurora would soon forget Adam Nimrod and see Nicholas as a far better option. And Nicholas would soon realize that his rakehell days were coming to an end, for love knew no time nor place.

Their mother approached her and Ysabella immediately turned to listen to the woman. “Dear, I am about ready to retire. The journey here has taken a toll on me, I fear.”

“Then let me escort you to your chamber, Mother,” she said, taking the woman by the hand. “Stay with Aurora and Emma, brother, I can manage,” she said to Nicholas when he made a move to join them.

“Do enjoy the rest of the evenings, children,” Lady Alice said to Aurora, Emma and Nicholas. “I am afraid age has caught up with me.”

Ysabella took her mother to the chamber she shared with Emma. They had decided that Aurora share the same chamber with her. Once she had deposited her mother safely to bed, Ysabella walked out of the chamber to go back to the ball.

But her steps faltered as she walked. He would not be there. He had disappeared into one of the gaming rooms and although she would love to find him, she realized that she did not have the energy to do so. She knew what he would do. He’d take her back to Nicholas and demand that she stay where she was supposed to.

Yes, she could pretend to enjoy the ball, but she was tired to do so. Mayhap it was time for her to go to bed as well? Tomorrow her mood might lighten after a good night’s rest.

Having made her decision, Ysabella turned around to find her bedchamber. She’d ring for a maid to deliver a note to her sister and Aurora that she had retired for the night as well.

The Theobald mansion was humongous with hundreds of rooms and corridors and soon Ysabella found herself lost. She had merely been attending the Theobald weekend parties for three years and she had not accustomed herself to its every nook and corner unlike their sister Margaret who had been to numerous Theobald parties before she married Lord Cole Devitt three years past.

Ysabella turned into one of the corridors, hoping to spot something familiar that would lead her to the chambers or even the grand ballroom, but the farther she walked she realized she had utterly lost herself.

She tried to listen for sounds of any kind and realized that she had to go back to her mother’s chamber and start all over. On her way there, she heard roaring laughter coming from the corridor she passed by. It must be one of the gaming rooms. She entered and made her way down the corridor, careful to remember the doors she passed.

“Yes, yes, of course! You will not believe what they hide, truly, you won’t!”

Ysabella jumped to her feet when she heard the familiar voice. Lady Gedge, one of the most notorious gossipmongers in Wickhurst. Groaning in frustration, Ysabella decided she must escape the woman before she trapped her into a long narrative of the latest gossips in the Town. Her latest obsession was the Haverstons from Willowfair. Ysabella would not wish to discuss them as the family were friends of theirs and had helped them in many occasions in the past.

As Lady Gedge and her companions’ voices neared, Ysabella turned to the door to her right and pushed it open. It was a small drawing room. She slowly closed it behind her and pressed her ears to the door, hoping the ladies would pass by fast. Their presence in the corridor meant the ballroom was nearby.

But to her dismay, they voices stopped just outside the door. “Come, we must be very careful for what I am about to tell is highly sensitive.”

Ysabella jumped away from the door and looked around the room in panic. She found a door and rushed toward it. A closet. Of course.

The door of the drawing room opened and Ysabella jumped inside the closet and very carefully closed it, holding her breath.

“Good, it is empty,” Lady Gedge’s excited voice said.

Ysabella gritted her teeth in frustration. This would take a very long time, she thought, as she listened to their quiet footsteps.

“The Theobalds, like the Everards, my dear friends, have secrets of their own.”

“I do not believe the Everards have secrets,” a voice replied. “They do not keep anything from us all! Or have you forgotten the scandals they caused? Marrying a witch, eloping to Tiny Town and was it true that Lady Margaret was a lover to Lord Devitt before they married?”

Laughter rang around the room and Ysabella stopped herself from bursting out of the closet and lash out on them all for laughing at the expense of her family.

“Oh, very well, then, I must admit you are correct. The Everards do not have the decency to keep anything secret,” Lady Gedge uttered, “but the Theobalds, dear, has something you all do not know.”

“And what is that?”

“Oh, they are keeping a big secret, indeed.”

“Oh, do tell us, Gedge! Come on, you have brought us here to do so. Spill it already,” an impatient voice said.

A long silence followed, Lady Gedge making certain that her next words were preceded with such anticipation. Ysabella held her breath, also ashamedly and impatiently waiting for the gossip.

“They are keeping a bastard,” Lady Gedge revealed. The gasps from the other ladies muffled Ysabella’s. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stop any sound that might escape her.

“How do you know of this?” one lady asked the same question that was playing inside Ysabella’s head.

“Oh, one of my maids is related to one of the maids here,” Lady Gedge uttered.

“And you believe her?”

“She would dare not lie to me, dear. I have helped her family too many times in the past and she knows it would not help to repay me with lies in gossips,” Lady Gedge snapped. “You do not believe me, do you? I found it hard to believe as well. Lord Theobald does not seem to be a man who would take a mistress. But then, we all do not know what our husbands do when they are away, do we?”

“But why would they keep the bastard here? Surely, Lady Theobald would not allow it-”

“She has forgiven him, I believe. My maid does not know all the details, of course, as her cousin merely spilled the secret accidentally.”

“I cannot believe it! The Theobalds!” a horrified voice uttered.

“Believe it, dear. It is true.”

Ysabella’s hand dropped to her side. The Theobalds were friends of theirs. She was friend of their son, Samuel.

Was that why Samuel did not frequent his family’s weekend parties? Was that why he chose to live in Wickhurst instead of here? Could this hearsay be true?

She shook her head. True or not, she refused to make this discovery taint her relationship with Samuel and his family. They had been naught but kind.

The ladies continued their gossiping, making conclusions that were rather farce, making Ysabella impatient. How long would it take before they exited the room?

Her legs were getting tired and she slowly slipped down on the floor of the closet and curled her knees under her chin. It seemed that she would have to wait.

---

The news that Ysabella Everard was missing spread throughout the party. Wakefield and some of Nicholas’ friends were forced to step out of the gaming room to help search for the young girl.

“That girl is bound for true trouble someday, I tell you,” one lord muttered as they walked down the corridor while the others spread around to different parts of the mansion. “Targeting you as the subject of her game to constantly be the center of attention frustrates not merely you, Wakefield, but other men in general. As a matter of fact, I believe that this disappearing act is merely done to attract the attention of everyone, you included. You deserve to be left alone to your own devices.”

Wakefield refused to comment, not entirely certain how to.

“If it is I who is subjected to such immature advances, that girl would find herself ruined beyond repair. You are too nice to her.”

The statement did not reach its desired effects. “What do you mean by that, Forge?” he bit out.

The man sneered. “That I would have my way with her. She’d get what she wants and I’d get what she could offer. She is young, you know. She may not be what I’d be looking for a wife, but she will be fresh and willing. I suggest you-”

He grabbed the man’s collar and pushed him against the wall. “Ysabella Everard is the sister of Levi Everard, my friend. Her brothers consider me a friend as do I. As much as I do not appreciate her games, I would not condone any statements about her similar to the ones you just made. She is but a child who is yet to learn her lesson, but we are not the men to give her that,” he hissed down at the man. “Do I make myself clear?”

Forge pushed him away and fixed his collar. “Bloody hell, Wakefield, I was just jesting! I would not want all Everard men coming after me with their hunting guns and knives.”

“Then keep your bloody jokes to yourself,” he snapped, storming down the corridor.

“And she is no child,” he heard the man mutter behind him.

“Take the opposite corridor,” he snapped over his shoulder, dismissing the man.

He made a sharp turn into a different corridor, not certain whether he should continue the search. He would not wish to be the first to find her, really. She would make the wrong assumptions and would then not leave him alone.

He sighed. But he must help searching.

Walking down the corridor, he met Lady Gedge and some of her friends.

“Lord Wakefield! What are you doing here?”

“Lady Ysabella has gone missing. Her family is worried. I am helping to find her. Have you seen her?” he asked.

The lady laughed. “Missing, eh? Are you quite certain?” the woman asked, staring him down with eyes filled with meaning. “For all we know, she might be lurking in a dark corner, ready to pounce on you, my lord.”

Wakefield’s jaw tightened. Ysabella Everard had made a reputation for herself.

With his lack of enthusiasm, Lady Gedge turned to her friends before speaking to him. “No, my lord, I am afraid we have not seen the girl.”

He gave them a polite smile before excusing himself. He walked around them to continue down the corridor. Their voices faded as they disappeared.

Wakefield jumped when a door suddenly burst open and a woman walked out, her black gown nearly dishevelled. His eyes rounded in surprise.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. At the back of his mind, he knew he sounded like one of her older brothers.

Ysabella gasped in surprise and whirled around to face him. “Lord Wakefield!” she said, her green eyes wide. But soon a smile crept up her face as she added, “I was trapped inside a closet for hours and-”

“Your sister and brother are sick with worry,” he interjected, walking closer. He was suddenly feeling quiet enraged after everything she had caused. “I should escort you back to them at once.”

“But I am not going back to the party. I am-”

“No more games, little one,” he snapped at her. “You do not want me to get-”

His words left him when she suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the room she had exited. She closed the door behind them and used him to push it close.

“I am not playing this game with you-”

“Hush!” she whispered, covering his mouth with her soft hands. “Someone is coming down the corridor,” she added, her head just inches away from his chin. She lifted her gaze to meet his glare. “You would not wish for anyone to see you and I together alone, yes?”

He started to protest to tell her that everyone knew he was out to find her, that not a soul would think he’d do anything to her, but decided to keep silent. Better not let anyone find them after all. She might use it to her advantage.

“You told us you are staying inside your room,” a voice said outside the door. Wakefield frowned. It was Lady Theobald. He looked down at Ysabella, her hand still over his mouth. She was frowning as well.

“I did, but I did not say I might change my mind,” a female voice replied.

“I do not know what I should do with you, truly,” Lady Theobald said with frustration. “Your father and I are-”

“Do not worry, Lady Theobald,” said the voice, “I shall return to my room. No one will have to find me. Tell father not to fret. No need to escort me, I know my way around.”

The voices faded away and Wakefield realized that Ysabella’s hand had released him. And then she was pulling him away from the door to open it.

“I thought you wanted-” he started to ask but she glanced over her shoulder to say, “Hush, my lord, or they will catch us.”

“Who?”

She appeared to consider her words and did not reply. She opened the door a few inches and poked her head out.

Placing his hands on his hips, he waited to what she would do next.

When she started to slip through the door, he asked, “What the bloody hell are you-”

But she was no longer listening. She walked out of the room and he had no choice but to follow her. It seemed that she knew where she was going.

“I hope you are walking back to the ballroom,” he said behind her.

But Ysabella Everard seemed to have forgotten he was there at all. This is new, he thought dryly.

“Where are you going, little one?” he asked when she started for the staircase that led to the upper floors. “That is not the way to the ballroom.”

“I am out for a treasure hunt,” she said with a wicked smile over her shoulder.

He tensed. And then he frowned. Did she intend to follow Lady Theobald and the woman? “You cannot be thinking of-”

“If you are afraid to get caught, my lord, you can go back to the party. Tell them I am fine.” She continued her climb up the stairs.

Wakefield looked around. There was no one there.

And he must admit he was curious as well. Lady Theobald was not talking to just someone who was a guest in the party. The woman addressed Lord Theobald as her father. But Lord and Lady Theobald had no daughter.

Ysabella Everard had reached the top landing.

He cursed under his breath before he ran up the stairs to follow her.

She turned to the right while he followed close behind.

This was stupid and reckless, he thought. How could he let himself do this with this woman? Ha! He was following the very chit he had been trying to avoid!

“You do not know where they went,” he hissed at her.

“Hush!” she hissed back.

She continued down the corridor. He followed.

“Why are you following me?” a stern voice said behind them. Ysabella and Wakefield jumped to their feet and whirled around. “No one is allowed to lurk in this part of the mansion.”

A young lady with dark hair was glaring at them both, obviously not pleased that she had company.

V. Turkey Night

Dearest William,

Would you care to tell me what your favourite colour is?

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

The dark-haired lady was dressed in a simple blue dress. That and her haughty look told Ysabella that she was not a guest here.

If this was the woman Lady Gedge was talking about earlier, there was no hint of a Theobald blood in her. She did not look like Lord Theobald at all. Her hair was dark and wavy around her beautiful face, not blonde like all of the Theobalds.

But as Ysabella moved closer to the woman, she saw her pale grey eyes and she knew. It was as though she was looking into Samuel’s eyes—very angry eyes for that matter.

“Remove yourselves from this part of the manor,” the woman said in a low voice filled with warning.

“Please forgive us,” Wakefield said behind Ysabella. “We were lost. We shall go,” he lied.

“Is it true?” The words rolled out of Ysabella’s lips before she could stop them.

“What?” the woman snapped, looking over her shoulder down the empty corridor behind her. “That I am the bastard child of Lord Theobald?” she asked when Ysabella remained stupefied.

Ysabella gulped. “Yes.” There was no use lying, really. The lady knew that she was no longer a secret to some. Looking into her eyes told Ysabella that the woman was wiser than most people in the ballroom below.

“We must go,” Wakefield nearly growled beside her.

She ignored him and continued to stare at the woman. “I will not tell anyone if you are worried about that,” she promised.

The lady’s lips twitched. She let out a snort. “If you say so.”

“What is your name?”

Bushy eyebrows frowned at her, grey eyes narrowed.

“We must go, Lady Ysabella,” Wakefield’s voice said. He sounded more authoritative now.

“Ysabella Everard,” the lady said with familiarity, voice lighter now.

Ysabella smiled. “You have heard of me. Marvellous!”

“Not everything I heard about you was marvellous,” the woman countered. “My brother told me about you.”

Samuel, that bloody bastard.

Ysabella shrugged. “Well, we cannot please everyone.” She motioned her head to Wakefield. “Ask him about me and you shall hear naught but words of frustrations.”

The mysterious girl’s grey eyes slanted toward Wakefield and stayed there for quite some time before she turned to Ysabella and said, “Maxine. My name’s Maxine.”

“I am very glad to meet you, Maxine, I wish to—”

“Now, go,” Maxine ordered, reaching for the door beside her.

“Can I ask a question?”

“She wants us to go, Ysabella,” Wakefield sternly said.

Maxine paused but did not say a word, waiting for the question.

“Why have they kept you a secret all these years?”

She prepared herself for a lashing. She must not have asked such a stupid question. But the lashing did not come as the woman simply frowned at her. Wakefield took a hold of her elbow, pulling her away. He was about ready to drag her from this place.

Maxine finally replied. “They don’t keep me a secret.” Wakefield’s hold slackened as he, too, listened to Maxine’s words. “I keep myself a secret,” she added, turning to push the door open. “Go.” Without another word she disappeared behind the door.

Ysabella stood frozen, staring blankly at where Maxine was seconds ago. Did that truly happen? Had she truly spoken to that woman?

“You ought not to have done that,” Wakefield told her, releasing his hold of her. He started to retrace their steps but halted when he noted that she had not moved at all. “Let us go, little one.”

Slowly, Ysabella turned to face him. “You must promise to keep this a secret, Lord Wakefield. We must keep this to ourselves.”

He looked surprised. “Of course.”

“Good,” she said, jumping to her feet, her smile returning. “I must go back to the ballroom and present myself.”

---

Wakefield was quite surprised that Ysabella would keep her promise to the girl.

Could she truly keep it to herself?

“Ah, I shall have another secret to keep from Emma. This will be another burden,” she moaned as they walked back to the ballroom. Her heavy sigh filled the quiet air around them.

When he did not say a word, she turned to face him. “Would you not want to know my secrets?”

“No, not really.”

“You might find one of them quite revealing, my lord, I tell you,” she insisted.

“No, little one. What I want you to tell me is when you intend to stop your little games.”

His head bent to look down at her beside him. She was frowning. “What little games?”

“Your childish flirting, the flowers, visiting my mother and unnecessary provocations at every turn,” he uttered, voice growing edgy with every word. He was not always like this. As a matter of fact, he was an easy man, quite likable as most would agree.

“Ah, those things,” she said beside him.

When she did not add anything more, Wakefield took a deep breath and sighed. “You must find yourself someone to have a proper, decent courtship with.”

“You would appreciate it, would you not?” she asked.

“Entirely so, yes. So would your family.”

“Hm,” she simply uttered.

This conversation with the chit was getting exasperating, Wakefield thought. He chose to hasten his steps and shut his mouth. She followed with the same quick steps beside him, surprisingly quiet.

They were nearing the ballroom now.

“But I do not wish to find someone else.” Her serious voice nearly unnerved him. She moved on ahead to step into the grand ballroom and every head turned in their direction. Nicholas Everard was already storming toward them, his eyes murderously focused on his sister. “If I do what everyone in this ballroom believes I should,” she muttered under her breath as they both watched her brother’s angry strides, “I believe I shall lose myself in the process.” With those words, she left his side to meet her brother.

Wakefield shook his head, nodded at Nicholas when he threw him a grateful look, and turned around to go back to the gaming room.

He shook his head once again, refusing to think that Ysabella Everard was hiding a big part of herself from everyone else.

She is playing with you, his mind whispered. When he reached the gaming room, he believed the words to be true and never thought of the woman again.

---

“Are you still reading that book?” Aurora asked the following morning.

Ysabella looked up from her reading and nodded. “I find I must remind myself of some of its lessons.”

Aurora frowned as she stared at the copy of A Lady’s Guide to Courtship in Ysabella’s hand. “But you must have read it too many times since you bought it from that weird place in Haram.”

Ysabella winked at her friend. “But one must keep refreshing herself if she wishes to succeed, dear.”

Aurora chuckled. “I am grateful that you have brought me along, Ysa. I know that I would not have acquired an invitation should you not have sent word to the Theobalds.”

Ysabella snapped the book close. “Oh, bother. You are our dear friend. We wish nothing for you but to find a suitable husband. Your family would be glad as well, of course.”

Aurora’s face turned scarlet.

Ysabella could not blame her. Her family in Granville had sent her to Wickhurst for four consecutive years now to hunt herself a husband. Apart from her grumpy, old companion, Aurora had no one else. She was also five years older than the twins, making her six and twenty this year and nearly on the shelf, giving the poor woman even more pressure to find a match soon.

Her family had little means, no title attached to their names, to help her status in society, but they were quite ambitious and that ambition had brought such burden upon Aurora. It was probably one of the reasons why Ysabella and Emma thought they must help the lady when they made her acquaintance during her first season in Wickhurst.

Aurora was beautiful, even more so than anyone they met in their circle. The only problem that kept her from her goal was her lack of title and measly dowry. Society was indeed harsh still to those who could not meet their standards, Ysabella wryly uttered in her head.

Which was why Aurora must marry an Everard. They were rich enough to not want for anything more. Aurora would make a terrific sister-in-law. And Nicholas would make a perfect husband to said sister-in-law, she wickedly thought.

“Now, let us get ready,” she said in a more enthusiastic tone. “We have been invited to play a ball game during picnic. We must enjoy the sun. It is summer aboveground and we should not miss a little basking under the hole today.”

Aurora’s smile widened into a genuine one, her eyes twinkling at the thought of their activity. “That sounds lovely, Ysa.”

“Indeed. Now, we must ring for the maids and find Emma.”

---

The afternoon did not turn out in any way any the three ladies had expected.

Emma was looking forward to winning the ball game. Aurora was hoping to spend more time under the heat of the sun coming through the hole above. Ysabella was wishing Wakefield would grace the guests with his presence.

None of those happened for their time under the hole was short-lived.

One of the ladies they were playing with hit the ball too hard and too bloody way out of line that it hit Aurora in the head.

It would have been fine if Aurora did not lose her balance and fell on the ground. But it did a fine job doing just that.

“I am sorry!” the woman kept saying, crying over Aurora.

Ysabella brushed her aside as she kneeled over her friend. “Aurora, are you fine?” Nicholas was also crowding over Aurora. Emma was shouting for water.

Aurora let out a tiny groan as she took Nicholas’ hand so she could sit up. “I am all right.”

Ysabella turned to Nicholas. “Take her back inside the manor.”

Nicholas frowned down at Aurora. “Are you truly all right, Miss Randolph?”

Aurora slowly nodded with a wince.

“Then she does not need my help,” Nicholas said to Ysabella. “She looks unhurt.”

“Are you bloody serious?” Emma hissed at him. “She was hit by a ball! Would you like a sample, Nick? I have a good aim.”

Nicholas sighed. “Fine,” he uttered as he held out his hands to help Aurora to her feet.

“Carry her in your arms, you fool,” Ysabella hissed under her breath.

“Ysa, there is no need—” Aurora started, but Ysabella stopped her by holding up her hand, saying, “You’ve been hit in the head, Aurora. And do not lie to us. You look like you are about to faint.” She stared at Nicholas, brows raised.

Nicholas sighed and bent down to scoop Aurora in his hand and with a grunt, straightened to full height. Their friend covered her face with both hands, embarrassed with the attention she had attracted.

“You may resume your game, ladies and gentlemen!” Emma said to everyone. “Do not let us keep you from your entertainment!”

They rushed after Nicholas back to the manor. On the way there, Adam Nimrod was running after them, his face concerned. Ysabella noted the hopeful look in Aurora’s face as the young lord jogged toward them.

“Are you quite all right, Lady Ysabella?” he asked.

She saw Aurora’s face fall and she snapped her head to scowl at the man. “I am quite in a foul mood, Lord Nimrod.”

“Yes, I do notice,” he said as he tried to catch up with their fast strides. “What could I do to help?”

“None,” she snapped in reply. “My mood is caused by the fact that Miss Aurora is hurt and all you are concerned about is me!”

“Best you return to the game, my lord,” Emma told Adam.

“But—”

“Now,” Emma insisted.

Adam stopped walking and watched them leave.

“Why is everyone bloody insensitive?” Ysabella uttered with frustration.

Emma simply looked at her. “You best better cool off, Ysa. You look as though your face is painted red.”

“Straight to our chamber, Nick,” Ysabella told her brother.

“I can walk, really,” Aurora tried to protest.

“You are not walking, Miss Randolph,” Nicholas said, his voice sounding quite amused now. “You are to discover how it is to fly up the stairs.”

Emma snorted beside Ysabella, who in turn could not help but smile and share a wink with her sister. Foul mood or not, they succeeded in making Aurora fly that afternoon in the arms of no one else but their brother.

---

Wakefield was on his way back to his chamber from the gaming room when he saw a familiar figure rushing down the corridor. He stopped and frowned.

Where the bloody hell was she going now? Apart from the news of what happened earlier in the picnic, he had not seen her shadow for the rest of the day. And now she was walking the corridors in the middle of the night?

He instantly jumped to go after her when he realized that she must be on her way back to visit Maxine, the girl they found last night.

She was wearing a decent gown, one that one would wear on a normal day. Was she about ready to go to bed when she thought of this adventure?

Ysabella Everard was one, persistent girl, he must admit, he thought as he shadowed her.

His brows formed into a frown when he noticed that she was not going to the direction of Maxine’s part of the manor. In fact, it seemed as though they were going to the back of the manor.

It was too late when he realized she had entered the kitchen. And too late when he noted that he had followed her inside. The place was dark, completely void of any servant. Everyone had already gone to bed except for the lords from the gaming room.

And here she was, in the wee hours, looking for food.

He remembered her sister, Lady Margaret, once shared to him that Ysabella used to steal pies from their kitchen.

Wakefield decided to see the act for himself and stepped back into a dark corner, leaning against the wall to rest and cross his arms over his chest. He watched her grab a plate from one of the cabinets, walk over to the table to open the concave food covers. Her hair was tied at her nape so he saw how her eyes narrowed at some of the collection and widened with joy over those she liked.

“Bloody hell, you must be hungry,” he could not help but say when she picked up a turkey leg.

---

Ysabella cried out in surprise, almost causing her plate to fly across the room. Her eyes frantically searched for the owner of the voice and found that she recognized it even before he stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh, sweet Mr. Jones!” she uttered with relief. “You scared me, you know.”

Wakefield was grinning at her, looking amused at the sight of her with a plate full of food. She loved to see him smiling at her, but it would have been better if he was not wearing the same smile her brothers would wear for her and Emma. She wanted a different kind of smile, she thought.

“Sweet Mr. Jones?”

“Of course. You do know of him, yes?”

“From the myth, yes.”

“I believe he is no myth. Topic closed. He is true.”

“You believe he fell from one of the holes and wrote a book about the life aboveground.”

“Of course, although how he came underground almost a century ago can be debatable. But I do not wish to discuss it now. You might wish to talk to Emma about it. She does have the best theories about Mr. Jones.”

“Hm. I might opt to do that some other day.” His eyes returned to her plate.

“I was hungry,” she explained the food. “Would you like to join me?” She raised her brows in question.

His smile faded at her invitation. “Not all of my invitation has a motive, my lord,” she said, quite irked. “I am merely asking if you wish to join me. And let me iterate that I do not equate food to marriage if that is what you so fear.” She sat on a stool and started to feed herself.

To her surprise, he moved closer and took the stool opposite the table. He reached for a small piece of bread and munched on it.

“How is Levi?” he asked.

“He is faring very well,” she provided. “He is doting on his daughter, Lindsay, of course. Tori, his wife, is afraid the child will grow up spoiled.”

“I have not seen their daughter of late.”

“You should,” she said, her face brightening at the mention of her niece. “She is three years old now and she can do so many things already. She wants a horse, you know. Levi will not allow it as he is afraid she might get into an accident. Emma and I are still in the process of convincing him it would be good for Lindsay.”

He nodded. She took a large bite from the turkey and quietly chewed, her thoughts wandering to their eldest brother Benedict and his recent loss.

“Are you looking sad because you think Levi might never grant your niece’s request?” Wakefield tried to jest.

She blinked and shook her head. “No. I was just thinking of Ben. You know what happened to him and his wife, yes?”

He solemnly nodded. “Yes. I am sorry. They do not deserve it.”

“But the dark days are over,” she said, leaning over the table to lean closer to him. “Agatha is once more pregnant.” She noted the quiet surprise in his eyes. “But you cannot tell anyone. Not yet, of course. We are trying to keep it amongst us and some close friends for now. We would not want Agatha to feel any pressure. Society can do that to you, you know.”

She suddenly grew conscious when he just stared at her, his face unreadable.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat, “why would you not prefer me for yourself?”

The serious look on his face suddenly disappeared at her unexpected question. He rolled his eyes and sighed. He leaned away from her and against his chair. Shaking his head, he stared at her dryly, exactly how her brothers would look at her and Emma every time they said something annoying. “I prefer someone with finesse and… experience.”

“Oh,” she uttered in surprise. She placed the turkey in her plate, wiped her hand and lips with a napkin, mustering all the finesse she had in her system. When she lifted her eyes to look at him, he was watching her, wincing at her act. He snorted and she found it very much challenging. “I could always learn and acquire said experience.” His brows cocked high, doubtful. “You would make a marvellous teacher!”

His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets and he choked and coughed.

Ysabella’s laughter rang around the kitchen.

Then she remembered the words from the book she had been reading.

Know the right moment to leave .

She grabbed her plate and jumped to her feet.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to my chamber, of course. I have acquired what I came here for. And no, my lord, I came here for the food, not you. I do have other needs other than your company, if you must know,” she said with a wink before she turned to leave. “Good night and I hope to see you on the morrow.”

With that, Ysabella dragged herself away from Wakefield’s presence.

Patience, Ysa. Patience, she uttered her mantra.

VI. A Seemingly Friendly Advice

Dearest Lady Weis,

I have to admit that I am not close to my brother. He and my late father have been naught but focused on my failures rather than my achievements. You might call it childish, but I have always considered my relationship with Thomas a competition rather than anything else.

Speaking of competition, I must say I do excel in sports. Have I ever written about how Thomas once fell off his horse when he was twenty? I’d wager you could master a horse better than he. He fell on a pile of dung, if you must know. The smell stayed in his character to this day.

Even though you do say very little detail about your family, I can safely assume you have a good relationship with them. You would not sound vibrant and full of life if it is not the case.

My Cook is good, yes. She does make the best pies. I wonder why you asked. Are you hungry while writing your last letter? You must know I have a smile on my face at the memory of such an unexpected question.

I shall be traveling to Wakefield by the morrow. I hope to return in Wickhurst and find your reply waiting for me.

Yours,

William

---

Had he known that his brother Thomas, the Lord of Bertram would grace the Theobald party with his ever magnificent presence, Wakefield would have stayed in Wickhurst.

And he knew full well why his brother, merely one year older, made a surprise appearance. The recent harvest of the Wakefield estate had not been good. In fact, it was a poor year for the estate.

Thomas’ presence simply meant his conceited brother was here to gloat on Wakefield’s failures and in more ways than one, make a statement that would equate to, “I told you so.” For it was true. He had told Wakefield, in a disguise of an advice, that planting his crops too early for the season would yield the best results. As it was his custom to not listen or take advice from his brother, Wakefield planted his crops at the exact moment he planned it.

Then the flood came through the holes and ruined almost the entire plantation just before the harvest season.

While Bertram and other plantations had already harvested theirs, Wakefield was amongst those who had very little to get with such great losses.

So when his mother announced during breakfast that Thomas was merely hours away from Theobald, Wakefield stood to his feet, excused himself and packed his bags to return to Wickhurst.

His mother, ever aware of his sons’ relationship, did not make attempts to stop him or delay his departure. Assuring the woman that Thomas would bring her back to Wickhurst himself, he left for Wickhurst.

Which was better for everyone, he thought. He did not have to suffer two more ball nights with the chits and Ysabella Everard clamouring for his attention. His mother was in good health, being surrounded by friends. He, on the other hand, was missing a tumble in the bed with one of his lovers in Wickhurst. Some of his friends were probably enjoying nights at Grey’s and he’d merely be happy to join them.

And there was a matter with Lady Weis, whom he believed might have already sent a reply to his previous letter. Coming home to Wickhurst was indeed the best decision.

---

It was a great disappointed to hear the news that Lord Wakefield had decided to skip the rest of the weekend party, but the moment Ysabella learned of Thomas Hayward’s arrival that same morning, she could very well understand why.

In fact, if she was not in want of his presence, she would have been the first to push Wakefield to go back to Wickhurst. Knowing how Wakefield felt toward his brother, she could not blame him for the escape.

But Ysabella knew that it was not well to hate someone simply because someone you love does. So she chose to be cordial when Thomas walked over to greet them, looking very much like his brother in built and height, but with a naturally smug look on his face.

After the short social greetings, Thomas and Nicholas took to themselves for a longer chat. Ysabella pretended to be listening to the conversation going on between her mother and her friends. Emma and Aurora were standing nearby, talking to Adam Nimrod and his acquaintances. She leaned her head to the side to hear what Thomas was saying to Nicholas.

“—was here, I believe, but he has matters of import to attend to,” the man was saying, his voice lower than Wakefield’s.

“Will you be accompanying your mother to Wickhurst then?”

“What choice does a man have when his own brother up and disappeared, leaving the poor woman behind?” Thomas replied before he emptied his glass of brandy. “Yes, I am afraid I have to do the task.”

“Levi will be arriving in Wickhurst for a hunting party in the woods. Nicholas, Maxwell and Ralph will also be joining us, I believe, so is Wakefield.”

Ysabella took a small step back, nearer her brother and Thomas. A hunting party? Why was she not aware of it?

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It has been quite some time since we last hunted what with Benedict and Levi marrying off consecutively, of course,” Nicholas explained. “You can join us if you like. The more the merrier, eh?”

Thomas was already shaking his blonde head, one that was too well-groomed, a stark contrast to Wakefield’s tussled one. “I am afraid that my brother’s hobbies do not reflect mine, Nicholas.”

Ysabella cleared her throat and pretended to be looking at the dancing couples in the dance floor when Emma threw her a knowing look. Her sister knew what she was doing and she did not care. Aurora threw her an amused look before she focused her attention back on Adam Nimrod.

She heard Nicholas’ light chuckle. “You and Ben are so much alike, Thomas—boring.”

Wakefield’s brother smiled and it was too late for Ysabella to look away when his blue eyes found hers studying him. The laughter in his eyes turned to that of interest and if it ever morphed into something else, she did not know since she made a sharp turn to join her mother and her friends in a conversation about how to properly sew the perfect leaf on cotton.

“You simply need a needle and thread, really,” she said to the group who turned to her, looking perplexed and confused. “Green would be the much preferred colour,” she added in haste, cringing at her own words.

“My daughter has no talent in such domestic things,” Lady Alice reasoned with her friends and they laughed. Ysabella joined in, ever mindful of Lord Bertram’s attention.

---

That night, Ysabella waited until Aurora fell asleep before she put on her robe and slipped out of the bedchamber. She could not sleep and needed something to eat.

The way to the kitchen was easier after having gone there for two nights now. She grabbed anything that fancied her. Intending to carry her plate back to the room, she paused and contemplated the sudden thought that popped in her head.

And then she turned and walked to the opposite direction, careful not to meet anyone that might still be awake. A faint sound coming from one of the gaming rooms reached her but there was little chance someone would see her for she intended to climb the stairs that was supposedly not for the guests.

Once she reached the top landing, she turned into the same corridor she and Wakefield walked into that first night in the manor. She found the door Maxine entered that night and tried the doorknob. Much to her surprise, it was unlocked. Looking at both ends of the corridor, Ysabella checked for anyone that might be a witness to her trespassing and found none.

She pushed the door open. The room was dark. Disappointment crept in.

But then she heard a sound from one corner of the empty room.

She frowned and looked around. It was indeed naught but an empty room. But why did Maxine come here if she had intended to retire for the night?

A thought came to her.

No, it cannot be.

But it can be done. She had heard of secret doors and rooms being created in many manors. Some gentlemen’s clubs had them as well as far as she knew. So why could not the Theobalds have one as well?

She walked to the wall and with her plate in one hand, used her free hand to find something. She tried pushing at each panel of the wall and was about to give up, thinking how absurd she must look like, when the last panel gave in and swung open.

Ysabella nearly stumbled forward if not for her perfect balance. She was suddenly blinded by light. She gasped in surprise when she realized she had stumbled into a large bedchamber.

A giant bed was situated at one side, a large table on the opposite side, a beautiful dresser at the far end and—Maxine. She was standing in the middle of the room, looking as surprised as Ysabella.

“What are you doing here?” Maxine demanded, rushing toward her.

“Why are you dressed as a servant?” Ysabella asked, taking in the blue dress and the white apron.

Maxine looked over her shoulder.

“I am alone, I promise. I came by chance that you might wish to join me for a snack,” she said, lifting the plate higher.

The woman frowned down at her food. “That is more like a luncheon for a starving traveller rather than a snack.”

“Well, I like heavy snacks,” she reasoned.

“You should go. You must not be seen here.”

“Well, that can be easily arranged,” Ysabella said, turning around to close the panel door. When she faced Maxine once more, she smiled. “Well? Would you like to join me for a snack?”

Maxine stared at her for a long time before giving a sigh. “If you are not Samuel’s friend, I would throw you out.” She pointed to the table. “You can eat there.”

Ysabella sauntered toward the table and sat on the chair. “I take that you have a good relationship with Samuel?”

“Of course. He is my brother.”

Ysabella started eating the pie. “But you choose not to be introduced to society. Why?”

Maxine’s eyes flickered with irritation. “Because I do not wish for it. I rather like it here.”

“You mean you like hiding yourself in this large manor.”

“My life is quite different without this dratted weekend parties, if you must know.”

“Oh, so you can freely go about if there are not guests!”

“Of course,” Maxine said, walking over to the bed to sit. “Do be quick and finish your food.”

“How old are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I am a curious individual.”

“Four and twenty.”

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Samuel is older by four years.”

“You mean our father committed a sin against his marriage even after having sired an heir,” Maxine wryly retorted.

“No, I did not mean to say that,” Ysabella said, brushing off the highly awkward topics. “So, would you ever answer my question? Why are you dressed as a servant?”

Maxine’s face brightened with a small smile, her eyes a wicked glimmer. “I do play different roles during the weekend parties. A year ago, I did try to dress as a footman before Father caught me.”

Ysabella laughed. “It must be fun.”

Maxine nodded. “Two years ago, I succeeded as an old maidservant. I even helped two or three guests get dressed.”

Ysabella’s laughter rang around the room. “I ought to take lessons from you, then!”

“Do be quick. I wish to retire early,” Maxine said instead.

She finished her pie and asked, “Do you have something to drink? I regret I forgot to bring water.”

Maxine sighed and went to her feet. She walked over to the side of her bed where a glass and a pitcher of water stood. As she poured, Ysabella studied her closely. “Is dressing up a way for you to entertain yourself?”

“Somewhat, yes.” She walked over to Ysabella and handed the glass.

“Have you ever tried to pretend you are one of the guests instead? So you could enjoy the parties.”

Maxine shook her head. “It is too risky. They might recognize me.”

“Why do you fear it so?”

The woman frowned. “I am a bastard. I’d ruin my father’s name if my identity should become public.”

“Has your family expressed the same fears?”

“No, they—” Maxine stopped herself and shook her head. “No, it is better that I stay hidden.”

“Then what do you plan to do for the rest of your life? Surely you cannot stay hidden forever!”

“Of course I can. I love it here.”

“But you have not seen the rest of the outside. Even I who is free to roam around the Town dreams of what the world aboveground is like. Do you not wonder of the same things, of what it would be like outside the Theobald estate?”

Maxine’s eyes wavered. “No, not really.”

“Instead of imprisoning yourself, you should start living your life without fear, dear Maxine. You ought to live.”

“Do not tell me how I ought to lead my life, Ysabella Everard. I very well know how to make the most of it.”

“Oh, very well, if you must say so. But should you change your mind, I tell you in advance that society could be truly brutal to those who are different, but they too are forgetful. They will feast on you for days, weeks and even months, but soon your scandal would become old and a new one would come and you shall be forgotten.”

She watched Maxine consider and dismiss her words altogether. Ah, this woman was stubborn and filled with pride. It would be good to have more moments with her, really, but Ysabella knew her time in the Theobalds’ would soon end.

“Would you still be here next year?”

“Where else would I be? Of course.”

“I could see you then?”

Maxine hesitated. “If you insist.”

“Could I send you letters?”

“If you wish it,” the lady replied, “but do not expect a reply.”

Ysabella smiled at the woman. “I am the queen of missives, dear. I do know how to make even the most notorious of rakes scribble a reply.”

She stayed with Maxine until her plate was empty and it could have been considered the highlight of her day.

---

True to her words, Ysabella proved the following day how effective her missives were.

The very moment Emma and Aurora walked out of the bedchamber, Ysabella scribbled a fast note that read:

Lady Gedge,

If you so wish to keep your own secret a secret, do keep THE secret a secret. Should a gossip arise, be assured that what you so hold dear shall be in the front page of the Town Herald.

Yours,

A friend

Hours later, while she watched the maid deliver the letter to the queen of all gossipmongers in Wickhurst, Ysabella smiled. The woman’s face had turned white with dread.

It seemed that the bluff worked, after all. Lady Gedge, like most of everyone, did have her own secret.

“You seem entertained, Lady Ysabella,”

Ysabella’s head snapped and she was surprised to see Thomas Hayward standing beside her, hands at ease behind him, eyes also fixed on Lady Gedge. “My lord,” she said with a small curtsy.

“What did you send her?”

She cleared her throat. “A note. Nothing alarming.”

“I see it is worse than that.” He sounded amused.

“I simply reminded her that a secret is a secret.” She turned and gave another curtsy. “I must get going, my lord. My mother must be looking for me.”

“Your mother is merely five paces away.”

Her face flushed. “As I very well know, yes, but her eyesight is failing her.”

Thomas laughed. “You do know your way around lies, Lady Ysabella.”

“Entertaining, is it not?” she asked, stepping away.

“Quite so, yes.”

“Ah, then poor William,” she said with a dramatic sigh.

He frowned. “Why so?”

“I have vowed never to lie to him. He is missing out on all of my entertaining faculties, I fear.”

Thomas let out a snort. “That, he is.”

“Very well, I must truly go. Do keep my secret a secret, my lord.”

His blue eyes studied her, amused. “I shall.”

Ysabella turned to walk to her mother, thinking all the while that Lord Bertram was not so bad at all.

VII. A Lady’s Guide to a Hunting Party

Dearest William,

Snow has fallen! I could not wait to visit one of the holes.

I wonder what the people aboveground could be doing at the moment. I heard they celebrate Christmas grandly.

Where do you intend to spend the holidays? Will you be staying in Wickhurst or Wakefield?

Happy holidays, my friend. I wish you all the blessings there is!

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Since their arrival back in Wickhurst, things were quite a bore. Ysabella and Emma had been counting the days until Levi and his wife arrived from Standbury with their daughter, Lindsay.

Since it was a Friday, she did manage to convince Emma to drop her books and come with her for tea with Lady Hayward. They did not stay long as the lady was preparing for an evening party that Thomas was invited to.

And to prevent another encounter with Wakefield’s brother, Ysabella said their goodbyes to the lady and went on to deliver a flower to Wakefield’s estate, Emma brooding as Ysabella conversed with Morris.

Like all other Fridays, his lordship was not in residence.

“Someday will come and I will no longer accompany you to any of this,” Emma dryly uttered.

“I did not force you to come today.”

Her sister sighed beside her. “I would not have if Margaret and Cole are in residence, but they are in Ashmore until next week.”

Ysabella did not utter a comment. She missed their sister as well. Faye and Fiona, Margaret and Cole’s adopted children, would be a breath of fresh air in the past boring days. But the entire family was away in Ashmore to spend time with Cole’s mother who was adamant that she wanted to spend more time with her new grandson, Harold. Lady Ashmore never acknowledged Faye and Fiona as family, but then it was her loss, really. The two girls were amazing. They would soon be attending school, a thing that Ysabella and Emma never enjoyed as their mother had opted for governesses and tutors instead.

Ysabella could not help but smile. Their family was growing. Margaret had given them Harold a year prior and their nephew had been naught but amazing.

Agatha was pregnant and she prayed it would be a success this time, making their family one baby richer.

“He was home, you know,” Emma told her as they approached the Everard estate. “I meant Wakefield.”

Her brows cocked in surprise. “How do you know?”

“I saw the curtain on the second landing move,” Emma said with a shrug. “He was watching.”

Ysabella hid a secret smile. “He was?”

“But do not get any wrong ideas, sister. He could have entertained you if he wanted to see you.”

“Oh, he did see me. He was watching me.”

“I want to believe he was waiting for you to leave.”

“Well, whatever it may be, he was watching.”

“And Lindsay is here!” Emma suddenly cried out, jumping to her feet to run up to the driveway.

Indeed, Levi’s carriage was parked outside. Ysabella momentarily forgot everything about Wakefield, excitement taking over as she ran after Emma to find their niece.

Their three-year-old niece was already waiting for them in the parlour and squealed with delight upon seeing her two aunts.

“Ah, here we go,” Levi ground out as his daughter leaped from his grasp to stumble toward Ysabella’s outstretched arms.

“Ysa!” Lindsay shouted, burying her little face in Ysabella’s gown.

“And me?” Emma inquired beside Ysabella.

Lindsay pulled away and turned to face Emma. “Em!” she said with a giggle before offering her arms to Emma. Her dark blonde hair swayed as Emma picked her up and swirled her around.

“Careful, careful!” Levi warned, jumping to his feet. “You might drop her, for God’s sake!”

“Calm down, Levi,” Tori said, walking into the room with Lady Alice. Lindsay did not take her looks from the Everards but from her mother. Tori had blonde hair and blue-grey eyes and the very same eyes watched her daughter with a happy glimmer. “She is quite alright. Emma has a strong hold.” Levi’s wife smiled warmly as she watched Emma and Lindsay. “I am quite glad she finally has someone to play with other than her father.”

“Will you be attending the ball tonight?” Ysabella asked Tori, giving her sister-in-law a peck.

“Of course, dear,” their mother replied. “Your brother has been keeping his family in Standbury for too long. Tori deserves a night out.”

Tori chuckled, seeing her husband’s disgruntled face. “Has Margaret arrived yet?” she asked no one in particular.

“Next week, I believe,” their mother replied. Ysabella went to take Lindsay from Emma and added, “Lady Ashmore demanded to see her grandson.”

“Well, at the very least she accepted the grandson,” Tori said with a shrug. “A great improvement.”

“Where are Nick and Max?” Levi asked, his eyes wary on his daughter.

“In their respective estates, of course, probably still in their beds, asleep. They’ve been at Grey’s all night,” Ysabella said, rolling her eyes. She started for the door, Lindsay in her arms.

“Where are you going?” Their brother sounded as though they were about to escape with his daughter.

“Out for a stroll in Haram,” Ysabella said with an innocent smile.

Their brother scowled. Their mother and Tori merely chuckled.

“For God’s sake, Levi, we are merely going to the nursery,” Emma snapped. “We have a few hours still before we prepare for the ball,” Emma said, opening the door for Ysabella and Lindsay.

“Do ring for tea, husband,” Tori ordered nonchalantly, sitting at the chair he vacated. “And biscuits.”

Ysabella and Emma proceeded to the nursery where they let their niece run around. Once, she bumped against the wall, but Levi would never know that, of course.

---

“Boring,” Emma droned beside Ysabella. “I’d rather we have stayed home with Lindsay.”

“Aurora is not here, I wonder why?” Ysabella asked.

“Something about an aching head,” supplied Emma. “Nick is not in attendance as well.”

Ysabella’s frown turned hopeful. “Do you suppose they—”

“It is too early for that, Ysa,” Emma interjected. “Although I would not object should they be keeping something , but highly unlikely at this moment.”

“We never thought something was going on between Ben and Agatha before, you know. We have been planning to match her with Doctor Johannes, the poor bloke, ignorant that our dear brother had already made his move.”

Emma slowly nodded. “Well, the same could be said with Tori and Levi.”

“Yes. So,” she said, her eyes twinkling with delight, “something might have happened during the Theobald’s that we did not know.”

Emma let her smile widen. “Would that not be nice?”

“Delightful,” Ysabella grinned. Her eyes caught something—someone—standing merely a few paces away.

Wakefield.

And as though he felt her eyes on him, he turned and their eyes met. Her breath was once again snatched from her. She saw his eyes panic and then he turned away.

She was not about ready to go to him and make a total fool of herself after her latest display at the Theobald’s. Not for now, anyway. She could always find the perfect timing to corner him.

But she saw Thomas making his way toward Wakefield. And before he could corner his brother, Ysabella decided to race him to it. “I’ll be back,” she murmured to Emma before stealthily making her way to Wakefield’s direction.

---

Bullocks!

Could he not attend a single ball without Ysabella Everard chasing after him?

He was able to walk a few paces away before he realized he was nearly cornered. There was no way out, unless he pushed the crowd blocking his way to escape.

“William,” he heard a familiar voice call out.

Thomas.

His jaw clenched. Why could nobody leave him alone?

Bloody hell , his mind cursed, before he turned away from the direction of his brother’s voice to face the lesser of two evils.

“Hello, Lord Wakefield,” Ysabella said, her eyes hovering over his shoulder for a moment before she reached for his arm and without his permission looped hers around it to lead him back to where he came from, away from where his brother might be.

He felt uncomfortable having Ysabella Everard’s gloved hand hooked in his elbow. Guests they passed by stared, quite amused he had allowed such display.

“This is new, is it not?” Ysabella whispered beside him. “You letting me be close to you this way.”

“Don’t start,” he warned.

“Now I am inclined to believe that you like me, my lord.”

“As a brother likes his younger sister, of course.”

“As a man likes a woman,” she insisted in a sweet voice.

“I am too old for you, little one. Or have you forgotten the ten years between us?”

Ysabella chuckled, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she did so. “My lord, the only thing that could deter me is if you declare that we are siblings by blood, which my mother would most definitely never admit to. Also, I’d rather you refer to me not as little one , but my one .”

He started to protest but she added, “You are going to say you do not like me, are you, my lord? Please, do not. I would not believe it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he mocked.

She stopped walking, forcing him to do so as well. He looked over his shoulder to check on Thomas. His brother was currently occupied with a pair of gentlemen. Ysabella’s voice drew his attention away from his brother. “You do not DO NOT like me. You simply do not like the fact that I am your friend’s sister.”

He took a sharp, deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was almost ready to kneel on the ground. “I beg of you to please stop. Stop this, Ysabella.”

Her full lips curved into a smile, making her cheeks puff a little fuller as they already were. “Hmm. I like it better than ‘little one’. That will have to do.” Her eyes flickered over his shoulder before she raised her hand, giving it a gracious wave. “Now that I have done what I came here for, good night, my lord.”

Wakefield could only shake his head. She was starting to act even more unpredictable. In the past she would not leave his side if she could help it. Yet now, seeing her walk away to join her sister, he knew the chit was veering toward a different method, one that was almost frightening.

---

Ysabella found Levi in the refreshment table.

It was well to do it now than later.

“Brother, dear,” she whispered to him, “I wish to claim one of your promises.”

Levi stilled in the act of drinking and stared at her for a long moment before he groaned, finally remembering his desperate promise to do whatever the twins wanted when he came begging them to tell him where Tori when he could not find her. “I was hoping you would forget about it.”

“What? That time you acted like a dratted fool, thinking you could live without Tori? Are you actually serious? Of course, Emma and I would never forget it. It is forever etched in our memory.” She chuckled at her brother’s scowling face. “We never forget such promises or debts, brother,” Ysabella said. “Now, as I have said, I am here to claim your promise to me. Emma’s is a different story, of course.”

“The hell it is—” She narrowed her eyes and he stopped. “Very well, what is it?”

“I wish to be invited to the hunting party in the woods.”

“No. It is dangerous and—”

“You bring your wives to said hunting parties. In fact, there are quite a lot of women who come to wait in the picnic while you men venture to your sport.”

“No, Ysa. You cannot—”

“I could ask for something far worse, you know,” she said with a wicked smile.

Her brother’s eyes narrowed into slits as he said through his teeth, “You shall not go anywhere near the hunting grounds.”

“I promise.” She grinned widely and went to announce the invitation to Emma.

---

Dearest Lady Weis,

I had been hoping to find you at the recent Theobald party but whether or not you were there, I was not able to discover. I had to come back to Wickhurst due to the unexpected arrival of my brother and I did not wish to foul my mood.

If you did attend the said party, I wish you have enjoyed your stay. If not, then I am glad. Rather selfish of me, is it not? But truly, it will be quite bothersome to know we have attended the same party and I could not know which amongst the guests was the woman who, by some miracle, now an important part of my life.

I came back to Wickhurst and tried to spend as much time at Grey’s but I find that I could still not stop wondering if I had left Theobald with you still there. I did try to visit a lover but decided not to do so. Although I do not answer to anyone, I had a feeling that I was committing a sin by doing so.

Do send a reply if you have returned.

Yours,

William

Ysabella stared blankly at the letter. It had arrived just that morning.

In the past she would silently squeal receiving such letter from him. But now she had to admit that she felt naught but longing.

Yes, of course, he was saying those words to her, but he must be thinking of someone else entirely. How he spoke to her in his letters were entirely different from how he’d treat her as Ysabella Everard.

In his letters, she was a dear friend, an important part of his life as he would say. But as Ysabella Everard, she was not but his friend’s sister, the woman who could very well be considered a pest to his social life.

The door to their bedchamber suddenly swung open and Emma stumbled inside with Lindsay in tow.

Ysabella made a big mistake when she jumped to her feet and panicked, hiding the letter behind her. Her sister saw the entire deed and narrowed her eyes at her.

Lindsay tugged free from Emma’s hold and ran to Ysabella.

“What is that, Ysa?” Emma asked, walking closer to her.

“Uh, nothing. Aurora. I sent her an invitation to the hunting party, remember?”

Emma’s brow arched high. “If you must know, I have Aurora’s letter lying in my desk at this very moment. Jefferson personally delivered it to me an hour ago.”

Ysabella swallowed. “W-well,” she stammered as Emma’s eyes flickered with impatience, striding toward her to wrestle the letter from her hands.

She could have pushed her sister away, but two years of keeping the secret from Emma made Ysabella weak, allowing herself to finally just let the secret out. She must admit she was getting tired of the secrecy.

She bowed her head as Emma read the letter. Her eyes watered and she took Lindsay’s hand when the child looked up at her with concern, saying, “Ysa? You crying?”

“Oh, Ysa,” Emma sighed with disappointment. She looked up to find not merely disappointment in her sister’s face.

Her secret was out and the only person she had hoped would understand her was looking at her with anger, annoyance and pity.

VIII. Into the Lake

Dearest Lady Weis,

I do not remember many happy times with my father. He never allowed me to do anything I wanted. It was always about staying in school and more studying afterwards during holidays. I rarely had time to even walk around the estate. I could count still the times I visited the gigantic hole in Bertram before my father died and Thomas had to take over the title.

Freedom, for me, is paramount. I never wish to part from it.

But there are people who would show me that putting your freedom in the hands of another is freeing in many ways as well. Would you agree to that?

Yours,

William

---

“Em…” Ysabella uttered, reaching for her sister, but Emma shook her head and handed back Wakefield’s letter.

“I am greatly disappointed, Ysa.” Emma’s eyes were brimming with tears. “But we shall talk about this once we are alone. Lindsay is here, so is Levi and Tori.” Without another word, Emma lifted Lindsay in her arms and left the bedchamber.

Ysabella’s shoulders shook as the tears continued to flow.

She had done this to herself. She had caused this.

And she’d have to face it.

---

Emma was still not talking to her, although she never let anyone take notice of it. She still went with Ysabella and Aurora to the picnic and the hunting party. Tori had decided to stay as Lindsay would not stop crying when they were about to leave.

“I have been quite busy in the new apartment,” Aurora opened up inside the carriage on their way to the woods.

“I am glad that they have found another apartment for you, Aurora,” Emma said. “I have to admit that the previous one was quite horrid.”

Aurora’s face reddened. “I know.”

“Do not fret,” Ysabella said, taking Aurora’s hand. “Em merely wanted to make a point. Your previous apartment was fine, but I hope this new one is better. You do deserve something nice. Will your parents be visiting soon? We would love to meet them.”

Aurora shook her head. “Mother is ill, I fear. I had suggested that I go home to take care of her but Father is quite adamant that I finish the season.”

Ysabella and Emma did not make any more comment. They were aware that Aurora’s parents were not very much like their own. They merely wished that if Aurora was to have any difficulties, she would let them know. There was so much about her family that she never shared. They only heard stories here and there, but no more than that. The young woman’s family was a stranger to them, making them even more curious.

“Do you have any plans on how you could gain Lord Wakefield’s attention this time?” Aurora asked in a teasing tone, but quickly stopped when she saw Emma turn away with a grim look on her face and Ysabella looking quite guilty.

“Later,” she mouthed to Aurora who nodded in understanding, uncomfortably shifting in her seat, clearing her throat.

“Fine day today, is it not? Perfect for hunting,” Aurora later said, changing the subject. “Not that I know how to hunt, of course,” she hastily added.

Emma did not offer a reply. Ysabella tried to prolong the conversation by sounding enthusiastic but it was no use. The mood was not just right for anything.

Emma was still obviously angry and disappointed.

---

Levi was already waiting for them with Nicholas, Maxwell and Ralph when their carriage arrived.

For some reason, the presence of their brothers somehow lifted Ysabella’s spirit.

“I am not aware that Miss Randolph is also coming along,” Nicholas noted as the three women climbed down the carriage.

“Well, she is. Why do you care?” Ysabella uttered, tone filled with meaning.

Nicholas merely shook his head, causing Ralph to laugh out loud. Being the sixth Everard child, Ralph was closest in age to Ysabella and Emma. That did not mean, though, that they had a loving and sweet relationship. It was actually the opposite, with their childhood filled of numerous pranks and banters that nearly caused their mother to go mad if their eldest brother, Benedict, did not make the necessary interventions every time.

“You are their current project, are you not?” Ralph asked Nicholas, eyes glimmering with mirth and mocked disbelief.

“If you have not been very busy being a loyal Town Guard, brother, you would have already realized the fact,” Emma snapped.

“I do take my work in ensuring peace and order around Wickhurst quite seriously, sister, unlike the two of you who seem to have decided to cause yet more trouble.”

“You do realize that we are listening,” Nicholas dryly uttered, motioning his head at Aurora. “Miss Randolph and I, however, are old and wise enough to realize what Ysa and Emma are up to and we shall not fall victim. Am I correct, Miss Randolph?”

Aurora opened her mouth to answer but Levi beat him to it.

“You might want to hold that thought off for a while, brother,” Levi whispered to Nicholas.

“Unlike you and Ben, Levi, I am quite confident,” Nicholas snapped, turning away.

Their ever cynical brother, Maxwell, snickered. “Quite a challenge, eh?” he asked the twins before he left and followed Nicholas.

“The hunt is about to begin,” Levi said, turning to face the three women. “You don’t venture into the hunting grounds, understand?”

“Simply enjoy tea and cakes,” Ralph said in a mocking tone.

Ysabella and Emma threw him a look.

“What? Women could not—”

“I know someone who can beat you to a pulp, brother, and she is a woman,” Ysabella interjected.

“Now, let us not talk about that,” Levi said, giving them a look of warning. He was with the twins when they both made friends with a female bandit and her friends and he had made them both promise to never share the story of Alex and her bandit family to anyone else.

“Present this woman before me and I shall gladly fight her with naught but one hand,” Ralph issued in challenge.

“Mayhap that day will come,” Emma said. “Do not wish for it, Ralph, I tell you.”

“Stop,” Levi said, voice rising. “Do you see the picnic there?” he asked, pointing to the right.

Aurora nodded and said, “We shall stay there and never wander into the hunting grounds.”

“Quiet refreshing to talk to someone with sense for once, particularly one who knows how to follow the rules,” Ralph uttered before hastily running away to join Maxwell and Nicholas, avoiding a blow from Emma.

“Remember to stay out of the hunting grounds,” Levi warned once more, escorting the three ladies to the picnic where they were greeted by wives and sisters of the other lords who had decided to join the hunt.

After setting up their picnic, Aurora sat on the ground to look up at the hole above, relishing on the heat of the sun sifting through the leaves.

Wickhurst was amongst the towns that enjoyed the presence of a wooden area. The trees had grown to such a number that it had now become a famous spot for hunting games. Deeper into the woods were wild animals the men would hunt as a sport. And although many of the women would wish to know what lay beyond the safety zone of the woods, they knew fairly well that it was dangerous to venture deep without proper protection.

“I believe the lake is not near the hunting ground,” Ysabella said to Aurora.

“You wish to go there?”

“Levi said not to go—” Emma started but Aurora had already straightened on the ground with excitement.

“I have never been to any form of land water,” she said, eyes glimmering.

“Would you like to go?” Ysabella offered.

“I am not coming,” Emma insisted.

“Since when have you become so obedient, Em?”

“Since I nearly fell off that tree,” her sister uttered, pointing at the same tree they climbed years ago. If not for Benedict, both of them would have taken quite a serious fall.

“Very well,” Ysabella huffed, standing to her feet. “I shall satisfy Aurora’s curiosity about the lake. We will not go near the hunting grounds, I promise.”

“Just be certain you are coming back alive,” Emma snapped, opening their picnic basket.

Ysabella and Aurora walked to the lake, Ysabella leading the way.

“I did not see Lord Wakefield,” Aurora noted.

“Oh, he is here. I saw him enter the woods with Nicholas.”

“I wonder why I did not see him.”

“Because he did not wish to be near me, that is,” Ysabella countered.

“I do adore your patience, Ysa, truly I do. My perseverance would have already waned in merely months, but yours stays the same after many years.”

She did not reply. Her constant letter exchanges with Wakefield were to be blamed for such perseverance. She felt closer to him now than ever before and the thought of quitting seemed out of the question.

“Why is Emma cross with you?”

“You noticed that, didn’t you?”

“It was quite obvious, yes.”

“I hid something from her. I did something that I had promised I shall never do again. It is my fault. I shall have to think of a way to make it up to her.”

“I am sure that she will get over it once you do. You have a gift of not making people be angry at you for long.”

“Say that to Ralph and you shall have to suffer listening to a long litany of my sins,” she said with a laugh. “We are here,” she said to Aurora.

Her friend looked up and her eyes widened. The lake was not as big as others around the Town, but it was still a lake, rarely seen anywhere.

“It is quite beautiful,” Aurora said, looking up. “Does the sun cause the water to sparkle?”

“Yes, I believe so. It reflects the light.” She turned to Aurora in surprise when her friend suddenly bent down to remove her shoes. “What are you doing?”

“Dip in, of course. Do you truly believe that I would simply look at it after twenty-four years of having not seen anything like it?” Aurora said with a giggle.

“I do not think it is wise, Aurora,” Ysabella said. “But if you merely dip, I would not tell anyone. Just do not venture farther. I have not tried how deep this lake is.”

“Oh, do not worry,” Aurora said, taking off her stockings. “I do not know how to swim. I simply wish to feel the water up to my ankles—or knees.” She gathered her skirts higher. “Are you not coming?”

“No,” Ysabella uttered. “I am not in the mood to get wet.”

Aurora enthusiastically smiled and ran to the edge of the lake. She dipped her toes first before exclaiming how great the water felt. Ysabella watched as her innocent friend submerged both feet into the water, her red hair almost orange under the light of the sun above.

“Stay close, Aurora,” she called out, looking over her shoulder. There was no one around. “I think that is far enough!” she cried out when Aurora walked farther, the water now above her knees. The skirts of her gown were half-drenched.

“What?” Aurora asked, turning around to face her while walking backwards into the water.

“Stop! That is enough!”

Aurora laughed. “It is fine, Ysa! Join me! The water is marvellous!”

Ysabella walked nearer. “Stop, Aurora. You would not want—oh, goodness!” she exclaimed when her friend stumbled back and lost her balance, falling off into the water. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Come back here! You are drenched and my brothers would probably kill me if—” but Aurora was still in the water, her arms flailing above her.

Ysabella’s heart skipped a beat.

Aurora was drowning.

“Aurora!” she cried out in panic. She started to strip her outer gown and shoes until she was wearing naught but her drawers and chemise.

She saw Aurora’s head come up for air before she was once more dragged under the water. “Help!” she cried as she ran toward Aurora. “HELP!”

She jumped in into the water and trudged toward her friend. The water was not deep, but her friend, new to this type of water and with her heavy gown, was in total panic. And it was not helping at all.

“Aurora! Aurora! Calm down!” she tried to say as she neared, careful not to cause her friend to float even farther, or worse, grab her and cause them both to drown.

As she struggled to come closer to her panicking friend, someone brushed her aside and caused her to lose her balance. Ysabella fell backward into the water. She struggled back on her feet in a state of panic, blood rushing inside her. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw who was trying to pull Aurora out of the water.

Wakefield.

His large form hauled Aurora up and out of the water and over his shoulder like Adonis himself. Her friend was sputtering water all over him while Ysabella simply stood there, her feet rooted under the shallow waters, entire undergarments drenched, and mind in utter disbelief.

He carried Aurora back on dry ground and while Aurora choked for breath, alive and unharmed, Wakefield whirled to find her still standing in the lake.

The look on his face made her stop cold, her mind blank.

He walked over to her, water splashing at his wake, and grabbed her bare arms, harshly pulling her closer as he glared down at her.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking!” he shouted at her, eyes murderous.

Oh, sweet Mr. Jones, Ysabella thought with horror. Now what?

IX. Rages

Dearest William,

My week had been fine. Better, as a matter of fact.

I had the sweetest dream last night.

I was wearing a beautiful wedding gown and I was surrounded by the most beautiful flowers you could find in the Town. My family was there and they were happy as I walked down the aisle to meet the man of my dreams.

The best part was that I saw his face. He was smiling. And he was seeing me.

Do you also wish for such dreams to come true?

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

“I-I did-I did not mean to-” Ysabella stammered but could not find any more words to say. What was she to say? How could she say it when he was looking at her as though he was ready to make her his prey in his hunting game?

“I knew you are childish, Ysabella,” he ground out, “but I did not realize the extent until now!” He pointed over at the gasping Aurora. “Do you realize what could have happened to you? To her?”

“I did not mean to do it! I did not cause it! Surely you must know that!” she desperately said.

“It was not her fault, my lord!” Aurora shouted at him and coughed some more.

“Of course, it is not her fault!” Wakefield shouted, giving Ysabella a mocking laugh. “She is Ysabella Everard. She can get away with anything! Everything she does is merely for entertainment. She can commit no wrong!”

Ysabella flinched. So he thought the same as everyone else.

Suddenly her feet started to move and she did move. Quite strongly, in fact, that she brushed Wakefield aside to assist Aurora to her feet.

“I am sorry, Ysa,” Aurora whispered brokenly.

“It is all right,” she muttered under her breath. She could not speak any way higher than that for she was afraid smoke would come out of her nose. Never had she felt this intense desire to strangle Wakefield, or even to cause him harm. It was a revelation, really, that she could feel any sort of anger toward him.

Wakefield had followed her and grabbed her gown from the ground. He threw it at her and said, “Get dressed and do it quick. For God’s sake, Ysabella, cover yourself!” His eyes went to Aurora next and he snapped, “Can you walk?”

Aurora’s lips were shaking but she nodded her head, stepping away from Wakefield and nearer to Ysabella. “I am fine. Thank you.”

His eyes returned to her. “Your brothers will not like this.”

“I know,” she snapped, pulling her gown over her head. “Which is why we shall return alone. You do not have to come with us-”

“I would dare not,” he interjected strongly. “I would not want to suffer one of their blows.”

Her shoulders stiffened and with stiff fingers tried to button her gown. Wakefield walked over to her, face looking irritated and impatient. He brushed her hands aside and roughly buttoned her gown. He might not have felt anything by then, but Ysabella could have sworn that her breath had ceased to exist. It was odd to feel both anger and the same tingling sensation he caused her whenever he was so near. She held her breath until he stepped away to study her.

“Go,” he ground out. “And no more games, little one. You’ve proven yourself well enough today.”

Love was not enough to block any deleterious feelings, of course, and such thing happened that afternoon. Ysabella’s jaw tightened with distaste. Her head snapped high in a haughty mien. “Of course. But I am in need of your coat.”

He blinked in surprise and confusion. “What?”

She glared at him. “Your coat, my lord.”

He must have been itching to get rid of her and Aurora that he immediately took off his heavy coat. Ysabella snatched it away from him with a fake smile. “Thank you. I shall return it once able.” She walked over to Aurora and wrapped the coat over her friend’s shoulders. “Come, Aurora, before Lord Wakefield decides to hunt children instead of bears.”

---

Although no one knew of the drowning incident, no one was also happy to find out that they swam in the lake. They were drenched, particularly Aurora, when they returned to the picnic and there could have been no other reason for it other than a happy dip into the waters.

Maxwell was amongst those who made a violent reaction when he learned of his sister’s activity while they were out hunting. He threw the three birds he managed to shoot from the hunt aside to look over Aurora and turn back to Ysabella to say, “You do know that her being here means that she is also a responsibility of ours, yes? So why in the bloody hell did you allow her to swim in the lake, putting her in a potentially dangerous accident?”

The accident did actually happen, she wanted to say, but decided to shut her mouth. She was not in the mood to utter more lies. Emma was looking at her doubtfully. She eyed Ysabella and Aurora in turn, her eyes lingering longer on the unfamiliar and manly coat around their friend’s shoulders. But like the two dripping ladies, Emma chose to be silent.

Although Aurora did her best to insist that it was she who did not listen to Ysabella’s warning, none of their brothers listened.

“You ought to have insisted more that the idea of a swim is dangerous,” Nicholas said.

“Instead, you joined her,” Maxwell added.

“I told you not to venture away from the picnic,” Levi seriously reminded her.

“You told us not to venture to the hunting grounds,” she could not help but correct.

“What did you say?” Levi snapped.

“Nothing,” she muttered. She knew they were drawing attention from the other picnic-goers. And she knew Wakefield was somewhere about, witnessing the entire exchange.

She had done it again. She had proven to him what he already thought of her. She was once more in the midst of everyone’s attention. Ysabella Everard, making herself the apple of everyone’s eyes all over again.

Great. Pathetically great!

“I wish to go home,” she said to Ralph.

Her brother, knowing she had gotten enough from the three older ones, simply nodded. Ralph could be a pain in the arse, but he also knew his place.

“Leave those. We’ll take them later,” Maxwell ordered when Ralph made a move to gather their things.

Ysabella met Emma’s eyes before they turned to walk away from the picnic. Her sister did not give anything away, but she knew what she was thinking. I told you so.

---

Wakefield could still feel the fury he felt from earlier even as he rode his horse back to his Wilburn estate.

Of course, he had seen the two women walking toward the lake earlier. He was on his way there with the hope of spotting a prey that might have found its way to water.

The lake may not have been part of the hunting ground, but it was near the edge of the specified area for hunting.

And they were bloody stupid to have thought it would be a famous idea to go out and swim. And one was even stupid enough to go in her gown!

The moment he heard Ysabella’s cry for help, his body reacted instantly. When he thought it was her drowning with her arms flailing over the waters, he felt fear and panic surge inside him. Only now did the reaction surprise him.

He brushed it aside in anger.

Anyone would have felt the same thing he did. Anyone human enough would feel fear and panic for a fellow human, especially for someone he knew; someone who was a sister to a dear friend.

He shouted at the top of his lungs, pulling at the reigns of his horse to stop it, a great excuse to vent out his anger. His footman ran up to him as he jumped back on the ground. He stormed through the door, surprising Morris.

“My lord,” his butler called after him.

“Not now, Morris,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I am not in the mood.”

“But, my lord-”

“Go to the Everards on the morrow and demand for a certain coat,” he ordered as he raced up the stairs. “Do not accept any excuses should Ysabella Everard demand that it is not yet available.”

“My lord, a missive has arrived for you!” Morris said anyway, rushing after him.

Wakefield halted and whirled to face the man. “Why did you not say so?”

“I was meaning to but you opted to talk about coats!”

“Then get the bloody letter-”

“It is in your study, my lord. And about the coat-”

“Forget about the bloody coat!”

“But you-”

He did not wait to hear the rest of his butler’s words for he had turned around to briskly make his way to his study.

His heart was hammering against his chest by then, the anger ebbing away as excitement seeped in.

Without taking a seat, he reached for the familiar paper, opened it and started to read.

And then his breath was snatched out of his throat. No, it might have been stuck. Or mayhap he forgot to breathe entirely.

The content of the letter was not what he had expected.

This was not a very good day.

Bloody not good at all.

---

Emma had been quiet since they had dropped Aurora outside her new apartment and let Ralph deposit them back in the Everard estate without so much as a ‘goodbye’ which settled finely for the two ladies, making them appreciate Ralph during such rare occasion.

Ysabella was staring blankly in the air as she dried her hair, sitting in the middle of her bed, while Emma patiently watched.

“You must stop this nonsense with Wakefield, Ysa. I hate to see you being looked at by the ton as though you are a painted entertainer juggling five bottles.”

Ysabella turned to face her sister and sighed. What could she say, really?

“You drowned in the lake, did you not? And Wakefield was there to save you?”

She shook her head. “Aurora drowned. I was trying to save her when he came.”

“Oh, Ysa,” Emma’s tone sounded helpless. “You nearly got yourselves killed because of your desire to spend time with the man.”

“I was not hoping to see him there. I thought he was hunting.”

“You ventured to the lake because you were hoping he’d be there, Ysa. I know you. Please, stop this.” Emma’s voice was hushed. Tori and Lindsay were still in residence. They would not want anyone else to know of their dilemma.

“How certain are you that I did not decide to go to the lake to get away from you?”

Emma frowned, looking hurt. “You were?”

“You were not talking to me-directly, that is. You were ignoring me,” Ysabella admitted, her eyes filling with tears.

“Because I am hurt!” Emma hissed, leaning over her bed toward her. “You purposely chose to hide your correspondence with Wakefield from me. Me!”

“And I am sorry for it,” Ysabella muttered, head bent.

“We never hide secrets from each other.”

“Mayhap we should,” Ysabella could not help but snap, a tear falling on her hand. “How you look at me now may be the reason why I did what I did. You look at me as though I committed the gravest of sins!”

She heard her sister draw a long breath and slowly let it out. She reached up with one hand to brush away another tear threatening to escape.

After almost an eternity of silence, Emma asked, “How do you do it? Is Samuel helping you still?”

Ysabella nodded.

“I thought that one foolish letter was the last, Ysa!”

Ysabella raised her head and met her sister’s eyes. “It was followed by more. I burnt the first two letters, truly I did, Em.” She raised her palms in helplessness. “But he sent another one and I could not help but reply. I felt I needed to. He sounded lonely and in need of someone to talk to.”

“He could have gone to one of his friends-or lovers- if he truly wanted to have a chat.”

“You do not know him as I do, Em. He is a lonely man despite what you may think. He is very much like how Levi was before he married Tori.”

Emma stared at her for a long time before shaking her head. “I cannot believe why you cannot tell your sister, but you can keep this big a secret with Samuel!”

Ysabella winced.

“Samuel, Ysa, Samuel! You chose to guard your secrets with him!”

“You know he can be trusted.”

“But still! I am your sister!”

“I am sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times.”

“But you did not.”

“Because I know how you feel about my feelings for Wakefield!”

“Regardless of what I think, Ysa, you very well know what you are doing is wrong. You must stop this. No more letters.”

Ysabella stayed quiet, sobbing as the tears finally started to flow.

“You are fooling yourself and you are fooling the man, Ysa!”

“I know! I know!” she cried, sobbing harder. She raised her eyes to stare at her sister, her vision blurred by her tears. “Which is why I sent him my last missive. He must have received it by now.” Emma continued to look at her doubtfully. “Lady Weis is no more, Em, I swear.”

X. An Invitation

Dearest Lady Weis,

You very well know my reputation. Too much, in fact, that I do have a little resentment. You know me very well, yet I have no idea who you truly are.

Yes, there are lovers, but they are merely there to satisfy the desires of the flesh. You, I believe, do understand with a mind so open.

Although I do have to admit that I am starting to tire of this life I am leading. I feel that there are more that I must do and discover. I know something is waiting for me, yet I am hesitant to start reaching for it for I hate failure. The very thought of it brings my father’s voice come ringing in my head.

Mayhap I ought to retire from my rakish ways and start to think of a future with someone else.

I envy you. You know what you want. You have someone you want. If you could only tell me more, I might give you advice like you’ve been doing so in the past year.

Yours,

William

---

Dearest William,

I find that I can no longer continue to fool us both. I wish I can say more, but I am afraid it would ruin what we’ve built together through these letters.

This shall be my last letter, my friend. I wish you well in your endeavours and may you find the happiness that you deserve. As to I, I shall keep fighting for what I desire the most and I hope you do too.

Your friend forever,

Lady Weis

Wakefield had read the letter numerous times, as if the words would morph into something else if he read them one more time. But they were clear as the sun shining through a hole above.

She had ended it. Everything.

And he felt like throwing something out the window, at the same time he felt like coming down on both knees to grovel and beg.

Everything he thought he was not capable of feeling he felt because of her. And she had decided without giving proper reason that she was done.

He could not allow it. Not until he had her in his arms as his.

And so Wakefield reached for his pen and started writing.

---

Dearest Lady Weis,

I do not accept that you will simply end this. As a matter of fact, I refuse any reason to do so. I know you think yourself in love with another, but I do not think he loves you in return. Two years, my lady. Two years you have been talking about this man and never had I read a single letter from you that he might feel the same about you.

I have tried to tell you what I honestly feel, but I stopped myself countless of times because I wanted to tell you personally, when you finally decide for us to meet in person. But due to this recent decision of yours, I decided that I should let you know.

I love you. I am in love with you for quite some time now. I fear the feeling, but I embrace it.

I do not care if you are without limbs, or that you are a mere servant. I love your mind, your wit and your heart. I could not wish for anything more. If you do not believe me, then it is safe to assume that you have not known me in the years we have been writing to each other.

And if you do really believe we must stop our correspondence, please be fair and show yourself. You know me, but I do not know you and I deserve, at the very least, a glimpse of the woman I had been conversing with in letters for years.

Meet me. I beg of you to meet me. Let me prove to you that I am ready for this, that I am the man for you. If you are not ready for that, if you are still inclined to have this other man, meet me still. Ease my bleeding heart and free me of this unstoppable force inside my chest for I do not think I could live the rest of my days wondering who you are.

I shall be waiting in the library after midnight.

Love,

William

Ysabella stared at the letters and allowed a tear to smudge his name.

He was not supposed to fall in love with Lady Weis!

Emma was correct. Everything had gone awry.

She had made him fall in love with Lady Weis.

Now, what could she do?

She carefully folded the letter with shaking hands and wiped the tears from her face.

No, she was not going to reply. She had promised not merely Emma, but herself as well.

This letter from Wakefield was enough proof that she had failed as Lady Weis.

She looked into the mirror and fixed her black hair and wiped her face dry. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and let it out with a practiced smile.

Returning to the box under her bed, she hid the last letter from Wakefield inside.

Lady Weis was no more.

It was time for Ysabella Everard to do more.

---

“Something is wrong,” Aurora noted in concern, frowning at Ysabella’s pale face. “Your eyes are swollen. Have you been crying?”

“No,” she lied, averting her gaze.

“Is it Emma? Is that why she has not come out to see me since I’ve arrived?”

Ysabella shook her head. She was not good at this, truly she was not. The silence in the parlour was deafening, making her even more uncomfortable. “She is with Lindsay, making her sleep. She shall come down once she is done.”

“Ysa, what is wrong? Please, I tell me. Is it your brothers? Have they—”

“No, it is not that,” she snapped, looking at her friend and realizing that she was being such an arse. “I am sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“Then is it Wakefield? Has he said something more? Mayhap I should personally deliver his coat so he could hear a piece of my mind. The things he said to you in the lake were horrible!” Aurora reached for her hand it was the last straw. Ysabella’s shoulders started to shake. “Oh, Ysa, I hate to see you like this. Tell me what to do.”

“There is none,” she sobbed, desperately wiping at her tears to put up a brave face. “I have done this to myself.”

“Why? What have you done?” Aurora asked.

Ysabella stared at her friend, her lips trembling. And then she started talking. “Nearly three years past, I made a wager with Samuel Theobald. You know of him.”

“Of course, I do.”

“He is a friend of Ralph’s and Emma and I. He told me that mayhap the reason why Wakefield would not look at me as a woman is because I am the sister of his friend. Mayhap, if I could find a way to reach him as someone else, he would notice that someone.” She saw Aurora’s face start to change into that of disbelief to what would come next. “And so I wrote a stupid missive, one I thought he would ignore.”

“But he did not,” Aurora said in astonishment.

Ysabella nodded. “I introduced myself as Lady Weis. I shared it with Emma and she was opposed to the crazy idea. I was fooling him, see? So I said I would not write more. But he wrote another letter and I could simply not help myself but reply.”

“Oh, Ysa,” Aurora sighed, holding her hand tighter.

“And it went on for two more years.” She lifted her eyes to Aurora. “So you see? I merely do not love him as someone I see in balls or social events. I love him because—”

“You know him,” Aurora interjected, her face softening with understanding. “But I must agree with Emma, Ysa, that you’ve been fooling the man. He will surely be hurt if he knew the truth.”

“Which is why I stopped our correspondence. I’ve hidden his letters and they shall be destroyed soon once I get the courage.”

“But should you not tell him? Should you not confess?”

“I am afraid to.”

“Why?”

“He admitted he is in love with Lady Weis. I did not mean for him to fall for her. I wanted Lady Weis to merely be his friend, to give him advice on love and even in dealing with me, Ysabella Everard!”

Aurora frowned in confusion. “But you ought to be happy that he loves Lady Weis. You are Lady Weis. He is in love with you .”

“He cannot love her, Aurora,” Ysabella cried in desperation. “I do not expect you to understand, but he cannot love her. He ought to love me!”

Aurora’s mouth fell open and she scoffed in disbelief. “Are you jealous of yourself?”

Hearing that from her friend made her feel even more foolish. But she hated to explain herself. She hated to explain why she found the need for Wakefield to love her as Ysabella Everard, not as Lady Weis.

Lady Weis was but a tiny part of her person, a piece of her mind, a tinge of her life. Ysabella Everard was something more!

“So what do you intend to—” Aurora started, but the door to the parlour flung open and Nicholas stormed in.

“Good,” he said, glancing over at Aurora and Ysabella. “I finally found you. I wish to speak about—”

“The incident in the lake?” Aurora asked, eyebrow arched high.

“Yes,” Nicholas snapped, lifting his chin as if he expected the two of them to tremble in fear in his presence.

“I believe the matter has already been resolved, my lord,” Aurora said nonchalantly. “I have already admitted that it was I who took the foolish risk of dipping into the lake, not Ysa. She tried to stop me but I did not listen. And to my knowledge, the lake is not within the hunting grounds. If it were not for my foolishness, nothing untoward would have happened.”

Nicholas frowned. “What untoward thing are you talking about, Miss Randolph?”

Ysabella groaned. Aurora had slipped. No one was supposed to know about the accident!

“That I ruined one of my best dresses, of course, what else?” Aurora simply uttered as if it was the most honest thing she had ever said.

When the frown did not leave Nicholas’ face, her friend further risked being thrown out of the estate by standing to her feet and say, “Now, my lord, if you have nothing else to say, Ysa and I were talking about a sensitive topic.” She motioned her hand toward the door.

Nicholas’ eyes slanted to Ysabella. His frown deepened. “Have you been crying?”

“No. It was dusty in the corridor,” she lied. “Now, brother, unless you truly wish to discuss with us the latest collection of unmentionables and the terrific laces that come with them, thanks to the genius of Madam Vernice, you may leave the parlour.”

“Unmentionables?” Nicholas asked, nearly in horror.

“Chemise, drawers, stockings, corsets—however you like to call them, of course,” said Aurora, taking her seat once again.

“Bloody hell, women, do you have nothing else to do?” he cried before storming out of the parlour.

Ysabella giggled when her eyes met Aurora’s. And they giggled some more until Ysabella was once again bawling, her laughter diverting back to tears.

All the while, Aurora held her hand, patiently waiting for her tears to stop.

---

Wakefield knew who was about to enter his mother’s parlour when the butler came in.

He almost cursed under his breath when Ysabella Everard walked into the room, flower in hand. The smile on her face froze when she saw him standing in one corner of the room.

“Oh, stop standing like a statue, dear, and come over here,” Lady Hayward said, motioning with her hand. “You have met both my sons, of course?” she asked.

Ysabella’s eyes sauntered toward Thomas sitting across his mother, leg crossed over the other in an easy fashion. He green eyes widened even further in shock.

“Sometimes children have to obey their parent’s need for their presence even though they detest each other,” his mother uttered as Ysabella finally curtsied. “Where is Emma, dear?”

“I am afraid she is currently quite busy,” Ysabella murmured in reply as she straightened to full height. Something in her eyes made Wakefield doubt her words.

“Good afternoon, Lady Ysabella,” Thomas said, coming to his feet, eyes focused on the newcomer. “Do not mind what our mother said. William and I are—”

“Do not bother, son,” their mother said, “Ysabella knows my sentiments.”

Thomas’ eyes glowed with understanding before he turned to Wakefield with a look of understanding and said, “Ah, so I see now why she pulled you away from me the other night at the ball.”

Wakefield had remained motionless in his corner of the room, still cross that Ysabella appeared to be quite calm after what happened during the hunt. But he stiffened at his brother’s words. His head snapped toward Ysabella who was laughing off Thomas’ statement.

Was it true? Did she truly rescue him that night at the ball?

But he was not able to think more about it since Ysabella went straight to his mother to give the woman a peck. His eyes settled on the yellow flower in her hand which she carefully placed on the cushion beside her.

He had to admit that he was quite baffled that she did not go straight to him to deliver the flower personally. He was even more surprised when she did not bother to give him too much attention as she talked with their mother and even Thomas. It was as if he was not in the room!

And even much to his own surprise, he spent the next full hour pacing in front of the window, brooding like a mad dog for being utterly ignored by his mother, his brother and even Ysabella Everard herself. Had he done something wrong? He was about to excuse himself to wait for the dinner his mother had so demanded he share with her and Thomas in some other part of the house when Ysabella relayed her goodbyes.

“I must cut my visit short,” she said, standing to her feet. Thomas stood as well and Wakefield watched as his brother offered to walk Ysabella back to the Everard estate, one she gracefully refused. She bent down to pick up the flower and turned to him.

His heart, blast it, started to hammer. “Will you be attending the Cinderella ball, Lord Wakefield?” she asked, her smile gentle. But it was not the same as the previous ones. Somehow it had changed. He saw—was it sadness or regret?—in her eyes, mingled with quiet determination.

“I might not,” he lied, eyes on the flower in her hand. If she ever hand it to him, it would be the first in the two years that he would have to personally take it from her.

“I gather you will attend?” asked Thomas, brows cocked high, urging Ysabella to tear her eyes off Wakefield.

Ysabella frowned at Thomas’ expression. “You sound bothered about it, my lord.”

“Well, quite so, yes,” Thomas said with a shrug. “Aren’t service people in attendance as well? Everyone will be wearing masks and we can barely recognize them. It is quite a worry, really. You will never know what those people can do when dressed in gowns and suits.”

Wakefield saw Ysabella stiffen and blink her eyes, looking at Thomas incredulously. “Well, I beg your pardon, my lord, but we have given our own servants blessings to attend the ball. It is not every day that we can make them feel as equals.”

“A call it fraud, really. Why give them the illusion? It will merely make them want for more.”

“You and I disagree on that regard then,” Ysabella said, her voice clipped, almost snappy, before she straightened and smiled at everyone. “I might be attending the ball,” she mysteriously provided, slanting her eyes toward Wakefield, the familiar glimmer in her eyes returning, “but you shall never know for I will be wearing my mask.”

Giving Lady Hayward a peck, Ysabella exited the room with her flower in hand.

Much later that afternoon, Wakefield went home and found the same yellow flower sitting on his desk along with the coat she demanded from him in the lake.

What game was Ysabella Everard playing now?

XI. Meeting Cinderella

Dearest William,

I’ve loved him since the moment we exchanged words. I fear, however, that he does not know the extent of it.

In reply to your inquiry, I do not wish to reveal my true self for I do not wish to be judged by you. I am afraid that you, too, will not find me to your liking should you know my secrets.

I had a walk in the park today. An orange leaf fell through the hole from aboveground. I kept it for it is a part of a world I may never get the chance to see. It sounds wonderful and tragic at the same time, is it not? Up there is a world so within our reach, yet it seems farther than a lifetime.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

The Cinderella ball was probably one of the wisest and sensible occasions that Wickhurst had managed to come up with in Ysabella’s opinion, for it was merely about them, men and women in the highest rank of society. It was about those far below who were never given far more choices than they deserved.

In the said ball, service people could come and join the upper class for one night of festivities. Everyone was equal.

Some gentries, of course, were too proud to come as they believe that associating with servants would give way for such people to demand for more. But for those who did not care like the Everards themselves, the ball was a chance for those underprivileged to leave their posts and be someone they wished to be. Some of them lived for that one night. Some dreamed for days until the Cinderella ball and they were not the ones to deprive these people of that.

Ysabella came with the entire family, save for Levi and his family who had already gone back to Standbury and their brother Benedict and his wife who were still in Devonshire—everyone else who were in Wickhurst had to come as ordered by their mother.

Their maids, those who wished to come, were dressed in gowns and jewels, their masks in place. Their footmen and even Jefferson, did try their best in dark suits, masks also necessary. The moment they all entered one of the grandest balls of the year, they were stripped of their titles.

“Will you go and see him?” Aurora whispered beside her.

“I am not certain I am ready,” she whispered back.

Emma and Ralph were standing close by and she hated that her sister did not know what she was planning to do.

“If you decide to meet him,” Aurora said, leaning closer, “will you confess?”

“I am not utterly certain of that as well,” she admitted.

Aurora turned her head, her white mask glinting under the light. “Is that why you chose a mask that is almost covering your entire face?”

Ysabella cleared her throat. Emma was looking at her and Aurora. “Yes,” she uttered, her hand absently arranging the mask over her face. It was white like Aurora and Emma’s but she had personally designed it with sapphire stones. Emma chose topaz for hers.

They were not a family who mined precious gems and make jewelleries for others for nothing if they could not wear them with pride.

“If you are afraid that he might recognize you, you must not fear. Nearly everyone is wearing white masks.”

“Unless someone intends to dance, I do not see how I can enjoy this evening,” Nicholas droned behind them.

“You can ask Aurora to dance,” Emma suggested with a slight grin.

“Yes, brother, ask Aurora to dance,” Ralph joined in, tilting his black mask over his forehead so Nicholas could see the playful look in his eyes.

“Marvellous idea,” their mother said with a clap of her hands. “Someone might take notice of dear Aurora if you do it, son,” she added, pushing Nicholas in Aurora’s direction.

“Go, brother, before Miss Randolph starts to think she is undesirable even for you,” Maxwell dryly urged.

“Dance with him, Aurora,” Ysabella said to her friend.

“But—”

“Nick is no longer cross about what you said to him in the parlour. I am right, am I not, Nick?”

“What?” her brother asked.

“Dance. Go,” Ysabella whispered to Aurora.

Her friend sighed and faced Nicholas. “Very well, let us get this over with, my lord.” She offered her hand and waited for Nicholas to take it.

With a groan, Nicholas reached for it. He guided Aurora to the dance floor as a Quadrille started, which urged Aurora to say, “You do know how to dance, do you? My slippers are new, if you must know.”

“I do know how to dance, Miss Randolph,” was Nicholas’ reply. The rest of his words trailed off as they went farther into the dance floor.

Ysabella watched as Emma was led by Ralph to the dance floor as well. She turned to Maxwell, gave him a sweet smile and he groaned before offering his hand. Their mother merely laughed as her brother took her to join the dance.

As Ysabella enjoyed her time with her family, she was also looking out for any indication of Wakefield’s presence. She found none. There were too many blonde men amongst the guests and the worst of all was the fact that all were wearing dark masks. What was it with men and dark colours?

As they danced and talked, Ysabella also enjoyed a glass of lemonade. Unlike their brothers, she and Emma never learned to love any sort of spirits, mayhap a glass of wine here and there, but merely for social etiquette.

“It is almost about time,” Aurora whispered beside her. “Oh my,” her friend gasped beside her.

“What is it?”

“I believe Adam Nimrod is coming toward us,” her friend said.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. It is him.”

“Well, then, never mind. He might not recognize us.”

“Not if we stand separately. But a black-haired woman and a red-haired one together gives away too much.”

She groaned. “I am afraid you are right.”

“I suggest you go now. Go and find Wakefield.”

“But it is not yet midnight and—”

“Better to go before him than later,” Aurora whispered in a rush. “I shall cover for you.”

Ysabella looked across the ballroom. Emma was talking to someone who must be one of their maids. Her brothers were lost somewhere among the sea of many colours. Their mother…well, the lady had somehow lost herself somewhere in the ballroom.

“Go,” Aurora said, pushing her away as Adam Nimrod approached.

“I owe you,” she said to her friend before she whirled to disappear into the crowd. She heard Aurora greet Adam but decided not to look in fear that he might see her.

After squeezing through gowns and suits, Ysabella finally found her way out of the ballroom and into the corridor that led to the library.

It was dimmer outside, almost dark in fact, but she could hardly find her way through the many doors. She had been to the countless Cinderella balls in the past to know where the library was. She briskly made her way down the corridor, turned right and then left.

Finally, in the eerie silence, she stood before the giant door of the library.

Her hand absently fixed her mask as she drew in a deep breath.

Could she truly do this?

---

Wakefield did not bother to spend his time inside the ballroom. He chose to stay in the garden while he waited for the right time.

He merely came here for one reason. And he was hoping it would happen. He was hoping she’d come.

Just before the stroke of midnight he found himself in one of the corridors that led to the library. He paced at the far end where there were very little guests. Almost none, in fact. He practiced what he would say to her. It was exciting, yet it was scary as hell as well.

Once or twice he almost convinced himself that this was a terrible idea. But more than once he also realized that this could very well be the last chance he’d get.

If she ever decide to see him, of course.

Or mayhap she would see him but not reveal herself.

It was why he chose the Cinderella ball after all. He knew she might not want him to see her face so he suggested a masked ball. He simply wanted to know she was real—that she was living inside a body. Whether or not she’d show her face, he would not care. At the very least he could have this one chance to talk to her in person, to show her that he meant his words, that he was ready to leave his old life.

He resumed his pacing and scoffed at himself. If his friends would ever know of what he was doing for one mysterious girl, they’d make a feast of it. They’d spend their night at Grey’s laughing at his face, his foolishness.

But this was not foolish. He knew foolishness. He had lived it for years. This—her—was not it.

He checked the watch he kept inside his pocket. It was nearly midnight. His hand started to shake and his breath came into short gasps. To calm himself, he decided to go to find the library. He ought to control his nerves while he did so.

As he walked, he wondered if he ought to keep the lights on inside the library. In events such as this, the room would merely have a faint light.

No, it would not be wise to wait for her in total darkness. Should she not want to reveal her face, he’d at least want to know her hair colour or gown so he could find her after.

He looked over his shoulder and found no one lurking near. He made the last turn to the left and found the library door. He checked his watch once more.

Almost midnight.

It was almost time.

He pushed the door open.

What greeted him was total darkness with merely the light from outside the estate shining through the windows. That same light gave way to a silhouette.

His heart stopped and he swallowed.

It was her. He should have known she’d be here first. She was wise enough to know he’d want to see her so she came early to extinguish the lights.

Standing in the dark, merely her white mask and fair skin were visible. Her heavy gown barely gave him any hint of her form.

Bloody hell, he cursed in his mind. There were hundreds of women in that ballroom wearing nearly the same mask and the same gown!

“It’s you,” he found himself saying. She did not reply. “Come into the light, please,” he nearly begged, afraid to approach her. Behind him, in the corridor, was the light.

In answer, she turned around to close the curtain, enveloping the entire library in darkness. For a moment he was reminded of a child who did not wish for her secret be revealed. She had moved so fast that he was not able to catch anything of her form. What colour was her hair? Her eyes? He was desperate to know so he finally entered the library.

For a second he thought of leaving the door open, but he was afraid it would merely dissuade her so he closed the door, finally shutting off the light from the corridor.

The library was now almost in utter darkness. Light still seeped through the light curtains, but not enough.

He took a step closer. He took another when she did not back away.

And another.

And another.

But it was dark enough that he could not see. Her eyes glimmered behind the mask in astonishment, catching the little light from the curtains, but there was no way he could know what colour they were.

A part of him wanted to pull her out of the darkness and into the light, but she chose to be here for a reason.

Before him stood the very woman who understood him, the same woman who told him stories of folks he did not know, the same one who gave him comfort when he needed it the most. This moment was almost unreal.

She was here. Finally.

“You came,” he said in disbelief, stepping closer toward her. She took half a step back. No words. No sound. Was she refusing to talk to him? “Are you not going to say anything? Should you truly act like a stranger after everything we’ve talked about?” he tried to tease, taking one step closer, closing the distance between them. He did not desire for this moment to be awkward. Rather, he wanted her to feel like they have known each other all their lives. He wanted her to feel the comfort she’d feel when she wrote those letters.

She made a move to step back once again but he caught her hand. The current that ran through his arm was enough sign. He wanted to learn more, he realized. He wanted to discover more of what they could be together.

“Please,” he begged, pulling her toward him, “a name. I need a name.”

She did not reply.

“Are you by chance, Cinderella?” he asked jokingly.

She swallowed. And then she shook her head. She was not appreciating the humor.

Wakefield’s jaw tightened. “Then why did you come here? Why come here if you do not wish for me to see you or even hear your voice? Why, damn you!” he hissed above her.

A whimper escaped her lips and he frowned. And a painful realization struck him.

Was she married?

Was that why she could never tell who she was? Could not show herself? Was this the secret she was talking about? Was her husband the man she loved yet who did not love her in return?

It was possible. There were many unhappy wives all over the Town.

Had he fallen in love with one of them?

But it could not be! She never wrote anything that could have indicated she was married.

“Tell me why,” he choked out, desperately staring into her eyes, willing his own to adjust to the light and see into them. “Why can’t you tell me?” When she merely shook her head, he cupped her masked face with both hands, making it impossible for her to turn away. “Are you mute?” he asked in jest.

He heard the laughter in her scoff. His heart swelled, proud that he could make her laugh after all.

“Then tell me why,” he whispered, his hand slowly taking her mask off. He dropped it on the ground as he leaned his forehead against hers. He was starting to hate the darkness. Despise it, really. His hands went back to her face and found tears in her cheeks. “Tell me why you came here. Why I can’t see you. Why you’re crying,” he asked, his voice in rugged whisper, his lips brushing against her trembling ones. “Can’t you understand the desperation I feel at this very moment? You know me yet you deprive me of the same thing. Half of me wants to drag you out of this room and into the light.”

Another whimper escaped her lips. It brushed against his.

“But I shall not do it for I would not betray your trust,” he whispered. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded her head and he smiled.

“Good, because you—”

The rest of his words, along with his breath, were snatched out of him for she suddenly crashed her mouth against his for a kiss.

Her hands came to his nape to pull him closer, snapping him out of his surprise.

He blinked in disbelief before he allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the kiss.

She tasted of lemonade, sweet and sour. Soon, Wakefield forgot everything else he was about to say for the need to feel was growing. He slowly took control, opening his mouth over hers, angling his head to kiss her fully. His hand cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek, one hand slowly coming down to caress her jaw, her neck.

It was as if he was sculpting her in his mind, engraving every edge and curve in memory.

He stepped closer as she clung to him. She was trying to tell him something in that kiss, as if she wanted to give voice to each movement of her lips against his. But all he heard was a soft shaky sigh.

Wakefield’s breathing turned heavier as he urged her mouth to open and when they did, he tasted more of her, past the faint trace of lemonade was something uniquely hers.

The longer the kiss lasted, the more urgent he became for he knew that their time was also coming to an end. He knew not how he was able to tell, but he knew her. She would soon end this and whether he liked it or not, she’d disappear. So he gave it everything he had—every emotion, every longing. The desperation to prove that he was better than the man she thought she loved, the desperation to make this kiss the best one she’d ever have.

He had had many kisses and he could barely count them. He had had many lovers who offered far more expert samples of their expertise, yet nothing could come close to this.

This one was different. It felt passionate and…innocent. Yes, that was the word. And the amazing thing was that he was not entirely sure if the innocence was coming from her or him.

This was no longer just any other kiss.

He could say, for a rake who claimed and even stolen thousands of kisses in his lifetime, this was his first real kiss.

And his first kiss was stolen from him by this vixen angel in his arms.

He was lost.

And he found himself caught.

XII. First Kiss

Dearest Lady Weis,

Adams School for Young Gentlemen treated me fairly. I was admitted in advance by my father, thus I was the youngest amongst my friends. The best of them, I must say, was Levi Everard. He did help me escape school on numerous occasions to venture out into town, to experience how it is to be a man.

He also saved me a lot when I was too frail to fight for myself. I remember how we battled five grown men, waking up in the infirmary hours later. My father never learned of it as did Levi’s parents.

My friendship with the Lord of Standbury, is perhaps one of the most essential things I treasure. It did break my heart when he decided to hide in his estate for years, and quite a little when he chose to finally find a wife.

I am hoping to visit him soon as he and his wife had sent me a gracious invitation to their estate.

Yours,

William

---

She wanted to live in that moment and never wake up, Ysabella thought.

His lips were gentle yet demanding, his hands tender yet gripping.

So many emotions, so many feelings rushed through her veins and she clung to them as long as she could, as long as she could let herself do so.

Because it has to end , a part of her whispered in her ear. The part that wanted to live this dream tried to brush the thought aside, but the whisper persisted, ringing inside her head until it was stronger than her body’s will.

She could not do this.

Fear started to eat her inside.

What if he’d hate her?

She had been silent all this time, allowing him not to hear her voice, because of this fear.

He’d hate me . He’d hate Lady Weis.

So Ysabella pushed him away with a gasp, her body feeling suddenly empty at the loss of his touch.

“What is the matter?” he asked, voice confused.

Ysabella bent down to grab her mask from the floor and ran to the door.

“Stay,” he begged, watching but not coming after her. “Please.”

He could not call her by her name because he did not know who she was. And it hurt the most.

She replaced her mask over her face with shaking hands and reached for the doorknob. Careful not to let the light from the corridor shine upon her, Ysabella threw Wakefield one last glance. His silhouette was simply standing there, helpless and determined at the same time.

With not a word spoken, with naught but a stolen kiss, Ysabella slipped out into of the door as fast as she could, closing it behind her.

And then she ran.

Oh, God, what had she done? She had merely made things much worse. She came to tell him the truth but it never happened. It never did because deep inside she did not want it to happen.

She was afraid he could only love Lady Weis.

She burst inside the ballroom, finally safe and protected by the crowd.

Yet why did she feel she had to escape and run even further?

That, she did, crossing the ballroom to find her family.

---

Wakefield ran after her. He did not mean to, but the moment she left him alone in that empty library, he knew he had to find her.

He cared not that she did not want him. He cared not if he was to ruin someone in the process.

He had to get to her, force her to tell him why she appeared only to leave him without a word. For that was what she did. She did not utter a single word. Not one. And he was desperate for any, even a ‘no’.

He ran toward the ballroom, entered the festivities, and frantically searched for any sign of her.

Heads turned in his direction for he was not wearing a mask. Whispers surrounded him, Wakefield quite certain he was the topic of their conversations.

He did not care.

He pushed his way through the crowd, across the dance floor, disturbing dancers at his wake, and out into the grand hallway.

“Bloody tarnation!” he shouted, making a woman and her companions jump in surprise. They glared at him when he showed no remorse.

He made a sharp turn to make his way back inside the ballroom, walking around it, mindless of the stares and attention he drew. When he was certain that it was a hopeless case, that she was gone, he exited the ballroom and retraced his steps to the library.

Once inside, he flicked on the lights and let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, staring at the empty room. Everything was quiet, as if the most altering moment of his life never took place there.

His steps were muffled by the ornate carpet, his legs taking him closer to where he had held her in his arms moments ago.

How long had it been? He did not know, really, for he could care less. He’d trade a lifetime to experience her lips against his again for the same short lapse of time.

He walked to the window and drew the curtains aside, letting the light from outside filter fully into the room. He looked outside in the garden, half-hoping he’d find a woman in a heavy gown and white mask to appear down below.

There were none but a few lovers having a tryst.

With a bitter taste in his tongue, he whirled to face the opposite side of the library, glaring at the books as though he knew they were mocking him.

Was this his price for having taken women to his bed in mindless passion? For having a dozen or more cry when he chose to leave after realizing he’d had his fill?

Mayhap it was, he bitterly thought.

He bent his head, thinking of the next course of action. Where to find her? How?

Something glinted beside his right foot and he frowned. Bending low, he picked up the small object that caught the light. He raised it to eye level with his eyes.

The deep blue stone shone between his fingers.

Sapphire.

Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, and his heart racing inside his chest, Wakefield began to plan.

He took out his handkerchief and carefully placed the stone between its folds.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered, storming out of the room.

---

Aurora would not stop her inquiries. Ysabella was starting to feel irked at her friend’s insistence, but she understood Aurora’s anxiety. She would have felt the same should she be in her shoes.

She and Emma had done so many things in the past that made them anxious for the results.

“I left,” she curtly offered to Aurora, making certain that Emma did not hear. She pretended to be busy checking her dance card which was full.

“So he now knows that—”

“No, he does not,” she sighed.

“But why?”

“Because I am afraid he’d hate me,” she almost snapped. “But no matter,” she said, her voice cheerful as she smiled. “I shall win his heart all over again as Ysabella Everard. I did so as Lady Weis, I could very well do so again as Ysabella. I simply have to show him that there is more in me he ought to see.”

Aurora looked doubtful but Ysabella did not let that dampen her mood.

She lifted her head when the guests once more collectively stopped and turned to one direction. She followed it and her heart skipped.

Wakefield.

He was not wearing a mask and he looked as if he did not care. He had a determined look on his face as he crossed the ballroom.

She watched with longing as he disappeared into the grand hallway outside.

At the corner of her eye, she saw Emma watching her. She bit her lip and sighed.

---

“You and Aurora seem to be keeping a secret,” Emma asked much later when they were inside their bedchamber.

“It is nothing,” she said with a shrug. “We were merely talking about Wakefield. And since you seem to get quite ill hearing his name from my lips, I chose not to involve you.”

Emma frowned. “You told her about Lady Weis?”

Ysabella nodded.

“I do not believe it is wise, Ysa.”

“Then who do you think I ought to share my secrets to?” she asked, slipping inside the covers of her bed. “You would not even believe me anymore.”

“I am merely saying that you must be careful talking about Lady Weis to just anyone, Ysa.”

“But Aurora is our friend. She is tremendous in handling my secret. She does not like it, but she accepts it.”

Emma was quiet for a long time, her face looking the same as when she was trying to figure out theories about Mr. Jones during one of her moods.

“What is it?” Ysabella snapped. “You are thinking about something and I know you want to give it voice. You’ve always been outspoken on many matters, why are you hesitating now?”

Emma’s jaw clenched. “I am merely saying that you ought to be careful. Aurora is our friend, yes, but we do not know her fully well.”

She gaped at her sister incredulously. “I cannot believe you would think that of her!”

“And I hate myself for saying it!” Emma said. “But I have this feeling that she is hiding something from us, Ysa. I do not want her to use your secrets against you.”

“She had never shown any indication that she is capable of such a thing. Your conspiracy theories and readings are getting in your head.”

“We do not know about her family. We do not know where she came from or—”

“I do not wish to hear more of it! Aurora is dear to us—to me!”

“Please, Ysa, do not be blinded by her kindness. Consider her our friend if you must, but you have to be wary when disclosing sensitive matters.”

“You are merely jealous that I chose to trust her with my secrets. You only want to have them for yourself.” She turned away from her sister, tears already blurring her vision.

“I shall always be your sister, Ysa,” Emma’s quiet, pained voice said behind her. “I love you and that will never change.”

“Well, then, if that is true, and if I tell you that I have already truly ended my letters to Wakefield, would you believe me without a doubt?”

“You know very well I always have doubts.”

“But never with me.”

“You promised the same thing the first time and you failed to do it.”

“That is why I do not wish to talk to you right now, Emma.”

“Ysa—”

“As someone who is older than you, please do respect my wishes,” she sternly said.

She never heard another word from Emma after that. She very rarely imposed her being older by a few months for they had always treated each other as equals. But she was done for tonight.

She had imagined her first kiss with Wakefield to be wonderful. It was more than that. Yet the things she had imagined to happen after such kiss was not happening. She had pictured herself jumping with excitement and glee in front of Emma, her sister happy for her.

It was not happening now. Emma was hurting her more than Wakefield was.

---

The masked Cinderella ball is no ordinary one. It is a night when everyone could pretend they are equals.

As we have gathered, one lord in particular had finally met his lady. There is one tiny bit of problem though, dear readers. She was wearing a mask and he lost her.

A trusted source witnessed how he chased her across the ballroom from the library.

Who is this lord, you may ask?

Well, of course it is William Wakefield!

The rake is in love!

-GOSSIP SECTION, THE TOWN HERALD

Wakefield frowned at the copy of the paper in his hand. Whoever was behind these articles would someday meet her match.

The door opened and Morris came inside.

“What is it?” Wakefield snapped, throwing the paper to the side.

“My lord, I am here to extend a small concern raised by one of the chamber maids.”

He frowned. “Could you not discuss domestic matters to yourselves?”

“We can, my lord,” said Morris, looking uncomfortably amused. “But this matter seems to baffle us. We do not know how to proceed.”

Wakefield sighed and rolled his eyes. “What is it? Spill it out, man.”

Morris’s lips twitched a little. Was his butler laughing at his expense? “The books, my lord.”

“What books?”

“Your books.”

“As you can see, Morris, I have hundreds of books.” His impatient hand waved around his study.

“I am talking about nearly a hundred books, my lord.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

Morris drew a breath, grimaced. “The chamber maid discovered that there are dried flowers between the pages—”

He immediately knew what the man was referring to. “Do not touch them.”

“They are ruining the pages, my lord,” his butler reasoned although the meaningful wayward smile on his face did not dither.

Wakefield scowled. “The blasted flowers stay where they bloody are.”

Morris repeatedly nodded.

“Is that all?” he snapped.

The man blinked, was about to nod but changed his mind. “Since we are talking about flowers, my lord, I wish to inform you that tomorrow is Friday and if you wish, I could tuck the next flower into—”

“I’d tuck it deep inside your arse if you do not go out now, Morris,” he said, already reaching for a blank piece of paper. “Or would you rather be thrown out the window?”

He shook his head when the door shut close.

Reaching for his pen, Wakefield started writing his very own letter to the Town Herald. He started to smile as the words flowed.

Wickhurst seemed to enjoy its gossip.

He’d give them something to talk about for not merely days but weeks—even months.

XIII. A Night Out

Dearest William,

Certainly, like you, I do have fears. I fear that my dreams may not become reality, petty they may be.

I try my best to meet them, yet the constant fear lingers somewhere in the dark corners of my mind.

But I do believe it is how we treat these fears that ascertain their effects in our lives.

Fear less, my lord, and dream more.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

The article written about William Wakefield did not ease Ysabella’s feelings.

For all she knew, it had merely made things even more difficult for her. People would start to question the identity of the woman in the ball and she feared Lady Weis would be discovered.

But that would not happen. She would not let it. Only Emma, Aurora and Samuel knew. And Wakefield, of course. And Margaret, their eldest sister, who would not dare say anything.

And Samuel’s footman. And their two maids. But they could all be trusted.

Her secret was safe for now. The only person she did not trust to keep Lady Weis a secret was Wakefield himself.

His desperation might lead him to bad decisions.

She was on her way back to the estate from Haram after having visited Lady Hayward and delivering a flower to Wakefield, a habit she could not seem to break, when she encountered three ladies she was acquainted with. They had entered the season together three years past and all were hunting husbands still.

Ysabella would not consider them friends, really, but they had gotten along fairly for years now.

“Why are you out and about alone without a companion, Ysabella?” Nettie asked with an innocent smile. She was the tallest of the three and the closest to Ysabella and Emma.

“I do not need a companion,” she nonchalantly replied. “I bought a few books.”

The three women stared at the books in her hand, not lingering more than a second, completely uninterested.

“Have you read the Herald?” asked Agnes, the smallest of the three. And the palest, too, Ysabella noted.

“Yes, of course,” she said in a cheerful voice, one she often used around her so-called friends.

Juliana, the woman Ysabella and Emma seemed to never have grown a liking to, stared at her with pity. “You must be devastated, Ysa.” She looked at her friends for approval. “We know how you have been tirelessly trying to woo him.”

Ysabella’s smile widened as she forced a rather genuine laugh. “Oh, you do say the silliest of things, Juliana.” She waved her free hand as if to dismiss the subject. “Surely you must know that Lord Wakefield is merely an entertainment on my part!”

The three women appeared dumb as they stared at her. “You are fine with him being in love with this mysterious girl, then?” asked Nettie.

“Well, it is his heart. I do not own it. Of course, I am all right with him falling in love.” She started walking and the three women followed close behind. “But if I must add, this mysterious woman seems to me but just another gossip without a tinge of truth. People make up stories just so they can see them published on the Herald.”

“Hmm. You might be correct,” Agnes conceded thoughtfully.

Ysabella hastened her steps.

“But should it be true, would you stop playing games on Wakefield?” Juliana asked loudly. “We have to admit that we find them quite entertaining, really, to see him looking so distraught every moment you pull your tricks!”

“Do not worry, ladies, you shall see more of it,” she wryly promised, lacing her words with a mocking cheerful tone. “I really must hurry. Emma is waiting for me.”

“Be safe!” The three women said, waving their hands over their heads.

With a heavy sigh, Ysabella returned home.

Emma was in the parlour when she arrived and with her was Mrs. Beagle. Ysabella immediately placed her books to the side to run up to her sister.

“When did she arrive?” It was weird, really, to talk about their black cat as though it went on a long vacation.

“Not an hour ago,” Emma said, not meeting her eyes.

Ysabella cleared her throat, holding out her hand to caress Mrs. Beagle. It was rather awkward to be in the same room as Emma after their fight last night. But they were siblings—sisters—and they had no other choice. They knew each other too well to know that things would soon find its course. For now, they simply had to be patient with each other.

“She smells,” Emma said, slowly standing to her feet. “I must ask one of the maids to give her a wash.”

“Bath,” she corrected. “You wash clothes, not cats.”

“Well, whatever. At her state, she does need a wash .”

Ysabella nodded, stepping aside to let Emma pass. She gathered her books and went straight to their bedchamber.

Mayhap she should start one of the books. Or mayhap she must review A Lady’s Guide to Courtship. Just in case she forgot the lessons.

---

Grey’s was not precisely a sinful place. It was neither a gentleman’s club. It was simply a sophisticated place for drinks and cards. For most rakehells, it was the place to be if they could not go to their lovers, had none at all, or simply whenever they were not in the mood to have a tumble in bed.

He had received a short missive from two of his lovers tonight, but he was currently preoccupied with matters entirely more important.

“Fancy seeing you here, Wakefield,” Ralph Everard said when he joined their table. As brothers of his friend, Levi, Ralph, Nicholas and Maxwell had become one of his confidantes.

Ralph was the youngest and the breath of fresh air among their group. But now that he was a Town Guard, and a respected one at that, his presence made the rest of them feel a tad older each year.

Nicholas might very well be his favourite, having the same reputation of a rakehell himself. He dressed fancily, his dark hair well-maintained.

Ralph may have taken Nicholas’ fashion entirely ignoring Maxwell’s which was different from the rest of the brothers, for the man was indeed different both in character and looks.

Maxwell, unlike his brothers, wore his hair long that they reached his shoulders. Most often he would tie them behind his nape, but there were days he would simply let them down. The way he wore his face could also be considered un-Everardly .

Of all the brothers, Wakefield knew Maxwell the least. The man was too cynical that his words could either be true or a joke. Unlike Benedict who had a boring reputation, Maxwell could be considered extreme. Never had Wakefield heard him say anything good about anyone, really.

“And why do you seem surprise?” he asked, lifting his hand to order his usual drink from the server.

“Have you not seen the Herald?” Maxwell asked, his tone dry. “They’ve made a feast of you.”

“We were expecting you’d crawl under your bed and hide until the next article comes out,” Nicholas said with a laugh. “Or mayhap we are surprised you showed up at all since you are a changed man. You are in love, you bloody bastard!”

Ralph and Nicholas’ laughter rang around the entire room.

“Mock me as you may, gentlemen,” he said with a satisfied smile, taking the glass the server placed in front of him, “but I am a determined, besotted man at the moment.”

The three men stared at him incredulously. “So it is true!” Ralph asked.

“You chased a masked woman across the ballroom?” Maxwell asked, shaking his head. “She could have been a bloody servant for all you know.”

“I do not care,” he shrugged, grinning. “As the Herald reports it, I am in love.”

The three Everards stared at him as if they have swallowed a bitter tonic.

“As a matter of fact, I am in the process of investigating.”

“Investigating what?” asked Ralph.

“And who my mysterious lady is, of course.”

Maxwell scoffed.

Nicholas sputtered in his drink. “You are investigating who?”

“How in bloody tarnation do you intend to do that?” Ralph demanded.

Looking at each of his friends in the eye, Wakefield grinned. “I have a plan. Simply wait for it.”

---

The very next morning, Ysabella was awakened by the door swinging open, crashing against the wall. She moaned and rolled over to find Emma’s worried face hovering above her.

Startled, she jumped to sit on her bed. “What is it, Em? Do not tell me Mrs. Beagle has disappeared once—”

“Read this,” Emma said, pushing the copy of the Town Herald in her hands.

Ysabella rubbed her eyes to clear her vision, and with eyes still drooping with sleep, she scanned the page. “What do I read?” she asked, confused.

Emma pointed at the heading with the largest print.

LORD WILLIAM WAKEFIELD: SEARCH FOR LADY WEIS

Ysabella turned cold. She felt her heart stop and her sleepy eyes widened in utter shock.

“It gets far worse,” Emma said above her. “The article narrates Wakefield’s desire to marry the woman who could prove herself to be Lady Weis.”

“No one shall come forward with enough proof,” Ysabella tried to reason, trying to ease her nerves.

“He also stated a great sum for anyone who could lead him to her,” Emma added.

Ysabella felt blood drain down her face.

“Ysa, the maids know—”

“Martha and Grace have been with us since they were young. They are literally our friends. They would never betray me.”

“How about Samuel’s—”

She shook her head. “The footman would lose his job should he say anything. His brothers are working for the Theobalds as well. He would not be stupid enough to do anything for a momentary wealth. But to make certain, I would have to send Samuel a missive.” She pushed away the covers and jumped from her bed.

“How about Aurora?”

“She is a friend, Emma. She would dare not betray me.”

Emma remained quiet as Ysabella went to her desk in panic to write Samuel a missive.

---

The entire town of Wickhurst was shaken by Wakefield’s announcement. Ladies and lords alike openly gossiped in the streets. Maids and other service people relayed more gossips to their masters and mistresses.

Even their mother who was not one to enjoy long hours in the presence of gossipmongers had decided to take a walk to Lady Gedge’s estate.

The only reassuring things Ysabella heard the entire day were Samuel’s fast reply that his footman could not read and write, adding that he had also promised his silence in loyalty to the Theobalds, and the maids, Grace and Martha personally finding Ysabella to tell her that her secret was safe with them.

Samuel also added that there was no attempt yet from Wakefield to inquire about her identity. Ysabella knew Wakefield would not do that for he was certain Samuel would not say anything. Even Samuel’s close acquaintance with the Everards would not be considered suspicious for the man knew too many people in Wickhurst who also considered him a friend. And as someone who worked for The Town Herald, Samuel had too many people relying on him with confidence. He knew how to address questions without giving out hints. Should Wakefield come to him in his desperate attempt to find Lady Weis, Samuel would know what to do.

Aurora also sent a letter of inquiry, the words in her missive carefully chosen to evade suspicion. Ysabella hastily sent a reply that there was nothing to fret about.

Even much later, when they were finally inside their bedchamber, Ysabella could hear a buzzing in her ears. It was as if the whispered voices of the gossipers still lingered in the quiet air.

Emma was sitting in the bed, Mrs. Beagle in her lap.

“I am starting to hate him,” Ysabella muttered under her breath. “He betrayed my trust!”

“Not surprising, really, that a member of the male species would do such act of betrayal,” Emma commented, staring at her with face bare of any expression. “You did not tell me you met with him in the Cinderella ball.”

“I told you, Emma, you do not wish to hear anything about the man. I simply chose not to tell you to save you the trouble.”

“Was it a good meeting?”

“Have you heard the Herald? Do you see me wearing a wedding gown? Of course, it went horribly wrong!”

“Because you were afraid to show yourself.”

“Correct.” She bit her nails and growled in frustration. Without a word, she jumped to her feet and went to her closet.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my coat.”

“Where are you going?”

“Grey’s. He shall be there tonight, I am almost sure of it.”

“Have you lost your mind? You cannot go there, Ysa!”

“I shall not enter the establishment, Emma, do not fret. I shall wait until—”

“—the morning when it is acceptable for a young lady such as yourself to walk about. I shall accompany you to his estate if you truly wish to confront him.”

“No, I must face this alone. He shall ruin us both should Lady Weis’ identity be revealed. He would hate it as much as I would.”

“Then you plan to tell him everything?”

Ysabella walked to the window, pushed it open. She gathered the long rope they kept under Emma’s bed and tied it around her bedpost. “Yes,” she replied to her sister.

“This is crazy, Ysa. If anything happens to you tonight, I would not be able to—”

“I have done this many times, Emma. I can take care of myself.”

“You have never done it alone .”

“Well, there is always a first time, is there not?” she asked with a grin, bending down to climb out of the window. Emma held her hand while she balanced herself outside the window.

“Just be certain you tell him this time. No more games, Ysa,” Emma said.

“Of course,” she assured although deep inside she was quite unsure if this was a famous idea.

XIV. A Lady’s Guide to a Carriage Ride

Dearest Lady Weis,

Men are fools! Truly, we are where matters of the heart are concerned.

You simply have to be patient. But do not be patient for long for if you start to lose yourself along the way, he is not worth the wait.

Mayhap, once you are done mending a broken heart, you will have the courage to find someone less foolish.

But again, men are utter fools!

Yours,

William

---

“What is that?” asked Maxwell, glaring at the table.

Nicholas leaned over, eyes narrowed. “Why are you showing us this, Wakefield?”

“You very well know we mine thousands of this,” Ralph said, reaching for the sapphire stone to look at it closely. “We do not buy them if you are thinking of selling it.”

Wakefield rolled his eyes. He reached for the stone but before he could snatch it out of Ralph’s hand, Maxwell had grabbed it and was now studying it with narrowed, expert eyes. He passed it on to Nicholas who did the same.

Benedict, the eldest of the Everards, oversaw the mines, but it was Nicholas and Maxwell who worked closely with the stones their family mined, overseeing the quality and jewellery designs before they were to be made.

An Everard jewellery was everyone’s dream and these two men carried the burden of the ton’s expectations. Of all the Everards, Wakefield knew that Maxwell and Nicholas were the best people to provide him with knowledge about the stone.

“I am not selling it,” he said, watching as Nicholas gave the stone back to Maxwell. “I want you to tell me about it.”

“It is sapphire,” Maxwell replied, looking at him as if he was a boy who did not know that he was a boy.

He drew in a patient breath. “I know it is a bloody sapphire. Now, tell me what you can about it. Specific details if you can. Where could it possibly have come from?”

Maxwell’s deep green eyes flicked toward him but the man did not say another word. His eyes returned to the stone. “Considering its medium dark tone, I say it is quite valuable.”

Wakefield nodded. So she could be gentry for someone who could afford a mask adorned with such valuable stones. “What else?” he urged.

Maxwell shrugged and replaced the stone on the table. “It is quite common.”

“Common?”

“We give it to our mistresses, wives and even relatives,” Maxwell uttered in a dry, impatient voice. “I say it is very common.”

Nicholas was studying him with narrowed eyes. “This belongs to that woman, does it not? Lady Weis?”

“Her name is not Lady Weis. If it is, I would have already found her,” he snapped, snatching the stone from the table to put it back in the small velvet pouch. “This came from her mask.”

The three Everard men cocked their brows with amusement.

“I was also wondering if you have noticed someone in the ball wearing a mask adorned with the same sapphire stone I showed you.”

“It was a bloody masked ball, Wakefield,” Nicholas uttered. “We barely look at the masks. We were more interested with the gowns, see? The masks covered half the faces of those in attendance. Why would we bother look at what was being hidden when those women made certain they revealed something more below their heads?”

“If I can tell where this specific stone came from, I might be able to find her,” Wakefield insisted, ignoring Nicholas’ remark.

“Well, it will be easy to tell considering it is such a rare gem,” Maxwell uttered with sarcasm.

Wakefield scowled. These men were not merely making him feel like a fool, they were also testing his patience.

“I do have a question,” Nicholas said, raising his finger, ignoring his brother. Wakefield turned to wait for the question. “How do you send her the letters and how do you receive them?”

“The letters are delivered by post and I deliver the letters to a certain estate.”

“Whose estate?” asked Ralph. Wakefield shook his head, knowing Samuel Theobald was friends with the man.

“I cannot say. I have promised her that I shall not look for her through this man.”

“A man?”

He slowly nodded. “A distant cousin.”

“And how do your letters reach her?”

He shrugged. “I never went as far as have his house be watched. The very moment my letters are delivered to the estate, I do not know how it gets to her.”

“She could be living with him,” Ralph pointed out.

“She could be his wife or mistress, you fool,” Nicholas said.

“No, she is not. I am certain of it. I know this man.”

“Personally?”

“No, but his reputation is stalwart.”

“Now, I am even more curious,” Ralph admitted.

“You could ask the man,” Nicholas asked. “Mayhap he would gladly offer you the answers.”

“I have given her my word that this man is not to be bothered. I will not go as far as breaking my word. It would merely make her more determined to hide.”

“Have you ever taken into account that this might be what she wants?” asked Maxwell. “That she may not wish to be found by you.”

He shook his head. “I refuse to believe it. I know her. I know I have a chance.”

The three men merely stared at him with doubt which in turn made him doubt his own words.

“No one come forward then?” Ralph asked, eyes twinkling with mirth. “It is quite the talk of the town, really that I am quite surprised you have not found her yet.”

“I’ve had missives from Sheills, Granville, Tiny Town, Willowfair and even from bloddy Rock’oles itself,” he growled. “And my butler has already spoken with me about considering posting a schedule for calls. He had not left the door since the article came out. He opened doors to all sorts of women—even men.”

Ralph and Nicholas threw their heads back and laughed loudly while Maxwell simply snickered.

“Do not think I find it funny.”

“Well, you did this to yourself, Wakefield,” Nicholas said, slapping the table as he laughed. “You bloody know how many desperate women—and apparently, even men—are around Town, you dolt!”

“I would not even be surprised if my own sister would come forward and present herself as Lady Weis,” Ralph said. “And she could give you as many sapphires as you want for proof.”

Wakefield threw the youngest of the three men a murderous look.

“What? It is quite a common knowledge that Ysabella fancies you in such a childish way. She was looking quite flustered when the recent article of the Herald came out.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “What happens to our dear sister now, eh?”

Wakefield could not ken why, but that statement made his ears feel hot. “Ysabella is your sister. She is your family, yes, but that does not give you the freedom to make a mockery of her.” His voice had gone stern, much to his own surprise and the Everards.

Ralph stopped laughing, Nicholas frowned and Maxwell turned to face him fully. “And why, may I ask, do you defend her so?” Ralph asked, voice filled with meaning, but one that was starting to sound protective. “Do not tell us that—”

“What? Would you rather I do? She is merely playing a game, gentlemen. And unless you let me teach her the lesson she deserves my way , you let me do what some of you obviously refuse to do so: protect her honour,” he snapped. “If I have a sister, I know I could not easily mock her in the presence of my friends in a bloody place like Grey’s.” He reached for his drink, feeling the awkward air getting quite heavier.

“Well,” Ralph, uttered, “if you put it that way, I guess you are quite all right.” He also reached for his drink. “But just so you know, Wakefield,” he added, looking at both Nicholas and Maxwell before his eyes returned to him, “she is our sister and should we know that you are entertaining her advances, you shall hear from us. She’d grow out of this infatuation and you shall remain as you are to her—unreachable.”

He scoffed and shook his head. He could not imagine Ysabella Everard growing out of this infatuation.

Or mayhap you couldn’t imagine yourself when she does , a faint voice whispered in his head. No. No, it couldn’t be. It would be in the best interest of all if she realized her courtship would go nowhere. He’d be more free to do anything he wanted without fear of having her shadow lurking nearby.

“Now, I do not wish to talk about Ysabella and her broken heart,” Nicholas said, “I’d rather veer back to the topic of Rock’oles before you brought out your precious sapphire.”

“I believe they were able to carve the different chambers of the place from top to bottom,” said Maxwell, eager to return to their original topic. “It does make more sense. It is quite dangerous to carve an entire establishment from bottom to top.”

“Why?” Ralph asked.

“The workers would face fatal danger by having debris falling over them while they carve.”

“Hmm. You might be right,” Nicholas uttered. “Although I have to be honest that I do not bloody care how they created the place. It does add charm to it, yes, being an establishment, but I am more intrigued with the women. It is not every day that you get to go to a den of expensive wenches who get to choose their own customers. That is not done in most parts of the Town, brothers.”

“Ah, but it does take the business to a different level,” Ralph said. “It makes lords and gentlemen like us more curious than desperate, really, to have a sample of these women.”

“Ask your own brother,” Maxwell wryly said, looking at Nicholas pointedly. “He’d be considered a resident of the place at the amount of time he spends there wasting his money on the wenches.”

Wakefield was merely half-listening for he was still wondering about Nicholas’ statement of Ysabella’s broken heart. He did not wish to be bothered by it, but it seemed that he was. Not because he had feelings for the chit, of course, but because he knew he was the reason for it.

---

Wakefield was foxed when he climbed inside his carriage. The Everards had been helpful in keeping his mind off Lady Weis for a few hours.

As the carriage rolled away, he tugged at his cravat, loosening its hold around his neck.

“How was your night, my lord?”

“Bullocks!” he shouted in alarm as he jumped in his seat, surprised.

A giggle erupted from the seat across his and Ysabella Everard leaned forward into the light coming from the carriage window. She was grinning at him, her face utterly satisfied that he had almost jumped out of the carriage in panic.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here!” he demanded. He made a motion to call the attention of his driver but Ysabella said, “You would not dare leave me in the middle of an empty road near an establishment like Grey’s, will you? It would be terrifying to read the scandalous article the very next day.”

He stopped cold for she was correct. His head turned back to her and it was only then that he noticed what she was wearing. “Are you wearing naught but your evening gown underneath that coat?” he asked, looking down to see her bedroom slippers.

She bent down to stare at the same spot he was looking at, lifting her bare legs. Wakefield swallowed but mentally reminded himself that they were legs of the woman who was the sister of his friend. His lovers had better legs, he reminded himself.

“Bloody hell, Ysabella, cover yourself!” he nearly roared, pulling her coat down. “You are such a child.”

“No, I am not—” she started to protest but he interjected her by raising a hand.

“Why are you here?” he bit out. She was taking this too far. She had never approached him at such an hour unless they were in a ball. And she most certainly never presented herself wearing anything else other than her pretty gowns! If he and her brothers thought she’d soon lose interest in him, they might reconsider for she was doing more and more insane things.

His eyes met hers and he nearly cursed under his breath.

Her green eyes were nearly dark as they wickedly glimmered, staring at him. She did not look as if she was fretting over something, or hurt, or devastated. Her eyes looked fine—beautiful, even—without sign that she had been crying over the article on the Herald.

And to think he had been bothered about her suffering a broken heart merely hours earlier! Ha!

“There is no other way to get to you,” she began, resting her bare hands on the carriage window to balance herself as she leaned toward him.

He grabbed her hand. “Do not display any part of your limb outside my window,” he scolded, pulling the curtain close at the same time. He realized he had not let go of her hand, realized as well that it was the first time he held her without her gloves. They felt soft, fragile. Before he could think of anything else the hand could do to him, he brushed it away none too gently.

Remembering what she had said, he glared at her. He could still see her face since the other side still had its curtain open. “I very well know that you have this great talent to get to me at a much decent time should you put your mind to it. You’ve been able to worm your way into my mother’s home, have you not? And I very well know that my butler would allow you entrance should you push him a bit more.”

She blinked in surprise. “Morris will do that?”

He leaned back against his seat to stare at her dryly. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do not get any insane ideas, little one, because the moment it happens, Morris will find himself out in the streets.”

She sighed. “I needed a ride back to our estate. You shall escort me there.” Before he could say anything, she added, “Your driver knows where to go, of course. I have already asked him.”

“We both know you snuck out of your estate to get here to get to me and now you wish for me to escort you back home,” he accused, trying his best not to shout. “What do you want, little one?”

“I wish to know about your quest for Lady Weis, of course.”

“Why?” he asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I simply wish to know.” She shrugged. “How many have come forward with proof?”

“Why would I tell you?”

She smiled at him knowingly. “You must be buried with letters by now. And poor Morris must have to answer countless knocks on your door since that article appeared. But none of them came with strong proof, I see.”

His brows arched in defence. She was mocking him like her brothers did hours ago. “How certain are you that I have not found her yet?” he asked. “I might have, you know.”

She blinked at him and he found that he could not read her mind. What could she be thinking? “Well, if that is true, is she a fantastic lover?”

“Yes.”

“You are lying.”

“I am not.”

“Your left eye twitches when you lie,” she pointed out, voice sure.

He scowled incredulously. “No it does not!” His eye twitched again.

Ysabella laughed, satisfied to have proven her point. She had never laughed like that before. Or had she and he merely noticed just now?

But the smile on her face wavered as she asked, “Will you marry her? This Lady Weis you claim you have found?”

“If she permits it, I shall immediately do so.”

Her full mouth—had he always thought they were full or had he noticed it just now as well?—dropped open in disbelief. “But you are a rake!”

Her eyes were wide, her lashes thick. Was it the shadow or had they always been thick?

And what was it that she just said? Ah, of course. He was a rake. He cleared his throat and answered, “Someone told me I cannot forever be one.”

Her mouth closed and a knowing smile appeared on her lips. “Yes, of course. Lady Weis told you.”

Wakefield frowned and his entire body tensed. How did she know? “What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged as though the answer was the simplest thing. “Because I am she. I am Lady Weis.”

XV. The Climb

Dearest William,

I have been reading a book on philosophy. My past governesses would not believe I am, but it was only recently that I grew a fondness on the subject. I never liked any form of books until now, as a matter of fact. I owe it to the gracious women who tirelessly taught me the importance of reading.

I have read the book you recommended. I did not like it, but I do appreciate your great effort to make me learn more about crop plantations.

Would you be kind as to tell me what else you like to read about? Do you read geography? I hate to say that I do not like it. Mayhap if they talk more of the geography aboveground rather than what we already know, I might give more consideration.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

She had expected the laughter that followed her statement, as well as the pang of pain. But as A Lady’s Guide to Courtship had said, ’ So long as there is pain, the battle is not won.’

“You do realize, little one, that you, amongst that other women, claims to be Lady Weis, do you not? You could have taken that passage from Samuel Theobald whom I know is acquainted with Lady Weis and a friend of yours. Bloody hell, you could have read every letter I wrote her. I might even believe should you say you know her through Samuel Theobald!”

She had expected this as well, of course.

“But I am she,” she uttered through gritted teeth, surprised of the dash of anger inside her.

“I know Lady Weis, little one,” he said, smiling kindly at her. “She is not you.”

She hated that kind smile. It reminded her of her brothers when they thought their statements would hurt her so they tried to ease it by looking gentle.

But then he stopped smiling and the look he gave her nearly sent a tingle down to the tips of her toes. It was as if she was transported back in time to the night of the Cinderella ball when he had been blindly looking at her in the dark. His eyes seemed to be staring at her like he did that night. But it lasted for merely a few seconds because he blinked and it was gone, replaced by the patient stare he’d she was well-acquainted with.

Yet that very short glimpse gave her hope. He knew it was her who was before him and he gazed at her as though she was Lady Weis. He knew it was her, Ysabella Everard. Had he, for a few seconds, thought that she might be Lady Weis?

She wanted to tell him, to insist that she was. And she wanted to say that she was more than Lady Weis.

But she had done her part now. She had told him, boldly so, that she was Lady Weis and he did not believe her as she had expected.

No matter, Ysabella whispered in her mind, diffusing the anger. She had told him, he did not believe her.

He could no longer blame her for hiding the truth from him in the future now, could he? That was her goal tonight, really. She was here to confess, not to beg to be believed.

“Ah, such a pity that you refuse to believe me when I am being utterly honest,” she said with a sigh. She peered out the window. “We are nearing my destination.”

Wakefield was staring at her pensively. “You may think this matter with Lady Weis is a game, little one, but it is not. I hope you refrain from doing reckless things as this in the future.”

Ysabella shrugged. “Very well, all right. I shall give you what you want, then.”

He seemed not to believe her. “What I want?”

“Yes, of course. What you want. No more interruptions from me during the wee hours.”

“Merely the wee hours?”

“Of course,” she said. “Do you truly believe that I would simply give up? I could still haunt your dreams during the night up to the wee hours, you know,” she further mused. She smiled when his eyes widened. “How do you suppose I shall be in your dreams?”

He sighed and she did not expect a reply to her provocative question.

“I hope you can see me in a much better light,” she said. “I do have many sides, you know. If you could just forget for a moment that I am your friend’s sister and a child—no, I refuse to hear anything about a decade of years between us,” she hastily added when he opened his mouth to speak. “Once you do that, my lord, you might see the real Ysabella Everard. And once you do and you do not like me still, then I shall take my respite. I am a good sport, if you may not know.”

He looked as if he was trying his best to come up with a reply but she knew he was quite foxed and his mind was probably muddled.

“Ah, we are here,” she uttered when the carriage stopped. She reached for the handle of the door and swung it open. She turned to him expectantly. “Well? Are you not coming down to help me out?”

He scoffed in disbelief and stumbled out of the carriage with a grunt.

“Thank you. Such a tremendous gentleman, you are, after all!”

She thought she heard him growl. He is definitely quite foxed, she noted.

He stepped aside and offered his hand which she took.

“Careful—” he started to say but Ysabella pulled at his hand, drawing half of his body inside the carriage, surprising him. She leaned forward until their faces were merely inches apart from each other. Would he recognize her if she kissed him tonight? “What are you doing, little one?” he asked, voice deep and filled with warning.

She scrunched her nose, enjoying the alarm in his face, but more so the look of stunned desire that crossed his eyes for a brief moment before he narrowed them.

He might recognize her kiss, but it would not be tonight. She’d feed that little desire and turn it into something he could never extinguish. Soon , she hoped.

“I was planning to give you a good night’s kiss, my lord,” she whispered, her lips nearly touching his, “but your breath smells foul.” She leaned away and jumped out of the carriage without his help. Well, how could he when he was standing there, stupefied?

---

Wakefield’s mind was far from foxed. In fact, it was as though he had not had any drink at all, considering how his brain was working in such frantic a manner.

She had never made such aggressive physical advances before, never resorted to this sort of teasing. But then, she never had that chance what with the fact that she merely had ballrooms and social events as her playground.

He whirled around to stare at Ysabella Everard in disbelief. She was standing there, looking as if she had not caused his heart to trip or halt when she teased him with a kiss.

One that did not happen, but one he had, for a brief moment, anticipated.

Bloody hell! No, he was merely intoxicated. Ah, bloody hell, but he knew he no longer was.

“If we ever marry, my lord, I do not wish that you drink at all on our wedding day. I’d have to kiss you and I would hate to disappoint the guests if I opt not to because of your breath,” she uttered with a teasing glint in her eyes. Had they always danced like that under the light?

For a moment a picture of Ysabella wearing a wedding gown flashed before his eyes. He shook his head. No, it couldn’t be. She was Ysabella Everard. No one else. He ought not to let her put such foolish pictures in his mind. Her green eyes glimmered with the familiar wickedness he was accustomed to, but tonight the effects were quite different. He did not like this at all. Not when he had more important things to deal with.

“Go inside, little one,” he bit out the last two words rather too loud than necessary, reminding himself who he was facing. This was the woman who went to such extent to claim she was the woman he fell in love in letters. She couldn’t be Lady Weis. Lady Weis was a woman—Ysabella Everard was a childish chit.

A provocative, childish chit, the tiniest voice in his mind said.

Mentally shaking his head from the thought, he watched when she gave him a short curtsy, wearing naught but a coat over her night dress. He frowned when she turned and started walking to the side of the estate and not the front doors.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to my chambers, of course,” she said over her shoulder.

“And where do you suppose the door is?” he asked, following her, his steps hesitant.

“The window,” she replied.

“The what?”

“I do not intend to use the door, my lord,” she said, turning around to face him, walking backward. Her black hair was in disarray, escaped strays swinging beside her face, the light from the lamps above her giving her a soft glow. At that moment she was a picture of someone he’d… he did not continue the thought as she added, “I’ll use the window.” She turned on her heels and continued walking.

He followed her to the back of the house and into the garden.

“You do not have to come, you know,” she said, tone amused.

“Yes,” was his murmured reply, but he found himself following her still until they reached a wall with a rope hanging from one of the windows on the second landing. The ropes had knots along its length to assist a climb, but how in the bloody hell could she climb up there alone? “How do you intend to do it?” he asked, unsure of her ability.

“I am used to climbing on things, if you must know. I have quite the experience,” she said with confidence, reaching for the rope, pulling at it to test its strength. “The first time we tried to climb on something, it was a tree in the woods. We were with Ben and Agatha who was our governess then.”

“As I have been told, that event did not end very well for you and your sister,” he pointed out.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “It did not end well with Benedict. He did acquire an injury in his attempt to save us.”

Wakefield scoffed in disbelief when she chuckled in mirth at the memory.

“Well,” she said, her voice now a loud whisper in an attempt to be quiet, “there was also the time when Emma and I helped Tori climb down from her own window using one of her father’s giant stone statues. That was before she married Levi.”

“I do not recall you and your sister climbing up to her bedroom window. Levi told me you waited on the ground.”

“Well, we would have climbed if we needed to,” she reasoned, tugging at the rope once more.

“By the look of the rope, I have to believe that you have used this before tonight.”

“Of course!” she hissed with a laugh, her emerald green eyes filled with wickedness and mirth altogether. “Do you truly think yourself too great for me to prepare this rope to escape my chamber and see you? Of course not, my lord.” Her silent chuckle made his lips twitch. It was quite contagious that he momentarily forgot the craziness of this night. “Emma and I used to go out and go to the woods in a night like this one. We would spend many hours there talking and gazing up at the sky through the holes. The sky is quite spectacular at night, do you know?”

He shook his head. He had never really thought of looking at the sky at night.

She made a short jump and Wakefield found his own arms outstretched, at the ready should she fall. Her feet were clinging against the wall which he now discovered she’d use to walk her way up to the window. He caught a glimpse of her drawers but before he could scold her, he chose to ignore it, knowing she’d only make an issue out of it.

“You see, if the clouds are not about, the stars look amazing,” she said as she began to climb higher.

“And it would also be amazing if you stop talking and focus on climbing,” he said, walking closer as she ascended up the wall.

She smiled down at him as she clung to the rope. “Good night, my lord.”

He did not reply, merely watched as she succeeded in reaching the window which was already open. He did not realize he had been holding his breath until she managed to climb into her bedchamber and poked half of her body out to wave him good night.

He shook his head and turned to walk back to his carriage.

Ysabella Everard was not Lady Weis. Yet she was not merely a child, she was also insane!

---

The very next day, Ysabella told Emma that she had told Wakefield the truth.

“But he does not believe me, of course,” she said over breakfast. Their mother had just exited the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Her sister shook her head. “It is what I have been trying to tell you, Ysa. It is either he will be furious or not believe you. It seems it is the latter.”

“Well, no matter,” she said with a shrug. “He can no longer blame me for fooling him further. I did try to tell him.”

“Did you insist?”

“Quite.”

“You ought to have insisted, offered proof.”

“He chose not to believe me the very moment I confessed. Why would I offer proof?”

“Because you would want him to believe you,” Emma uttered wryly, “unless you do not truly and fully want him to.”

“Well, I was angry. He could not see me as Lady Weis! I want him to believe me because I said so. I do not wish to grovel and present proof. I was not in court to do so, you know.”

Her sister gave her an assessing look. “You were also angry because of something else.”

“Well, yes. He treated my escapade last night with patience. He thought it was merely a part of my game. He did not even take me seriously.”

“You could not blame the man, Ysabella. He sees you as a sister and his reaction would have been the same as our brothers.” Emma shook her head once again. “Well, at the very least you told him. I merely wish you would provide him with proof should he seriously reconsider your claim and ask for it.”

“If he would come around, that is,” Ysabella said, “which I am not willing to wait for. I’d rather he notice me as Ysabella Everard, not as Lady Weis. Now that I have made my confession, I could put the matter of Lady Weis aside. It is his fault he did not believe me.”

“You and Lady Weis are one and the same,” Emma pointedly retorted.

“Not entirely. She is but a parcel of my entirety.”

“I no longer wish to have this conversation. It makes my head ache more than it already does.”

Moments later, as they were both finishing their food, a large presence stormed inside the room. Ysabella and Emma snapped their heads to find Maxwell, his face looking tired and quite still foxed. His hair was a mess and his chin showed fresh stubbles. It seemed as though he woke up after a night at Grey’s and remembered something important and now he was here. Mrs. Beagle was standing beside his foot, looking up at him. The picture of him and the feline looked both menacing and funny at the same time.

Maxwell looked at the two of them and said to Ysabella, “You. To the library. Now.”

Ysabella stared at Emma when Maxwell left the room without further word, Mrs. Beagle following behind him like a small, black shadow. “What is it about?”

“How would I know?” Emma asked. “Are you certain no one else saw you when you saw Wakefield?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, go and see what he wants.”

Ysabella knew something big was about to happen when she left Emma in the dining room to find Maxwell standing still in the middle of the library. Beside him was Mrs. Beagle, licking on her paw.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the chaise near the window.

Ysabella did as he asked. Mrs. Beagle bounded on her lap and she absently caressed the cat as she stared up at her brother expectantly. His hair was down and he raked his fingers through it before he asked, “Why have you not presented yourself to Wakefield yet?”

“Presented myself?” she asked, mastering an innocent tone, but deep inside her heart was already leaping to her throat.

Maxwell tilted his head to the side, an indication that he knew she knew what he was trying to say. Apart from Benedict, Maxwell was the only brother who could scare her this way.

“That you are Lady Weis, Ysabella,” he said in a voice so certain.

Ysabella gulped.

“Why? Why did you do it?” Maxwell demanded.

Sweet Mr. Jones! How did he know?

XVI. Behind the Opera

Dearest Lady Weis,

In response to your inquiry, Ysabella Everard is but a child who does not know what she truly wants. It seems to me that everything is still a game for her. I am still patiently waiting for the day that realizes I am too old for her and that I can offer her nothing. I am afraid she is merely in love at the idea of me for if she could truly know me as you do, she would have already married one of her suitors.

I would also appreciate it if you refrain from teasing me about her.

As to your other inquiry, my answer is no. I do not hate the girl, but I cannot deny that I would appreciate it should she choose to divert her attention to another. I am not worthy of her attentions. She is young and vibrant. She must find someone as young as she and one who could give her the same love.

Yours,

William

---

“Lady Weis w-was a mist-take,” she stammered as she stared at her brother. When Maxwell merely looked at her incredulously, she asked, “How did you know?”

“Your dear William found a sapphire stone that fell from your mask that night in the Cinderella ball,” he said, tone unreadable. Then his statement dawned on her and she paled. The mask dropped on the floor and somehow a gemstone fell. And all the while she thought she had been quite careful!

“If you could recall, I danced with you that night, Ysabella. And I know stones when I see them.” He walked closer, hands on his hips. “Now, tell me what you intend to do about this. You have caused quite a phenomenon and now every bloody person is craving to find out who this Lady Weis is.”

Ysabella swallowed and blinked, forcing her eyes to meet her brother’s strong ones. “I did try to tell him. I told him I am Lady Weis, but he refused to believe me. I could not blame him because there are quite a number of desperate women who made the same claims.”

Maxwell scoffed. “The bloody idiot.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Did you offer proof?”

She shook her head. “I refused to do so and still do. I was quite angry he did not believe me and I would not stoop low begging for him to do so.”

Maxwell narrowed his eyes, darkening his features even more. “I already know the story about Lady Weis. The man could not stop talking about it. What I want to know now from you now is what sort of proofs do you have? The letters?”

She nodded.

“What else, Ysa?”

She tried to think more. “Well, there is one person who can attest to my honesty.”

“Who?”

She winced. “You would not wish to know.”

“This is the man who receives the letters from Wakefield and who delivers yours in return.”

She nodded.

“Who is this man?”

“Truly, Max, I do not wish—”

“Who?”

“If you promise not to hurt him or approach him in any way, I shall tell you.”

Her brother remained unmoving and silent.

“Then I will not tell you.”

“I give you my word I shall not hurt this bastard,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It is not truly his fault, you know.” She cleared her throat and asked a silent forgiveness from Samuel. “Samuel Theobald.”

Maxwell did not even flinch. “Very well, he shall be handled by Ralph in time.”

Ysabella’s eyes widened but it seemed that she had no time to discuss the matter about Samuel further as he immediately jumped to another. “What did you do with Wakefield the night of the Cinderella ball? Do not attempt to lie to me, Ysabella. I know when you do.”

“How do you know?” When her brother merely stared, she asked, “Does my nose wrinkle? My eye twitch? My shoulder? What is it?”

Maxwell’s bristled jaw twitched with impatience. She sighed. “We kissed.”

Her brother’s eyes darkened with fury.

“It was just a kiss, Max! Nothing else happened. I left before he even realized who I was.”

“Bloody hell, Ysa. How could you be so stupid? What if someone came upon the two of you?”

“I know. A wedding would have to ensue,” she said in nearly a whisper. “And I would not have wanted it.”

“Not merely you, but he would have despised you.”

She shrugged. “But it did not happen, see? I was careful. And now that you think of it, the kiss is another proof, you know.”

Maxwell groaned. “Help me forget the picture by not talking about the bloody kiss, Ysabella.”

She bent her head and waited for her brother’s next words.

“I do not like this, Ysabella. He is way too old for you. You have gone too far with your infatuation.”

“I love him.”

Maxwell stared at her for a long time and shook his head. “Love,” he scoffed.

“Well, I know him more than any of you do. I am Lady Weis, remember? We’ve been conversing through missives for over two years.”

The look he gave her told her he did not like that information. “How do you plan to solve this? He is quite inclined to find you.”

“I do not want to be found by him.”

“But you told him you are Lady Weis!”

Mrs. Beagle meowed at Maxwell’s raised voice.

“And that is why I no longer wish for him to find me as Lady Weis. I want him to find me as Ysabella Everard.”

Her brother let out a mocking laugh. “Women. I can never in this lifetime figure out how your brains work. Never.”

But Ysabella was not interested how her cynical brother thought about women. She was more concerned about what he’d do about this. “Do Nick and Ralph know?”

“No. And you ought to be lucky for those two bastards would have already hanged Wakefield in the middle of the town by now.”

Ysabella moistened her lips, anxious. “You will not tell anyone? Even mother?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Dear Lord, our mother would not merely faint, Ysa. She’d want to be dead should she find out.” Ysabella bent her head in remorse, picturing her dear mother sick with worry. Mrs. Beagle stared up at her with a whimper. Her brother’s voice brought her head back up. “I only have one thing to tell you: be wary. But do be sure that I have quite a lot to tell Wakefield if he ends up hurting you should he find out the truth.”

“Thank you,” she said with a teary smile.

“Don’t thank me yet, sister. I want this matter with Lady Weis over with the soonest possible time without a scandal. You are old enough to know what is best to do.”

“Will you beat him should he hurt me in any way?”

He simply stared at her, eyes narrowed.

“I hate it when you do not say anything. It means you have a lot in your mind.”

He cocked his brows.

“Will you use pistols?” she asked.

He nonchalantly shrugged.

Ysabella sighed in resignation. “Should it come to that, do make certain not to cause his death. A shoulder wound would suffice.” She frowned. “But it is near the head and his heart. A leg wound would do. But he might not be able to walk after that.” She pouted her lips and gazed at her brother with pleading green eyes. “Could you not shoot him at all? Would you not be satisfied if—”

“Enough. I will do what I want with the man if it would ever come to that. You, on the other hand, ought to do the sensible thing.”

“What is that?”

“Make him bloody fall in love with you before he realizes you’re Lady Weis.”

“But he could not possibly blame me for I have already confessed—” she stopped short, finally hearing her brother’s words. “You wish me to make him fall in love with me? I do have your blessings, then?”

“Women!” Maxwell growled as he whirled around. At the door, her brother stopped and uttered in a dark, serious voice, “And one matter I forgot, Ysabella,” he said.

She stared in fascination and anticipation.

“When he falls in love with you, do be sure to make him suffer and grovel at your feet.” Maxwell stalked out of the library as Ysabella gaped at the open door.

She looked down at Mrs. Beagle and asked, “Was that truly Maxwell?”

---

Their mother, being a great admirer of the opera, asked for Emma and Ysabella to accompany her but Emma refused, giving a lousy excuse of an impending headache, which led Ysabella to believe that her sister was still not amiable to the idea of her still pursuing Wakefield.

Aurora was also in attendance and she joined Ysabella and Lady Alice in their box after having been invited by the pair. Ysabella’s eyes were not on the performance below as she was currently gazing across the opera hall to another box which contained Lady Hayward and her two sons.

She was certain that Wakefield knew of her presence by the way he skipped their box every time his gaze roamed the theatre.

When the intermission came, she joined her mother and Aurora behind the box and into a corridor where they met acquaintances while waiting for the next part of the performance.

By then, Ysabella had told Aurora of everything she had missed, including the carriage ride she shared with Wakefield.

“I could not believe you did that, Ysa,” Aurora said with awe. Her blue eyes glimmered with mirth as she shook her prettily donned red hair.

Ysabella merely smiled, giving her head a shake as she studied her friend. “Nick would have swooned at the sight of you tonight, Aurora. You look stunning. Blue suits you the best.”

Aurora’s face went scarlet. “Thank you.”

Her eyes went over her friend’s shoulder and she considered the amount of time she had left before the next performance.

“You are planning something, are you not?” Aurora asked. “I know Wakefield is in attendance.”

Her lips slanted into a wicked smile. “Of course. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell my mother that—”

“—you need a breath of fresh air, of course. And I see Adam Nimrod from afar. Go now before he finds you,” said Aurora, already nodding her head. “Go.”

“I truly need to make you my sister-in-law,” she uttered before she walked away, slipping behind her mother’s back to escape the corridor.

---

“I have invited Mother to Bertram for an entire week. She intends to go a fortnight after I leave,” Thomas said to Wakefield. “You are welcome to join us there.”

“I’d rather stay in Wickhurst,” he murmured, eager to return to their box and have this opera over with.

“Or you could give Wakefield a visit, William,” his brother said, voice quite stern. “I know that your harvest this season was not good.”

“Wouldn’t you know,” he sarcastically shot back.

But Thomas seemed not to hear for his eyes were focused on something behind him. “Ysabella Everard is on her way here and I assume that she intends to spend time with you.”

Wakefield dared not move to follow his brother’s gaze. In fact, his shoulders had gone stiff and his jaw clenched. Of course she would come here. She would always find her way to him.

Thomas’ gaze had turned to amusement after seeing his reaction.

“If you refuse have someone who is obviously and openly pursuing you, I might consider her for my wife.” Wakefield’s eyes narrowed at Thomas’ words. “What? I am currently looking for a decent, rich and young wife. Ysabella Everard is a perfect candidate. She obviously does not mind age.”

A ringing in his ears caused him to growl under his breath, saying, “Stay clear of the chit, Thomas.”

“I was merely trying to tell you that if you do not want her, I might consider saving you from her advances, one you obviously find a bother but one I would gladly welcome.”

“Keep to your person. Find someone else. She is the sister of a friend. I would not want to face the entire Everard should you break her, a habit you seem to have.” Before Thomas could utter a reply, he whirled around to find that Ysabella was not in sight.

The performance was about to start and Thomas was making his way back inside their box.

“I thought you said she is here.”

Thomas frowned and gazed over at the end of the corridor. “Oh, she must have left with the young man who blocked her way earlier.” His brother disappeared to join their mother, leaving him and a few other opera guests in the corridor.

What young man was Thomas talking about?

He started to follow his brother but changed his mind.

Lesser of two evils , he muttered, turning on his heels to walk away from the box.

---

“I am not avoiding you, Adam,” Ysabella said in frustration. She sighed, hearing the sound of music behind them. Bloody great! The performance had resumed and she did not even make it to Wakefield.

“You’ve deliberately escaped my presence in the Cinderella ball.”

“I was not aware you were in attendance,” she lied.

“I intended to come to ask you for a dance and you threw your friend in my direction to escape somewhere.” His once gentle and patient voice had turned strained, heated even.

Ysabella took a step back but Adam towered over her, giant that he was, and grabbed her by the arm. “Let go of me at once, Adam, or I shall scream.”

“No, you will not, because you would not wish for the ton to wonder why you allowed me to talk to you in private.”

“Because I know you and you are a friend, of course I would allow you to talk to me. You insisted you have something of import to say and now I realize that you were lying. Let go of me at once so I can go back to my Mother.”

“Not if you do not tell me what I want.” His eyes were no longer the same as she had remembered them. His brown eyes looked almost black with a glint of something evil. He looked entirely different and it scared her.

She flinched when he tightened his hold.

“I have reached the limit of my patience, Ysabella. I have been courting you for nearly a year now and I get naught but your mocking laughter and silly conversations. I want an answer.”

“Well, the answer is no,” she bit out, pulling at her arm. “Let go of me.”

“That is not what I wanted to hear.”

“Then you should not have bothered to ask for an answer!” she said, kicking his foot. She jumped out of his reach when he screamed in pain.

Whirling around to escape him and find her mother and Aurora, Ysabella managed to reach the end of the corridor before she was harshly pulled back by her hair. No one was about and no one had heard anything but the music when she collided against the wall after Adam threw her with a surprising strength.

She started to shout when Adam’s dark face stalked toward her, but he never made it as he was suddenly flung farther away from her with the same strength he used on her. Her eyes widened seeing Wakefield’s furious face before he turned to face Adam. Adam was taller, yes, but Wakefield was stronger. He managed to tackle Adam to the floor, eliciting a grunt from the man.

She straightened to her full height and watched in panic as Wakefield started to beat Adam, straddling the man and planting his fist twice against Adam’s cheek.

As a matter of fact, it merely took those two blows to knock the bloody bastard out. Wakefield stood up and turned to face Ysabella, his face filled with ebbing fury and concern.

---

Wakefield, breath heaving, stared at Ysabella’s haphazard state. Her dark hair was awry. Her eyes, though surprised, were filled with fear and panic.

But the moment she saw Adam unconscious on the floor, she swallowed and squared her shoulders. And she did the most unexpected thing he had ever seen. She walked straight to the man who was now regaining his consciousness, bent down and slapped his face. The sound rang down the corridor, swallowed by the music behind them.

It was Wakefield’s turn to stare in disbelief and gape.

“Dare do that once more, my lord, and you shall have to face one of my brothers’ pistols,” she said over Adam, voice shaking with rage. “But they shall not be holding the weapon,” she added, “for it will be I who shall pull the trigger.”

Wakefield’s eyes widened as he stood frozen in the middle of the corridor, watching as she gave Adam Nimrod one last disdainful look before she straightened and squared her shoulders.

He noticed the shiver that ran through her. She may try to appear calm and composed but he knew that Adam’s attack shook her still.

He started toward her, hand outstretched, ready to soothe her.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked, frowning warily. Adam Nimrod stirred beside her feet. He ignored the moaning man.

“Yes. Thank you for that,” she said, motioning with her hand at Adam.

“You look pale,” he said, stepping closer. “Mayhap it is best if you—”

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t!” she uttered. “I am not a child!”

Wakefield opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she drew a deep breath and stiffly walked away.

He watched as she disappeared from the corridor, quite in awe.

Bending down so his words would reach Adam Nimrod, he said, “Dare do that again, Nimrod, and you shall have a bullet between your eyes before she could even find her brothers’ pistol.” He gave the man’s cheek a heavy patting. “That bullet would be mine.”

Standing to his feet, he fixed his cravat as he glared at the limp man on the floor. He looked over at the corridor where Ysabella disappeared into, shook his head, turned and found his way back to join his mother and brother to watch the opera.

He realized then, as he took his seat, that his hands were shaking. Merely moments ago he witnessed how she was hauled by her hair and flung against the wall. An unimaginable reaction coursed through him, awakening a fury he did not know he was capable of. The mere sight of her hurt triggered a strong reaction from him that he almost flew the length of the corridor, intending to kill the bastard. And he would have killed the man if she was not there, he darkly thought.

For the rest of the night, his eyes would find Ysabella Everard sitting beside Aurora Randolph and Lady Alice, her expression utterly different for she was smiling to whatever Aurora was whispering in her ear, her hair fixed, as if she was not the same woman who was attacked behind the opera.

It took a while before his nerves calmed down.

---

His brother assured that he would take their mother home safely, leaving Wakefield with naught but the rest of the night to waste.

He considered going to Grey’s but he figured he was not in the mood to face the Everards and their mocking rhetoric about the mysterious Lady Weis and Wakefield’s forthcoming doom and failure on love.

Their sister was attacked in the opera and they were not there to protect her! Yes, indeed, it would not be wise to go and join them at Grey’s.

He entered the estate and found his way to the drawing room. Pulling at his cravat, he could not fathom why he was even there, but he found his way and he had no energy to go where he ought to be.

As he was pouring himself a glass of brandy, the door opened once more and she sauntered inside. She was wearing the same gown, he noted.

“I heard you had a rather interesting rough night, my lord,” her voice said as she walked near him.

“Bloody rough, indeed,” he bit out before he swallowed the entire glass. He winced at the bitter taste, but revelled at the soothing sensation thereafter.

Her chuckle filled the silence of her drawing room. “Did you find the opera to your liking?” she asked as she took the empty glass from his hand and poured it with more brandy.

“Not so much as you obviously did,” he wryly replied.

“Hmm. I warned you not to come, did I not?” Aurora replied before drinking from the glass.

XVII. Friendly Encounters

Dearest William,

You cannot forever be the rake that you are for I know you are much more than the reputation the ton has given you. They ought to see that.

As your friend, I would dare not judge you as I know the real you.

Rest your mind for there is one person in this world who does not merely look at you, but truly sees you.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

If there was one more thing she kept to her sister, it was the incident that took place in the opera. Emma would be utterly furious and might resort to telling their brothers who would then resort to harsh gestures.

Ysabella would not wish for such a scandal—for anything eventful that would lead to her name be mentioned on the Herald once more.

And she’d rather forget that night. If she could manually smudge and erase it from her memory, she would. Adam Nimrod had always been good to her. He may not have been her choice, but he was a good man.

Until that night.

It was nearly a week since, but Adam’s concerting attack bothered her still.

“Dear, you seem too distant,” Lady Hayward’s gentle voice snapped her back to the present. Ysabella turned to see the lady’s worried look. “What is the matter? Is it Emma?”

Ysabella blinked in surprise. “Emma? Why would you believe it is my sister that bothers me?”

Lady Hayward smiled. “You and Emma are quite inseparable, dear. She has not shown herself to my estate for quite some time now.” The blonde woman inclined her head toward her. “You are both going through something.”

Her shoulders dropped as she sighed. “We did fight, but it is not something we could not fix in time. Truly, we are all right. We merely are giving each other enough space to think. It is not her that bothers me.”

Lady Hayward cocked her brow. “It is my son, then, is it not?”

“Wakefield?” Ysabella said with a laugh. “Your son has been quite a challenge for years now, my lady, but it is not him.”

“You must know, dear, that I feel bad my son does not see your worth at all.” Her voice had gone stern, reminding Ysabella of her own mother. “He does not think so highly of himself and mayhap it might be the reason why he could not see the best of everyone. He is such a fool to deprive himself of a fine lady such as you!”

“Oh, Lady Hayward,” Ysabella chuckled, covering the woman’s hand with hers. “If you were only your son, I would already be happily married!”

“That son frustrates me on some occasion.” Lady Hayward slowly shook her head. “I am visiting Thomas in his estate in a few days yet he refuses to come with me.”

“Is Lord Bertram here or has he already left?”

“He has urgent matters to attend to in Bertram. I am afraid I must go alone,” the woman said with sigh. “William reasons that he has important matters to attend to in Wickhurst, but we both know he refuses to go because of his relationship with his brother.”

“Mayhap he is merely truly busy, my lady,” she said, reassuring the woman’s feelings.

“Busy on what? That Lady Weis he so claims to marry if he finds her?” Lady Hayward uttered with a scoff. “We are not even certain if she exists. For all we know, someone has been fooling him for two years, writing him letters and laughing at his expense!”

Ysabella nearly choked and she cleared her throat as she tried to calm herself. The feeling of guilt of hiding such a big secret from the mother of the man she loved was getting heavier by the minute.

“But I could not very well keep him from finding his own happiness, of course,” the woman said with a sad smile, “even if I think that very same happiness has been in my parlour every Friday.”

Ysabella threw her head back and laughed.

Lady Hayward joined in and they rang for more tea.

---

Wakefield stood by the window, watching Ysabella talk with Morris down below.

She was wearing a yellow dress, her hand holding a red flower.

What could they be talking about?

His butler was laughing at something she had said and her shoulders shook with her own laughter.

His upper lip pulled back to bare his upper teeth. It seemed that in every visit, Ysabella had been allotting more time with his butler. He would not be surprised if the bloody bastard was narrating how Wakefield wore his cravat every morning at that very moment.

Another round of laughter rang from both of them and he saw Ysabella reach out to pat Morris on the shoulder. She said something, turned around and started walking away, the flower still in her hand.

Wakefield frowned as he watched Morris call out to her. He then realized his mouth had opened in an attempt to say she had forgotten something. Bloody hell!

She looked down and saw that she was still holding the flower and she laughed once more, walking back to Morris. She held out the red flower to Morris who graciously took it with a wide smile.

Ah, so she nearly forgot what she came here for? Was that conversation so fun she forgot about the bloody flower?

He watched as Ysabella stopped at the side of the street, looked at both direction and crossed it.

He was about to turn away the moment she reached across, but he pivoted back when he saw her calling out to someone who walked past her. When the blonde man did not hear her, she ran after him with a laugh.

Wakefield’s jaw clenched. Had she no sense at all? She was a lady! She could not simply shout at someone on the street and run after them. That was not done!

The man had finally heard her voice and Wakefield stepped closer to the window to see clearly. But the man was facing away. He gave her a bow and Ysabella slapped his arm, poking him in such a teasing manner.

Were they chummy? But even still, she ought not to act like that with a man who was not family for it was clear that the bloody bastard was not one of her brothers. Had she not learned her lesson that night at the opera?

The door to his study opened and he heard Morris say, “My lord, Lady Ysabella has—”

“Throw it out,” he murmured to the butler, eyes still on Ysabella and the man she was talking with.

“I do hate to see it go to waste, my lord,” Morris replied the same words Wakefield had heard countless of times. “Would you like it placed in a vase?”

“No,” Wakefield snapped, rapidly waving his hand. “Go.”

When the silence reigned for a few seconds and when he thought the man had already left, Wakefield nearly jumped to his feet when Morris’ voice said, “Would you like to inquire what Lady Ysabella and I were discussing downstairs, my lord?”

His head snapped back over his shoulder to glare at the man. “I do not bloody care, Morris. Leave. Remove yourself from my sight at once.”

Morris bowed. “Very well, my lord. The flower is—”

“Go!”

“A missive also arrived for you, my lord.”

“Put it on the table.”

“I already did, my lord.”

“Then go!”

“Another matter, my lord, if you may.”

“Bloody hell, Morris, what is it!”

“There have been quite a few callers for this afternoon regarding your—uh, quest for Lady Weis. There are five ladies from Tiny Town, two from Granville, two more from—”

“I am indisposed this afternoon.”

“Very well, my lord.”

“Now, go, Morris.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man stiffly turned and walked out of the room.

Wakefield turned to see that Ysabella had looped her arm around the man’s when he offered it and they were now walking away. She was saying something, the man’s head bent down, intently listening.

Reaching for his curtain, he roughly pulled it closed. Turning around to go back to his desk, jaw clenched, he saw the red flower.

Brooding, he snatched it off the table to throw it out. She dare deliver this flower and now she was walking in the arms of another man? He ought to tell her brothers to watch her more closely. An unmarried woman ought not to be doing what she was doing at this very moment!

He made a motion to throw the flower but stopped. His hand fell to his side and he heaved a breath to calm his nerves.

She had not even directly done anything to him to cause such reaction.

He walked back to his desk, settled in his seat and glared at the flower as though it was Ysabella Everard herself. He snapped the stem in half with as much force one could enforce for such task and sent the end of the stem without the flower flying the room.

With heavy hands, he reached for the book he was currently reading, opened it to a random page and grudgingly tucked the flower inside. Then he shut the book closed with more strength necessary in closing a book and dropped it on the table with a loud thud.

He reached for the letter next.

You have not visited since the opera night. Should I wait for you tonight?

-A

He crumpled the paper and it too joined the stem in the middle of his study.

He was not going anywhere tonight.

---

“You must know that despite the recent clamour over Lady Weis,” Samuel Theobald said while they walked, “I am quite relieved that I no longer have letters coming in and out of my estate. Letters, I might add,” he pointedly uttered, “that I never get to read.”

Ysabella threw her friend a darting look. Samuel may be Ralph’s best friend, but the man had been a frequent visitor to their estate during countless family dinners that Ysabella and Emma also enjoyed the same friendship with the man.

Like all the Theobalds, Samuel was blonde and he had pale, grey eyes. Well, apart from Lady Theobald who had blue eyes—and Maxine, of course, with her dark hair.

It had been quite a while she saw Samuel and she never had the opportunity to talk to him about his hidden sister. But now was not also the right moment to do so. She was not certain if Maxine would wish to be the subject of any discussion.

“You shall not expect more, Samuel, I promise you that.”

Samuel was not overly handsome in Ysabella’s eyes, although there were some who would disagree, including her sister, Margaret, who had always found Samuel quite charming. But he did have his own ways to make himself endearing to Ysabella. He was easy to talk with and he had great knowledge on almost anything.

He had also joined her and Emma into many of their tricks where Ralph was the victim.

“What do you intend to do about Lady Weis?” he asked under his breath, looking straight ahead. “Wakefield has made such a commotion publishing that article. I would have stopped it should I have known, really.”

“Well, it would not have been best if you did. You could have placed your position in the Herald in jeopardy. He is quite determined to find her, you know. We do not know what he would have done if you stopped that article.”

“Which leads me back to my question—what do you intend to do now?”

Ysabella sighed. “Lady Weis is no more, Samuel. She was a mistake.” She tilted her head and nudged his side. “Your mistake as well, you know.”

“Me!” he said with a laugh. “But it was you who penned that ridiculous letter about your cat!”

“It was you who dared me!”

Samuel chuckled, giving her hand a pat. “Very well, it is both our fault.”

Ysabella’s smile slowly vanished. “I do not wish for him to know me simply as Lady Weis,” she admitted. “If the day will come that I shall marry him, it will be because he wants Ysabella Everard. Me, Ysabella, not Lady Weis.”

“But you and her are one, Ysa,” Samuel said with a frown.

She rolled her eyes. Why could no one see her point?

“It is high time I prove to him that Lady Weis is not the only one out there. That is all you must know.”

Samuel laughed once more. “You are competing against yourself, Ysabella, it is quite hilarious.”

They walked in silence for a while, two friends having a comfortable time together.

“How is Emma?” Samuel asked.

“Oh, still ignorant of your feelings toward her, I assure you,” Ysabella said, glad to have found a reason to torment the man.

Samuel glared at her. “Dare not repeat that to anyone, Ysa.”

“Or what? You shall have my throat? Emma would hate you then.”

He groaned. “I should not have told you.”

“You did not have to, Samuel. It was quite obvious. My sister is merely blind to your feelings, but I am not.”

“Emma and I are good friends. I would not wish that to be tarnished.”

“But you must let her know sooner or later, Samuel. A love not shown is more painful than a love rejected.”

“And you know this very well, do you not?” he asked, voice teasing.

She smiled at her friend. “Yes, utterly so.”

XVIII. Fallout

Dearest Lady Weis,

Yes, I believe my butler is almost uncontrollable. You are quite lucky to have a reliable one.

Mine, I believe, speaks his mind too often than warranted.

In addition, I believe he has an infatuation to Ysabella Everard.

He must be careful not to push me too far for I might be inclined to throw him out the window.

Yours,

William

---

“Please forgive me once again, Ysa,” Aurora said to her. “I was not able to stop Adam Nimrod when he went after you. I did not also think he could do such a thing!”

Ysabella shrugged as she stared up at the hole hovering above the park. It was a nice, sunny afternoon aboveground, she noted. “It is quite all right, Aurora. It was not your fault, but I do hope not to see him ever again.”

“Juliana and Agnes are sauntering toward us, Ysa,” Aurora warned under her breath.

Ysabella groaned and straightened in the bench, prepared for yet another attack.

“Hello, Ysabella,” Juliana chirped. “Hello, Aurora.”

“Hello,” Aurora replied, her voice strained.

“How are you this morning, Ysabella?” Agnes asked. “I hope you are doing well. You must be quite happy that no more articles about Lady Weis came out today.”

Ysabella’s lips formed a tight smile. “Great, is it not? For all we know, Lord Wakefield had given up on the said quest!”

Juliana and Agnes cocked their brows, their lips pursing in doubt. “Or mayhap he already found her.”

Ysabella was not able to stop the snort that escaped her. “Well, good luck to him and her, then.”

The two ladies gave her a pitiful look. “Ah, if that is the case, then it is such a sad thing to no longer see more of your fun advances on the man,” said Juliana.

“But he is not the only lord out there, is he now?” Ysabella gritted out.

“Fine day, is it not, ladies?” Aurora asked, diverting the topic that was obviously causing Ysabella to fume and soon burst should the two ladies push further.

“Ah, yes, it is,” Agnes cheerfully said. “Which reminds me, Juliana, that we are expected to be at Madam Vernice anytime soon.”

Juliana’s eyes widened. “Oh, goodness! I almost forgot!”

Ysabella and Aurora stared after the two ladies as they scurried away after saying their hasty goodbyes.

“Rude,” Aurora nearly growled beside her. “Could they be any more obvious? They walked up to us to mock you.”

“But they were right, you know,” she uttered resignedly. “He might have already found someone who managed to convince him she is Lady Weis, thus the lack of updates on the Herald.”

“Or mayhap he simply gave up,” Aurora offered.

She turned to Aurora with a sad look in her eyes. “Perhaps my years of chasing after the same man could be coming to a complete failure. Mayhap Emma is correct. I ought to give up.”

Aurora took her hand in a gesture to comfort her and said nothing.

She squared her shoulders. “But giving up seems to be even more agonizing,” she said with a lopsided grin. “For now, that is.”

“I could not ken what you see in the man, Ysa. He is handsome, that is a given, but he is a rake. He must have countless of lovers at the moment even if he claims to be in love with Lady Weis.”

“I know, Aurora. But I do not own him yet, see? I cannot stop him from doing anything. But I know he has been keeping one lover for other reasons.”

“One lover? Truly? Pray tell, Ysa.”

Ysabella shrugged. “He is a lonely man. If he is not amongst his friends, he has no one to talk to.”

Aurora’s brow arched high. “You say he keeps this lover for a chat? You must be jesting!”

“He has told me that most men keep their mistresses not merely for their exercises in bed, but for companionship, one that their wives or kin cannot give.” A faint smile formed on her lips. “I care not if he has more than one lover now. It is him I want. Not the lovers, of course, but him. “

“Your thinking astounds me, Ysa.”

“Obscure, is it not? But men like Wakefield needs to feel love for them to realize they need only one woman.” She gave her friend a wink. “I intend to be that one woman.”

Aurora was quiet for a while, deep in thought. “I still believe you must provide him with proof. Emma is correct. You must insist on the truth.” Her friend squeezed her hand. “Whatever he does next shall be up to him.” Ysabella looked into Aurora’s worried blue eyes. “But you must also be ready to whatever he might do with the truth. He might realize you have been telling the truth and when he does, he might not take it well, Ysa. Remember that he does believe all this is but a game to you.”

Ysabella sighed. “I do wish for him to believe me, truly, I do. But I do not think providing proof would give me a satisfactory end. I want him to believe me because I said so, not because of those damned letters under my bed!”

Her friend did not give a comment. Aurora simply offered a warm smile.

---

“Where have you been to the entire morning?” Emma nonchalantly asked from the chaise inside their bedchamber where she had been reading all morning.

Ysabella worried her lips, not hearing her.

“Ysa!” Emma asked with irritation. “Are you even listening?”

Ysabella snapped, blinked. “Ah, yes. I was with Aurora.”

Emma frowned. “Where?”

“The park,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She urged me to provide Wakefield with proof, that it is better that he knows.”

“Well,” Emma said, brows arched in fascination. “I must say it is quite a sensible thing for her to say. I am quite surprised.”

Ysabella frowned. “Surprised that Aurora agrees with your sentiments?”

Emma shrugged. “Well, yes, if you must say so. She had not provided you anything useful ever since you told her about Lady Weis. It is quite refreshing to finally have her—what are you doing?” Emma asked when Ysabella suddenly kneeled beside her bed and bent down to reach for something under it.

“Well, as you can see, I am trying to find…” she said, reaching the box and pulling it toward her, “…the box. If I ought to provide proof, his letters—” she stopped cold, blood draining down her face, when she looked into the box and her head snapped toward Emma, “—are gone! They are gone!”

Emma frowned. “The letters?”

“Yes! Where are they!”

“How would I know?”

Ysabella started to panic. “Emma, this is not the best time to play games. Bring out the letters!”

“I did not bloody touch them!” Emma shouted, jumping to her feet and throwing her book to the side. She strode toward Ysabella and looked down at the empty box. “Well, someone was wise enough to have found them.”

“You destroyed them, didn’t you? Or mayhap you delivered them straight to Wakefield!”

Her sister’s eyes widened with an incredulous look on her face. “I understand your anger, Ysabella, but I did not expect you to accuse me of such crime!”

“But you are the only one who knows about the box!”

“Are you certain? How about Aurora? You told her everything about your secrets!”

“Why do you keep blaming our friend? Aurora does not know about the box!”

“But she knows about the letters! She had been in our estate too many times since you told her. She could have easily sneaked into our room, looked for the letters to steal and now she has them!”

“And why would she have them? She told me to present them to Wakefield!”

“Then she is a scheming liar!”

Ysabella’s face was wet with angry tears. She knew Emma might be correct, but she hated the fact that she could not believe her as well. In the past, she would have no doubt, but at that moment she did not know what to do—who to believe.

She threw the box across the bed and jumped to her feet.

“I do not wish to see you,” she choked as she walked past her sister, brushing away tears.

“Ysabella!” Emma shouted after her but she had already fled the room.

She could not understand anything at all. Who could have taken the letters? Where could they be now? Her mind raced with many possibilities, none of them leading to a happy end.

She hated herself for doubting her sister. She hated Emma for being utterly insensitive. She hated that she could not accept Emma’s accusations. Aurora was the only person who had understood her all this time. She’d hate it if her friend was indeed the culprit.

---

“You must know, dear, that I am quite surprised of this sudden call,” said Lady Hayward, ringing the bell to call for tea. “It is not Friday, yes?”

Ysabella shook her head, her lips still shaking. “I merely needed somewhere to go. I do not wish to bother my mother with my problem. She’d merely worry to no end.”

Lady Hayward, frowning gently, took her hands. “You have been crying. What is the matter, dear?”

The tears started to fall then. “It is my sister, Emma. And it is…I do no longer ken what is wrong, see? It seems as if I have done naught but to make foolish steps and now everything around me is crumbling into pieces and I find myself being buried in a pile of rubbles. I could barely breathe!”

“Come here, dear,” Lady Hayward said, pulling her for a warm, comforting embrace. “Cry, dear. It is best if you cry.”

And Ysabella did cry. She cried for everything, for everyone she had caused pain.

Had she truly been selfish, not thinking of others? Had she been too focused on what she desired the most that she had caused her relationship with her own sister to be tarnished? Had she neglected many things all for her quest to have Wakefield?

After almost half an hour of naught but her whimpers and gasping breath of tears, Ysabella gently pulled away from Lady Hayward’s arms and wiped her tears.

“Mayhap you must consider accompanying me to Bertram, dear,” Lady Hayward offered.

Ysabella paused, surprised at the invitation.

“I do not know the specifics of your problem, but seeing you so utterly distraught and I believe that this is a problem too big for your lively soul to handle at the moment. I have never seen you in such state, never even imagined you would be this…broken.”

Ysabella sniffed as she wiped her tears. Her heart felt heavy. She could understand Lady Hayward’s sentiments. She had always met challenges lightly, always thought she was strong enough for anything. Quite a few times she even laughed at some of them! She, too, was surprised to feel quite so helpless.

Her mind seemed muddled, not knowing where to start. The mere thought of the letters being somewhere in the hands of anyone who could do anything they wanted with them made her want to scurry to the darkest corners of the Town and never come out. If she could climb or jump through a hole, she’d already be wandering aboveground, never to return.

“Mayhap you need a break from whatever this is, dear.” The woman stared at her, eyes knowing. Ysabella knew she had the inkling that Wakefield might have a part of her dilemma, but she was graceful enough not to give it voice.

She considered Lady Hayward’s words. Leaving Wickhurst, forgetting about the letters, giving Emma and herself space to think—clearing her mind about Wakefield and even Aurora. It sounded tempting, almost wonderful.

“I shall send your mother a letter of invitation if you say yes now, dear. I know your mother would not hesitate.”

Ysabella blinked, her eyes now dry. She must look so foolish to have cried like a child in front of this woman. But Lady Hayward was more than just any acquaintance. She was like a dear aunt she never had, a woman she could talk to when she was afraid to talk to her own mother.

She allowed a faint smile to form on her lips. “I believe it is a good idea, my lady. I do need time away from Wickhurst.”

To hell with the letters, to hell with everything!

She needed this. She would lose her mind if she stayed here. Everything was crumbling around her and she must regain her strong will should she decide to keep fighting.

And perhaps, by the time she gets back, she and Emma could talk and forgive each other.

And mayhap, whoever stole those letters would have a change of heart.

---

Wakefield was on his way out the door when Ysabella walked past him, unaware that he was standing there. He made a motion to step back into the safety of his own estate but later realized she did not even bother to glance at his direction or even his estate. His stood frozen in the doorway as his gaze followed her across the street.

Did she come from his mother’s estate?

“Was that Lady Ysabella, my lord?” Morris asked behind him, head craned over Wakefield’s shoulder to see. “But it is not Friday!”

“Step away from my personal space, Morris,” he gritted out.

“Pardon, my lord,” the butler murmured. “A missive arrived for you just moments ago.”

He held out his hand, eyes still on Ysabella as she aimlessly walked down the street across from his estate. She seemed to be mindless of her surrounding, he noted, fighting off the urge to go after her and reprimand her for not having brought along a companion.

Morris cleared his throat, reminding him of the letter in his hand.

Tearing his eyes off Ysabella’s growing distant figure, he opened the letter. Before he read it, his eyes flew to Morris with a glare. The butler jumped away, looking to the left to provide him privacy.

Will you be visiting tonight? I shall prepare a sumptuous meal should you decide to do so.

-A

With a sigh, Wakefield folded the paper and tucked it inside his breast pocket. He walked down the driveway.

“Will you not be writing a reply, my lord?” Morris asked after him.

“No. Should anyone ask where I am, I will be at Grey’s.”

“Very good, my lord!” he heard Morris’ reply.

He stopped outside his carriage. “You saw Lady Ysabella walking past?” he asked his driver.

“Aye, milord.”

“Follow her,” he ordered. “Then continue on to Grey’s the moment she enters their estate.”

“Aye, milord.”

As Wakefield entered the carriage, he could not help but curse his Everard friends. He was doing the very job they all ought to do.

XIX. Bertram

Dearest William,

I do believe in love and childish fairy tales as what you would call them. I find them enchanting!

Perhaps it is because I have witnessed them come to life too many times to believe them to be true.

Mayhap, if you experience it, or merely witness it happen to those you hold dear, you will see the truth in my words.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Ysabella departed for Bertram with Lady Hayward, accompanied by two of the latter’s trusted footmen.

Lady Alice had graciously given her consent. Emma, on the one hand, did not go out to bid Ysabella farewell. As a matter of fact, Ysabella had not seen Emma as much as she would have wanted to since their fight.

“Fix what you must, dear,” Lady Alice had whispered when she gave her a kiss. And by the look her mother gave Ysabella before she left, she knew the woman was aware of the tension between her daughters.

She and Lady Hayward left a quiet, normal Wickhurst.

The Town Herald had been quiet that day. Mayhap her letters were still safe somewhere.

Or so she hoped.

---

“I was afraid you are still angry over the lake incident,” Aurora’s gentle voice said from across the table. “You are over it, yes?” When Wakefield continued with his food without an answer, Aurora sighed. “You never came for a visit after that. And when you did after the opera, you were thinking far away that it seemed as though you are not here. If I honestly have to say, you have been quite different since the Theobald party. I wonder why. But I could not blame you, really, for everything seemed to have drastically changed after that. There is the matter about Lady Weis and worse, Ysabella started to pursue you further, even outside the usual gatherings of balls and parties. She came to the lake, she went out in the middle of the night to find you—”

Wakefield threw Aurora a look of warning.

Aurora sighed. “The lake incident was my fault. And I believe Ysabella did not deliberately provoke Adam Nimrod, William.” She grabbed her glass of wine and took a small sip. As she set it back on the table, she said, “Although the incident with Adam does show that Ysabella is a child still. She does not have the experience to handle men.”

“And you do, do you not?” he nearly snapped.

Aurora smiled. “Of course. You know that very well.” She gave a wave of her hand. “It just bothers me that Ysabella’s tiring obsession over you is not doing her any good. If you must know, she is being mocked by her friends. We were in the park the other day and they laughed at her expense in front of her. Poor girl, really.”

Wakefield had the urge to ask who these friends were but stopped himself.

“And there is her avid desire to be Lady Weis. We all know Lady Weis is somewhere in hiding, yet she—”

“I do not wish to talk about this now,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I am merely trying to say that I might consider finding a different circle. Ysabella would cause my reputation more damage should she continue to act like a stupid fool. I hate it when she does so and most especially when she insists she is Lady Weis.”

“Remember, Aurora, that she is your friend,” he pointed out, jaw clenched. “I would hate to risk everything simply because I warned her about you, one I am very much inclined to do at the moment. Tread well when you speak about anyone.”

“Well, she is my friend and I adore her in most occasions! But she has a stalwart reputation while I have none! This might very well be my last chance to have at least a decent chance in society and yet I am stuck with a friend who thinks like a child! I truly wish her to be happy, but I wish her to realize that what she feels toward you is nothing close to love.” She followed her statement with a low chuckle. “And you are someone who could not love someone like her.”

Wakefield dropped his fork on the plate with a loud clutter, causing Aurora to flinch and shut her mouth.

With a voice so low, he said, “You seem to have grown quite a loud mouth since I found you bleeding and dying beside the street, Miss Randolph.”

Aurora paled and swallowed. She blinked, lifted her chin and forced a smile. “Well, you merely have to tell me to shut up and I shall, my lord.”

Wakefield gave her a mocking smile. “Then, please, Miss Randolph, do shut up.”

She rolled her eyes and resumed her meal.

---

Dear Son,

May this missive find you well.

I simply wrote to inform you that I have left for Bertram with dear Ysabella—

Wakefield’s eyes widened as he glared at his mother’s letter delivered to his estate.

“Morris!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he read on:

—who has been so kind to accept my invitation to stay with me in Bertram for a fortnight.

A fortnight? He was told it was merely for one bloody week!

“Morris!” he shouted again when the butler failed to show. “Morris!”

I truly wish you could join us there, but should you choose to stay in Wickhurst, know that we shall be back soon!

Love,

Your mother

“Morris!”

The door swung open and Morris stumbled inside, heavily panting, eyes wide with alarm. The butler looked around the room as if expecting an enemy.

“When did this missive arrive?” Wakefield demanded, waving his mother’s letter in the air.

Morris sighed with relief. “This morning, my lord.”

“And why am I just reading it just now in the middle of the afternoon?” he demanded.

His butler blinked in confusion. “You just woke up, my lord. As a matter of fact, your breakfast has also gone cold.”

He bared his upper teeth at the man.

Unmoved, Morris further added, “And there are three women sitting in your parlour today, my lord. They, of course, claim to have proof of being Lady Weis.”

Wakefield closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. For a moment he forgot about his mother’s letter.

Perhaps he ought to stop this foolish and pathetic search for Lady Weis. He knew she was never amongst those women. She was not the kind to beg for a minute of his time to prove who she was. If she did feel anything toward him, anything close to how she made him feel that night in the Cinderella ball, she would have burst into his doors without formal announcements. That was how he had imagined how she’d do it.

You have lost her, said one voice. Go to him, said another. Samuel Theobald. No, no. He had given his word that the man was untouchable.

Morris’ voice pulled him back to the matter at hand.

“They are…” Morris said, voice trailing as he looked up the ceiling, mentally counting, “I believe, there are now over two-hundred ladies, over a hundred visits, five men—no, make that seven as two other gentlemen arrived yesterday evening to—”

“Get out, Morris. Now.”

“But, my lord, your breakfast and the ladies in the parlour are—”

“Have you asked them the necessary questions?”

“Yes, my lord. They answered all perfectly. But you must know that the questions we prepared could very well now be a part of a journal on how to be Lady Weis. We must think of more tricky questions to—”

“I shall think of the questions, Morris, not you. Now, tell those ladies that they can return on the morrow.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And order the valet to—”

“You fired your valet, my lord.”

“When?”

“Months ago, my lord. We have not yet found a replacement.”

“And why did I fire him, pray tell?”

Morris grimaced with discomfort.

“Morris, why did I bloody fire the valet?”

“Well, he—you saw him answer the door for Lady Ysabella during one of her Friday visits, my lord.”

Ah, of course. He remembered it now. His face coloured when he saw Morris’ amused smile. “I fired him because it was not his job to open doors, Morris.”

“Of course, my lord, if that is what you believe.”

He glared at the butler. “Then you do the task of packing my bags. I shall be leaving on the morrow.”

“But you said to let the ladies downstairs return on the morrow, my lord.”

He gave the butler a mocking smile. “Precisely, Morris. Precisely.”

Understanding dawned on Morris’ face. “Ah. Very good, my lord. How many days’ worth of clothing should I pack?”

Wakefield stood up. “A fortnight.”

---

“Has the doctor visited today?” he asked Aurora that night.

“Yes.” She looked away from him and finished her glass of wine. She was wearing one of her flimsy gowns which he suspected she wore with the intention to seduce him. But she had always been like that, mayhap because it was what she was used to. If there was anything else that had kept him from leaving her apart from the only reason why she landed in his care, it must be because she was a curious character. A complex kind who kept too many secrets, ones that any man would wish to discover. And mayhap ones that also led her to be where she was now.

She batted her blue eyes at him from across the table. “I saw the Herald article today.”

He did not reply for he did not care about the bloody paper.

“It seems that Ysabella is on her way to Bertram with your mother.” She let out a sigh. “It must be for the best of everyone that she stays away from Wickhurst for a while. But I do worry that your brother might take her presence there in not so a conventional manner. I believe he is not very much amiable?”

His jaw twitched. His brother may not be as amiable as he, but he had been quite vocal about his desire to consider Ysabella for a wife. And if his theory was not wrong, their mother might be a part of a conspiracy to help Thomas reach his goal by taking Ysabella to Bertram, ignorant of such plan. He merely hoped that he could arrive there in time to give the chit warning.

“I have always sensed him to be arrogant and obnoxious. He and Ysabella would clash should he provoke her childish nature.”

Wakefield dropped his fork, blood rushing to his ears. “I do not wish to discuss Ysabella Everard, my mother or my brother, Aurora. I wish to discuss what the doctor said.”

Aurora laughed, eyes averting his. Her pale, slender hand reached for her glass only for her to realize it was empty. She rang for the maid who immediately refilled it. “I am quite well, my lord. The doctor said I am near recovery. The bruises on my legs have disappeared, although the wound is yet to be examined again. I am waiting for the day the doctor can safely remove the stitches.”

With a curt nod, William wiped his mouth with the napkin and stood.

Aurora stared at him, surprised. “Are you leaving? But you just arrived. You barely touched your food!”

“I have somewhere to go on the morrow,” he replied.

“Where?”

He smiled. “Good night, Aurora. Rest well.”

---

“Go on, dear,” Lady Hayward said from the chaise.

Ysabella stared down, quite terrified.

“Mayhap on another day?” asked Thomas from where he was standing behind his mother, eyes closely studying her discomfort.

“No,” she said, shaking her head and clearing her throat. “I shall do it, since you both have so graciously asked and it happens to be my first night here in Bertram.” She positioned her fingers on the keys, shoulders squared. “But know that I have not had a good respite since our arrival yesterday and I spent the entire day around the plantation,” she added, causing both mother and son to smile at her. Thomas’ was quite disturbing, but she ignored it.

She closed her eyes and scoffed at how silly she must appear, sitting in front of the pianoforte as though she had lived all her life practicing. If Emma was here, her sister would have already excused herself from the music room to find the farthest room available.

Yet Ysabella believed in her skill. Well, at least she was the one person in the world who thought that.

She cleared her throat once more and pressed the keys as she knew how, letting the sound transform to music in her ears. Her fingers remembered the keys and they danced along with the music. Sooner than she had thought, Ysabella found herself lost, along with it the worries that she took with her.

A small smile curved her lips. Mayhap coming here was the finest idea after all.

As her fingers pressed the last remaining keys, Ysabella opened her eyes with a wide grin. And then the music smoothly faded. She motioned her head to turn an expectant look at her companions.

They seemed stupefied, frozen in their spot, before they both smiled and clapped their hands.

Ysabella chuckled, stood up and graced them with an extravagant curtsy of gratitude.

“Let me be the honest person in this room and say that you do not have the talent, little one.”

Ysabella froze and so did Lady Hayward and Thomas. But the latter two managed to break away from their surprise faster than she and had turned around to see Wakefield slowly walking into the room with a somewhat darkly amused look on his face.

Ysabella’s wide eyes blinked a few times to check if she was merely facing an illusion. She counted the days since she had left Wickhurst. They spent a two days on the road and already a night here. If Wakefield left Wickhurst immediately after they did, then it was possible that he was here and he was not a mere illusion.

“I believe what you had in mind did not connect with your fingers and ears,” he said, eyes glimmering with silent mirth. Oh, Sweet Mr. Jones he was truly here! Surely an illusion would not insult her twice, yes?

“William! That is not how you—”

Ysabella’s laughter stopped the rest of Lady Hayward’s words. “I believe I must concur with Lord Wakefield, my lady. I know I do not have the talent.” Having finally recovered from her shock that he was here and truly here , she turned to face him, “But it ought not to stop me from thinking I am good enough, yes?”

Wakefield arched his brow and opened his mouth to reply, but Thomas’ deep voice asked, “Why are you here, William?”

Ysabella turned to see Thomas frowning at his brother, his blonde hair almost the same as Thomas’ only darker, eyes as blue but…again, merely darker. For a moment Ysabella thought she was looking at both the angel and the devil on both sides of a coin.

“Yes, son,” Lady Hayward innocently asked, perhaps realizing too late that it was rather peculiar this specific son was here, “Whatever made you decide to grace us with your presence?”

Wakefield’s expression suddenly turned wry.

“Yes, my lord,” Ysabella could not help but tease, “Whyever are you here?”

XX. Drops

Dearest Lady Weis,

I did enjoy my visit to Sheills, thank you. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine invited me to visit a marvellous place in their woods. The holes were as big as those in Wickhurst, but I must say they have the most beautiful collection of trees. One, in particular, was in full bloom and if I am correct, they call it Cherry Blossom.

I wish you could see them in the future. You would find them quite lovely, even romantic!

Yours,

William

---

“I was invited, was I not, Mother?” was Wakefield’s fast and easy reply.

Lady Hayward seemed to be the only person in the room to accept it for Thomas and Ysabella remained staring at him as though he was the biggest liar in town.

“Or was I misinformed and my presence here is unwanted?” he added, turning to his brother. “Is it, dear brother?”

He saw Thomas’ eyes flash with a glint of anger before he expertly covered it with a bright smile. “Of course, you are welcome, William. In fact, you are just in time for supper.”

“Ah, at last!” Ysabella said from where she was standing. She started walking when Thomas turned, after giving Wakefield a curious look, to accompany their mother.

He managed to grab her arm to pull her back. Ysabella snapped her head up to stare at him, baffled. A tight smile was fixed on his face as he waited until his mother exited the room after Thomas.

When at last they were alone, with barely a few moments to spare before their absence would be noted, his smile disappeared and he frowned down at Ysabella. “What sort of foolish idea came to you that you allowed yourself be dragged here?”

Her frown hooded her green globes. And then realization crossed her features. “Are you here because you think you are rescuing me from something?”

His hand tightened around her arm. “You must be wary of my brother, even my mother, little one.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Why so? They have been naught but accommodating and fun since we arrived!”

“You know why.”

A sardonic look replaced her expression. “You think that because you have a bad relationship with your brother that he is capable of doing bad things,” she said in a hurry, looking over her shoulder to see if they were being watched.

He shook his head once in frustration. “They might be up to something. For all you know, they took you here to convince you to marry Thomas.”

Ysabella went still and he watched the slow play of emotions on her face before she burst out laughing. She pulled away from his hold. “My lord, if anyone is marrying me, it shall be you.” When he opened his mouth, she added, “Why do you always think that your family is working against you?”

Stunned by her question, Wakefield did not realize that Ysabella had turned and was now walking away from him, muttering something that sounded like, “Thomas? Marry me!” with a ridiculous laugh.

He placed his hands on both hips and looked around the familiar music room when Ysabella was long gone. He grew up in this place, yet coming here did not feel like home at all. It felt more like he had decided to walk back inside a rotting prison cell.

---

Supper was quiet and filled with naught but formal conversation. Wakefield did not feel he was part of it all, nor was he inclined to join. It was merely the rest of the group’s attempt to fill the silence with useless babbles about the season and, not to his great surprise, Thomas’ brilliant ideas on crop plantation.

Wakefield was tired, having made no stops to get here, but Thomas and Ysabella invited him to join them for tea. He could have refused, yes, but to do so would mean leaving Ysabella in his brother’s presence. Their mother would be there, but the woman looked as though she was about ready to retire for the night.

He would not wish to go home to Wickhurst with Ysabella wrapped in scandal. Levi Everard would have his throat if that was to ever happen, he thought with wry.

And so he had to suffer yet another hour of Ysabella and Thomas talking in whispers while he listened to his mother’s talk about her fun journey with Ysabella to Bertram. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Ysabella laughed at whatever his brother whispered in her ear.

Was she deliberately making him jealous?

Are you jealous? A part of his mind asked. For a second he thought he heard Morris’ voice ask that bloody question.

Finally, having had too much of tea and useless thoughts about two particular people in the room who were rude enough to exclude him and his mother from their conversation, Wakefield jumped to his feet and said, “I fear I must retire. I’ve had quite a long journey.” He bent to plant a kiss on his mother’s head. He straightened and turned to Thomas and Ysabella who paused to see him go.

Ha! Her attempts to making him jealous were being thrown out the window.

“I hope to have a private talk with you soon, Thomas,” he said to his brother before he gave Ysabella a bow, saying, “Go to bed early, little one,” and walked away.

“The servants prepared your old room!” Thomas called after him. He gave a short wave of his hand and walked out of the room.

He needed sleep. That was all he needed, really, he tried to tell himself.

---

Ysabella accepted Thomas’ invite the previous night to roam around the crop plantation the very next day. He had been very nice to her, far from the person she had first thought him to be based on Wakefield’s letters to Lady Weis.

Although there was something in the man that she could not seem to figure out just yet, something that bordered to dark and mysterious, she found him quite easy to talk with. And although the way he’d look at her reminded her to be wary and careful, there were also moments when he could make her forget it all.

If she could look past the streak of arrogance in his speech, of his choice of words and somehow abhorrent attitude toward certain topics, Ysabella could see Wakefield in him as well. The Wakefield in the letters, not the one with the rakish reputation.

She had been noticing it now as they walked along the vast plantation of corn.

“You have quite a magnificent hole in Bertram, my lord,” she said, looking up at the clear sky above them.

“Thomas,” he corrected, offering his arm to her. He squinted at the sun as she looped her hand at the crook of his arm. “Yes, we are quite lucky to have one of the largest holes in Town. Although I heard Westershire has a bigger one.”

“You mean Adrien Haverston’s estate? Yes, I believe it is quite amazing as well.”

“Ah, yes, I almost missed the fact that your family is friends with the Haverstons.”

“Yes, they are dear friends.” She looked up to let the heat of the sun touch her face. “I am yet to see Westershire, but I must admit I like Standbury the best.”

He raised his brows. “Your brother’s?”

She nodded. “Levi, yes. There is a small wooden area along the stream.”

A tiny smile quirked Thomas’ lips. “You like the woods then?”

Her smile widened. “Utterly so.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while until they neared the side entrance to the estate.

“Are you surprised your brother decided to come?” she asked, curious.

She felt Thomas’ muscle clench under her hand. “Yes, I must admit.”

“You and he are not close, I see.” She tried to sound nonchalant but she knew he knew she knew more than what she may lead on. Their mother said so herself. “My brothers are close, see,” she started. “And I hate to see you and Wakefield treating each other as though you are mere acquaintances.”

“We do have our disagreements on many matters,” he curtly replied. The tone of his voice told Ysabella that she better veer off the topic.

“As the big brother, you must make the first move,” she uttered carefully, unable to stop herself. “Wakefield, I fear, is in need of a real family and it cannot be done if you continue to see his failures.”

Thomas frowned but did not say anything.

“If you feel any love for him, you must be willing to swallow your pride and talk to him. He may be old enough, my lord, but he still is your little brother. He does project it in many ways. His reputation as a rake, having no care of important things speaks of a man who grew up restrained and feeling unwanted.” When he remained silent, she bowed her head and murmured, “I fear I have said too much. I grew up in a family who speaks their mind and I am sorry if I pressed so hard. I shall not do so again.”

To her surprise, Thomas chuckled. And it was not an evil one as she had feared. He sounded amused, as a matter of fact. “It seems you know my brother too well than you lead on, Ysabella.”

She went cold but quickly recovered. Clearing her throat, she smiled. “Well, I do have a gift of reading people’s mind and actions.” When he stared at her in doubt, she added, “And Lady Hayward does talk a lot.”

His head fell back to allow a round of laughter. She could not help but smile. She could not tell why she felt proud to have made the Lord of Bertram laugh. He was a grown, respectable man and she managed to make him laugh. It was surprisingly rewarding indeed.

As his laughter subsided into soft chuckles, Thomas stopped and made her turn to face him. He looked at her for a long time, his gaze deep it made her feel uneasy for a while. “I intend to court you, Ysabella.”

His words were not immediately absorbed by her muddled mind but when they did her mouth fell open in shock.

Thomas Hayward, the Lord of Bertram, wished to court her?

A deep chuckle rolled out of his lips. For that brief moment he looked like Wakefield. “I do not demand for an answer, my lady,” he said, letting go of her hand to step away. “I shall give you time to think.”

He looked utterly confident as he gauged her reaction.

“I suggest you start thinking now,” he said with a slight grin.

Ysabella, mouth still open, watched with wonder as Thomas left her at the side of the estate and disappeared into the side entrance.

Surely she had heard him wrong, yes?

But it couldn’t be, yes?

Oh, Sweet Mr. Jones!

---

Wakefield did not mean to hear his brother’s unexpected announcement. In fact, he had intended to merely stay out of sight until the two could disappear so he could continue on with his morning walk.

Yet he did hear everything and was even standing in total shock as Ysabella was, hiding behind the corner wall of the side entrance of the estate.

He peered at the side of the wall and found her still standing there, mouth open and eyes wide. That, he must say, was no act.

With his blood nearly to a boiling point, Wakefield drew a breath and counted to ten to calm his nerves. He’d have a word with his bastard of a brother later. For now, he must do what he ought to do.

And so he stepped away from his hiding place and said, “Mayhap it is high time that you close your mouth, little one, before it dries.”

Ysabella jumped in surprise, eyes wide with alarm. Realizing what he said, she blinked and stammered, saying, “D-did you hear that?”

Eyebrows cocked high, Wakefield asked, “What? Thomas announcing that he intends to court you?”

When he had thought that her eyes were beautiful under a mere lamplight outside his carriage, he had been utterly blind for her wide, emerald eyes under the actual sunlight were nearly blindingly magnificent. They appeared to be dancing as she stared at him with awe. “Then I heard correctly, yes? He—Thomas—intends to court me!”

Wakefield frowned. Her reaction did not seem right in his eyes. She looked as if she was happily surprised!

But then she started to frown and her eyes wavered. He stared as she worried her lips and turned away from the estate to retrace her steps back to the plantation.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, walking after her.

“I need to think,” was her absent reply.

That was not the reaction he was expecting. In fact, he expected her to brag about it, to make use of his brother’s announcement to elicit a reaction from him. But she was not doing that now.

“Think? Ysabella, do not tell me that you are considering—”

“Oh, Sweet Mr. Jones!” she groaned with frustration, looking over her shoulder to snap at him. “I truly need to think!”

“What is there to think about?” he demanded. They were walking aimlessly beside the corn plantation when she made a sudden turn to the side to walk through a field of grass. There were no trees, but a worker’s cabin was situated nearby.

“Well, can I not think? Your brother will soon ask for an answer from me and I must offer one.”

Bloody tarnation! Was she even serious?

“You do not even know the man enough to consider his offer!” he began to briskly walk so he was now facing her, walking backward for her steps did not falter. She seriously looked confused.

Confused! He did not expect that as well!

“Surely you must now see what I was trying to say last night. It had not even been two days since you arrived and my brother already made his advances!”

Ysabella glared at him. She rarely glared at him.

She circled around him and kept on walking.

“We are too far off the estate, Ysabella,” he reminded, running after her once more to block her path. But she trudged on and he kept walking backward as he said, “You shall not find anything but another vast plantation. You will get lost should you—” and she suddenly disappeared from sight. Or mayhap it was he who disappeared from hers.

Everything happened so fast for Wakefield suddenly found himself on the ground.

“Wakefield!” Ysabella’s cry of alarm followed his fall, followed by his cry of pain.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted at his foot. Ysabella’s eyes followed his and her eyes widened in horror.

His foot fell into a small hole intended to trap small animals. And it was bloody painful as there were manmade spikes surrounding the mouth of the hole and his foot fell right through them.

Ysabella fell on her the ground to help him, brushing aside his shaking hands to pull his torn trouser up to see the damage.

“Careful,” he gritted out in pain.

“Don’t move,” she snapped. “How did you even not see it!” she asked in disbelief studying his leg. “Well, there are but a few scratches—”

“Scratches?” he asked in mocked amusement. He looked down and saw blood trickling down one deep wound and he swallowed. “The way I see it, they are wounds and cuts!”

“Then be a bloody man and stop whining!” She came to her feet.

“Where are you going? You cannot leave me here,” he said, looking at his trapped leg, tugging his trouser down to cover the sight of the wounds. Pulling his foot out would merely cause more damage.

“Oh, you are worse than my brothers,” she said as she walked away.

“Ysabella!”

She kept walking and he realized she was going toward the worker’s cabin. She tried the door, pulled it open and went inside.

Wakefield breathed through his teeth as he waited, telling himself that he was not in pain. He tried to focus his eyes on the green grass around him. Yes, he ought to focus on all the green.

When she came out, she was holding a small shovel. He watched in pain while she walked back toward him like a warrior with a shovel for a weapon. The sunlight was giving her quite a glow and Wakefield frowned when it suddenly disappeared.

He looked up to see that dark clouds had covered the sky.

Bloody tarnation!

“Faster,” he ordered, swallowing the panic that started to seep inside him when she reached his side. “It is about to rain.”

She pulled his trouser back up and he looked away. “Well, wouldn’t it be nice? It would surely make my work far easier. I could wait until the rain passes and come back for you when the ground is soft!” She gave him a wicked smile and he glared at her.

With a silent chuckle, Ysabella started digging around the hole.

“Careful. The spikes might be long and—”

“I know how these things work, my lord. I’ve read a book about crop plantations and—” her words faltered and he frowned, wondering why she paused. “Ah, never mind,” she uttered with a laugh. “Just know I know how these things work.”

A drop of water splattered on his arm and Wakefield looked up. The rain was coming, making the surrounding plantation appear gloomy. Gone was the sunlight they basked in.

Finally, Ysabella managed to pull out a tiny wooden spike, followed by another. By this time, Wakefield was able to help and his leg was finally freed. His hands began to shake when he saw the red streak of blood on his fingertips.

Ysabella stood up and held out her hands to help him stand. He tried but failed.

She frowned down at him. “Do not tell me you lack the strength. They are merely cuts, my lord. They did not reach your bones!”

Wakefield swallowed. He knew he was looking shamefully pale. “Blood,” he muttered, feeling quite dizzy.

“Of course there will be blood,” Ysabella said, stomping her foot with impatience. “Come on now, Wakefield. Get up and let us go back to the estate so you can have the wounds cleaned.”

“I said, blood, Ysabella,” he said, his voice losing its strength. “I can’t take the sight of blood.”

“Whatever do you mean you…” he could hear no longer as her words started to sound distant. Bloody hell, he was losing consciousness.

XXI. The First Sight

Dearest William,

I am afraid I cannot perfect the waltz although I do enjoy dancing.

Perhaps, in time, you might teach me? I shall try not to step on your foot.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Ysabella had never attempted to carry any of her brothers—all five of them—for she never found a need to. They spent countless nights foxed on the floor of a drawing room and she never had to take the task of taking them to their rooms.

Yet now here she was, carrying a limp man as the rain thundered down toward them.

Oh, she would have enjoyed the rain, even danced under it, if not for the heavy weight she had to drag toward the cabin!

“Blood!” she cried, sputtering rainwater. “Not even my advances work on you, yet you swoon at the mere sight of blood!”

Wakefield moaned as the raindrops became heavier, soaking them both.

“Good! You’re finally awake!” she cried out, dropping him on the wet grass to regain her strength. His hand moved but soon dropped back on the ground. “Oh, Sweet Mr. Jones, help me,” she prayed as she bent back down to grab Wakefield by his coat over his shoulders and started dragging him toward the cabin once again.

By the time she reached the door to the cabin, Ysabella was breathing hard and both of them were completely soaked.

Wakefield opened his eyes with a moan and she rolled her eyes, resting him to the side of the cabin to open the door. Once done, she went back for him and this time he was able to regain a bit of strength and she managed to help him stand up.

“I came to Bertram for a relaxing respite, not for this,” she told him as she guided him to the small bed, one probably used by the workers to rest. With a grunt, she helped him down on the bed none too gently.

“Water,” he muttered.

“There are quite a lot dropping through the holes outside,” she snapped, backing away from the bed, hands on her hips, her chest heaving. “I am afraid there is none here,” she added, looking around the cabin. It was filled with tools but she doubted there was any food or water.

The rain was heavily pouring and she feared of going out to call for help. Flood had always been a problem to plantations such as this. She would not risk her own life to get him a bloody drink!“

Looking about, she saw a small fireplace and winced. She did not know how to light a fire. They never needed one in Wickhurst, but she understood why this particular cabin needed it. It was under a hole and one could say it was almost the same as living aboveground where they could be vulnerable to many of its elements, snow in particular.

Looking for something else to help the both of them get warm, she looked under the bed and found thick blankets. She wrapped one over her shoulders and proceeded to help Wakefield by tugging at his hands to make him sit. Taking off his soaked coat and leaving his damp shirt on, Ysabella wrapped another blanket around him.

He was almost back to consciousness as he was able to finally keep himself upright in bed while she proceeded to find anything to help clean his wound. Finding clean cloth in one of the drawers, she went outside the cabin to soak it with rain water.

When she returned, his eyes were fully open and he was staring at her with confusion.

“I did not know you are sensitive to blood, my lord,” she said as she approached.

He groaned in embarrassment.

“ Bloody shameful, eh?“ she could not help but say, laughing at her own wit.

“What are you doing?” he weakly asked her as she kneeled on the floor and carefully began to fold his tattered trouser over to his calf.

“Doing my bloody best to clean the wounds, my lord,” she murmured, sputtering with mirth at the word bloody .

“You are mocking me,” he accused.

She looked up to offer him a satisfied smile, her eyes glinting with laughter. “Yes, I think I bloody am, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed and she had the sudden urge to reach up to brush his wet blonde locks away from his face. They had darkened to nearly brown. But she did not do that, reminding herself that she would merely potentially scare him away. Instead, she focused on cleaning his wound, wiping away the blood and dirt. He remained quiet, but the bunching of his muscles told her he was in pain.

As she finished, she wondered why he never told Lady Weis about this fear of blood. Mayhap there were things she did not know about him after all, things she was yet to discover.

Ysabella was not certain if she ought to feel excited or disappointed. She had thought she knew him well enough, but it did not seem so.

What could have caused him to have this sort of fear? She wanted to know the story behind it.

“It is raining,” he commented as she finished her task, wrapping another clean cloth around the cuts. He should be fine. The bleeding had stopped and as she had first thought, they could merely be considered scratches. He should be leaping on the same leg after a day or so.

“I would have enjoyed the rain if I was not dragging you here,” she murmured, standing up.

He looked up at her from the bed. “Thank you.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. Turning away from him, she walked to the window to look outside. Tiny streams of water were running through the grassy land and into the crops. “Levi once made Tori, his wife, an artificial rain,” she said, pulling at the blanket around her. “He punched tiny holes into the bottom of bins, hung them over the tree and connected tubes over them to supply them with water.”

He was silent for a while that she thought he decided to not comment until he said, “I never knew my friend had such a streak of romance.”

Ysabella looked over her shoulder to grin at him. “Love, I think, moves one to do foolish, romantic things.”

He stared at her, his eyes gentle and bluer than the last time. He looked pale still, but colour was slowly returning to his cheeks.

Turning away to face the window again, she contented herself with but the mere sound of rain outside and the sight of water rushing toward the corns. Sunlight was starting to shine down once more. The rain might stop soon.

“What made you decide to do it?”

She turned away from the window to face him from across the room. “Do what?”

He shrugged. “What made you decide to pursue me? It had always been a baffling matter for me.”

The smile on her lips faded as one corner lifted into a wicked grin. “You have always thought I was merely playing games. Why can it not be the only reason?” When he frowned, she laughed. “I have always known you existed, my lord. I’ve seen you in many balls and heard my brothers talk about you in passing. I never thought you were that great until I talked to you.”

“Talked to me?”

She nodded. “Do you remember when I tried to stop you at the Walkelin ball when you tried to go after Tori?”

He slowly nodded although she doubted he remembered fully well.

“It was when we learned Lady Clarice was having an affair with Lord Archibald,” she provided, refreshing his memory.

His eyes widened, his expression clearer now. “Ah, yes, that night.”

“I thought you were the most handsome man I had ever seen when I walked up to you for a dance, which you refused, of course. But then, most ladies would agree with me.” She shrugged, smiling at the memory. “But when I surmised why you wanted to stop Tori from meeting Lord Archibald that night, I knew then that you are not just a simple dandy, nor a stupid rake.” When he did not comment, she added, “Because you did intend to stop the meeting, did you not? You know Lord Archibald had been having an affair with Lady Clarice and if Tori learned of it she would be hurt.”

His gaze faltered and he looked away in discomfort.

“You do actually care about others,” she said, smile widening. “And it was then that I decided I shall be your wife.”

His blue eyes flew back to her. “There is more to me that you do not know, little one. And I must say that most of them are not desirable.”

With cocked brows, Ysabella asked, “Like the fact that you hate your brother? I am not a fool not to notice that.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that why you suggested he make the first move and talk to me?”

She went cold, blood rushing down her face.

To her surprise, his lips twitched into a smile. “I heard it, little one.”

---

“You must be furious then,” was her nonchalant reply. Her hair was damp and a few strays stuck to the side of her full cheeks, a feature that reminded him of her age. Yet the rest of her was no child. Her slender neck and hands were that of a woman. So were her shoulders. And her full hips. And her—

Mentally shaking his head, Wakefield ignored the sight of her as he did the throbbing of his wounds and said, “Thomas, like my father was, is a domineering one.”

She looked as if she was seriously considering his words. Good, he thought.

“He would do anything for his wealth and name, even marry someone far too young for him so long as she is rich and with title.” She started to say something but he did not let her. “I’ve lived in his shadows for too long to know this. He shall never let you take control of anything for that is what he is. I was merely lucky to have landed myself a title, but I could not say the same for you should you marry him. You shall never be free again.”

He watched as her eyes narrowed. It seemed forever until she moved and sighed to give him an inquiring look. “Why do you always think that your brother and mother are working against you? Could it not be that everything is merely in your head? I have been with the both of them and they had nothing but nice to say about you. Mayhap Thomas is arrogant and prejudicial, but he never spoke of you the way you speak of him.”

Wakefield’s jaw tightened. “Mayhap because they wish to paint Thomas as a good and honourable man.”

“Or mayhap you do not truly wish to know your brother for who he is. After all, it had been years since you’ve lived under his shadow. He could be a changed man,” she countered.

Wakefield shook his head. “You must return to Wickhurst. Surely there are other places for you to go should you really wish for a vacation. Bertram—”

“—is a lovely place,” she interrupted, walking away from the window to sit beside him. He inched a little farther away to give her room. Suddenly it felt warmer with her beside him.

“Then what do you intend to do with my brother’s plan to marry you?”

When she did not reply, he turned to look at her and to his surprise, her face had gone scarlet. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you—”

She was already shaking her head in response. “Of course, I am not in love with him for it is quite obvious my affections are fixed on someone else.” Her eyes flickered toward him before they looked away. Her fingers twiddled with each other. “But today,” she added with hesitation, “I must admit that your brother did make me feel like a woman.”

Something inside Wakefield flinched, near his chest to be precise. Somehow, those words by her struck him.

She must have sensed his intense, curious gaze for she suddenly grew conscious. Her back straightened and her shoulders squared. She turned to steal a glance at him and she let out a small smile, one that was meant to appear confident, but one that came out as something innocent.

Thomas did see her as a woman. So did a few other lords who had been courting her since her first season.

And she was a woman.

He must admit that now. She was one and twenty, an age men would want for their wives.

And if Wakefield could further be more honest, Ysabella Everard had matured in thinking. Her actions toward him may have been merely to have fun, but the more he listened to her talk when she was not playing one of her games or when she was talking to others, she talked more sense than anyone older than her.

He went cold when a thought precipitously entered his thoughts.

Mayhap it was not her that did not grow in the three years, but it was how he saw her that refused to grow.

Suddenly a sudden inscrutable feeling that bordered fear kindled in the pit of his stomach.

He started to fear that he was seeing Ysabella Everard in a different light. In fact, again, should he truly be honest, it started at the Theobald’s.

---

Ysabella was praying for the rain to stop for the longer she was with Wakefield, the more she was growing uncomfortable. She was getting restless, something she was not used to in his presence.

It could be because there was no one around and there was just the two of them. No corner of a ballroom to escape to, no dances for excuses. There was just the two of them and she was even more so aware of his presence. She realized she knew not how to handle him without something planned in mind. It was as if it was the first time she met him. Those letters they shared suddenly seemed useless at that moment. Her mind was blank of a plan.

Clearing her throat, she thought of something that would turn the tables. It was better for her to deal with a frustrated Wakefield than this silent one. It was more familiar, she thought.

“I have heard rumours that you have already found Lady Weis,” she uttered, daring herself to face him.

His eyes seemed distant for a while before her words registered and the familiar sardonic look reappeared. He did not answer, merely stared at her, waiting for her next words. He knew her too well this way, she thought with amusement.

“Mayhap you merely let them think you have already found her because you want me to believe the same, thus forcing me to cease all my advances.”

His left eye did not twitch as he said, “Mayhap they are correct and I truly have found her and are quite in love.”

Ysabella frowned. Her insides began to knot. Was he telling the truth?

Had someone truly stolen Lady Weis’ identity?

But who could it be?

XXII. Wants

Dearest Lady Weis,

If you must know, my valet burnt one of my old shirts. It was from my father and the only thing that he gave me that did not amount to money.

I must say I nearly fired my valet, but the damage has been done.

I am glad that your cat has returned. Have you any idea where it goes during its monthly disappearances?

Yours,

William

---

The worst thing to have happened after that rainy day came the following morning.

Ysabella sent the maid to the Hayward family that she could not join them for breaking fast.

“Why?” Wakefield demanded from the maid.

“Is Lady Ysabella feeling all right?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, dear, the rain must have gotten to her,” said Lady Hayward, hand clutched to her chest with worry.

Wakefield accepted the guilt for if she was truly sick, then he was at fault.

The maid nodded. “She is feeling feverish and when I checked, she was hot to touch.”

“Call for the doctor,” Thomas ordered. “And while you wait for him, care for her. Send me word after the doctor’s visit.”

The maid nodded and rushed out of the room.

“I was afraid this would happen,” Lady Hayward mournfully uttered.

Wakefield stared at her family with disbelief. Was no one going to do it?

His mother and Thomas looked up and followed him with surprised eyes when he threw his napkin and stood up.

“Where are—”

“Since both of you think that the only person to have a look at Lady Ysabella is the doctor, I shall do the sensible thing.”

“Which is?” asked Thomas.

Without giving a reply, Wakefield strode out of the room.

---

Ysabella was feeling out of the weather when she awoke, but by breakfast she was feeling quite weak. Too weak, in fact, that she was slightly confused when Wakefield came storming into her bedchamber with a frown on his face.

“Fret not, my lord,” she weakly said when he ordered for the servant to bring her hot porridge. “I shall live to torment you for years.”

He did not appreciate the humour and instead walked to her side and reached out to touch her forehead.

“Bloody hell, Ysabella, you are burning.”

“Your fault,” she moaned, her eyes closing on her. “Carried you…cabin. Raining.”

“Stop talking. But do not go to sleep just yet. You need to eat.”

“Can’t. Want to sleep.”

The next few hours were a blur. She remembered a spoonful of porridge being fed to her. She also remembered a glass of water forced through her mouth.

Then she remembered calm voices talking. Was that the doctor?

The worst was the bitter taste of something which she nearly threw up if not for the voices urging her to swallow and drink more water.

It felt like she was being experimented upon—too many voices, too many hands. What she wanted was just to rest. Why could they not let her?

When she awoke again that night, she was damp with sweat.

“Mama,” she moaned, crying for her mother. Where was Emma? “Em…”

Her mouth felt dry. She ought to get water. Or perhaps a slice of pie as well. She was starving.

“You’re awake,” Wakefield’s voice croaked from beside the bed.

Ysabella blinked and realized the room had gone dimmer. Was it already night time? “I was sick, was I not?”

She felt a hand over her damp forehead. Then a sigh of relief. “Yes, you were sick. But you must rest more. I shall send for the maid to—”

“Water,” she said, pushing away from the bed. “I want water.”

He was sitting in the shadows and when he stood up to help her, she realized he looked utterly tired. His cravat was loosened and there were dark circles under his eyes. Once she had settled, he poured her a glass of water from one corner of the room.

“I know you must be tired, my lord, but could you also ring for food?” she guiltily added.

She saw his shoulders shake a bit after she said that. Was he laughing at her expense? Well, he must be. He must find it funny how he was now taking care of her after how she had helped him after his accident!

“Food does you great wonders, does it not?” he asked with amusement as he carried the water to her.

“It does us all wonders, trust me,” she weakly replied before she gulped the entire content of the glass.

“Rest, little one,” he said, taking the empty glass from her, his eyes unreadable as he gazed down at her. “I shall go and ring for your food.”

He did not come back after that. The maids came with a tray of food and helped her discard her damp night clothes for fresher ones.

Ysabella, once full and dry, was not able to think of anything else but more sleep.

He did not come back the morning after. The doctor did, accompanied by Thomas and Lady Hayward, but not him.

---

“Levi once taught me the art of coppering the bet in Faro,” Ysabella was saying to his mother two days later. They were on a picnic by the grassy grounds, near the same spot where his leg met its unfortunate accident.

Wakefield scoffed at Ysabella’s statement. Her brothers ought not to teach their sisters how to cheat on games. But who was he to tell them anything? He was not her brother.

His blue eyes secretly studied her. Her colour had returned. Gone was the pale, shivering girl in her chamber two days prior. Nearly shuddering at the memory and the worry she had caused everyone, Wakefield stilled.

She was not his sister.

It was true. He was not her brother.

A white cat suddenly came into view and bounded toward Ysabella who immediately petted it with gentle hands. It belonged to one of the workers working in the fields.

Thomas chuckled beside Wakefield when their mother cried out in alarm at the presence of the feline. The two of them were standing not far from the two ladies, drinking wine and pretending to be utterly chummy.

“Do allow the owner to take her back, dear,” Lady Hayward said to Ysabella. “It might scratch.”

“Do not worry, Lady Hayward. It seems harmless,” he heard Ysabella say. “Have I told you about the cat who keeps disappearing—” she started to say with amusement but stopped, her gaze involuntarily flying toward Wakefield. “Ah, no matter. It is not important,” she said with a wave of her hand, dismissing the matter entirely.

He frowned. Was she about to tell the story about the disappearing cat? Was she about to hint again that she was Lady Weis?

But the hesitation he noted was genuine. She had always been outspoken even with a lie. What made her stop now? Was she afraid he’d ask for more details and that he’d find out she was lying?

For a moment he wondered how much Samuel Theobald had told her.

And for a brief second he wondered if Samuel ever told her anything and she truly was Lady Weis. But it couldn’t be. She was Ysabella Everard, no one else.

His brother’s quiet and well-modulated voice spoke beside him, drawing him away from his thoughts. Ysabella and their mother were now talking about something else, bending over the cat that was enjoying the attention.

“She told me that you do not feel what your family feels toward you, thus the animosity.” The way Thomas had said it was unheard of. He could tell that Thomas was having a hard time discussing this very matter. Before he could tell his brother to stop whatever it was he was trying to do, Thomas added, “You are wrong if you believe we hate you, William.”

Surprised that Thomas was capable of such words, Wakefield sharply turned his head toward his brother. Was the bastard foxed?

“Do not look at me as though I am a monster who grew a halo, brother,” Thomas said under his breath. His brother’s eyes wavered as he veered his attention to the workers working on the fields. Every second the air was getting more awkward. They were both not used to such talks. “I am quite proud of what you have done to Wakefield in a matter of merely a year since you inherited it.”

Wakefield did not realize he was holding his breath until Thomas returned his eyes on him. “Father would have been proud as well. We had all believed Wakefield to be infertile, yet you proved us wrong. The land is indeed tillable as you have claimed. I believe it was your arrogance to prove it that pushed you to that success.”

He scoffed. Thomas would always take a moment to point out a negative at a time like this.

“I am not accustomed to this kind of chat,” Wakefield admitted. “I find it better to deal with you if you act like the usual arrogant, loathsome bastard that you are.”

Thomas laughed, causing their mother and Ysabella to turn to them with curiosity.

“We are not killing each other, if that is what you fear, ladies,” Wakefield told them, raising his glass of wine.

They both shrugged and focused their attention back on the cat.

Wakefield saw the look Thomas was giving Ysabella.

He did not like it.

“She is the best candidate for a wife,” his brother said in a voice only for Wakefield to hear. “She is sensitive, a rich young lady with a kind heart. It is quite rare in our world.”

“You and I both know that you would merely ruin the very things you mentioned should she marry you, Thomas. You ought to find someone who can be completely submissive for it is not in your nature to nurture a spirit like Ysabella’s. I do not see her submitting to anyone. None of the Everards do.”

Thomas slowly nodded, his eyes glinting with alarming, unspoken thoughts. His blue eyes turned to Wakefield. “I know she is in love with another but I am quite intent to change that. Anyone could do anything for love as I heard.”

Wakefield scoffed. He looked at Ysabella. She? In love with Thomas? Was it even possible? He did not wish to entertain the thought, but it was stirring alarm in all places.

“Why her?” he found himself asking.

“As I have said, she is quite sensitive to the feelings of others. It is a character that will be very much appreciated by the ton. She is an Everard as well and it would definitely help my name.” Thomas shrugged. “She barely had any serious scandal, and any that could be considered one were merely caused by her chasing and provoking you as part of her silly games.” His brother paused for a moment. “Once you are out of the picture, Ysabella can be tamed. She’d soon realize that she is truly a woman and she must start acting as one. It is a challenge I am very much willing to accept.”

Wakefield was surprised by the rebellious urge to box some sense into his brother. Taming Ysabella Everard was an impossible feat, much more so a very unimaginable one.

His eyes flickered toward the young woman who was now guiding his mother’s hand to pet the cat. Everything he had witnessed her do was far from what Thomas had planned in mind. He could not picture her as a tamed woman. She was distinctive—unique. Taming her would ruin her and it—

Wakefield stopped himself, surprised that he saw her in such way. But even more so that others like his brother did. Others were seeing her and in an even more way than he thought he knew.

It was an uneasy feeling. He ought to go back to Wickhurst where everything was certain. But leaving meant leaving her here.

“She attracted my attention when I saw her sending that Lady Gedge a secret warning about a secret. She was protecting something and that subtle act gives away her maturity.”

Maxine Theobald , Wakefield thought. He was not aware Ysabella would go as far as warning the mother of all gossips from spreading rumours about Theobald’s bastard daughter.

“Do you know that she told me that she has made a vow never to lie to you? She said so herself that day I met her at the Theobald’s.”

Wakefield shook his head, not quite certain if he ought to believe. But he did not like the fact that Thomas had approached her at the Theobald party.

“But I do have a far better reason why I want her,” Thomas murmured as he gazed at Ysabella.

Wakefield’s head turned, holding his breath. “What is it?” he said through gritted teeth.

Thomas had a knowing look on his face when he squarely met Wakefield’s gaze. “You want her.”

Wakefield scowled, ready to object Thomas’s proclamation. He could feel the sudden rush of blood to his ears. “And although I do love you, brother, this competitive atmosphere between us just brings out the worst in me as it always did in the past.” With a sneer, Thomas started to walk away. He paused to add over his shoulder, “And I always want what you want.”

XXIII. A Lady’s Guide to a First Dance

Dearest William,

Kindly do take care of yourself.

Has your doctor given you a mixture for your cough?

Mix two tablespoonfuls of both vinegar and treacle, and sixty drops of laudanum. Take one teaspoonful at night and one in the morning.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Ysabella knew that Wakefield and Thomas had had their talk and she was certain it did not turn out good. Wakefield seemed bothered and Thomas appeared to even be more…she could not completely say the man was happier, but he seemed rather content.

The morning after their picnic, Ysabella came down for breakfast and was surprised to see Wakefield alone.

“Where are your mother and Thomas?” she asked, taking her seat across from him.

“My mother needed to call on some of her friends nearby. She had not seen them for nearly a year, I believe. Thomas accompanied her,” he uttered in reply. “Why? Do you miss him already?” he asked with a provocative smile or was that a frown? She could not truly tell. Another side of him she was not familiar with.

To answer his confusing question, she merely shrugged. What was she to say? Deny and let him the satisfaction? Agree and let him berate her once more about how it was not wise to marry his brother?

As the servants laid their breakfast before them, Ysabella studied Wakefield. Was he planning to stay here for the duration of her stay with his mother?

He had not done anything that one would consider of import here in Bertram. In fact, he had been tailing them for quite some time now. Was that why he was here?

She was about to voice the question but thought better of it. He’d simply divert the topic back to Thomas. He’d say he was here to watch over her as her brothers should.

So Ysabella thought of another question that had been bothering her for quite some time. “Why do you fear the sight of blood?”

Wakefield’s brows arched at her question. He blinked. “I do not know.”

“But surely you have been to fights, yes? You must have seen quite a lot of blood in your lifetime.”

“Of course.”

“Then you have fainted frequently then?”

He chuckled. “I never lost a bloody fight, little one.”

“I fear I do not comprehend.”

He shrugged. “It is merely my blood that I get such intense reaction to—the thought that it came from me. Those that came from others, I do not mind at all.”

She frowned. “Odd.”

“I have to agree.” He motioned at the food. “Would you rather we discuss blood while we eat?”

“I do not find any reason why we should not, but since you are quite sensitive to it, I suggest we divert the topic.” He glared at her quip and she scoffed in return.

They shared a moment of silence as they had their fill of the food.

As she buttered her toast, Ysabella thought of another question. “Why could you not believe me when I claim to be Lady Weis?” When his expression turned from a calm one to frustration, she hastily added, “It is but a mere curious and innocent question, my lord. No need to scowl.” He shook his head. “Well?” she urged.

His eyes came to study her for a while. He swallowed his food. “I cannot see her in you.”

A very simple answer, but one that caused a pang in her chest.

By the look on his face, Ysabella gathered that he was expecting a rejoinder. He must probably be preparing himself for one of her witty remarks. But he would have none of that. She had no desire to be desperate in front of him where Lady Weis was concerned.

So she merely shrugged and said, “Promise me you shall not blame me should you find out the truth, my lord.”

He frowned. “Would you care to elaborate?” he carefully asked.

Ysabella allowed another shrug. He could suffer with curiosity and she would not care. It was not her fault he was too blind to see, really.

And she quite liked his reaction to her lack of words.

Remembering Article seven: A Lady’s Guide to Silence from the book A Lady’s Guide to Courtship, Ysabella chanted the words in her mind: Silence can be the strongest channel for truth.

“You seem quite different of late,” he uttered after a while and Ysabella knew it took a lot for him to muster the courage to dare say it.

“What would you have me do then, my lord?”

He shrugged. “I was expecting you’d insist on your claim that you are she.”

“Ah, that ,” she said with a laugh as though she had already forgotten their previous topic. “I no longer wish to insist on the issue as I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I appreciate it.”

“As I am also aware that you merely tolerate me because I am the sister of your friends,” she deliberately added.

His face reddened. “That is not—”

“—a fact,” she interjected with confidence, “I am inclined to change, of course. Now, what say you to a game of cards after breakfast?”

“I have missives to reply to,” he said.

Ysabella shrugged. “Very well.”

---

Later that afternoon, Thomas invited her to see his collection of flowers in the garden, just off one of the fields. It was rare to see an actual garden full of actual flowers in the Town and Ysabella did not pass the chance to see one.

What was fascinating though was the fact that someone like Thomas would take a hobby cultivating flowers, which was a contrast to his character.

His collection of flowers would shame the ones in their little garden in Wickhurst.

“Do you know why Wakefield is afraid of blood?” Ysabella innocently asked.

Thomas tensed for a while before he shrugged and said, “He was bitten by a dog, I fear.”

She frowned. “Then should he not be afraid of dogs instead?”

Thomas slowly shook his head. “Fear comes in many forms, I believe.” He kept walking and she was surprised when he took her hand and guided her down the aisle of roses. “And the dog was a pet.”

“Why did it bite him?”

He shrugged. “No one knows. The dog suddenly went frantic and started attacking him.”

“How old was he?”

“He was nine. I was ten.” He paused to frown down at a budding flower. “It started attacking William so I killed it.”

Ysabella gasped. “You did what?”

Thomas’ face was bare of any emotion as he straightened to full height and looked at her. Somehow she felt the hairs at the back of her nape stand up. How could he talk about killing an animal as though it was nothing? “He was attacking my brother. I had no other choice. The next thing I knew my brother was unconscious on the ground.”

“But he says he cannot remember why he is afraid of blood.”

“Well, he does not truly remember the event. He woke up and learned I killed the dog. He hated me since then.”

“You never told him the truth?”

“Of course, but he refused to believe me then even when he had the scar on his palm to prove it. Our father had been hard on him and he had always thought everyone hated him. Telling him the truth did no good.”

“Surely he would now understand. It is quite preposterous to think that the animosity between the two of you started merely because of a dog.”

“That dog was his only companion,” Thomas reasoned. “He had every right to be angry.”

“But—”

“I refuse to talk more about my relationship with my brother, Ysabella,” he said, voice serious. “Many other things had happened in the past to explain why we are what we are now and the dog was merely one of them.” He turned to face her and peered down at her frowning face. “Now, do you know why I invited you here?”

Ysabella went still. She swallowed. “To see the flowers?”

Thomas chuckled, his expression turning bright. “No, dear one, it is not.”

“To have a walk then?”

He shook his head, eyes turning darker.

He let go of her hand and reached inside his breast pocket.

Ysabella found her heart beating rather fast as she watched him take out a small velvet box.

“No need to look scared, Ysabella,” he whispered as he opened it the box in front of her. “It is merely a bracelet.” She let out a sigh of relief. Thomas took the bracelet ornamented with many stones of different colours. He replaced the box in his pocket and hooked the bracelet around her right wrist, saying, “I did not invite you with us this morning because of this. It is not an Everard, but the stones are of best quality.”

She gulped, staring wide-eyed at the stones. No one had ever given her anything like this, she thought. “Thank you,” she uttered and Thomas bent down to give her hand a kiss.

He did not fully straighten after that as proceeded to peer down at her, gauging her reaction. And then his face was descending down on her.

She froze, not knowing quite what to do. She must escape, her mind shouted, but another part was also adamant that she stay still.

She was curious.

Would he kiss her? Would it feel the same as Wakefield’s?

Both sides of her brain were fighting. She was making a mistake. But she was going to experience something that might be good as well.

For God’s sake she was one and twenty and she merely had one kiss! One! And the man kissing her then even thought she was someone else.

But this… Thomas knew who she was. And he wanted to kiss her.

He smiled when Ysabella remained unmoving. “I took you here for this as well,” he whispered before his lips planted on hers very softly, like a brush of cotton.

And his lips started to move, urging her to participate.

Ysabella’s eyes blinked rapidly before she forced them closed, ordering her mind that it was all right, that she had the freedom to do this—to find out if it was good.

And it was quite good. It was different. It was nice. His lips were soft and obviously skilled.

They patiently moved over hers and when she parted hers to answer his kiss, he pressed closer. His hand came at the back of her head, very lightly guiding her toward him.

She drew in a breath, concentrating on how she must answer the kiss, how it felt.

Before she knew it, Thomas had stepped back with a smile on his lips. She stared at him, wide-eyed.

Sweet Mr. Jones! She just kissed Thomas! Or he kissed her. But she answered his kiss!

And it was not that bad. No, not at all.

“I hope to get an answer from you before you leave next week,” he said, stepping away from her. He offered his arm for her which she silently took.

They walked back to the manor as though nothing had happened.

---

Later that evening, or mayhap in the wee hours, Ysabella exited the kitchen with a piece of pie on a plate.

She padded barefooted through the corridor, out into the silent dining room. It had been a week since she had arrived here and for three nights she had been roaming around the estate alone, making no sound.

But tonight, she was quite bothered. The kiss she shared with Thomas was supposed to make her feel a tad more sure about her feelings for Wakefield, but it did not.

She did not dislike it. It was different from Wakefield’s kiss, yes, but she was expecting she would find it distasteful.

Not quite ready to go back to her room, Ysabella entered the parlour and went straight to the chaise. She lay down, resting her head on the arm rest, taking a bite from her pie. While doing so, she stared out the window and at the distant moonlight coming from the nearest hole.

Her thoughts drifted away from the kiss and focused solely on Wakefield. For merely seven days she found out that there were still more things about him she did not know, things that made her feel as though she was learning who he was all over again for the first time.

Was that a good sign?

Was it truly possible to love someone and yet feel quite uncertain about things that surrounded them? Could it be that like him, she was also merely in love with the man in his letters? Perhaps she was merely learning the real Wakefield now?

The feelings he invoked whenever they were alone was different as well. Without the usual balls and the familiar atmosphere of Wickhurst, being alone with Wakefield felt exciting, scary and…inscrutable.

And there was Thomas. He was the epitome of certainty. He was sure of himself and he knew what he wanted. And he wanted her.

With Wakefield, things were complicated. He could not see her as Lady Weis, yet she did not wish him to do so. Yet she hurt when he refused to. She wanted him to know her as Ysabella Everard, yet she was silently praying he’d see Lady Weis in her. She thought she was confident in his presence, yet she was full of nerves whenever they were alone.

“I hope you have not mistaken the parlour as your bedchamber, little one,” the voice sent Ysabella off the chaise. “Bloody hell, do calm down before you wake the entire household,” Wakefield said, suddenly beside her to help her up. He picked up the plate and the last piece of her pie off the floor and set them on the table. “Are you all right?” There was only one lamp lit in one corner and his face was shadowed as he frowned down at her. “Why are you barefooted?”

“What are you doing here!” she demanded, brushing his hands off. Her heart was still racing against her chest.

“Thinking,” he said, “with brandy.” His head went back to the plate. “I see you’ve been stealing food again.”

She glared at him. “I always do. Oh, Sweet Mr. Jones, you scared me, my lord. You truly did.” She clutched her chest and tried to even her breathing.

“I’ve never seen that before,” he noted, his voice dangerously serious.

“What?” she absently asked.

“That,” he said, tilting his head toward the bracelet around her right wrist.

She looked down and uttered, “Oh. Your brother gave it to me just this afternoon.”

His face darkened.

“Were you trying to come up with a decision? Is that why you are here?” he asked, startling her with an untoward question.

“Whatever do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you were thinking about my brother’s offer?”

I was thinking about his kiss, actually, she wanted to say but said, “Well, mayhap,” instead.

He scoffed and walked away to return to his seat which was merely paces away from the chaise. How could she have missed him upon her entry?

“Would it not do you good if you’d consider your other suitors in Wickhurst instead?”

“What? Suitors like Adam Nimrod?” she asked with a laugh.

“Well, given he did not do what he did in the opera, would you consider him now?”

“Are you bloody serious?” she could not help but ask, astounded. “And if I could ever imagine that he did not do what he did, I would not consider that brute. I do not love him.”

“It does not have to happen before marriage.”

“You talk like your brother,” she snapped, dropping back down on the chaise.

“No one ever said we are entirely opposite.”

“Aurora is in love with Adam,” she said, ignoring his remark.

Wakefield’s brows rose, surprised.

Her gaze wavered. “She does not know I know.”

“But he prefers you.”

“The reason why I do not want him for Aurora,” she nearly exclaimed.

“I do not understand.”

“Apart from the fact that he does have a heavy hand, Adam’s family is currently suffering a financial crisis. He merely wants me because I am an Everard. Should he choose Aurora, she will suffer. If not through him, then his family.” She turned to look Wakefield in the eyes. “Aurora is dear to me and it is important that she gets what she deserves. It is most definitely not Adam Nimrod. That brute does not deserve anyone.”

“I am quite amazed that you can talk about your friend with such loyalty. Mayhap you must be more careful where you put them, little one, for there are those who would take your kindness to their advantage.” His tone was filled with concern and warning.

Ysabella sighed. “Emma says so as well. She does not trust Aurora as much as I.”

“Mayhap you should listen to Emma, then.”

Her eyes watered at the thought of her sister. “Mayhap I should.”

She watched him finish his drink and to take her mind off the things that were bothering and confusing her at the moment, Ysabella cleared her throat and said, “By the by, I visited Maxine again after you left the Theobald party.”

Now she got his attention. He leaned forward. “And?”

She shrugged, hiding a grin. “Well, I just told you. I visited her.”

He scowled at her. “You are deliberately making me suffer the curiosity.”

“I know quite a few more details about her. Are you curious?”

He did not nod, but she saw the answer in his eyes as he narrowed them at her with frustration. She laughed. “Very well,” she said, standing up. “I shall tell you in exchange of something.”

He looked up at her.

“Promise me one dance at the Seymour ball.”

To her surprise, he jumped to his feet and offered his hand. “I’d dance with you now.”

She let out a mocking smile. “Truly amazing! You are now willing to dance with me because no one is about to witness it. You hurt my feelings, my lord.” She stepped closer to him and placed her hand over his. “But I shall accept it before you change your mind.”

---

Wakefield saw the hurt in her eyes before she covered it with her bright smile. And for a second he thought the hurt radiated toward him as well.

Closing his hand over hers, he gently pulled her closer to him. Her free hand went to rest over his shoulder and his he carefully placed behind her back. And then he started to lead her to a dance.

This was their first dance, he thought. He then wondered why he had never allowed himself to do this before.

The guilt followed suit. She deserved a dance better than this, one lavish to match her. Wakefield had the sudden urge to have her dress in her best gown and drag her to the nearest ball they could find where there would be music and lights and laughter.

She snorted below his chin, obviously amused that they are both foolishly dancing without music. “Are we dancing the waltz?”

“I am afraid so, yes,” he said, lips twitching into a smile.

“I am afraid I am bad at it,” she said, hastily adding, “as many ladies, of course.”

“Of course,” he said, now grinning from ear to ear as he gently pushed her away and twirled her over his arm and pulled her right back.

She laughed, surprised at the sudden step.

“Now, tell me about your secret visit to your secret friend,” he urged, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

She did not reply, merely settled her head against his chest.

His muscles bunched and his heart started racing.

“Your heart is racing,” she dared point out, her lips brushing against his chest over his shirt, eliciting shots of currents to his toes and fingertips. Only Ysabella Everard would dare say his heart was racing.

This was why he never danced with her before. He was afraid of this.

He diverted the topic back on Maxine Theobald. “Tell me, little one, or I shall—”

Her head fell back so she was now looking up at him with a playful look on her face. “Or what?”

Wakefield caught his breath.

Bloody hell, this was why he never danced with her. The deepest, darkest corners of his mind had always known it and they had warned him numerous times. Only tonight he did not heed their advice and he finally felt for himself why he never wanted to dance with her.

He forgot her question. Bloody hell, he did not even care about Theobald’s bastard. All he saw now—all his mind and body was reacting to—were the playful green eyes looking at him.

His head had bent down until their noses touched. And he saw how the playful glint in her eyes turned into something that mirrored his—want, curiosity, desire.

Wakefield froze, having finally found the word he was seeking for. He desired her.

Snapping to his senses, he gently stopped the dance but found that he could not let go of her at the moment. His mind was utterly blank, refusing to think.

He took a deep breath, breathing the scent of her. She smelled of fresh flowers and sunlight here in Bertram.

She let out a shaky breath and his eyes slanted down at her full lips as her tongue moistened them. Leaning his forehead against her, Wakefield closed his eyes and dared brush his lips very lightly against hers.

Sensations—thousands of them—shot through him.

And it was scary.

This is why you never danced with her, his mind whispered. It was nearly too late when he realized what he wanted to do—what he needed to do.

Opening his eyes, Wakefield gently let go of her and with the last vestige of strength, stepped back.

A bloody difficult feat.

She blinked and she saw the confusion in her eyes and he hated himself for it.

“Go to bed, little one,” he whispered achingly. “Go,” he nearly snapped and she flinched.

She stormed out of the parlour without another word.

Wakefield roughly brushed his hands over his face and run them through his hair in frustration.

He was furious. Not at her, but himself.

He was angry because he did not want to end that dance. He was in rage because he wanted to kiss her. Not merely kiss her, but consume her. And he never felt the same intensity of wanting someone since the Cinderella ball.

This was not supposed to happen.

He thought he had always been certain about his love for one woman, even went to such lengths to find her. Merely hours ago, he was reading reports from Morris about the recent calls from women who claimed to be her.

He ought to be at Wickhurst looking for Lady Weis, not here lusting over his friend’s sister!

His thoughts went back to Ysabella, a common occurrence nowadays.

Was his brother correct? Did he want her? But how did it come about?

Perhaps he merely wanted her because Thomas wanted her, a part of him thought.

Or worse, did he want her now because he was finally seeing Ysabella Everard?

NOTE: I don’t usually do A/N’s after a chapter, but I allow me this once. Attached here is a video of a song made by a reader (if you’re reading this, I’m sorry that I posted the song without your confirmation) and I totally LOVE IT!

XXIV. Lemonade

Dearest Lady Weis,

I went to Standbury to visit Levi Everard.

I must admit that I do envy the man. He is an inventor and he has a wonderful family.

While I am still here in Wickhurst living the old life he and other friends had already left.

Sad, really, how we do not find contentment on things we once thought would make us utterly happy. The mere sight of a different sort of happiness and we want something the same.

Yours,

William

---

Wakefield was contemplating whether or not he ought to go back to Wickhurst.

He was doing the same thing while he sat with Ysabella and his mother as the two had decided to have another picnic while waiting for Thomas to be done with work. His brother had once more hidden himself in his study to answer missives.

In Wakefield’s experience Thomas would not come out until it was time for supper.

His mother was taking a nap in a chair, the white cat on her lap doing the same thing. Merely a few days with Ysabella, the feline and the woman had gone quite inseparable.

Ysabella was reading a book she picked from Thomas’ library.

“Do you like geography?” he found himself asking out loud. The cat stirred and stared at him as if it too, found the question odd.

Ysabella did not lift her gaze from the book. “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

Wakefield nodded, relieved.

“But I am merely jesting,” she said with a chuckle, eyes still on her book. “No one likes geography.”

He did not comment. Finally her eyes lifted and met his only to divert away to somewhere else.

The days that followed that night in the parlour had been awkward for him. He could tell she was trying to act as nonchalant as she could, but they both knew better, although he knew she was doing better than he.

Something had changed, he knew it.

And he did not bloody know how to deal with it.

For nearly three bloody years now, he had thought of her as naught but his friends’ sister. In his eyes, the sight of Ysabella coming to a ball he was in attendance to meant trouble. Her very presence would push his instinct to walk away.

And now, everything was not as they were. He could blame the bloody Theobald party where he had allowed himself the lack of restraint.

He could blame Lady Weis for disappearing and leaving him with naught but the time to see other things, for leaving him the dark without an explanation and letting him find his way back into the light without her. If she had merely stayed in correspondence, he’d be thinking of what he’d write to her next instead of spending his time looking at Ysabella reading a bloody book.

Sensing his gaze, Ysabella closed her book and stood up, suddenly restless. She was not used to this as well.

She came here to be with his mother, not be courted by Thomas. And most definitely not be the subject of Wakefield’s ambiguous attentions.

He was not being fair to her. He claimed to be in love with another, yet what he did that night in the parlour would have probably confused her.

For someone who had always been open of her feelings toward him, she had every right to feel restless.

“I would like to stretch my legs for a while,” she said, excusing herself. Without waiting for his reply, she walked away toward the edge of the plantation where the workers were.

She was wearing a light, blue dress that easily moved with each step, emphasizing the sway of her hips. Her bare arms were nearly white under the sunlight coming from above the hole. She had let down her hair and the slight wind blew it to the side.

The sight of her was mesmerizing, making Wakefield wonder how she’d look if she were to walk around the fields of his estate in Wakefield.

Why was he noticing all these only now? Because of his brother? Because there was no one about? They were not in a ball or a wedding where she could draw as much attention to herself.

He realized now that Ysabella was not who she was when she was in front of a crowd. Or mayhap she had always been herself and the ton had never been blind to this side of her.

Mayhap he had been the blind one after all.

Here, they could be alone. He could not feel the urgent need to escape. Rather, he felt he did not wish this moment to end. He merely… stayed and looked at her.

“I have always wondered why you never took a fancy of her, son,” her mother’s croaky voice said, reminding him that he and Ysabella were not completely alone after all.

He blinked away from Ysabella and turned to his mother. “She’s Levi’s sister, Mother. She’s ten years younger than I.”

“Your brother surely does not mind the age, son. So do the other lords in Wickhurst. And I am quite sure that for a family who had allowed a woman accused of witchcraft, a man who broke their sister’s heart, and who adopted two little girls to be part of their family, the Everards would not dare be a hindrance to Ysabella’s happiness.” Wakefield closed his eyes and groaned.

“You’ve been saying such foolish reasons for years, dear,” his mother’s amused voice continued. “And I believe you believed them to be enough for quite a while until now, yes?”

“She is not—”

“Keep telling yourself the same things, son, and mayhap you’d be able to believe them in the future, if not now. But know that those around you think otherwise if you continue to gaze at her as if she is a walking dream.”

His eyes snapped open and he turned to fix his mother an accusing glare.

“I know that look, William.” His mother sent him a pointed look. “You think I am using your brother’s intentions toward Ysabella to push you to do what I want, use this simple vacation as a means to force you into something you believe you never wished for, but that is not the case. Thomas is doing what he wants to do as he always did. You, on the other hand, could not accept that she had become something else in your eyes and you choose to fluster in one corner rather than claim her for yourself.” She helplessly shook her head, turning to watch Ysabella once again. “You have always wanted to be free to think and decide for yourself, see? You love this blind freedom too much and it has made you too proud to listen to us that you fail or choose not to see what we see.”

Wakefield’s jaw had gone tight at his mother’s words but he dared not say anything.

“She has as much spirit as anyone I have ever known,” his mother continued. “But trust me when I say, William, that even a strong spirit such as hers can be swayed.” She turned to give him a calm, gentle look. “Or worse, weaken and change course.”

“I am in love with another,” he insisted, but he heard his own voice and he knew his argument sounded dire.

“Ah, that woman who chose to leave you in the middle of a ball. The same one who has not shown herself to this day.” His shoulders tensed. “She could be anywhere, really, or she could be near. But could you truly love a mirage, dear?”

“She is not a mirage, Mother.”

“This Lady Weis could very well be, you know. And she might remain as that for the rest of your lives. While you waste your time loving an illusion in your head, you are passing up the chance to actually feel something in the flesh.”

His eyes flew to Ysabella. She was real, his mind whispered. She was here. She had always been here.

His mother scooped the white cat in her arms and stood up. She walked closer to Wakefield and cupped his face with one hand, looking down at him. “I have to admit that I do not believe Thomas would succeed with her for her mind had long been made up, but I believe your brother had shown her that there is more to life than just chasing after an impossible dream.” She patted his cheek. “She’d soon realize that, son. And soon she’d start searching for something else as her life opens her to more possibilities. Bertram is not the only place for that.”

Lady Hayward bent down to kiss his forehead. “Tell her I am retiring. Your brother is not coming out of his study soon. I shall see you all for supper.”

He watched his mother walk away before he turned to gaze back at Ysabella. She was now talking to a male worker, her face utterly interested to what the other was saying. He started to frown when she jumped to her feet, turned and ran toward him with excitement in her eyes.

He could not help but smile in return.

“Wakefield!” she cried as she approached. “I just convinced the worker to teach me how to shoot.”

Wakefield stared at her, frozen in his seat. Then he blinked. “Shoot?”

She nodded.

“Shoot what?”

“Well, a gun, of course!”

---

He could not believe he was doing it. Levi would kill him and the rest of her brothers would definitely hang him.

“I ought to learn fast, you know,” she said as she waited while he loaded the pistol. “I had always wanted to learn how to shoot.”

“You had so confidently pictured yourself holding a gun in Nimrod’s mind and yet you have not even held one your entire life,” he murmured wryly.

“Well, I was distraught that night. I could have told him anything.” She held out her hand at the ready. “And thank you for your kind offer. You did not have to do this. That kind man had gladly offered.”

“That kind man was working. Teaching young ladies how to shoot a gun is not working.” He made a move to give her the loaded pistol but stopped. “Remember—”

“Point and shoot,” she eagerly said, tucking her hair behind both ears. She held out her hands once more.

Wakefield hesitated. Thomas was yet to learn of this and he would definitely not like it. Most especially if they were about to make three pillows from his estate their target.

The three said pillows were tied on three poles ten yards away.

“You do not point it at anyone or anything but those pillows,” he reminded her sternly.

“Yes, yes, I know.” She grabbed the gun from him and stood the way he taught her.

“Careful,” he warily said, stepping behind her to look over her shoulder. “And prepare for the—bloody hell!” he cried out when she suddenly pulled the trigger, missing the target. “I did not—”

She looked over her shoulder with a proud smile. “I heard that surprise makes a successful attack.”

He gaped at her. “You did not even hit the target.”

She shrugged, lifting the gun once again. “If that were a person, my lord, he would have already ran away at my surprise attack, see?” She pointed the gun once more and shot. The sound rang around the plantation.

The workers had all vacated the area they were facing, all looking wary and amused all the same.

He shook his head when Ysabella jumped, surprised to see the pillow to the right fall down on the ground. “I aimed for the left but still I hit one!”

His laughter came out as a snort in his attempt to hide it. Clearing his throat and maintaining a serious mien he said, “If you were aiming for a criminal who stole a child, you would have then shot the child.”

Her face blanched and he almost regretted his words.

“You can always practice,” he added under his breath, taking the pistol from her to load it once more. “I wonder why your brothers never taught you this.”

“Oh, they hate teaching us anything that has to do with violence.”

Wakefield gave her an incredulous look and set the gun away. “Then you shall have no more violent lessons this afternoon.”

Her eyes widened. “But—”

“You’ve had your fill, little one.”

“But I have not—”

“Next time—once you’ve asked for all their consent,” he said, taking the gun with him to his chair where his glass of wine was waiting. “What could your family be thinking of you being here, I wonder?”

“Oh, they know I am here, of course,” she said with a huff, sitting across from him, disappointment in her features. “They simply do not know that you are here.” Her eyes could not meet his still, but she tried.

Classic Ysabella Everard, of course,—facing anything with a brave face.

“Which reminds me, my lord,” she said, watching him drink from his glass. “Why did you come here again?”

“To talk business with my brother, of course.” Her brow arched and before she could challenge his lie, he offered, “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Oh, I do not fare well with spirits. Do you have lemonade instead?”

His mind flew to the kiss at the Cinderella ball but he shook it away by saying, “I am afraid we do not have that at the moment, but they did prepare sweetened tea.”

“That will have to do.”

As he poured her a cup, he stole a glance. “What is your most profound dream?”

“Marry you, of course.”

The hot tea spilled over the cup and she laughed at his surprised reaction.

“And have many children by you,” she added, eliciting a scowl from him.

“It was a very serious question, little one.”

“And it was also an utterly serious answer!” Her lips quivered with her restrained laughter. She was mocking him once again. She was good at it and he had to finally admit that.

He chose not to comment although his mind could clearly picture little children with her black hair and green eyes running around his drawing room with a distraught Morris chasing them about.

“I share my sister-in-law’s dream,” her serious voice said, drawing him away from his thoughts. He handed her the tea, which she took with her bare hands.

“Sister-in-law?”

She nodded before sipping from her cup. “Agatha.”

“Benedict’s wife.”

“She was once our governess, see? And she had told us of her dream of building a school for service people, young girls and boys who would like to learn how to read and write.”

He frowned. “I have heard of a school being put up near Devonshire.”

She nodded. “Benedict supports this dream as well, of course, and he has decided to build it. It would definitely cause quite a scandal once it opens.”

“Why service people?” he asked, curious.

She frowned at his question. “Do you not think they do deserve a better chance in life?”

“But would that not mean we shall soon be lacking of servants to do our bidding?”

She laughed. “And will you die without one?” When he merely stared, she shook her head. “For I am telling you, my lord, they can very well live on their own without us. They know how to till land, plant crops, care for livestock, butcher and make food out of them. They know how to cook and bake bread—and pies, of course—and dress themselves. While you and I can barely survive without them tying our cravats or buttoning our dresses! Good Lord we shall all perish without them!”

Her mocking tone amused him. The passion in her speech was undeniable.

I do have many sides, you know.

Her very own words rang in his ears, transporting him back to that carriage ride in the middle of the night.

Once you do that, my lord, you might see the real Ysabella Everard.

Mayhap she was correct. Ysabella Everard had many sides to her that he ought to have seen.

---

“I apologize for having not been able to spend the afternoon with you,” Thomas said later that evening.

“It is quite all right, my lord,” Ysabella said with a smile.

They were in the parlour having tea after supper. Wakefield had excused himself to attend to the letters and documents his butler had sent from Wickhurst.

“I heard my brother taught you how to shoot.”

“He did,” she said with a smile, remembering the afternoon. “But not quite very effectively.”

“He does not have the patience, I fear.”

“Oh, it was more of him being afraid of what my brothers might do to him should they find out.”

Thomas chuckled. He asked more questions and he paid great attention at her every word.

She had never experienced such thing. And it was bloody confusing.

“You are leaving soon,” Thomas said much later. “How big is the chance that you could extend your stay?”

She blushed. “None, I am afraid. My mother has sent a note that she already misses me. And I have matters to settle in Wickhurst upon my return, things that I can no longer escape from.”

His eyes flashed with curiosity but she appreciated that he did not press for more details.

“Then do you have your answer for me?” he asked in a manner that was very like him—straightforward.

She laughed to cover the uncomfortable feeling. “You cannot possibly expect me to have one in merely a short time, my lord. It is the rest of my life you are asking of.”

He gave her an assessing look. “You think love should come before marriage.”

She flushed. “Yes.”

“But it does not have to.” He took her hand in his. “It can come after and I believe it shall happen to us in no time should you say yes.”

Ysabella’s heart was feeling quite heavy. He was putting so much pressure in her. Was this how he did many of his business deals?

“Companionship and friendship are enough to make it work, dear one,” Thomas said. “And in time, you might even agree that they are far better than love.”

Could Thomas be correct? Love had brought her naught but frustration and confusion. Companionship and friendship—now, those things sounded better.

XXV. Hypothetical

Dearest William,

I do have many misgivings on spirits, brandy in particular.

I tasted some last week and I got foxed.

Never again.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Thomas had been quite persistent that Ysabella found herself wanting to have a moment to think. She found herself back in the garden, but unluckily for her, Wakefield tagged along.

She would have appreciated him tailing her if not for the fact that she knew why he was doing it. He was keeping an eye on her and Thomas. He may have his own reasons for his disapproval of the match, but none of them was to her liking.

She had long decided to forget about the parlour night and the dance, but the tiny hope that lingered inside her kept burning. He nearly kissed her the way he did in the Cinderella ball that night. What could have stopped him?

His foolish love for Lady Weis, of course , replied the voice in her head. How pathetic to be competing to one’s self, really. Simply pathetic!

Ah, but how fascinating would it be to see him realize who Lady Weis was?

“We shall be leaving for Wickhurst soon,” he said as she inspected a flower. “Mother has expressed her desire to stay here for another fortnight.”

“So it shall only be you and I then,” she said with a smile. “Fret not, my lord. I would not whisk you away to Tiny Town.”

His face was serious. “Have you thought of an answer you will give my brother?”

A mysterious smile curved on her lips. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And I shall not be sharing it with you.” She turned to face him. “You are not your brother.”

A glint of annoyance flickered in his eyes.

“Would your family support whatever decision you make?” he asked after a while.

“Of course. They would want naught but my happiness. I feel the same toward them.” Her gaze became distant, absently staring at the flower, as she said, “I merely wish my father would be here to give me a piece of his mind.”

---

It was the first time that Wakefield saw a different sort of longing in Ysabella’s eyes. He knew her father died when she and Emma were very little, giving them nearly no memory of the man.

“I heard he was a very good man,” he quietly said, watching her closely.

She nodded. Her eyes were moist with tears. “I do hate it that I the memory I have of him is starting to fade.”

Her voice started to break. Wakefield stepped closer, not knowing how to comfort her.

“All I can clearly remember about him now is when the family was mourning. Everyone wearing black.” She hastily wiped the tears with one hand. “And it was also that time Margaret lost Cole. Benedict lost Cole as well with scars to prove it.” She laughed at her tears, wiping them away once again. “Em and I seemed quite lost, see? We were told Papa would not come back. Margaret would not talk to us and Benedict had fresh scars on his face. It was merely years later that we pieced everything together, the mystery of those dark days.” She sniffed, squaring her shoulders. “No one truly told us anything. We simply knew about them by eavesdropping.”

When she drew a deep breath to calm herself, Wakefield started to reach out but she gently brushed his hand away. “I am fine, my lord. I do not like it when people think I am weak simply because I am young.” Her emerald green eyes met his, her smile returning to cover the hurt. “I am neither of those things now.”

Of course she wasn’t, he thought. Ysabella Everard was an expert in hiding her pain.

A thought struck him then. He could very well have been hurting her until now and never knew it. She could easily cover her fears and pain with a simple smile and her witty words.

Had she truly been hiding it to herself instead of using it to control him and get what she wanted? A child would do so, but a true woman would do what she had been doing all along—hide the pain and keep on fighting.

“Now you know what could make me cry,” she said with a laugh. She turned and kept walking, brushing her fingers lightly over the flowers as she passed.

“I have a hypothetical question,” she said without turning around to face him.

“What is it?”

“What would you do if I am indeed Lady Weis?”

He could not ken why he was suddenly irked. Not because she was trying to say she was Lady Weis, but because she was obviously still bothered by Lady Weis. She would not have asked the question if she was not.

“It is merely a hypothetical question, my lord, no need to be cross.”

For the first time, Wakefield considered it. What if she was truly Lady Weis?

Something inside him swelled at the thought and he began to formulate a reply, but she laughed and turned to face him, walking backward. “Never mind. I do not wish to know.”

I’d whisk you away to Tiny Town, was one answer that popped in his head.

I’d kneel down and grovel, was another.

I’d kill myself for being an arse, was the one he thought would satisfy them both.

But she was walking away once again, the question forgotten.

You want her… He heard his Thomas saying in the distant recesses of his mind.

For the first time, Wakefield acknowledged his brother’s words.

Now, the question was: What should he do about this?

---

The day was inevitable, Ysabella thought as she waited for Thomas in the parlour two days later. She would like to think now that she was leaving Bertram that she had given him enough time to pursue her.

Yes, he had always been attentive whenever they were together, but there were also days when he would disappear for hours behind his study. It was well for her that he was secretive, but it bothered her that he could easily do it—shut everyone off.

Then he would once more sway her feelings and confuse her even further by being a determined and honest suitor which he truly was. But would he be honest about everything about himself if she were to choose him?

In the end, Ysabella thought, Thomas was an even more complicated man to deal with than Wakefield. It was as if he was leaving a different life, one she was afraid she would never learn about if they married. He’d dominate her as it was his nature to do so. She might be brave, but she feared she’d lose herself if she were to live with him.

“By the look on your face, I know you are here to say no,” Thomas said from the doorway.

Ysabella’s eyes snapped toward him and she smiled.

He closed the parlour door behind him and walked up to her. He stopped merely three paces in front of her, hands in his pockets. “What could I do to change your mind?”

It was a relief that he was taking this lightly. She had feared she’d hurt his feelings. But then, mayhap she had always known Thomas’ heart was not fully into this short courtship. Mayhap he merely did this to spite his brother, prove that he could play this game better than Wakefield.

The latter thought she chose to brush aside as she did not wish to feel any resentment toward the man. He had been good to her.

“You are a good man, Thomas, and you are a good friend. And you have made things seem quite easy it was almost tempting.” She smiled at him gently. This was easier than she had thought. “But I have not been looking for good. In fact, I was never looking for anything easy. If I was, I would have said yes to other suitors.”

She looked around the parlour and through the window where the carriage was waiting for her. Turning to face him once again, she said, “I have always known I am meant for something greater than mere companionship and friendship.” She let out a silly chuckle. “You may have persuaded me into thinking otherwise, but I have to remind myself that I am Ysabella Everard and I deserve more than what you have so honestly offered.”

As if she had only realized it just now, she scoffed, laughing at herself. She gazed back at Thomas’ amused look. “I deserve more. If not in this lifetime, then mayhap in the next one.” She stood up and walked up to him, close enough to take his hand where she placed the bracelet he gave her. He let her without argument. “You are the first man to make me feel that I am a woman deserving of the attention of a real gentleman. But I am not the woman for you and you are not for me. We both know that, yes?”

He merely scoffed but said nothing.

“It might not be Wakefield as well,” she said with a teary smile. “But at least now I know that I am something more than the child people think I am. My stay here in Bertram had made me realize that and many more.”

“Ah, Ysabella, dear,” Thomas said with a sigh, taking her hands into his. “My brother is such a fool to have not noticed you. But I believe that if you give the proud bastard more time, if you could simply be a bit more patient, I believe he shall come to his senses. He will get over his pathetic obsession with this Lady Weis. He’d be the man you want.”

Ysabella laughed. “My lord, I have already known he is the man for me. But if he does come to his senses, I do hope he’d prove that I have always been right.”

Thomas chuckled. “Do give him time, then. He is merely confused.”

She could not help but fix a look of admiration on the man. “You do love him despite how you treat each other, my lord. I suggest you show it.”

The corner of his lips quirked. “There are things we can show, dear one. And there are things we cannot for many other reasons.”

Frowning with curiosity, Ysabella nodded. It was not her place to tell the man she refused a marriage proposal to what to do.

“Now, are you ready to go and continue your quest to have my brother leg-shackled?” he asked, offering his arm.

Ysabella laughed. “No, my lord. I am quite ready to go home and face what awaits me there.”

“Very well, then, let us not keep everyone waiting. I wager my brother is pacing in the hallway, burning my precious floor with ire.”

She hooked her hand in his arm. “Have you ever thought that it might be quite awkward should I succeed and become your sister-in-law?”

Thomas threw his head back and laughed, making Ysabella think that this marvellous, mysterious, domineering, arrogant man could have been the one. But the thought was not laced with longing or pain. She made the right choice, she said to herself as she heard him say, “Not in the very least, dear one. In fact, I am quite looking forward to attending your wedding. Would love to see the crying ladies, really.”

“Then consider yourself invited.”

“By the by, do be sure to torment him on your journey,” Thomas said. “Two days are not enough, but it would do.”

“Ah, my lord, you are not the first to tell me that. I do give you my word that I shall try my best.” A sudden thought came to her mind. “Blucksley is a good place for respites, yes? We do stay there when we journey to Standbury.”

“Yes, I believe they have a tavern, although I would not suggest it. The place, I heard, is colonized by bandits. I would be more at ease if you take the next village.”

“Is that so?” Ysabella asked, hiding a wicked smile as she let Thomas lead her to the door.

Time to visit old friends then, she thought with excitement.

---

“Do make certain that Ysabella reaches Wickhurst unscathed, dear,” his mother told him as the footmen loaded the carriage with his and Ysabella’s bags.

He nodded and asked, “And where is she?”

“Oh, well,” his mother said, clearing her throat uncomfortably. “She is with Thomas.”

His entire body went tense.

“She had asked to see him before she leaves,” Lady Hayward supplied further. “She should be out anytime soon.”

He nearly scowled at his mother for acting nonchalant. They both knew why Ysabella and Thomas were talking. His brother could very well be slipping a ring into her finger now!

But it was her choice, his mind said. He had no right to change whatever decision she had come up with. As she had said in the garden, she was ready to give Thomas an answer. He simply did not expect she’d actually do it now.

“How long had they been gone?” he gritted out.

“Oh, not quite long. They shall come out, do not fret.”

Wakefield was pacing the front hallway minutes later, constantly looking over at the closed parlour door. His mother was sitting outside, petting the white cat, patiently waiting for Ysabella to come out.

When finally the door to the parlour opened, Wakefield froze in his spot in the middle of the hallway.

Ysabella was smiling as Thomas leaned down to kiss her cheek.

Wakefield began to panic. His eyes went straight to her hand and fingers.

No ring.

The relief he felt was overwhelming that he suddenly felt weak.

No ring.

She refused. She said no.

As Ysabella turned and found him standing there, Thomas leaned close to whisper something in her ear and she chuckled, shoulders shaking with mirth. “I am about ready to go, my lord,” she said to him. She walked away from Thomas to join his mother outside.

His eyes flew to his brother who was shaking his head. Thomas lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

I tried. Now it is your turn, were the silent words he read in the gesture.

Wakefield’s eyes sauntered to Ysabella who was now making her way to his mother.

How would he even start? Somebody ought to tell him for he had no bloody idea how.

XXVI. Ey, Guv!

Dearest Lady Weis,

My lover slapped me when I started talking about you while we were in her bedchambers.

I had to leave her estate in the middle of the night, dressed in naught but my breeches.

It is quite liberating that I can share such stories with you knowing you’d fully understand. Although I fear my confessions would soon be thrown back at me in some way. I am not saying by you, but by some other means.

Yours,

William

---

It was not difficult to come up with a decision regarding Thomas’ offer, Ysabella was thinking as she looked outside the carriage window.

Thomas managed to make her confuse. Added to that was the other side of Wakefield she saw in Bertram. Furthermore were her reactions to him whenever they were alone.

Wakefield was not truly the man she knew while being Ysabella Everard in Wickhurst or as Lady Weis in the letters.

He was someone else far more as Wakefield with simply Ysabella Everard in a garden, a cabin, a dark parlour, or even in a bloody shooting lesson.

It took no longer than a night of restlessness for her to realize what her reactions to him in Bertram meant.

She never felt anything other than nice when Thomas kissed her. It made her think a lot, but it was never the same as Wakefield’s kiss.

With Wakefield, the very memory of that kiss they shared could make her mind drift to many places, opening many dreams and illusions in her mind. Even the one he gave her when they danced in the parlour could keep her awake all night should she allow her mind to think of it.

So, yes, Ysabella now had a name to all her reactions to Wakefield.

The excitement, the scary feeling and her inscrutable emotions were all but one: desire.

And she figured it was not bad to feel it. As a matter of fact, this desire made her feel even more woman.

“You seem quite deep in thought,” Wakefield noted dryly, drawing Ysabella back to the present. “Having regrets?” he added, his eyes staring at her with meaning.

“Ah, so you know I refused Thomas,” she absently said, looking more closely at the scene they passed by. “Where are we?”

He peered through the window to see. “We are entering Blucksley, I believe.”

“And we have to stay at Blucksley for the night, yes?” she asked, trying to feel her legs but couldn’t, a sign that they had to find a tavern soon.

“Yes.”

“Then could I suggest the tavern?” she asked, her mind already racing to one specific place.

Wakefield’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You know Blucksley.”

She shrugged. “We do make a stop here whenever we visit Standbury. Trust me, my lord, I know the perfect place to stay.”

“Why do I have a feeling that I am not going to like this place?”

She rolled her eyes. “We shall have separate rooms, believe me. I shall not compromise you.”

For the first time in many days, she witnessed Wakefield laugh. “Bloody tarnation. Compromise me?”

She wryly glared at him. “Do not, for one second, think that I cannot do so.”

Alarm flickered in his eyes, followed by a glint of desire, before he covered them with a laugh, saying, “Very well. You shall choose where we make our stop.” He knocked on the roof of the carriage and it slowed down.

Ysabella leaned her head out of the carriage to tell the driver where they should stop for a respite. She leaned back against her seat and smiled with contentment. She was at Blucksley.

Perfect place to find old friends.

---

Wakefield was staring blindly at the ceiling, wide-eyed and without a foreseeable amount of sleep.

They would reach Wickhurst after this night.

He was fearful and at the same time anticipating the return.

Fearful that what he was planning to do would be different the moment they return. Everything was there—everything they had put on hold while at Bertram was waiting there and he found he did not wish to face any of it. Morris would present him the list of callers he would have to meet. Papers from Wakefield would be there as well and he’d have to make decisions for the next planting season. Aurora and her troubles were waiting for him.

He groaned at the thought of it all.

But all the same he was itching to go back. Start planning; start asking around how a man such as him—a rakehell—would court a lady who was adamant to marry him. Pathetic as it may sound, but it would be difficult to do when both of them were playing the same game.

He was in the middle of counting the number of flowers she had given him and how he could multiply those to a dozen more and many days it would take for him to carry them to her doors when a knock came to his door.

“Wakefield, are you awake?” Ysabella’s voice asked outside the door.

He jumped out of bed and started to stride to the door when he paused to look across the room to see his reflection in the mirror. He tried to tidy himself by brushing his hair with his fingers and tucking his shirt beneath his breeches.

She knocked once more and he reached for the door, opened it a crack and frowned at her. “What the bloody hell are you—” he stopped, his mouth falling open. He opened the door wider to have a better look at her. “Are you wearing breeches?”

She smiled, enthusiastically nodding. “I was planning to visit friends and I wondered if you would like to come along.”

He scowled at her. “It is the middle of the night!”

“Oh, but they are already waiting for me, see?” she said, waving a note in front of him. “I sent them a missive just this afternoon.”

“Can this not wait until tomorrow?”

She cringed. “Well, uh…” she fidgeted, transferring her weight to the other foot, “uhm… they have important business to deal with on the morrow.” She tried to cover her lie with a bright smile.

He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious of the wicked glint in her eyes. But her excitement was quite contagious and he realized he wanted to be with her tonight. If this was how a man ought to pursue a lady, then he must go, yes?

He sighed. “Very well.”

“Perfect! Now, grab your coat. It is quite cold where my friends live.”

He went to take his coat from the bed and as he put it on, he asked, “And where, may I ask, do these friends live?”

She merely grinned. “You shall see.”

---

“I do not believe it is a famous idea to be out in the middle of the night in a town such as this, Ysabella,” he could not help but say as he looked around the empty road. His eyes flickered to her hand and he battled internally whether it was wise to grab her hand and hold it. But how would he do so without appearing like a fool? But by not taking it, he was already a fool.

He cursed himself when she quickened her step, his plan now impossible.

They were nearing red stone formations and he was quite certain that no houses stood there. “My brother has warned me about Blucksley. Bandits are—”

“Ah, here it is,” she suddenly said, not hearing him. Without taking a moment to hear another of his arguments, she ran across the road which led to the edge of a forest of tree formations.

“Ysabella, do not—”

But she was already waving for him to walk faster. Wakefield sighed, looked about, hoping to find a stranger that might warn them off and beg them to go back to the tavern, but there was none.

With hesitant steps, he followed her and she turned to enter the darkness within the tree rocks.

They were called tree rocks for the formations stood like trees, stone pillars that extended up to the ceiling of the Town, mayhap even beyond aboveground.

“If this is part of a game you are planning to play, little one,” he said with warning stumbling close behind her, “I do not find it entertaining.”

She turned around to walk backward, a habit of hers that he had learned to like. “I would dare not play a game with you—”

“Oi! Oi! Oi!” a voice suddenly said behind Wakefield.

“Look who we have ’ere!” said another from behind Ysabella.

She yelped in surprise and Wakefield started to run toward her, his heart almost leaping out of his chest. The instinct to get to her and pull her to safety came without warning.

But he never reached her as a hand caught him by his collar. Without thinking, Wakefield whirled around to punch the man behind him.

“Ow!” the young lad screamed, stepping away from him.

“Dare not, guv!” warned another young man when Wakefield started to run to Ysabella. The same man had managed to catch Ysabella from behind, his hand covering hers while the others held her hands behind her.

Wakefield felt his blood rush up to his head but the young man he punched had managed to recover and was now grabbing his hands. The fool may very well be shorter than him, but he matched Wakefield’s strength.

“What do you want?” he asked the two men. “Money? I have some.”

The two young lads laughed.

“We’d love some, guv, but we dinna come ‘ere for tha’, see?”

“Then what do you—”

“No more word from ye, guv, no more.” The warning was laced with danger and warning.

He started to panic when he felt his hands being tied behind him. He could have fought the man, but his eyes were focused on Ysabella. She was trying to speak through her captor’s hand.

“Barto, do make it quick,” said Ysabella’s captor.

“Aye,” said his captor, tugging Wakefield’s bound tighter.

“Let her go and I shall go with you,” he tried to say.

“You speak lots, guv,” said Barto. “’Nother word and yer lady comes with us and ye stay ’ere.”

Wakefield’s jaw clenched.

“Ready?” Ysabella’s captor asked.

“Aye, Ned. Ye lead the way.”

Ysabella was shouting behind Ned’s hand but the young lad merely laughed. “Ye came ’ere, not us, miss. Now, do be quiet.”

Barto pushed Wakefield forward. “Move, guv. We bandits are busy folks, ye know. We dinna like wastin’ our precious time,” he said with a laugh.

They walked across the tree rock formations, passing by some with a hint of light above, giving way to some bandits keeping watch from above. All the way the two bandits whistled as if it was an everyday task to escort victims off the road to wherever they were taking them.

Bloody hell. Where did Ysabella think she was going? He could not help but wonder if she had known this would happen or she was simply naïve not to have realized the danger of her adventure.

The forest of tree rocks came to an end, giving way to a large clearing which they crossed, Wakefield and Ysabella stumbling in front of the two bandits. He started planning how to escape or how to help her escape. Mayhap bandits would consider if he’d beg?

His mind started to race when the two bandits forced them to enter a very narrow passage between two giant rock walls. It was like passing through a corridor behind an estate that servants used to go from one room to another without being seen by their masters and the guests.

But this was no bloody estate, he thought, when they finally reached the end of the passage, revealing before his eyes another place he had never seen before. It was as though he entered another village inside a village. He looked up and found a large hole above, giving the many cottages enough moonlight and fresh air. From a distance he could see a plantation.

People—women, men and children alike—who were dressed in what people in Wickhurst would consider rags, stopped for a moment to stare at him and Ysabella. And as though it was a very common thing to see bound rich people, they continued with what they were doing and entered their cottages.

Bloody hell. Where were they?

“Bloody hell, let go of me!” Wakefield heard Ysabella’s voice shout and his eyes widened when the bandit named Ned let her go and she whirled around to smack his head, sending the bandit’s newsboy hat to fly off.

“Ack!” the man shouted while Barto laughed beside Wakefield. It was only then that he realized he was free to move and when he did, he wasted no time and attacked Barto, hands still tied behind him. Both of them landed on the ground with Wakefield on top of the young bandit.

“Ned!” Barto started shouting as he craned his neck away from Wakefield’s teeth. “The bloody lord’s bitin’ me! He’s bitin’ me!”

“Wakefield! Stop it!” Ysabella was screaming. From the corner of his eye he saw her running toward him.

He’d bite the man’s neck off if he had to, he thought, but hands were pulling him away from the crying Barto.

“What the hell’s happenin’ ’ere!” a female voice shouted.

“They bound him!” Ysabella’s voice shouted as she pulled Wakefield away from Barto.

“Let go! Let go!” cried Barto while Ned helped Ysabella, laughing with mirth.

“You bleedin’ idiots!” the woman’s voice said and Wakefield finally gave up, letting himself be dragged away from Barto. He saw a woman dressed in a shirt and trousers, her bushy black hair flying about her as she attacked the two bandits.

“Are you all right?” asked Ysabella. Before Wakefield could utter they must escape while the bandits were killing each other, she said to the group, “Ned bound me and Barto tied my companion like one of his victims!”

“’Twas a rite of passage, Alex!” shouted Ned as he blocked the woman’s punch. “Rite of passage!”

“Rite of passage me arse, you bleedin’ lunatics!” the fiery lady shouted before she turned around to face both Ysabella and Wakefield who were still on the ground.

Wakefield was quite stunned to see that she had a feminine face. In fact, she was a beauty if she could simply learn to wash her face properly.

“Forgive me useless cousins, Ysabella,” she said, chest heaving. Her grey eyes slanted down on Wakefield. “Ye must be Lord Wakefield, eh?” she asked, a naughty grin forming her face before her eyes returned to the woman holding him. “Tis fine man yer husband?”

“I bloody wish,” Ysabella said with a grunt as she helped the stunned Wakefield to his feet. “But no, Alex, he is not, not yet anyway. Now,” she said, cocking a brow at the two lads behind Alex. “Who amongst you would be so kind as to untie my future husband?”

At her last two words, Ned and Barto jumped to their feet to run up to Wakefield to untie him.

“Sorry, guv,” Barto said, grey eyes grinning at him. “We thought yer one of Ysa’s brothers. We dinna have good memory of one of ’em, see?”

Wakefield was looking at everyone with confusion, utterly lost. When his eyes met Ysabella’s she let out a nervous chuckle. “Welcome to Meriwether,” she said, gesturing with her hands. “And meet my friends,” she added, motioning to Alex and the two bandits behind him.

“Ey, guv,” the lady bandit greeted him with a mocking, wicked grin.

XXVII. Simply Ysa

Dearest William,

Ah, bandits. They do make things quite difficult for us on the road, yes?

But surely they do have their own people to feed, own homes to protect. Mayhap like us, they too are struggling in a community.

Mourn not on what you lost for they are replaceable. Your life was spared and that is the important thing.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Wakefield could not believe what was happening. He gaped at Ysabella. “Friends? But they’re—”

“Bandits?” Alex asked, voice threatening. “Speak carefully, guv, for ye might hurt our feelings.” She looked over at her cousins. “We dinna like gettin’ our feelings hurt, right Barto? Ned?”

“Aye!” the cousins answered. “We bandits have honour, see?” Barto said. “An pride,” added Ned.

Barto and Ned freed Wakefield from his bounds and walked up to Alex.

“Happy now, cousin?” Ned asked.

Alex nodded and went up to Wakefield. “D’ye feel alright, guv?”

Wakefield’s nostrils flared. Embarrassed was not enough a word to explain how he felt. He was tied by bandits and dragged like a common cattle!

“He is, Alex, do not fret,” said Ysabella, pulling Wakefield to stand close to her. “Now, you said there’s a feast, aye?”

His head snapped down at her. She was trying hard to talk like these people. And she was having fun. He saw it in the glimmer of her eyes.

“’Course, Ysa. Come,” Alex said, motioning with her head. She walked toward a large cottage. “My ’Pa’s away, see? He would love to see ye again, Ysa.”

Ysabella chuckled beside Wakefield as they followed Alex toward the cottage. From another cottage, a young girl was poking her head out of the window, curiously looking at them.

He grabbed Ysabella by the hand to stop her. “Ysabella, I do not think this is—”

She moved her hand so she was clasping his, giving it a squeeze. “It is going to be all right, my lord. They are good people. They are friends.” She looked over her shoulder. “But do promise me that you will not speak of this to anyone.”

Wakefield hesitated but did not say anything as Barto and Ned walked past them.

“I merely wanted to visit Alex and her family. It has been a long time since, see?” Her eyes flickered with desperation and when he heard her next words, he understood why. “I do not have many friends in Wickhurst, ones like Alex and her cousins. They are different and the kind of different that I like.”

With a sigh, Wakefield nodded and her face brightened. She tugged at his hand and let her lead him inside the cottage.

---

It was indeed a feast.

Alex and her cousins prepared a sumptuous meal for them. Wakefield wondered then where the young lady bandit’s mother was but refrained from asking for he was afraid the chit would not take it lightly.

A few other bandits came as they ate and to his surprise, none of them dared to even bother him as he sat in one corner, brooding as Ysabella talked with her friends.

Barto and Ned disappeared for a while and when they returned they were carrying a box of wine. They offered Wakefield a bottle—a bottle!—and laughed when he simply stared at it with wonder.

“This is an expensive wine,” he noted, amazed.

“Aye!” said Ned. “An ’twas not easy to get it, right Barto?”

Barto nodded. “We left one rich lord unhappy on the road!” Everyone laughed and took their own bottles to drink for themselves. Apparently, wine glasses were not common in Meriwether.

He watched as Ysabella easily mingled with everyone, talking as though they had known each other all their lives, as though she was not new to this and she belonged here.

Alex left Ysabella talking with a few other female bandits and walked up to him. “Yer not drinkin’?” she inquired.

Wakefield blinked. He did not know why he was feeling scared. The woman was not even doing anything to him. She was smiling, in fact. But the smile bothered him. It spoke of mischief and many other undesirable things.

Stories he heard of bandit attacks came back to him and none of them were good. They ought to forgive him if he could not help but think that despite her ruggedly beautiful face, Alex was naught but a dangerous, wicked bandit in his mind.

For the sake of all that was holy, he had been a victim by one of them. Those bandits from a long time ago might not be from Meriwether, but they were bandits nonetheless.

Alex reached for the bottle of wine in his hand and opened it. She drank straight from its mouth and wiped it with her shirt before handing it back to him. “Now ye know ’tis not poisoned, guv.”

With hesitation, and knowing the woman would not leave him alone if he did not drink, he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a gulp, eyes warily looking at Alex.

Bloody hell it was good!

Alex laughed and to his disappointment, she sat down beside him. The chaise was tattered and obviously too old for both of them, so it was a surprise that it did not give in when she added her weight.

Alex did not say anything. Wakefield drank from the bottle again, eyes on Ysabella.

This was another side of her that he never saw. And he was seeing this Ysabella Everard for who she was because Wickhurst with its fancy gowns and balls was not the place for her. She was alive in places like this, places where she could be free from the eyes of society, places where people cared naught but for her nature.

And as he swallowed more wine, he realized he was amongst those who judged her character and took it as childish when in fact she was more than that.

Ysabella Everard was no child. She was merely as innocent and as free as one.

“Ye must be lucky, guv, to have her affection. She’s a rare gem, that she is,” Alex spoke beside him. “She and Em are the only gentries that gained me respect,” she added. “And Tori, sure.”

“Tori?” he asked, surprised. “Levi’s wife?”

Alex laughed. “The two of ’em were not married yet when they visited us, no they were not. But glad the bloke took the courage to do so, eh? How is he?”

“You mean Levi?”

“’Course!”

“Quite happily married with a child.”

“And the other chit?”

“What other chit?”

“The older sister,” she said.

“Margaret?”

“Ah, yes, that sister.”

“How do you know of her?”

“Almost made her a victim few years ’go,” Alex said with a shrug. Wakefield would never get used to this nonchalant conversation about victimizing people on the road.

“She is also happily married, I gather.”

“Ah, good for ’er then.” She turned to him. “And ye?”

He blinked. “Me?”

“Ye happy?”

Wakefield swallowed more wine. His eyes wandered back to Ysabella. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before he turned to look at Alex again. “I intend to be.”

The bandit’s face transformed into a beautiful one when she allowed a wide grin to cross her face. The roughness was gone, replaced by a feminine beauty fitting of a woman. “Do be sure you do, guv!” she said, jumping to her feet. She turned to look down at him. “But ye better be careful, aye? We love Ysa and Emma, see. Not every day we get to meet rich folks like ’em and not rob ’em!”

He frowned.

“Ye do not hurt either of ’em,” she explained, voice filled with warning. She motioned her head to where Ysabella was. “As I said, guv, she’s a rare gem, that one. Here, she’s no gentry. She’s no Everard. She’s simply Ysa.” Wakefield could not help but agree so he nodded. “Glad to talk business wid’ya,” Alex said, holding out her hand.

Business?

But he wished not to question the woman’s choice of words so he took her hand and she surprised him even further when she shook it with a very firm grip. Bloody tarnation, she was strong!

Without another word spoken, Alex turned and left him alone with his bottle of wine and returned to join Ysabella and the others.

For the rest of the night, Wakefield finished the wine.

---

He was not foxed, but he was quite certain Ysabella was. Not entirely, but her steps wobbled as they were led by Alex and her cousins back out of the forest of tree rock formations.

“She does not drink spirit and you made her,” he snapped at Ned, catching Ysabella when she stumbled out into the cobbled street.

“She is—” Ned started to say, but Ysabella stopped him.

“Fine! I am fine!” Ysabella cried out, whirling away from Wakefield to face Alex. “I do not wish to go home just yet, Alex. I do not want to go back to Wickhurst.”

Alex simply laughed, shaking her head. “Ye do, Ysa. Emma is waitin’. And do be sure to give her my love, aye?”

Ysabella nodded, grinning like a fool as she stumbled toward Alex to embrace the woman. Wakefield stood close, ready should she sway and fall.

“See ya, guv!” Barto said, patting his back.

He glared at the bandit, but he was not really angry. He merely did not wish to entertain that thought of having to meet them on the road again.

“Take ’er, guv,” said Alex when Ysabella would not let her go. “We’ll meet again, me friend,” she soothed, pushing Ysabella toward Wakefield.

Ysabella groaned and winced. “My head is bloody aching.”

“Because you ought not to have drunk,” Wakefield said, glaring at Ned once again.

“She took my bloody wine. I dinna give ’er any!”

“Now, now, do behave like adults,” Alex said, stepping between Wakefield and Ned. She looked at him and said, “Do take care of her, guv. See ya ’round, eh?”

He moaned. “Could we not?”

“We promise no rope this time, guv!” Barto said with a smirk. “No ropes.”

Wakefield highly doubted that.

Alex gave Ysabella’s forehead a kiss and Wakefield saw the glimmer of longing in the bandit’s eyes before she turned to run back into the forest. Her cousins gave Wakefield their most wicked grin before they followed their cousin, leaving Wakefield and Ysabella alone.

“I am quite all right,” Ysabella sniffed. Wakefield peered down at her. Was she crying?

He sighed. “Let us go back to the tavern,” he said, taking her hand.

“Do you know if they keep pies in the kitchen?” she asked.

Wakefield’s shoulders began to shake with laughter. “I shall try to find out, little one,” he whispered beside her.

They walked, hand in hand, back to the tavern as Ysabella talked more about pies.

---

Wakefield escorted Ysabella back to her room and found a basin of water to soak a clean towel which he then took to her. She would not take her bed and had insisted the chaise was better.

He began to wipe her face but she turned away. “It is cold!” Her voice was clearer. Perhaps the walk had helped.

“It will make you feel better,” he insisted, wiping her face once again.

“Where’s my pie?” she asked.

“Later,” he whispered, gathering her hair behind her nape to give way for the cold towel. She moaned at the cool feeling and his body reacted in a way that he felt his trouser tighten.

Bloody hell.

“Are you quite feeling all right now?” he asked, clearing his throat.

He soaked the towel once again, squeezed out the water and took her hand in his and he started cleaning it as well. He did not have to, but he could not bloody well go back and wipe her face and neck, could he? Not if he was intending to compromise her anyway.

“I am all right. I already said so. I did not drink that much.” Her voice was barely a whisper and Wakefield gulped, afraid to look up and meet her eyes. They were in a bloody bedroom with the bed merely a few paces away.

And she sounded and felt wonderful.

At that moment he wished he could see her once more as his friend’s sister. It would make this task a tad easier.

Then leave. She is all right, the voice whispered to him.

But he couldn’t. Not now, anyway.

To fill the silence, he focused on her hand and uttered, “You did not elaborate on your talk with my brother earlier.

“Thomas?”

“I do not remember having another brother.”

She let out a throaty chuckle and his muscles tightened once more. Bloody tarnation indeed.

“You wish to know why I refused his offer of marriage.”

He did not reply. From her answer, he knew she was no longer foxed.

“I did refuse it, see, but something inside me cannot help but wonder if mayhap Thomas was the possibility I never dared take.”

His entire body tensed.

His jaw clenched and he paused at the task of cleaning her hand.

She sounded utterly serious that he could not help but interpret her words with a feeling of dread.

He then dared look into her eyes. She was staring at a distance, her eyes quite not in the present. “What do you intend to do about it then?”

“Nothing,” she murmured, her lips barely moving.

“Nothing?”

“Yes,” she said, snapping away from her thoughts. She met his eyes. “I do not wish to be married to him. But I must admit that Thomas gave me a lesson. I learned that there are other possibilities. Mayhap it is time for me to find them.” When he stiffened with horror, she laughed. “Dare not think I was threatening you, my lord. I was simply telling the truth. I ought to be ready when I have to give up on you, see?”

Wakefield found that he did not like the sound of it. Did that mean she would soon drop her foolish advances and focus them on someone else?

He wanted her to clarify her statement, to assure him that he still had time to figure out a way to do this. This was all new to him. Everything was, really.

He did not know where or how, but he knew he was just starting to figure it out. She could not be thinking of this now.

She frowned at him, her lips curved into a small smile. “You are looking at me quite oddly, my lord. What is it?”

For a rake who had bedded women without too much of a challenge, planning on kissing Ysabella Everard seemed like an impossible feat. And God, how he wanted to kiss her. When had this idea even started?

“Would you let me kiss you?” he whispered. At the back of his mind he heard mocking voices and laughter. He was definitely doing this in a manner he ought not to if he were a proper gentleman.

Ysabella snorted. “Kiss me? Surely you must be jesting. You, thinking of kissing me, Ysabella—”

He did not let her finish. It was as though an invisible force had pushed him to lean forward and plant his lips against hers—to prove that he indeed yearned to kiss her.

And the effect was incredibly shocking. It was not the same kiss they shared in the parlour. It was far beyond that. He leaned back an inch to look into her shocked eyes, wondering why the kiss reminded him of something, but his thoughts fled when he saw the same flicker of passion and desire in her eyes.

He dropped the towel, placed his hand behind her nape and pulled her toward him, gently planting his lips against her once again, careful not to surprise her, careful to be careful, really, for his body was starting to take over and it wanted more.

Her lips tasted like wine and a faint taste of something sweet. Something familiar he could not quite name.

When a moan escaped her lips as she opened them, Wakefield was momentarily frozen with wonder.

This was different from anything he had ever experienced. He felt as though he was transported back to the Cinderella ball, but he knew she was not Lady Weis.

The kiss in the Cinderella ball made him imagine things, made him desperate to carve the experience into memory. But this… this kiss was making him remember things…

Ysabella walking up to him in the middle of a ball with a wicked smile on her face; her voice asking for a dance; the sparkle in her eyes while eating a piece of turkey; her promising, devil of a smile when she was pulling him into his carriage to tease him with a kiss; her… everything was a memory of her.

He remembered every detail, yet no longer as a rake running away from a child, but as a man yearning for more of those moments. Moments that were real they were almost tangible.

His mother’s words came back to him.

While you waste your time loving an illusion in your head, you are passing up the chance to actually feel something in the flesh…

He understood it now.

Lady Weis was a mirage, a distant picture created by his mind, one without a face and voice, one made up of words and letters. Ysabella Everard was here and he knew it was her. She was the real he wanted—the kind that was almost unbelievable he was afraid to grasp for it might disappear.

He did not know the woman behind the mask.

But he knew Ysabella Everard and he was kissing her and he loved it.

Her mouth welcomed his, tasting his in the same fiery passion. Her hands crept over his shoulder and she pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He was kissing Ysabella Everard.

Her, Ysabella Everard.

Wakefield never imagined, not even in the littlest part of his mind, that a kiss with her would be explosive.

It was odd, really, that his mind gave him Ysabella’s face as the woman he kissed in the Cinderella ball. Mayhap it was telling him that it was time to accept that Lady Weis was but an illusion of a faceless woman who showed him kindness and friendship, but now he had found someone else that was more than that—someone Lady Weis could never be.

He was not looking for the masked woman in this kiss for now he was proven to be wrong. Lady Weis might have been his first real kiss, but Ysabella Everard was giving him the reasons why she, Ysabella, ought to be the last.

This was what he wanted after all. And he had been bloody foolish to have been running away from it for years.

Suddenly he felt not just losing his breath but his very own soul and he pulled her closer as if she could feed it back to him. His hands came to rest on her waist, yet it was not enough. They bunched her shirt and tugged it free from underneath her breeches, itching for skin, for the feel of her—for more of her.

Her mouth opened against his in a gasp, one that nearly set his control to fly out the window.

Wakefield was at the edge, chest constricting with overwhelming desire and wonder to this new discover as his hands found their way underneath her shirt and touched skin. She was flawless, smooth and all woman.

With a strength he did not know he still possessed, he lifted her up to straddle him, his head tilting back to rest against the back of the chaise as she bent down to keep their lips locked, her hands cupping his cheeks.

His hips buckled underneath hers, wanting bare skin, wanting more. His hungry mouth caught the whimper that escaped her as his hands found her breasts underneath, sending his blood to furiously rush to places—his chest, his groin, everywhere but his mind for he was losing it.

He was losing control and he knew it would not do his chances any good if he’d treat her like one of his past lovers.

For she deserved better.

Tearing his mouth from her, Wakefield bent down to bury his face in her neck, kissing her pounding pulse, knowing full well it mirrored his own, nipping at her skin, wanting to leave a mark, trying to regain control.

His hands kneaded her full breasts, wanting to pull the fabric up and taste her there, trail his tongue lower and lower…

But he stopped. He willed his hands to come down, caress her waist and hips and finally, with enough strength, guided her to raise to her knees, breaking contact form the obvious evidence of his arousal.

With a final groan of unfed desire, Wakefield lifted his head.

Her fingers were clasped around his hair, her eyes closed still. Was she afraid of what she’d see if she opened them?

He silently cursed himself. He had led her to be afraid of him, led her to be cautious around him. She had had enough experience of his reactions toward her to feel apprehensive. She may not show it, but the signs were there.

He pulled her head down for one last kiss before he lifted her off him, coming to his feet, panting heavily for control as he held her firmly for she seemed to have lost her strength as well.

For a moment he wondered if she had always known it would feel this way between them. If she did, then he was the foolish, naïve one.

Stepping closer, he saw that her eyes had opened and they were staring at him with confusion.

He knew of the uncertainties she might feel, of the confusion she must have to this sudden change in him. Yet he could barely speak to explain himself. Where would he start? How?

Wakefield pulled her closer until their lips were brushing, sharing one breath. “Rest well, Ysa,” he whispered against her lips. “We shall talk on the morrow.”

“But—”

“Later,” he assured her, stepping back. He pulled her toward her bed. “We shall have a long talk later. For now, rest.”

Ysabella dutifully went to bed and he watched as she made herself comfortable. He could climb in bed with her. He would not touch her, simply sleep.

But he could no longer trust himself around her so he walked out of her room and went back to his.

Later, he thought. They’d talk later.

XXVIII. Welcome to Wicked Wickhurst!

Dearest Lady Weis,

I do keep lovers to fill my lonely nights. Not merely to warm my bed, but to accompany me when I do not find amusement at Grey’s.

Most of them would allow me to talk and tolerate my tales, even laugh at some of them. But I know that their hearts are not fully in place, as is mine.

As days go by, I find myself longing for something else entirely, something quite real. I could not quite fathom it at the moment.

Yours,

William

---

“When you said we shall talk, you meant we shall talk, yes?” Ysabella asked before they climbed into the carriage.

Wakefield nodded.

“Talk with me saying things while you listen, and you saying things while I listen,” she further clarified.

The corner of his lips quirked into a smile, clearly amused. “Yes.”

Ysabella sighed and nodded. “Very well, then, I do hope you shall have the patience to listen .” He opened the door to the carriage and she pointedly added, “And answer my questions.”

Panic crossed his features for a moment before he said, “Yes, Ysabella.”

She frowned at him. Something had definitely changed. He was no longer pushing her away, last night being the evidence, of course.

And remembering that night again, she turned to climb into the carriage to hide the flush in her face.

Ysabella willed herself to stay still, feeling quite restless inside as Wakefield talked with the driver and the footmen. When he followed her inside to sit across from her, she swallowed, squared her shoulders and forced her eyes to meet his blue ones.

“Please do not say we shall have to wed because of last night,” she blurted out before he could open his mouth to start talking.

The surprise in his eyes was evident and she would have laughed if the carriage did not lurch to a start and she had to hold on to her seat to keep herself steady.

“As I have said, we do not have to marry since I have not compromised you yet,” she added once the carriage found its bearing.

His face morphed with an incredulous look at her words. She held her breath as he stared at her for a very long time before speaking. “Do you realize what your brothers would do should they find out about last night?” he asked.

“They would throw up at the knowledge of last night before they hang you for the same thing.”

“They are your brothers—”

“They do not have to know,” she said with a shrug.

“They would suspect something the moment they find out that we returned to Wickhurst together, alone and without my mother,” was his quick response. “Have you told them about your travel arrangements back to Wickhurst?”

Her eyes wavered and she blinked. “No.”

“That is why,” he said, leaning his arms on his knees to look at her closely, “we should do this properly.”

“What do you mean by doing this properly?” she asked and when he found it hard to answer, her eyes widened. Could he be thinking about what she thought he was thinking? “Do you truly mean to marry me?” He opened his mouth to say yes and she knew he was about to say yes, but she could not hear it now. “Why?” she asked before his answer was spoken.

His mouth was left open. The look in his eyes seemed as if he had utterly misplaced his brain somewhere. He could not even answer her!

“Surely someone like you, a rake who had bedded countless lovers before, should know that kissing a lady does not mean compromising her, yes?”

He blinked in confusion. “But is that not what you want? Marry, I mean.”

She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Yes, but it is not how I imagined myself to be married!” She scoffed and turned her face away to look out the window. “A kiss and he wants to marry me! How insane could this man be?”

He merely stared at her but Ysabella was not quite sure what he looked like. Was he angry that she refused? Happy that she did? She truly did not wish to know for this was not what she wanted to hear from him.

No, she did not chase him around for years merely to be wed in such an easy manner as a kiss! A kiss!

“I do want to do this the proper way, Ysabella,” he began after a while.

She stiffened and turned to face him once again. She did not like the word proper at all. It spoke too much of what the ton lived for their entire lives.

“Pray tell, my lord, why you are saying all these things all of a sudden? Why did you kiss me last night and why are you sitting here with me as if I have never been the greatest nuisance of your life for years until this moment?”

Wakefield sighed and leaned back against his seat. His eyes held hers prisoner.

“Is it because of your brother? Of the courtship between us in Bertram?”

His eyes flickered with annoyance. His jaw tightened. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“I—it is not entirely because of my brother, Ysabella.” He ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his face afterward. He groaned and she almost felt sorry for him. His hands helplessly fell and when he opened his eyes, memories of last night flashed in her mind. She felt a current run through her by the intense look on his face. “I want to know you more.”

She shook last night off her mind.

Her brow arched, doubtful.

Why did she doubt him now? Should she not be happy that he was saying all these things?

Deep inside, she knew the reason why. He kissed her last night and he did not even recognize her as Lady Weis!

But you wanted him to know you as Ysabella, not her, a voice in her head whispered.

Her jaw tightened. Although she hated to admit it, Ysabella realized that she was still bothered about Lady Weis. He could not recognize the Lady Weis in her. In his mind, they were two separate entities. Did he simply prefer her now because he could not find the other? Did that mean she would never get his full affection because half of it was for Lady Weis?

But YOU are Lady Weis!

But she did not wish to be her any longer. She ought not to care. He would never learn who she was if he would not believe her claims, if he could not see Lady Weis in her.

Ah, bloody hell, this was confusing! She had done this to herself and she knew it!

“I shall court you.”

His words did not immediately register to her brain and when they did, Ysabella blinked. “But it is I who is courting you,” she said for there was nothing she could think at the moment. What was she to say? I demand that you announce your love? I demand that you recognize me as Lady Weis and fall deeply in love with me? What was she to say, really, but to pretend that she was not as confused as she truly was?

He sighed and closed his eyes. This was difficult for him, she could see it.

Well, it ought to be difficult, she thought. “The very moment we reach Wickhurst, you cease your courtship and I shall begin mine,” he said in a domineering voice, one she had not heard before. It also caused her previous thoughts to fly out the window.

With his words, he drew her full attention on him—on this very moment here, of just them, Wakefield and Ysabella. No Lady Weis, no rake.

It excited her. The very thought of Wakefield courting her wrought too many things in her mind.

But how sincere was he? How certain was she that his heart was into this?

He might have seen the doubt in her face for he said, “I do understand your apprehension, Ysa, but do trust me when I say I intend to do this the proper way because it is what I want.” His voice sounded impatient and desperate all the same.

“I am done pushing you away,” she heard him mutter under his breath.

Her heart swelled but her mind was clouding her judgement with doubt.

In the years that she had been chasing him around, she had never gone this far in her imaginings. Never had she thought of what she would do should he give in and do the courting. In her mind, it had always been her making him say yes.

Yet now this moment apparently came and she did not know what to do or how to deal with it.

This was not the same as Thomas and the others. This was bloody Wakefield telling her he intended to court her! Wakefield!

“Are you certain?” she found herself asking.

His eyes squarely met hers and he nodded.

“You may be very aware of my affections for you, my lord, but you also ought to know that I have my doubts about yours.”

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes wavering with guilt. “I know.”

“And although I love the thought of us running to Tiny Town, I also know that if we do, I would not be completely satisfied.” She tucked a few stray of black hair behind her ear. “I ought to make you prove yourself to me for I deserve it and I am not a fool to settle with something half-heartedly given.”

This time his eyes did not waver as they returned to look into hers. He nodded and said, “I can do it, Ysabella. I may not know how, but I shall find a way.”

She slowly nodded, allowing a small smile. “I ought to make you suffer as well,” she said.

He swallowed and blanched. “Suffer?”

She shrugged. “Someone had given me that very specific instruction. Well, make that two.”

His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Two people told you to make me suffer?”

She gave him an innocent look. “Well, yes, of course. If you must know, the number would tremendously increase should I go around and ask.”

She swallowed the laughter in her throat when his mouth hung open in disbelief.

She smirked. “Is it not amazing? You have not even started, yet you seem to be ready to give up!”

Wakefield arched an eyebrow. “Dare not dare me, Ysabella.”

She laughed. “Oh, my lord, I do dare you.” She looked out the window with a smile, setting aside thoughts of Lady Weis for a while. She’d deal with that later. Or mayhap never for Wakefield might truly have forgotten about her.

Everything would depend on how he would pursue her.

She turned to him with a wicked, provocative smile and asked, “Would you like some advice on a rake’s guide to courtship?”

He scowled and Ysabella’s chuckle filled the carriage.

“You are mocking me,” he accused. “You do not think I can do this.”

“No, my lord,” she said, grinning wickedly. “I merely am eager to see you try.”

Going home to Wickhurst might not be bad after all, she thought.

---

It took all of her efforts to force Wakefield not to show himself to her mother when they arrived in Wickhurst. She did not wish for the woman to faint with delight or horror if she learned that her daughter had spent two days on the road with a gentleman she had been courting for two bloody years.

With a promise to call on her the very next day, Wakefield left to go back to his estate, leaving Ysabella to run inside the estate and find Emma.

It was Jefferson, on the other hand, who informed her that Emma had gone for a walk in the park with Samuel and Ralph.

“You have not sent a missive regarding your arrival, my lady,” he said, looking quite surprised as well that she had returned.

“Well, I did not bother because I thought all of you know I shall be back after a fortnight!” she snapped. “Where is mother?”

“Tea party with friends, my lady.”

“Has Margaret and Cole arrived in Wickhurst then?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lady.”

“Perfect,” she wryly said. “So no one is at home? And Margaret and Cole are not yet in Wickhurst. Emma and Ralph are out. Mother is out. Nick and Max are obviously not here. Perfect! Just perfect!” She waved her arms around. “I would not be surprised if Mrs. Beagle has gone missing again!”

Jefferson winced but shook his head. “The cat is currently at home, my lady.”

She sighed. “Very well, have the carriage prepared. I shall go and find my own entertainment elsewhere.”

“Are you not going to take a moment of respite, Lady Ysabella?” asked Jefferson.

“No, I want to go out now.”

---

A few minutes later, Ysabella was on her way to Aurora’s estate, the only place she thought she could go to.

On the way, she was thinking of what she ought to tell her friend.

Aurora would be utterly surprised of the drastic things that had happened while she was in Bertram. She knew her friend would be concerned about the lost letters, but Ysabella found that they no longer mattered at the moment.

Wakefield intended to court her. If anyone was thinking of doing something with the letters, use them to claim to be Lady Weis, then they ought to do their best for the letters would not be enough proof. If Wakefield was truly in love with Lady Weis, he would know her far beyond the letters.

He did not recognize you, the voice in her head reminded her.

Ah, no matter. It would then be a problem she would have to face if a fake Lady Weis should come out of nowhere. The Herald had been quiet for quite some time anyway, an indication that whoever had stolen the letters had not yet made a move.

The carriage stopped outside Aurora’s new estate. Ysabella immediately climbed out and knocked on the door. She did not wish to stay long, really, for she could not wait to go home as well to see Emma the moment she returned from her walk with Ralph and Samuel.

She needed to talk with her Emma. They had many things to talk about, of course and she was yet to kneel and ask for her sister’s forgiveness for the accusation she had thrown at her face during their last fight.

The butler answered with a surprised look on his face. “Lady Ysabella,” he greeted, “a pleasure to—”

“Where is Aurora?” she asked, striding through the door. “Do tell her I wish to see her at once.”

“She is currently in her chambers, my lady. You can wait in the parlour if you wish while I inform Miss Randolph of your presence.”

She grinned. “Perfect. Do announce my presence. I shall find the parlour myself.” The butler nodded and proceeded up the stairs to bid her request.

She had merely been to Aurora’s new estate twice, both only outside to drop her off from the hunting party and the opera weeks before. She tried the first door she found and realized she stumbled into the study.

About to step out to find the parlour, Ysabella changed her mind when she saw the number of books her friend had in her collection. Aurora had always fancied reading literature and to find that her friend finally had a decent place to display them gave Ysabella a sense of satisfaction.

Thinking Aurora would find her anyway, she entertained herself by walking through the aisle of books.

The study was small, but it was far better than the last one. Aurora’s parents must have finally come to their senses, she thought, now walking around to study the furniture.

She smiled when she saw cheap trinkets displayed on top of a wooden drawer. She picked one up, studied it with fascination before replacing it back to its position. Her friend did have queer taste, she thought, absently opening the top drawer.

She was about to slide it back inside when something caught her eye. And then she started to frown.

And her heart began to pound against her chest.

She did not have to pick them up and study them to know what they were. She had been through them countless of times in the past.

A shiver ran through Ysabella at the realization of what she had found and where she had found it.

Her breath was caught in her throat and before she could do anything she would regret later on, she slid the drawer back in place and whirled around to walk out of the study, stiff and stunned.

Not a minute longer, she was back in her carriage on her way home.

Tears abandoned her for she was feeling numb inside.

She only had one person in mind at that moment: Emma.

She needed her sister.

XXIX. Twin’s the Fury

Dearest William

I very rarely get cross. I found that when I do, I lose control of my entire self.

That being said, I do try my best to contain negative thoughts. Should I ever fail, people might not want to be anywhere near me.

Yes, my lord, it is a warning.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Emma burst inside their chamber only to stop with alarm upon seeing Ysabella’s distraught face.

Her sister slowly approached her with a frown on her face. “I have just arrived and Jefferson told me that you have returned from Bertram. Why did you not send us a—”

“Em,” Ysabella choked out, tears welling automatically welling her eyes after she saw her sister. “You were right.”

Emma looked confused. “Right about what, Ysa? Why are you crying?” Anger lit her sister’s eyes. “Did Wakefield—”

Ysabella shook her head, a tear escaping her eye. “No, it is not him.” Her face contorted with pain. “It is Aurora.”

Emma’s jaw tightened and Ysabella saw through the blur of tears that her sister’s face had gone scarlet. “What did she do?”

Ysabella shivered with the pain. “She—she stole the letters, Em.” She looked at her sister with pleading eyes. “I am sorry if I did not believe you. I thought she was true and—”

“It no longer matters, Ysa,” Emma said, now walking toward her. Her sister took her hand in hers. “You have been blinded by your love for her. She was the only person to have shown you what you wanted to see. She made you feel as if you were doing the right thing.”

Emma slowly sat down beside her, face filled with fury once more.

“Now, tell me everything.”

Ysabella’s shoulder started shaking but she tried her best to control her tears. “I… I returned from Bertram and everyone was out. I had exciting news and I could not wait to tell someone. You were out with Ralph, Jefferson said. So I went to her estate. While her butler went to inform her of my presence, I got lost in her study.”

It took quite a while before Emma said, “You saw the letters.”

Ysabella whimpered and shook her head. “No, I did not.”

“Then what—”

“I saw my ribbons.”

“Ribbons?”

“The three ribbons I used to tie the letters together.”

“But where—”

“I don’t know! I don’t know where she kept them!”

“Are you certain—”

“I am certain they were mine, Em. I have tied them too many times in the past and I know every inch of each one of them.”

Emma was quiet again. And when she spoke, she said, “It would be quite hard to accuse her of stealing the letters, much more so suspect her.”

“You were the one who suggested she might have taken them. She has the ribbons. It only means—”

“Fret not, Ysa,” Emma interjected, squeezing her hand. “I believe you.”

Ysabella wanted to kick something. She wanted to vent out the fury inside her, but the pain was greater at the moment that she was held immobile. “What do I do, Em? What could she have done with the letters?”

Her sister’s face was now filled with concentration. The way her brows met in a straight line and her eyes looking at one distant place, Ysabella knew Emma would soon come up with answers. “She could have used them as proof. She could be planning to claim she is Lady Weis.”

“Wakefield would not believe her!” Ysabella said with horror, although at that time she could no longer brush aside Emma’s theory.

Emma met her eyes. “Or she could have sold it to someone else for money.”

Ysabella blanched. “No. No. Em, I do not think I could handle it if she used my letters for—”

Emma tightened her hold around Ysabella’s hand.

“I hope I never left Bertram.” Her voice shook. “The moment I returned, things turned to worse!”

Her sister pulled her closer and held her as she finally allowed herself to cry. “I have your back, Ysa. You have me.” Emma turned her head to kiss her temple. “We shall confront her at once.”

Ysabella shook her head. “I do not think I can, Em.”

“You can,” her sister’s strong voice said, giving her a small shake. “You can because you have to. You have the right to do so. For now, you allow yourself to be weak for you shall need your strength on the morrow.”

Emma let Ysabella cry a little while longer in silence.

---

Having had no sleep the previous night since he returned, Wakefield decided to go out early to call on Ysabella. Mayhap he could invite her for a walk in the park. Or perhaps find a book she would fancy, one that did not discuss geography.

On the way to the door, Morris handed him missives.

He read the note from Aurora’s doctor saying that her wounds had fully healed and the stitches had been removed. He’d return in two days for a final visit.

Another one was from Aurora herself, asking if he would visit now that he had returned. That, he thought he would not do until it was time for him to discuss what her next plans should be.

“Will you not look into the others, my lord?” Morris asked when he handed back the rest.

“No.”

“But they are from ladies who—”

“You shall no longer accept any calls or missives from anyone claiming to be Lady Weis,” he ordered.

Morris looked utterly delighted and the bastard did not even hide it. “Yes, my lord. Very good, my lord.”

He started for the door.

“Where shall you be today, my lord?” When he glared over his shoulder, Morris added, “In case someone asks, of course.”

“The Everard estate,” he curtly replied before he left. Before he turned away, he saw Morris gaping at him.

Climbing into his carriage, Wakefield realized he was nervous. Bloody hell.

Would any of her brothers be there? Would her mother accept the call? Would she be amiable? What would he tell her?

He had never done this before, never even attempted it.

All the way to the Everard manor, Wakefield thought of the many different ways this first visit would end in a tragic way.

He had pictured himself accepting heavy blows from her brothers, a sword fight, and even a duel. The worst was a rope tied around his neck.

By the time he arrived, he found he could not even move his legs.

But he had to force himself if he wanted this. And God, he wanted this.

Walking up the steps that led to the front doors was comparable to climbing one of the steepest rock formations in the southern part of the Town. His lungs felt as if they barely had enough air, his heart a loud beating sound in his ears. Was he having a heart attack, he wondered.

As he knocked, he pictured Ysabella holding a flower outside his own estate. She had done this many times every Friday. Had she always felt her heart was jumping to all places as his was now? Did her hands shake as well? Did her knees feel wobbly?

When the butler finally opened the door, he found he could not speak.

Jefferson, of course, knew of him from the many times he had visited Levi in this very same estate in the past. But he never felt the urge to befriend the man as much as he wanted to now. He knew, by having watched Ysabella talk with Morris, that Jefferson could be the doorway not merely into the estate but also to every activity Ysabella had planned for the day and the next.

“Lord Wakefied, what a surprise!” Jefferson said. “Are you by chance looking for Lord Standbury? I am afraid he had long left the estate since the hunting games and—”

“No, no, Jefferson,” he said, swallowing. Bloody hell, his throat felt dry. “I am here for Lady Ysabella.”

Jefferson looked stunned. Then the most unexpected thing happened on the old man’s face. It transformed from formal to confusion and finally settled to what Wakefield interpreted as angry-suspicious. Apparently, like the rest of Wickhurst, the butler knew how he had been treating Ysabella in her courtship . “Whyever would you want to see Lady Ysabella?”

Wakefield squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Well, it is a matter I think I ought not to share to you as it does not concern you.”

That, of course, was the biggest mistake he made that day for the butler’s greying brow arched with defiance. “Lady Ysabella is currently not in residence, Lord Wakefield.” The man’s tone was dismissive.

“Could I inquire where she went?” he patiently asked.

“Yes, but I fear I cannot answer as I was not given any instruction to do so. It is a matter I think I ought not to share to you as it does not concern you,” the butler said, throwing his own words back to his face. “My lord,” Jefferson added with finality.

Wakefield could feel the fury building in the pit of his stomach but he held it in place. It would not do him well if he would make an enemy out of Jefferson. He had been with the family for a very long time and he knew they considered him family.

He forced a smile on his face. “Then perhaps I would return later this afternoon once Lady Ysabella has returned from wherever she went.”

Jefferson nodded, bowed and gently closed the door. Right in his face. While he was still standing there.

Bloody bastard, wait until I am part of the family!

With a sigh, Wakefield whirled around to climb back inside his carriage. “Back to the estate,” he scowled at the carriage driver.

He shall return later, he thought with determination. If she had been able to go to his estate weekly for two years, then he could very well go back every hour in a day if need be.

---

Ysabella wanted to run back to the carriage but Emma was holding her hand firmly.

And when the butler opened the door, her sister pulled her right through the doorway, past the surprised butler and demanded, “Bring your mistress down here this very instant,” to the butler.

“But Miss Randolph is not expecting—”

“Now!” Emma shouted.

“My lady, she is currently—”

“Very well, then,” Emma said, pulling Ysabella with her as she stormed to the stairs. “We shall find her ourselves!”

“My lady, it is not—”

“Sod off!” Emma shouted over her shoulder as they climbed up the stairs.

When they reached the top, a door opened from the right corridor.

“Emma? Ysabella?” Aurora asked, her voice delighted. “Whyever are you here? Why are you shouting?”

Ysabella stood frozen. Aurora looked perfectly the same, still beautiful, still looking prim and proper in her light green dress, her expression as mellow as they had been before Ysabella left Wickhurst weeks ago.

She doubted herself once again. Could Aurora truly have done it? Mayhap she had seen wrong and the ribbons were merely the same as hers.

But she had no time to ponder as Emma let go of her hand and stormed straight toward Aurora.

“Where are the letters?” Emma demanded.

Ysabella forced herself to walk and join the two women in the middle of the corridor.

The butler had followed them but Aurora nodded over Emma’s shoulder to dismiss the man. When Aurora’s blue eyes returned to Emma’s she looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Stop lying, Aurora,” Emma snapped. “Tell us where you hid the letters.”

Aurora frowned and looked over at Ysabella. “Ysa? I was informed you came here yesterday but when I came down to find you, you have gone. What is the matter? What is Emma talking about?”

Ysabella was stunned. She could barely move. She could not even think of a word to say.

“Wakefield’s letters, Aurora,” Emma said. “We know you have them. Ysabella found the ribbons in your study.”

Ysabella wanted to believe Aurora was innocent but for the first time she saw the flicker of alarm cross Aurora’s face before she covered it with a shaky laugh. “Goodness gracious!” she said, “You could not be thinking it was I who stole them, could you?”

“We know you took them. You are the only other person who had been in our chambers other than the maids,” Emma sharply accused. “Now, stop the act and tell us where the letters are!”

Aurora frowned. She looked over at Ysabella. “Truly, Ysa, you could not be—”

“I know my ribbons as much as I know the letters, Aurora. I saw them inside the drawer in your study,” Ysabella finally spoke. “Please, stop this and tell us where they are.” Her eyes began to water once more.

Aurora was looking as though she had finally been trapped. Her eyes seemed to panic before they turned desperate. But finally her face fell and she sighed. Her eyes wavered. “I no longer have them—”

She was not able to finish her words as Emma’s hand came crashing against her cheek. Her face turned to the side before she calmly straightened it to face the two of them. A small, pained smile curved her lips. “I had wished you would never find out.”

“How could you!” Ysabella brokenly shouted, tears streaming down her face. Her face contorted as she felt her heart being clenched. “Why, Aurora? Why did you—”

“—do it?” Aurora finished, her eye flinching. “Why did I choose to betray your trust?” She let out a scoff, her lips curving with bitterness. “It would be quite hard to explain, really.”

“Are you that desperate that you would opt to pretend to be Lady Weis?” Ysabella asked.

Aurora’s blue eyes widened, giving Emma and Ysabella an incredulous look. “Goodness, Ysa. I would never dare pretend to be her—to be you! I am not good enough to pull off such act. The letters are not to be used by me, of course.” She drew a deep breath. “I destroyed them.”

Ysabella gasped in horror. “How could you!”

“How did you get the letters?” Emma demanded.

Aurora shrugged. “I am actually quite surprised you did not realize the letters were gone sooner. I took them merely days after the Cinderella Ball.”

“But why? If you are not planning to be Lady Weis, why did you take them? Do you hate me?”

Aurora averted her gaze before she squared her shoulders and fixed a firm, haughty air. “Well, not really. You have been a terrific friend. But I do have to do what I could to survive.”

“Survive?”

“I am not as rich as the Everards,” was Aurora’s simple answer. “Mayhap you are right. I might be holding some sort of resentment toward you after all. I have always hated that you think you can always get what you want,” she said to Ysabella. “It is time that you realize that you cannot have it all, Ysa.” She paused.

Ysabella went cold. “Whatever do you mean, Aurora?”

Aurora shrugged gave Ysabella a pitiful look. “You truly do not know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Who Wakefield’s current lover is.”

The words rang too many times in her head before she finally realized what Aurora meant. And when she did, the betrayal she felt doubled a hundred times over. She suddenly felt weak. She felt as though the ground had cracked open below her.

He was her lover. And he never told her. He had let her chase him around, did the things he did in Bertram, knowing full well he was bedding her friend! And she had been too naïve to have not suspected such a thing!

The two people she had held dear had been laughing behind her back, watching her make a fool of herself for too long. Suddenly she could picture the two of them cuddled in bed, laughing at her expense.

Suddenly Ysabella could not breathe. The tears would not even come out. She felt cold, utterly frozen. Fury, confusion, betrayal, hate—everything crashing down on her like a big giant ball of rock.

But this was not the moment to be weak, not when Aurora expected it, not when it would satisfy her.

As she squarely met Aurora’s eyes, she could no longer see the friend she cared about, the friend who had listened to all her foolish tales and plans, the one who had been too innocent around them.

What she saw before her eyes was a completely different person.

“So you see now why I had to do it? I am sick of your games, of your tireless efforts to chase a man who could never return your feelings.”

“Then you should have given the letters to Wakefield. If you have given him proof that I am Lady Weis, he would have hated me for it. You could have told him and mayhap you would have succeeded in having him for your own!”

Aurora did not reply, simply scoffed.

“She chose to eliminate the proof of you being Lady Weis because she, too, is afraid. She is afraid he will leave her and come to you,” Emma answered Ysabella, voice dangerously alarming. Everything Ysabella felt that moment was distinctly laced in Emma’s voice.

Aurora did not utter a word to deny Emma’s accusation. She simply shrugged. “And where do you ken would that leave me then? He had already left his other lovers. I would not want that to happen to me as well. I figured that making Lady Weis disappear for good is a much better option.”

Ysabella stepped forward, hands clenched into fists. “He shall know of this—of what you have done.”

“I do not worry about it, really,” Aurora wryly uttered. “Wakefield believes me more than you, Ysa. I have proven it a long time ago.”

Letting out a scoff of disbelief, Ysabella demanded, “Since when? Since when did you become his lover?”

Aurora shrugged. “It does not matter. Do you truly wish to know? I would not want you to crack your brain thinking of the many times you have approached him and realize that it was I he went to after. I would spare you of the pain.”

Aurora knew her too well, after all.

Ysabella could not speak for she did not want to know. How many balls did she go to with Aurora and chased Wakefield while her friend stood to one corner to let her have her way? Aurora was right. She did not wish to know!

“Whatever you say to him, he will never believe. He cannot even see you as Lady Weis! You spent a fortnight together in Bertram, did you not? Did he learn the real Ysabella?” Aurora asked with mocked concern.

Ysabella saw Emma’s surprise at the mention of Wakefield at Bertram but her sister did not say a word.

“He never did, did he not?”

A whimper escaped Ysabella. He had told Aurora of his plans to go to Bertram.

Suddenly everything that happened at Thomas’ estate faded in her mind, as if they were merely a dream she had forgotten upon waking up. And she was indeed waking up. This was reality. Bertram and the Wakefield in Bertram were but a dream.

Aurora took a step back when Emma stepped forward. She looked over at Ysabella. “I had never lied to him. I have been a faithful lover for a long time. While you are but a child in his eyes, Ysabella. He can never love you.”

Ysabella started to stride forward, hand at the ready, an invisible force urging her to just do it, but Emma was faster and nearer. Her sister leapt and attacked Aurora before Ysabella could reach them. The two fell on the floor and Emma was now scratching at Aurora’s face, slapping her in intervals.

The shouting started but it was when they finally heard Aurora’s cry of pain that Ysabella pulled at her sister. She dragged Emma off Aurora who immediately curled into a ball. Her skirts had been pulled high above her knees in their struggle.

Ysabella could hear the butler rushing up the stairs now.

But her mind ignored it for when Ysabella saw the fresh scars on Aurora’s thigh, she gasped in surprise.

Realizing too late, Aurora scrambled to push her skirts down, shouting, “Get out! Get out!”

Emma was now frozen beside Ysabella, both of them in utter shock and confusion.

The butler had reached them now, panting.

Aurora pulled herself off the floor and ordered at the man, “Get them out of here!”

It was Emma who was first to snap out of their stunned surprise and she reached for Ysabella’s hand, slapping the butler’s arm when he made a motion to guide them.

“You are no longer a friend of ours, Aurora,” Emma said, staring down at Aurora. “You messed with the wrong sisters.”

With those last words, Emma pulled Ysabella away.

She looked over her shoulder before they started to climb down the stairs. Aurora was simply sitting there, obviously still in pain.

What had happened to her? Who gave her those scars?

---

Wakefield was in his bedchamber, ready to leave once more to try his luck with Jefferson for the second time, when his door swung open and Morris entered, clearing his throat.

“What is it?”

“My lord,” his butler began, “I know you have given specific instruction not to allow more callers who claim to be Lady Weis, but—”

“Yes, Morris, and if I am not mistaken, someone had managed to fool you once again. Tell the chit I do no longer desire to find Lady Weis. And if you truly believe it might be her,” he added wryly, “then do the honour of telling her she is too late.”

“But my lord, this time it is different.”

“Whatever do you mean? If it is another man, I swear I will make certain to throw you out the window this time.”

Morris was already shaking his head. “No, my lord. It is someone else entirely.”

“Then do as I have ordered and get rid of the chit!” He walked over to his closet to find his best cravat. “I am going out, which, as you can see, is a bloody difficult thing to do because you have failed to find me a valet!”

“But, my lord, she has proof!” Morris insisted behind him.

“They have all claimed to have one. Now, go and get my message across, Morris. You are testing my patience.”

“She—she has the letters, my lord,” Morris stammered.

Wakefield had turned around, ready to shout at the butler when Morris’ words dawned on him. “What did you say?”

Morris was nodding his head as he said, “She has the letters you sent Lady Weis, my lord. All of them!”

XXX. A Lady’s Guide to Liars

Dearest William,

Mayhap you would wish to go with friends on your quest to go around the entire Town.

I am aware that you are friends with the Everards. Mayhap they would be delighted to accompany you.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

What awaited him in the parlour was not what he had expected at all.

Although Morris did warn him he might be surprised, the fact still remained that he was facing not merely someone who did not belong to his station, but a servant.

The young woman came to her feet the very moment he strode into the parlour and bowed her head. She was dressed very plainly. She looked composed and neat.

“Morris has informed me that you have proof,” he said, walking closer, desiring no time for small talks.

The woman nodded.

He frowned. She had dark hair, her face pale and entirely common. She was not extraordinarily beautiful as he had imagined, but he had never truly expected her to be. What he expected her was to be true and at that moment, Wakefield could not feel it.

When she lifted her eyes to meet his, he found brown eyes staring at him with longing. “Yes,” was her whispered reply.

Wakefield did not speak and waited for her to say more. Instead she turned and bent to pick a box from the floor.

His heart began to pound against his chest as she held out her arms, offering the box to him.

He took it from her and opened it. Inside were the letters he had penned himself, letters he had sent to Lady Weis.

He swallowed. He did not wish for them to be real, but they were. He recognized the broken wax seals he had stamped himself.

She let out a shaky breath, drawing his attention back at her. “Now you must realize why I never wanted you to know who I am.”

“Because you are a servant?” he asked in a sardonic tone. “Do you think me that shallow?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. You have told me you would accept me in whatever form I may be—that you would not care if I am without limbs or, as you have so luckily and innocently guessed, a servant.” Her eyes met his. “It is merely because I think myself too low.” Her eyes went to the letters in the box. “The things you have talked about were all true, yet the things I have told you were mere lies—fantasies of a woman confined in a life filled with limitations.”

His jaw tightened. He did not know why but he could not believe her. He refused to. “If you are truly her, then please tell me how you acquired the letters I sent. Surely you know how they are being delivered.”

He carefully watched her every move, even the movement of her throat as she swallowed. “A cousin of mine works for Lord Theobald in his Buford estate. She was the one who had been delivering the letters to where I work.”

“And where do you work?”

She hesitated for a moment before she replied, “Lady Gedge.”

A very long silence reigned between them as Wakefield considered her words. “You claim to be Lady Weis and yet you tell me that everything you have said in the letters were naught but lies.”

She nodded. “I am sorry, my lord. I wish you would forgive me. I came here for my conscience has been nagging me.” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “I do not expect that you forgive me, nor profess the same love you have said in your letters. I no longer wish for anything but to be free of my conscience.”

Anger flickered inside him. “You cannot expect me to believe you quite so easily, madam,” he icily uttered. “You are yet to prove to me that I am not a victim of an insane plot to disregard Lady Weis’ identity.”

The woman drew a shaky breath. “Yes, I understand.”

“Now,” he said, walking over to a table where he placed the box before returning to stand before her. “Tell me your name.”

“Rosa Gimer, my lord.”

Even her name did not emit the reaction he had expected when he imagined himself facing Lady Weis.

“I was at the Cinderella ball,” she said under her breath, the mention of the ball bringing back memories of the night that changed his life.

Yet nothing in the woman emitted any reaction from him. He knew in his heart she was not the same woman he kissed that night. The woman who kissed him wanted him, but he did not see the same desire in the woman facing him now. What he could merely see was remorse and fear.

Wakefield merely scoffed at the incredulity of it all.

If it was true that she was Lady Weis, then he did not want anything to do with her. Not because she was a mere servant, but because he could not see the woman he thought he had fallen in love with in the letters.

What he was seeing in front of him was not the Lady Weis of his mind. He could not seem to feel the same feelings he felt when he was facing Lady Weis in the darkness. He could not seem to feel her.

Or was it because he had already long accepted that she was but a mere illusion, a picture his mind created while he was reading her letters? Was it because he was no longer interested in knowing her in person?

Was it because his mind was already thinking of going out to head straight to the Everard estate instead of sitting here to know more of this woman?

Whatever the answer was, he knew what he wanted now. And it was not Lady Weis, and it definitely was not this woman.

“I have somewhere important to go to, Miss Gimer,” he finally said, stepping aside. “I cannot talk to you for now for I honestly do not know what to make of this, but you can be certain you shall hear from me soon.”

The woman nodded. When he motioned his hand to the door, she jumped to her feet to leave.

“By the by, Miss Gimer,” Wakefield said, “If you truly are Lady Weis, you will know that I will most definitely look through the letters to see if in fact you are telling the truth.”

Rosa Gimer stiffened. “Yes, of course, my lord.”

“And you know that I shall have questions.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He nodded. “You may leave, Miss Gimer.”

He watched as she scurried to the door and when he was finally alone, he was deep in thought.

Was she telling the truth? Was she truly a servant who had been trying to live in a fantasy, or one who was tasked to play with him?

---

“Wakefield is waiting in the parlour, requesting for your presence,” Emma informed Ysabella.

“I do not wish to see him, Em,” Ysabella said from the bed. “I might slit his throat if I do.”

Emma moved and sat beside her on the bed. “Do you not think it is best if you face him? It is better that you do so you do not spend your time asking yourself the same questions you know he can only provide answers to.”

Ysabella merely shook her head, a tear escaping her eye.

Emma sighed. “What happened in Bertram, Ysa? Aurora said Wakefield was there and if I recall correctly, you had said you had exciting news to share before you went to Aurora’s estate and found the ribbons.”

She veered her eyes toward her sister and hesitated.

“You can tell me anything, you know that, yes?”

She whimpered and took in a deep breath. And then she told her sister everything that happened in Bertram up to the moment she reached Wickhurst with Wakefield.

Her sister’s eyes had shown excitement when she shared about the short courtship between her and Thomas, amusement when she told her about the change in Wakefield’s attitude toward her, longing and excitement over her adventure at Meriwether and finally confusion after she admitted that Wakefield was intending to court her.

“Now you see why I cannot bear to see him? He told me he shall court me and all the while he has been keeping my friend as a lover! I feel utterly betrayed. We are not even wed yet and he has already chosen to keep such a painful secret from me!”

Emma kept her silence as Ysabella sobbed in tears. “We still have to consider the fact that Aurora is a lying wench, Ysa. She could have been lying to us about Wakefield.”

Ysabella considered it, but it was highly unlikely Aurora was lying. The woman had been too confident. She knew of Wakefield’s plan to go to Bertram and such information would not have been easily acquired if she was not closely privy to his activities.

The very image of Wakefield with Aurora together sent a chill through Ysabella’s spine. She shook her head. “I have no desire to see him, Em. None at all. None at the moment.”

“Very well, I shall have Jefferson tell him that you are indisposed to callers.” Emma stood and walked to the door.

“Em, please do not tell Mother,” Ysabella said to her sister.

“She is currently at Cole and Margaret’s estate. They are to arrive in one or two days. She has taken it upon herself to facilitate the household for their arrival.”

Ysabella’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of their sister. Margaret would know what to do. She always had. And it would be immensely helpful if she was here.

“Thank you, Em,” she said. “For everything.”

Emma nodded, hand on the door handle. “But you know that you will have to face the man sooner or later, Ysa. And you do know we cannot hide this from the family should things turn to worse.”

Ysabella simply turned to the other side of the bed without a reply.

As much as she loved the man, she could not bear to face him. Not now when she was hating him.

---

Disappointed that Ysabella would not face him, much to Jefferson’s obvious satisfaction, Wakefield walked out of the Everard estate with a new plan.

He’d call on her as often as he had to until she would face him. She was testing his patience and perseverance, he thought. And he would not stand idle and let her think he was one to give up.

Making a sudden decision to visit Aurora, Wakefield ordered his driver to take him there. He would have to tell her that she would soon have to find a way to solve her problem alone for he did not intend to do it for her for the rest of her life. She would have to make plans, one that did not include him.

But by the time he walked into the estate, the butler informed him that Aurora had been hurt that morning. Wishing to hear the details from her, Wakefield walked straight to her bedchamber where he found her standing in front of the window with a glass of wine in her hand.

“What happened?” he asked, relieved that she was not bedridden.

Aurora turned, surprised to see him standing in the doorway. “What made you think something happened?”

“The butler said you have been attacked. Was it him? How did he enter the estate?”

She shook her head. “No, it was not him.”

“Then you were not attacked?”

Her eyes wavered. “Ysabella and Emma were here this morning.”

Wakefield frowned in confusion.

Aurora’s eyes were brimming with tears before she blinked them away. She gulped down the rest of her wine. For a brief moment, Wakefield heard Ysabella’s voice asking him, “Do you have lemonade?” which was absurd that he thought of it at that moment.

He missed her. He knew he did. Bloody hell, he needed to see her soon or he would go insane. He was already hearing her voice in his mind!

“She knows,” Aurora’s voice said, snapping him back from his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“About our connection.”

He stiffened. “How?”

Aurora shrugged. “I do not know. She and Emma came here, accusing me of being your lover.” A tear dropped from her eye. “She is desperate, William. She will use her lies to get you. Now I am afraid she’d tell everyone about my true nature. I would not want to live the rest of my life like this!”

Wakefield’s confusion turned to panic. Was that why she refused to see him earlier? She believed he and Aurora were lovers?

“What did you tell her?”

“I was utterly shocked to say anything. They started to attack me in the middle of the corridor. I could barely remember everything we said to each other. All I remember is the shouting, that’s all.”

Aurora went to the corner and poured herself more wine.

“If she spreads such rumour about me, I am over and done with. Everything I have worked hard for shall go to waste.”

“She would not go as far as that.”

Aurora scoffed. “You do not know her very well then, my lord.” She snapped her eyes toward him. “She would do anything to get what she wants.”

He refused to believe that. The Ysabella Everard he knew in Bertram would not do such a thing.

Without warning, Wakefield whirled on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Aurora asked.

“Home,” he lied.

“But—”

He did not hear the rest of her words for he was already bounding down the stairs. He reached his carriage in less than a minute, shouting to his driver, “The Everard estate!”

Although the carriage was doing its best, Wakefield felt it was not fast enough. He needed to see her, to talk to her. He wanted to tell her the truth about Aurora. He wanted to tell her that he had found Lady Weis and that he was now certain who he wanted.

Feeling as if his entire stomach was climbing up to his throat, Wakefield bounded down the carriage even before it came to a full stop when they reached their desitation.

He did not go straight to the front doors for he knew it would be fruitless. Instead, turned to the side of the estate, across the gardens and circled to the back of the manor, taking the same path Ysabella took that night she trespassed into his carriage.

He would bloody hell break her window if he had to, he thought as he picked up a pebble and aimed for her window.

---

Emma scrambled out of bed in alarm. The first time they heard it, both of them thought nothing of it. But when it was followed by two more, they both sat up in bed.

“Someone is outside our window,” Emma said, running toward it. She opened it and Ysabella watched as her sister gasped in fascination. “Lord Wakefield?”

Ysabella froze in bed, her heart leaping out of her chest.

She heard a loud hushed voice from down below through the open window.

“He wishes to speak to you,” Emma said over her shoulder.

“No,” was her fast reply. She was vehemently shaking her head. The tears were starting to erupt once more.

He must have learned what had happened from Aurora. He saw her tonight and he learned about what happened this morning, the bloody bastard!

“She is asleep,” her sister easily lied, poking half of her body out the window to speak to Wakefield. “No, my lord, I cannot very well wake her up. You should try to call on her some other day at a proper hour. Good night!” Emma leaned away from the window and closed it. She drew the curtains closed before she turned to Ysabella. “Oh, Ysa…” she said when she saw Ysabella shaking with tears.

Emma joined her in bed, pulling her into her arms where she cried harder. “You have me, Ysa,” Emma promised.

As her tears subsided in tiny sniffing moments later, Emma whispered, “What do you intend to do next?”

“I am at a loss, Em. I do not know what to do. He has taken Aurora as his lover knowing she was my friend, knowing how I felt toward him. And although I do not want to be angry at him, I find that I am—utterly so. He has been bedding her and he never said anything! This is worse than him refusing to see Lady Weis in me.”

“Hush now,” said Emma. “Your head shall be clearer on the morrow.”

---

But the morning was as dire as yesterday, Ysabella thought when she opened her eyes.

Emma was patiently sitting in one corner, already dressed for breakfast, holding a book.

Ysabella’s eyes were swollen with tears but she closed them and tried her best to be grateful for yet another day.

Mayhap tomorrow would be better, she thought, pushing away from the bed.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” she asked Emma, mustering a smile.

Emma answered her with a smile and closed her book. “Yes, of course. I believe Mother shall not be joining us, but you must know that Agatha and Ben are also on their way here.”

Ysabella allowed a genuine smile to show on her face. “They are?”

“Ben wants Agatha to have the best doctors from Wickhurst when she delivers the baby. They shall stay here for quite some time until the babe is born.”

She leaped out of bed, quite excited. “Another baby! Now I am starting to believe this day is good after all!”

She saw Emma’s mellow smile but she ignored it and rang for the maid.

Half an hour later, she and Emma were in the breakfast room, talking about Margaret and Cole’s arrival in Wickhurst and the upcoming Seymour ball when suddenly Ralph burst in with Samuel in tow.

Emma frowned at their brother. “Whatever are you doing here, Ralph?”

“Breakfast, of course,” Ralph said, walking over to an empty chair beside Ysabella.

“Good morning, ladies,” Samuel greeted with a smile, his eyes lingering longer on Emma who merely gave him a nod before she returned her attention to her food. “Your brother and I had spent the night at Grey’s,” he began to explain, settling beside Emma, “where we both fell asleep in one of the tables. Considering our estates are quite far, we figured we shall share a meal with you—”

“Why are your eyes swollen, Ysabella?” Ralph’s question stopped the rest of Samuel’s words. Everyone stared at Ysabella.

“Swollen? Why, I just woke up, of course they are swollen!”

Gone was the naughty glint in her brother’s eyes, replaced by a dangerously serious one. “You have been crying.” It was not a question. “Why?” Ralph demanded, eyes murderous.

XXXI. A Lord’s Guide to Courtship

Dearest Lady Weis,

I found someone hurt and nearly dying on the side of the road while I was returning from a night at Grey’s.

It does feel good to help someone, especially if you have been wasting money in a place such as Grey’s, doing naught but gambling and drinking. All the while someone suffers while we have a merry time. I intend to help this person through.

But being an aide takes more responsibility than I have ever imagined. I simply hope that I can do my best to protect this person’s honour—or what is left of it.

Yours,

William

---

Ysabella let out a dramatic sigh. “I had a fight with Aurora. A small misunderstanding between friends. You would not wish to know about it, Ralph, truly you would not.” Under the table Ysabella was crossing her fingers, hoping her brother would take her word and leave the matter to rest.

Ralph looked doubtful. “It better not be because of a man, Ysabella. If I find that you have been crying over Wakefield, I would make certain that you do not see the man ever again. You have been making a fool of yourself because of that rake.”

Ysabella could see Emma trying to act nonchalant from one corner of her eye.

She did not say anything, simply scoffed.

“He does not return your fanciful feelings, sister. Trust me, I know for I am friends with the man. I see him as a good friend, but never as a good brother-in-law. Turn your attention on someone worthy.”

She let out a small chuckle to lighten the mood. “And you have someone in mind?”

Ralph blinked. “Well, Samuel of course!”

Emma and Ysabella let out a loud laugh. Samuel chocked in his own breath.

“Why? What is wrong with my friend?”

“I would never marry him!” Ysabella uttered. “And if you so desire to make your best friend a part of the family, push him toward Emma!”

Emma blanched in horror. “I don’t intend to marry ever.” She shook her head. “Could we not talk about Samuel marrying either Ysabella or I? Sorry to say this, Samuel as you know I do consider you a friend, but this topic does make one lose her appetite.”

Ralph merely chuckled while Samuel coughed for breath. But when their brother faced Ysabella again, his eyes were serious. “Keep in mind what I said, Ysa.”

Ysabella swallowed and nodded. “Fret not, brother. I am no longer a child.”

“But you are my sister,” he countered before he straightened in his chair. “Now, what say you to breakfast? My God, Samuel, don’t look so horrified! I was merely jesting earlier. I would never dare marry you off to any of my sisters. That would simply be unimaginable. Dare not make the wrong assumptions, my friend. These two,” he said, pointing at Ysabella and Emma, “are not to be touched by any of my friends. None.”

Samuel let out a nervous chuckle. Ysabella hid a smile by biting her lips.

The poor bastard would have to face a great challenge if the time came that he would decide to pursue his feelings for Emma.

A great challenge indeed.

---

Before Ralph and Samuel could leave for their respective estates, a new batch of family callers came. The sudden arrival of Margaret and Cole and their children gave everything the two men had planned for that morning a pause, which was to sleep.

Everyone doted on the one-year old Harold while the two adopted children, Fiona and Faye would not stop talking about their adventures in Ashmore, making Ysabella feel as though everything had finally went back to normal.

“Darling, Ralph will not drop Harold,” Margaret said to her husband who was watching over Ralph and Samuel as the two peered at the sleeping baby curiously.

“You yourself told me how many times he had dropped Emma when she was a babe, Meg,” Cole murmured under his breath.

“You ought to see Levi as well,” Emma said to their sister.

“He was here for the hunting games?” asked Margaret, her green eyes glimmering with excitement. “Was Tori here as well?”

“Of course,” Emma said. “Unluckily for you, you were stuck in Ashmore. No offense meant, my lord,” she added to Cole.

“None taken,” Cole said, eyes still on Ralph.

“When is he going to awake?” Ralph asked, looking at his nephew with a frown.

“Are you certain he is just sleeping? He is not moving,” said Samuel.

Fiona and Faye laughed. “He is not a doll!” Fiona said, jumping on the chaise beside Ralph.

“If you look closely,” Faye said, bending over Harold across Samuel’s lap, “he is breathing. See?”

Samuel and Ralph peered closer.

Ysabella scoffed beside Margaret. “They shall never have children. I cannot imagine it,” she muttered beside her sister.

Margaret simply laughed. When she turned to face Ysabella, her expression changed. She frowned. “Have you been crying?”

“Asked the same question earlier,” Ralph uttered. “Hands off, Devitt, you will have him later once we are gone,” he snapped at Cole when the man made a move to get his son. With a sigh, Cole scratched his brown hair and turned toward the door.

“Mother must be tired,” he said to Margaret on his way to the door, “but I would still insist that she join us for tea.”

Margaret nodded to her husband and returned her attention to Ysabella. “What happened?” Her sister had a knowing look on her face, reminding Ysabella of Margaret’s keen observant eyes. They could never hide a secret from Margaret. Never.

“I shall tell you later,” she whispered to her sister. “For now, you must be tired. Did you come by your estate before you came here?”

“Of course. Mother was already there. We could not simply go straight here,” Margaret said.

“How is Lady Ida?”

“She is well,” Margaret said. “I merely hope she can stop ignoring Faye and Fiona,” she added only for Emma and Ysabella to hear. The three of them watched as the two girls, Samuel and Ralph doted on the sleeping Harold.

“At the very least she accepts Harold,” Emma said.

Margaret nodded.

“And the rest of us do love Faye and Fiona. That is all that matters,” Ysabella said, staring lovingly at the two black-haired girls. Anyone would think they were sisters, when in fact they were simply two girls who met the same fate in the hands of very bad men until Cole and Margaret took them under their care and made them part of the family.

“By the by, will you be attending the Seymour ball?” Margaret asked.

Ysabella did not wish to go, but she knew she would have to at least show her family that she was all right. “Of course!” she said, eyeing Emma. “Our gowns are ready, are they not, Em?”

Emma simply nodded.

“Good, then. Mother has decided to stay with the children. Cole and I need a break from the ruckus, see?” Margaret said conspiratorially.

---

“Do you not think it is about time you provide Wakefield proof that you are Lady Weis?” Emma asked later that evening when they were finally alone in their bedchamber. “Whatever Aurora is planning for those letters, you must make him see her for the devil that she truly is.” Emma turned to face her when she did not offer a reply. “I know you wanted him to believe you by your own words, Ysa, but Aurora has been using dirty tricks to abolish your claims. Evil as it may sound, but you must play as hard.”

She thought of her answer for a long time. “If he cannot see Lady Weis in me, then perhaps he does not love her at all. He is simply in love with the idea of her. I no longer find the desire to insist that I am she. My decision is final. I would not play the same game Aurora is playing. Lady Weis is not the only focus in this tragic affair between Wakefield and I. She has destroyed the strongest evidence of my being Lady Weis, did she not? Then let it be so.”

Emma sighed. “If that is what you wish, then so be it. But surely you know the man will want to see you again. What do you intend to tell him about Aurora? Have you decided?”

“I will not.”

“But she is obviously lying to him!”

“He will find out the truth eventually. It is merely a matter of time, Em. Remember Frances Highmore? She tried to frame Agatha, accused her of witchcraft, thievery. But soon everything came to light. Sooner or later, Aurora will be found out and I shall have nothing to do with it.”

“And when do you intend to face him?”

That was a hard question to answer. “I know I ought to face him, to talk to him.” She scoffed. “I know my old self, the one that is not hurting and could clearly think, would slap me at this very moment and tell me that I am being foolish.” Her lips quivered as she spoke. “But I am scared of the truth. Fear could indeed make one do foolish things.”

“You are showing remarkable patience and strength for someone who is hurting, Ysa. I admire it the most.”

She sighed. “But I must admit I am quite tired of all of this, Em. I quite miss being just wicked and bored.”

Emma laughed. “Matchmaking lovers?”

“Definitely.”

Her sister’s laughter started to die down. “He might be in attendance at the Seymour ball,” Emma said.

“I know,” Ysabella said with a sigh. “Which is why I must look immensely pretty and confident, yes? I have to hide the fear.”

Emma chuckled, shaking her head. “And all the while I have been thinking I have lost my sister in her grief.” She rang for the maid. “Very well, then, sister, let us get ready for the ball.”

---

“I was not expecting you to be here, my lord,” Aurora said. “I am hoping to spend the rest of my time preparing for the ball, see?”

“I will not be long,” Wakefield said, hands in his pockets as he stared down at Aurora from where she was sitting in the chaise in her drawing room. “I came to ask you something.”

She frowned. “What is it?”

“What did you truly say to Ysabella?”

She blinked, her face innocently confused. “What do you mean?”

“When she came here thinking you and I are lovers. What did you tell her?”

Her eyes wavered. “Well, I tried to tell her the truth, of course! But she would not believe me. She was too angry, see?” When Wakefield merely stared, she frowned, her eyes registering alarm. “Why do I sense that you are worried what Ysa thinks of us? You do not care about her, do you?” He refused to say anything. “What truly happened in Bertram?” she pressed on.

His entire body tightened. “I never told you I went to Bertram.”

Aurora’s eyes flickered with annoyance. “Do not take me for a fool, William. You both returned the same day.”

He sighed. “What happened there no longer concerns you.” He turned to leave.

“Will you not escort me to the ball?” she asked, her tone teasing and provocative.

Instead of answering her question, Wakefield slowly turned to stare at her with warning. “If I find out you have said anything that you ought not to have, Aurora, I will tell Ysabella the truth and you shall find yourself on your own once again. You would not want that, do you? He would then find it easy to get to you.”

He saw the fear in her eyes, mixed with panic and anger.

“You do not cross the man who has been kind to you, Aurora. Nor do you meddle in his affairs,” he added. “Do you understand?”

It took her quite some time to move and nod.

“Good.” He forced himself to smile. “Go to the ball on your own. I have other plans.”

He left her alone in her drawing room. He had to find Ysabella soon and force her to face him.

It was time to chase a lady.

---

Wakefield knew, that from the very moment he entered the ball, heads turned to his direction.

It was not because they were excited to see him, it was because he was still the topic of many gossips. It seemed that Lady Weis was still the juiciest subject despite the lack of articles on the Herald.

It also did not take him long to find what he was looking for. A group of black-haired people gathered together on one side of the ballroom reeked of naught but of Everard presence.

But to his great disappointment and horror, the brothers were there, including Margaret Everard-Devitt and her husband.

From a far distance, he could hear someone calling out his name. One of his friends mayhap, but he took no notice as he was quite occupied counting the number of Everard brothers that might possibly make this quest a challenge.

Maxwell. Nicholas. Ralph. Should he count Cole Devitt? How about Samuel Theobald? Emma Everard might as well be amongst the men in his honest opinion. The lady had spotted him long before any of her family did and she was glaring at him from across the room like one of the animals he used to hunt.

Wakefield almost shouted a loud ‘NO!’ when Emma craned her neck and whispered something in Ysabella’s ear. She had her back at him, dressed in a blue gown, talking to Margaret and Cole, and she stiffened at whatever Emma said.

He had found himself frozen in place when he saw the Everards, but when Ysabella stiffly turned and walked away from the group he almost leaped to his feet and ran. The crowd parted as he stormed across the ballroom to follow her, making a sharp left turn when she changed her course, determined to get to her, desperate to hold her and talk to her.

This was not how he had imagined their courtship would be. But if he had to do it, then he’d simply have to.

She had crossed numerous balls, suffered the watchful eyes of the ton, too many times in the past simply to ask him for a dance. He had always thought she might have enjoyed it. He never thought it was bloody scary and tough!

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maxwell, Nicholas and Ralph following him with watchful eyes. Emma was standing close by her brothers. He cared not if they would torture him after this. He cared not if they would tie him in a chair and box the hell out of him.

For now he merely had one goal—her.

He followed Ysabella out of the ballroom and into the gardens, past the guests who came out for air, past their curious glances.

They must think it ironic to find him chasing Ysabella Everard this time around. The one who used to escape was now the chaser of his former chaser.

“Ysa,” he called from behind her. It was not hard to find her as she was wearing a marvellous gown. And he knew it was quite heavy by the way he managed to catch up to her. He had not seen her face for she did her best not to see him.

“Ysa—”

“What do you want?” she snapped, surprising him by whirling around, by the brave look in her beautiful green eyes.

He was speechless for a moment. He had been chasing her yet ended being the one attacked.

“What do you want?” she asked again, voice cold as ice. It sent a chill up his spine. This was another side of her he had never seen before. She was furious and he was at the centre of it. “I figure this is the moment we must talk, yes? So tell me what do you want?”

You. And more, his mind selfishly answered.

He swallowed. He looked about and saw no one. When his eyes returned to hers, she arched a brow, impatient and provocative. The different looks she had given him in the past up to this moment flashed before his eyes.

Bloody hell, he loved this woman.

Stunned at his own realization, Wakefield blinked, his chest constricting, making it hard for him to breathe.

How? How did it come about?

But did he truly care? Did it truly matter?

Do not think of it now, you bloody idiot, his mind shouted.

“I—I intend to continue what I said in the carriage,” he said, taking one step toward her. She took one step back. He felt a sense of familiarity but he brushed it aside, focusing his attention entirely on her, on how he could make her stay and listen. “I said I will court you and I intend to do that. And I have to—”

“You have to confess that Aurora is your lover? That you are planning to end it with her so you could pursue me the proper way?” she interrupted, voice filled with revulsion.

“No, that is not true. She is not my lover. She never was.”

She scoffed, blinked. He saw the confusion in her eyes before she blinked it away, doubt clouding her eyes. “I find that hard to believe when she herself has confessed to it.”

Wakefield stiffened. “She told me she tried to tell you the truth. Yes, she is under my care, but not in the manner that you must be thinking. She is not my lover, Ysa. You must believe that.”

“Then she has been lying to you. She is using you. Do you even know what she had done behind your back?” He blinked, his mind muddled.

Ysabella scoffed with incredulity. “She has been playing her cards well, I believe.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Ysabella was silent for a moment, struggling whether or not she should speak. And when a decision was made, she said, “She stole all the letters you sent Lady Weis—all of them!”

Now he was immensely baffled. What the bloody hell was she talking about?

She was unstoppable now. He knew it for her words were filled with rage as she advanced toward him. “She took them all because she does not wish for you to realize who Lady Weis is. I saw proof that she stole them!”

Wakefield frowned. “Ysa, please, let us no longer talk about Lady Weis. She no longer matters.”

She was shaking her head in disbelief, but one directed at herself. “No. I have thought so as well that Lady Weis no longer matters, but she does! She does when Aurora is using her to her advantage!”

Bloody hell, he did not expect this. Why could no one stop talking about bloody Lady Weis! “I found her,” he spoke, slowly, carefully. He saw the confusion in her eyes. “She came to me with the letters I sent Lady Weis. I am yet to confirm, but they were the actual letters I penned myself.”

“She could have bought them from Aurora!”

“She could not have easily gotten them considering her station.”

“What station?” she asked.

“She’s a servant. See?”

“Then Aurora must have given them to her in an attempt to throw you off your search! And she is succeeding! You do not believe me at all, do you? Of course you do not. You never did.”

Wakefield ran his hand through his hair. How could he make her understand? He could not deny that Aurora might be capable of doing such act, but that would have to be proven first. And he did not wish to prove that now . Not now when he was facing Ysabella and the most important thing was for her to believe she was all that mattered at the moment.

“You think I am lying, do you?” she asked, her voice shaking with rage.

She did not have to talk about Aurora’s sins for he did not bloody care. “Ysa, please, you have to—”

She slapped his hand away when he tried to reach out. “I never lied to you, my lord. If anyone has been lying, it has always been you. You have been lying to yourself when you kept saying that I was a child, which you must probably still think now, when you and I both know that I am more than that!”

Of course she was more than that—she was more than anyone could ever be. But how would he have the chance to let her realize that when she would not listen to him?

At that moment, he did not care about the truth. He did not care where Rosa Gimer took the letters, or how she acquired them, or if she was truly Lady Weis. He did not care how Ysabella thought Aurora took the letters, or why she had to question his trust.

For once he was merely seeing her, the hurt in her emerald eyes, the struggle for strength in her face, the shaking in her voice as she struggled to draw more courage. All he cared about was her. Her, Ysabella Everard.

She finally managed to make him want to fall on his knees. He would if she could simply forget Lady Weis and be the same woman he wanted.

A part of him was angry, thinking that she might be standing there playing her old game. That part of him hated that he might have fallen victim to her tricks. She could finally brag about making the rake drop to his knees and she’d leave and find another game to play. So yes, that part of him was angry.

But he also knew that the Ysabella he knew would not treat this as a game. The Ysabella he discovered would dare not break him.

He wanted this clamour over Lady Weis to stop. He simply wanted to start anew.

He pulled her toward him, eliciting a gasp from her. She tried to break away but he was stronger. “Stop, Ysabella, please,” he choked. He wanted to stop the time so he could think, so he could figure out the right words to say.

He was a bloody idiot after all, he thought. Any man inside that ballroom would know how to make an angry lady swoon, but he was greatly failing.

She whimpered in tears and tried to speak but he leaned his forehead against her, eyes closed.

“Stop,” he uttered for he could not think of any word to describe what he wanted. “Stop.”

“Step away from our sister, Wakefield,” a cold voice said from behind them.

Wakefield whirled around to see her brothers standing a few paces away with Emma and Margaret at both sides. And behind the Everards was Aurora looking quite horrified along with almost half of the entire ballroom population.

He lifted his eyes to meet three pairs of murderous green eyes.

Bloody tarnation .

XXXII. Scandal in the Garden

Dearest William,

I dream of becoming a singer but sadly I do not have the talent for music.

You ought to hear my pianoforte skills.

You might never want to use your ears again.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

“Let go of her arms and take a step back,” Nicholas carefully gritted through his teeth.

Wakefield did not do as was told but Ysabella pushed him away to escape.

“Step further away, Wakefield,” Ralph added.

“Just a bit more,” Maxwell droned.

Wakefield was rooted on the ground.

“Now, Ysa,” said Nicholas, “come here.”

Wakefield opened his mouth to speak but Emma had stepped forward and over the quiet whispers of the crowd behind them, she reached for Ysabella.

Ysabella started forward but Wakefield grabbed her hand. He could not let her go. Not now, please, his mind begged. He feared that if she left he would never see her again.

“Let go of her, Wakefield,” Ralph warned.

“It is best if you take her home,” was Aurora’s concerned voice.

Emma stiffened and whirled to face Aurora with fury. “No one was talking to you, Aurora.”

“But—”

“Do not pretend as though you are still our friend,” Emma gritted through her teeth, her entire form nearly on the edge of exploding.

“Emma, please, this is not the time,” Ysabella begged, tugging free from Wakefield’s hold but he held on.

He was confused, utterly so, but he did not want to let her go.

“Whatever do you mean, Emma?” Aurora asked with a shaky laugh. Everyone was now looking at her.

Emma narrowed her eyes at Aurora. “Would you like to tell the truth now, Aurora? Mayhap it is for the better, while everyone is here because the Herald would obviously not be late on the morrow and we would not want them to have the wrong impression of this night, do we?”

Aurora frowned. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Tell Lord Wakefield what you did to the letters.”

“What letters?”

Wakefield felt Ysabella stiffen. “Em, please—”

“You got hold of the letters Lord Wakefield sent Lady Weis so you he will never find her again. Is that true, Aurora?” Emma asked, turning to face Aurora.

Aurora went scarlet before she looked around at the crowd in disbelief and horror. “It seems that you have been cooking quite a different story, Emma. Have you not been listening to the whispered gossip inside the ballroom tonight?” Ysabella and Emma frowned, as did Wakefield and the rest of the Everards. “Lord Wakefield, as it may seem, has already found Lady Weis. And she is but a mere servant.”

Wakefield stiffened. He did not like this. Not one tiny bit.

Aurora sighed and gave Ysabella a pitiful look. “You are not her, Ysa. Not one of us is her,” Aurora said to Ysabella. “You may think you can get away from this little game you play simply because you’re an Everard, then do reconsider for we are no fools.”

Ysabella finally managed to escape Wakefield’s grasp with an unbelievable strength. “I treated you like a sister!” she cried out. Wakefield saw the hurt in Ysabella’s eyes as she shook with grief. “You have proven yourself to be naught but the cunning devil herself!”

Aurora gasped, horrified. Her expression was mirrored by the crowd behind her. Wakefield felt the fury start to build in the pit of his stomach when he realized the subject of their scandalized looks was Ysabella.

Aurora took a step forward. “Ysa, I am merely concerned that you have gone too far—”

“Miss Randolph, enough!” Wakefield shouted with rage. He started to move forward but Ysabella had already moved.

Aurora frowned at him, confused as to why he was protecting Ysabella, surprised by his outburst. “But, my lord—” she started to say but he growled, “Dare not speak more, Miss Randolph.” The look he gave her was filled with meaning and her eyes registered alarm.

“Yes, stop talking, Miss Randolph,” Nicholas ordered, stepping toward Ysabella. With a gentle voice, he said, “Ysa, let us go home.”

Wakefield panicked.

He came forward, saying, “Ysabella—” over Emma’s loud words of, “I believe the ballroom is inside!” directed at the crowd.

Aurora was standing stunned, Margaret beside her, whispering something in her ear.

His mind was muddled, but he knew only one thing—he needed more time with Ysabella. But she was now walking toward her brothers.

“Ysa,” he started, going after her, but Nicholas warned, “Step away, Wakefield.” Ralph grabbed Ysabella’s hand to pull her away.

Wakefield continued, eyes on Ysabella but he had breached quite more than fair warnings and Nicholas punched him and he stumbled back.

“Bloody hell!” Wakefield shouted in frustration, whirling back to face the Everards. “I just want—”

“Bloody persistent bastard,” he heard Maxwell utter with a groan before Nicholas pushed him away.

“Move one inch and we shall settle this in the middle of a field,” Ralph said.

Ysabella pulled free from Ralph and whirled to face Wakefield, her eyes filled with hurt. “I no longer want this, my lord—none of it.” She turned to Aurora and said, “Do not worry, Aurora. I have laid down all my cards now and claim defeat.”

Nothing would have stopped him, but Ysabella’s words had left him stunned, horrified. It seemed as though the ground above them had come crashing down on him.

No, no, not now , his mind cried out.

Wakefield stormed past Aurora who said, “My lord!”

Whirling back to stand close to her so she could hear his furious words, Wakefield uttered, “Do not make me regret helping you, Aurora. Go home. We shall need to talk. By then, prepare to explain yourself.”

She paled, her lips quivering.

Without another glance, he ran after the Everards.

---

Ysabella heard Wakefield shouting for her name as her brothers escorted her inside the carriage.

“Not tonight, dear sister,” Maxwell told her, taking her hand to help her settle inside. “He shall grovel, but not tonight.”

Ralph and Nicholas followed. From the open window she saw Cole blocking Wakefield’s path, Margaret and Emma standing close by.

The view disappeared as Ralph roughly pulled the curtain closed.

Ysabella searched for Maxwell’s eyes in the dimness of the carriage. “Thank you. You did not say anything.”

“He is a stupid bastard to not have realized who you truly are, Ysa. I would not dream of making it easy for him.”

Nicholas stared at the two of them with confusion, but it was Ralph who asked, “What the bloody hell are you two talking about?”

Ysabella winced.

“Tell them who you are, Ysa, before they find out the truth from someone else,” Maxwell said.

She heard Nicholas gasp beside her. “You are Lady Weis?” he uttered in disbelief before she could say it.

Ysabella scoffed.

Maxwell did the same.

“Bloody hell, Ysabella,” Ralph said, mouth hanging open. “Bloody hell. This is far more complicated than I have thought!”

“Dare not reveal the truth to anyone. I do not wish for it,” she warned. “And do not lecture me for being a fool. I already believe I am.”

Her brothers fell silent until they reached their estate.

She did not cry for she found she had no tears to spare.

---

The three Everard men were already crowded in front of the window, watching Wakefield begging Jefferson to let him in.

“Should we kick the bastard out?” Ralph asked.

“Ben will arrive by the morrow,” Maxwell offered. “Perhaps big brother would want to deal with him.”

Nicholas shook his head. “Ben will merely make things easier. Look how he handled Devitt.”

“I heard that,” Cole said from the corner of the parlour where he was sitting with his wife.

“Beating the man would not change the fact that our sister is in love with him,” Margaret pointedly said.

“And where is she?” asked Maxwell.

“Upstairs with Emma. She must now be aware of Wakefield’s presence outside.”

“And mother?”

“At our estate with the children,” Cole said.

“Good enough then,” Nicholas uttered, jumping to this feet to storm out of the parlour.

“No murder, my lords,” Cole warned as Maxwell and Ralph followed close behind. “I would not defend you in the courts!”

They ignored their brother-in-law’s warning.

Soon, the three of them were striding out of the front doors.

“You can go back inside, Jefferson,” Nicholas said.

The man sighed with relief and stiffly disappeared back into the manor, leaving the three Everard men and Wakefield to stand in the middle of the driveway.

“You do realize that our family does not have a good memory in that Seymour garden, do you, Wakefield?” asked Ralph, reminding the man of the incident that happened with Levi’s wife and their sister-in-law’s estranged stepmother years ago. “And you simply have to add another trauma, do you not?”

When Wakefield simply stared, his jaws tight and expression ready for battle, the brothers stopped merely two paces away.

“From what we have witnessed earlier in the same garden, Wakefield,” Nicholas started, standing at ease with his hands inside his pockets, “You have not been doing so well keeping away from our sister.”

“I need to talk to her,” Wakefield said, voice desperate.

“What would you tell her?” Ralph asked, brows cocked high. “Pray tell, man, for we do not bloody know what you are planning. You have promised to keep away from her.”

“Remember,” Maxwell wryly uttered, head tilted to the side, “she is an Everard, one of our own. She is not to be amongst your collection of lovers.

Wakefield’s expression turned incredulous. “I do not intend to turn her into one! I intend to do right by her.”

The three men stared and scoffed.

“This bloody bastard ought to feel lucky. Devitt did not manage to utter more than he already did before we beat the soul out of him,” Nicholas sardonically growled.

“I have expressed my intentions to court her and she is aware of it,” Wakefield explained.

That surprised the three of them for Ysabella had not shared that fact. Ah, bloody sisters and their secrets!

“Court her, you say?” Maxwell said, crossing his arms. “Should you not be cleaning up your mess first, Wakefield?”

“What happened at Seymour is clearly a sign that you have things to settle before you bloody go to our estate and demand to talk to our sister!” Nicholas gritted out.

“Or mayhap you want us to do our own cleaning first, eh?” Ralph asked, cracking his knuckles.

“I suggest we wait until he formally announces his intentions before we have our way,” Maxwell said.

“But this is the perfect time,” Nicholas growled, stepping forward.

“No tonight, brothers,” Emma’s voice said behind them. They all turned on their heels to find their sister standing in the doorway. She was looking at Wakefield. “Ysabella is waiting for you inside.”

Maxwell, Nicholas and Ralph started to protest but Emma held up her hand, eyes filled with warning.

“Not now. You shall have your fill should the time permit it, but for now, I would like Lord Wakefield to present himself in the parlour intact and free of blood. Mother shall not like it should she find drips of blood on her carpet.” Emma gave her brothers a wide, fake smile before she turned and disappeared.

Wakefield was already striding to the door.

Nicholas made a move to run after him but Maxwell stopped him. “Let him,” he uttered under his breath.

“Keep the door open, Wakefield!” Nicholas shouted at the man’s back.

“We shall be waiting for you to come out!” Ralph added.

As Wakefield entered the estate, Nicholas turned to Maxwell.

“You are turning soft, Max,” he said with a shake of his head. “You have prepared your pistol when you found out about Cole Devitt and Margaret.”

Maxwell remained silent, his eyes following Wakefield.

“What is on your bloody mind?” Ralph asked.

“Do not tell us that you actually want that bastard to be part of the family,” Nicholas said. “Simply because he claimed to be in love with Lady Weis and our own sister turns out to be her, does not mean we can welcome him. You bloody know how he had been living his life! We literally live with him at Grey’s!”

“Bloody calm down, Nick,” said Maxwell, his tone dry. He started to walk up to the front doors.

“Where are you going? Getting a pistol?” Ralph hopefully asked.

“Sleep.”

“Bloody hell, Max! What are—”

Maxwell turned to face his brothers.

“There are things that you must realize here, brothers,” he started, his face nearly dark, framed by his long hair. “We are Everards.”

His brothers frowned. “And?”

He shrugged. “And we are lucky.”

Nicholas and Ralph dubiously gaped at him.

When he did not elaborate, Ralph sputtered, “Do bloody explain, Maxwell. We do not have the gift to read your bloody mind.”

Maxwell sighed and rolled his eyes.

“We Everards always have each other and we are lucky for it.” He motioned with his head. “Do you see him with anyone else?” His eyes looked bored and drooping with sleep as he continued, “He does not even have anyone to tell him what a blind fool he is. He has friends and they could have been us, but that is not possible at the moment, is it? We are choosing to be brothers instead of being his friends. In simple words, my lords, no one is there to tell him how to court a lady with five angry brothers, no one to help him think, and no one to offer him encouragement.”

He started walking away. “Him being here is enough for me to think he is quite determined. Confused as he may be, he knows what he wants.” When his brothers remained silent, Maxwell loudly yawned. “Now, I suggest you do the same and find your own beds.”

Nicholas and Ralph gaped at Maxwell’s back.

“Well, the bloody cynic is correct,” Nicholas muttered with derision.

“Bullocks! That might probably be the longest commentary I’ve heard from him!” Ralph added with awe.

XXXIII. Lady Weis

Dearest Lady Weis,

Lovers can offer me what I need most which is company, but they barely listen. But to give them credit, they do succeed in pretending to hear me.

I often find myself longing to have someone I can bring outside, someone who can spend the night with me without thinking of servicing me in bed.

My friends do think I am naught but a rake, and it is quite frustrating to not be able to talk about love and women in one context. The latter is a much preferable subject, yet the former is quite an untouchable one, especially at Grey’s.

I envy women who can talk about both and still find themselves without judgement.

Yours,

William

---

He wanted to believe he was losing the muscles of his legs as he stepped into the parlour. And he felt the time had stopped when he saw Ysabella sitting in the chaise, stiff as a rock.

She was still wearing the same blue gown, but her eyes were now bare of any emotions. The anger was not there, not even a hint of it. No playful, wicked glint, nothing.

She tried to smile at him when he came to stand in the middle of the room, desperate to start talking.

But her current state, the way she looked as if she was too tired, was wrenching his heart.

He had done this to her.

I shall live to torment you for years…

The words she had so wittily spoken at Bertram when she was burning with fever came to him, ringing in his ears, bringing him to a desperation he could barely handle.

He wished she would say the same thing. He wished to hear her teasing, weak voice. He could handle it. He could stay by her side again and watch her sleep until she regains her strength. Truly, he could accept any form of weakness from her so long as it was not this .

This spoke too much of the things he did not want to hear—never wanted to hear.

He could face her brothers so long as she did not say anything about anyone giving up.

Because he did not intend to. No, not now when he was finally certain of one thing and desperate for it.

“I wish to beg for your forgiveness for what happened at the ball. Aurora has no right to complicate matters. You ought to believe me that I did not tell her anything about the servant or the letters. And before anything else, I wish for you to listen and believe my next words,” he started, not pausing to give her time to contradict. “We are not lovers. She was never a lover. I am protecting her from someone who wants to hurt her as there is no one else to offer her such protection. Our relationship is nothing more, Ysabella. You have to believe me for it.”

She patiently listened as he spoke, her eyes distant and he nearly cursed for not knowing how to deal with this. He once called himself the expert in dealing with the playful, wicked Ysabella Everard, but this hurt and weary one he simply wanted to pull into his arms and pray that everything she was feeling he could manage to absorb for him to bear.

“As to your claims against her,” he started again, “I vow to find out the truth. If I find that—”

“I no longer care about Aurora,” she interrupted, her voice calm and composed. To his surprise, she smiled and drew a deep breath. “It does, however, cause me relief and much lesser pain to know that you have not been bedding her while I have been foolishly chasing you about.”

His heart nearly leaped to his throat, but he stood frozen when her expression wavered into a lifeless one.

“I love you,” he said, stepping forward, shaking with desperation, with anxiety.

Her eyes widened a little before she frowned and scoffed.

She did not believe him.

“I do, Ysabella. I am in love with you, irrevocably and desperately so,” he insisted, his vision nearly blurring with tears of anger.

The anger, of course, was directed at himself. He would not be seeing her in such a mess should he have given her a chance long ago, should he have offered his hand to dance with her when she first asked him to, should he have come down to take the first flower she delivered to his home.

“My heart wishes to believe you, my lord, for it has always been my dream to hear you say those words,” she carefully said, meeting his blue eyes, “but do forgive me if I cannot fully believe them now. I do not think you know what you are saying for how can you love someone if you barely know her?”

He suddenly felt cold. The chilling effect of the reality she was presenting before his eyes caused his heart to make a pause.

No!

If she had felt the same thing every time he had told her she was but a child and she did not truly know what she wanted, then he ought to be burnt at the stakes.

For if the pain was the same as what he was feeling now, then what he had made her go through was unforgivable.

Wakefield nearly flinched when she moved and let out a loud sigh. She tried to smile, but it did not reach her beautiful emerald eyes.

“I shall stop making ruckus, my lord. Whatever or however you interpret the truth is no longer a concern of mine.” He wanted to stop her, to ask her for more time to think, but his tongue would not even move, his mind merely focused on one thing—her.

Images of her flashed behind his mind again, a common occurrence nowadays.

She stood up and levelled her gaze with his. “I do not wish to turn into a woman I would someday hate. What I feel for you have led me to do many things and now it has affected my family.” Her choked as she said the last word. Tears glinted in her eyes but she averted her gaze and started for the doorway. Wakefield could not even move to chase her for her words seemed to have put a heavy weight upon his feet, rendering them immovable. “I do not want that,” she continued behind him. “For as much as I do love you, I also do love who I was before you.”

If one could die by words, then this must be his last remaining moments. His heart suddenly felt heavier. His breath caught in a trap inside his chest.

“You may go now, my lord. Rest your mind that you are free from your promise of courtship. And please, do forgive me for everything I have caused you.”

A shiver ran up his spine.

He knew she would not be there when he turned.

He did not know how long he had been looking into the empty doorway before Nicholas, Ralph and Emma came into view. Would it help if the two men would box him back to his senses? It was quite tempting to beg them for it, really.

“I shall come back,” he stiffly promised when he succeeded in forcing his feet to move. He saw the doubtful looks of the brothers and Emma’s unreadable one.

Nicholas and Ralph stepped aside to let him pass.

At the door, he heard Nicholas say, “Do not come back with a mess, Wakefield.”

“Rest assured,” he promised, walking out the door.

---

The events at the Seymour ball were perfectly narrated in detail on the Town Herald the following morning. The story of Lady Weis spread like a plague and although Ysabella had not seen the issue yet, she could almost smell it in the air when she found her mother and Emma in the breakfast room when she came down.

It was Emma who hid the paper, but Lady Alice held out her hand for it.

Her sister hesitantly handed it back to their mother who then slid it toward Ysabella as she took her seat beside her sister.

She bent down and managed to catch a few lines:

A servant! She is a servant! But who?

And will the rake be true to his words and marry her?

“It is better that you know the entire story on the Herald, dear.” Her mother sipped from her glass. “So you would know how to deal with it. You cannot go around blindly now, can you?”

Ysabella’s eyes watered.

“Unfortunate that I was not here last night or at the ball,” their mother said, pointedly looking at them both. “You siblings had had quite an adventure, I gather—Much more than I did with my grandchildren causing havoc in their father’s estate, of course.”

Emma swallowed and averted her gaze.

“By the by, I sent Margaret and your brothers home for I know it will be too much for you to see their mournful and angry faces.”

A tear dropped from her eyes.

“What Aurora did to you is unforgivable, but you must be strong. You are an Everard, after all.” She held Ysabella’s eyes firmly. “I have to force the truth out from your brothers and Emma,” she explained.

She sobbed harder now. “I am sorry, Mother. I ought not to have done it. I am sorry.”

“You are in love, of course you will do foolish things. Don’t we all?” she asked, but Emma was already shaking her head in disagreement. “Wait for your turn, dear,” their mother said her sister, tone knowing, before she turned to Ysabella to add, “Benedict and Agatha are to arrive today. You might wish to let your brother know everything before he gathers the rest to attack Lord Wakefield’s residence.”

“Ben will not do that,” Emma said. “He is quite sensible. He did not beat Cole.”

“That was a different story. Margaret is a sister, but the two of you he treats as his children.”

Ysabella groaned. “I want to stay in my chambers until next year. I cannot go out and—”

“You will not let that Aurora girl have her satisfaction. And I quite admire you for not insisting to Wakefield who you truly are, dear. He is blind after all, but the truth should soon come out.”

Emma reached for Ysabella’s hand. “What if he calls on you again, Ysa?”

“No. No. Last night was too much. I cannot face him again.”

“But you will soon have to, dear,” Lady Alice uttered seriously. “I believe that he will find out the truth himself sooner than we all expect. By then he would have to be brave enough to face your brothers and you the moment he realizes it.”

Lady Alice’s blue eyes settled on Ysabella. “That is all you wish, is it not? For him to realize the truth?”

Ysabella wiped her tears and nodded.

“And if he does not?”

She let out a bitter smile. “Then I shall not have him.”

“And if he does, he shall have to grovel, yes?” Lady Alice asked, a wicked glint in her eyes.

Despite her heavy heart, Ysabella chuckled.

---

“Should we not be staying home? You ought to rest, Agatha,” Ysabella said to her sister-in-law as they strolled down the street. She knew what Agatha was planning to do and that was to comfort her. Emma would have accompanied them otherwise.

“I needed to stretch my legs,” Agatha said, absently tucking away a strand of her auburn hair. Her topaz brown eyes slanted toward Ysabella with meaning as she added, “And we would not wish to be in the presence of your brother after his talk with Mother, yes?”

Ysabella managed a weak smile. It had not been a week since her return from Bertram yet it seemed that years had already passed. Horrible years, in fact!

She ought to be feeling quite excited now that almost the entire family was here with the exception of Levi, Tori and Lindsay, but she could not find it in herself to feel it.

Just moments earlier she spotted Nettie, Juliana and Agnes hastily crossing to the other side of the street to avoid her.

One would think they were avoiding Agatha whom the ton had once accused of being a witch when the woman was serving the Everards as Ysabella and Emma’s governess, but she knew they were avoiding her.

“Are you fretting over the scandal? They did not paint you with as much fun as they previously did in the previous Herald articles,” Agatha inquired. “In fact, it sounded as though they do favour Aurora.”

Ysabella could not help but smile. Agatha was not as perceptive as Margaret, but she knew her and Emma too well as their former governess to not know what she was thinking.

Agatha looped her hand around Ysabella’s, her bulging stomach causing a few people to scandalously stare at them. It was not common for a showing pregnant woman to go about in the streets, but Agatha heeded her husband’s advice that the ton would not perish if they saw a pregnant woman.

“You know that Ben and I had our own share of scandal, yes?” Agatha murmured beside her.

“Yes, I am.”

“And your family has been there for both of us, yes?”

She nodded.

“Then need not you fret, dear,” Agatha said, “for you have us.”

“Thank you, Agatha,” she said, letting out a sigh.

Her sister-in-law squeezed her arm. “It shall get better.” She paused and looked at the display of baby clothes through the window of one shop. “Ah, here we are. We better hurry. Your brother may have given me permission to go out, but he shall soon go out to hunt me down if we do not return on time.”

Ysabella forced a smile. “Then we do not wish to make the beast wait!”

“Indeed,” Agatha said with a chuckle.

---

Wakefield rarely promised anyone anything. And he rarely broke them.

As of that moment, the only promise he intended to break was his own rule: Never dally with a friend’s sister or kin.

The rest he intended to keep.

The most paramount one at the moment was to see through this Lady Weis mess.

Ysabella’s brothers needed not elaborate what they wanted him to clean up for it was clear that they did not wish for the hovering presence of Lady Weis to be a part of his courtship with their sister as much as Wakefield did.

Sleep had deprived him last night and instead of mourning over what happened at the ball and his talk with Ysabella in the parlour, Wakefield spent it reading through each and every letter Rosa Gimer had left him as proof of her identity.

There was no mistaking that he penned them. He found himself laughing and cringing the entire night as he read through each letter.

But by morning, before the sunlight streamed down through the distant holes, Wakefield finally found something. Or the correct term might be that he finally realized what he did not find.

And the moment he did, he shouted for Morris to go and get Rosa Gimer from the Gedge estate at once.

He was standing in front the window of his study, witnessing how Wickhurst started to awaken. First with the lamps lighting up to imitate the sun from aboveground, followed by the windows and doors opening, servants and service people alike walking out to run errands.

He looked down at the street that Ysabella had walked through many times. He started estimating the number of steps she must have taken from his mother’s estate to his and back to the Everard manor.

His jaw tightened when his mind could no longer manage the calculation. He hated himself for it again.

He looked over his shoulder to glare at the books surrounding his study. In some of them, the flowers had stayed tucked and hidden. He scoffed at himself with disbelief.

He never had the courage to throw them away. Had the back of his mind always known she was the one?

Groaning with frustration because he knew he would merely cause himself a headache if he were to think about his past actions, he turned to face the window again.

From the distance he could see the carriage Morris had taken to get Rosa Gimer.

Drawing a breath, Wakefield turned to sit behind his desk and wait.

---

Rosa Gimer looked as though she had been dragged out of her bed. She might have managed to put on an oversized coat, but her black hair was haphazardly done.

Wakefield felt guilty for having ordered for her to be brought to his estate at such an hour. But the guilt slowly ebbed away when he saw her nervous brown eyes.

“I do hope that Lady Gedge would not punish you because of this, Miss Gimer.”

She blinked, surprised by the concern in his voice. “Her ladyship is still in bed, I believe, my lord. She shall not be up until ten.”

He nodded. He motioned his hand at the box she had delivered to him. “I have gone through all the letters and I have to admit that they are genuine. I cannot deny my own penmanship.”

The servant maid bowed her head.

“They might be the strongest proof of Lady Weis’ identity,” he began, “but they are not the only ones, of course.”

He watched her fingers tug each other.

“By the by, Miss Gimer,” he said, tilting his head to look at her bowed head. “Have you done as I have suggested?”

She raised her head, confusion on her face. “What you suggested, my lord?”

He nodded with a smile. “Yes. The first letter you sent me regarding your cat.”

Her eyes brightened with eagerness, relieved. “Ah, yes, of course. The cat.”

His smile widened. He rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair and locked his fingers with satisfaction.

“Then have you done as I have suggested? Did you cage it?”

The smile on her face disappeared and to his pleasure, she stiffened.

“Well? Surely you did cage it, yes?”

“O-of c-course, my lord,” she stammered with a nervous laugh. “Lady Gedge would not want a cat prowling her estate.”

Wakefield remained unmoving as he stared at her, hands still locked in front of him, his smile the same as before.

Rosa Gimer was making this a lot easier than he had anticipated.

But the longer he stared at her, the more she appeared uncomfortable.

One corner of his lips quirked before he uttered, “I never told you to cage it, Miss Gimer.”

XXXIV. Lost

Dearest William,

Would it not be such a lovely thought if we could all find a passage that would take us all aboveground?

I believe the Town has many secrets yet to be revealed.

It would indeed be an adventure should we all go up there and see a new world.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

Her face filled with dread and Wakefield pushed away from his chair to lean his arms on the table.

“Now, Miss Gimer, if you would please take a seat,” he said, offering the chair across from him, “I suggest you start talking.” He cocked an eyebrow when she merely stood there, stunned. “The truth would be highly appreciated.”

“I—” she started, blinking in panic. “I—I caged the cat despite what you have told me, of course. Lady Gedge did not wish for any pets to roam around the estate.”

“Hmm,” Wakefield said, raising an eyebrow at her in challenge.

He leaned back against his char. “Very well,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then do tell me what you did with the leaf.”

Rosa Gimer frowned. “I—” she looked about in the room. “Well, have I not told you that everything I said in those letters was all false? There was no leaf. I made it up.”

“Oh, but I would like you to tell me what you said in the letter, Miss Gimer. True or not, made up or not, you wrote them as Lady Weis, did you not?”

Her lips started to quiver as Wakefield’s patience began to shorten.

“Perhaps the leaf you found falling through the hole was not such a good story that you seem to have forgotten about it,” he said, pretending to think deeply. “Should I ask a different question then?” He smiled when she further blanched, her eyes going to the door as if she was thinking of an escape.

He slowly stood and with careful, easy steps he walked around his table and stopped right in front of her. She stumbled back in alarm.

Hitching one hip against the wooden table, he continued to smile at her with a mocking, knowing look.

“You do know how to read and write, yes?”

“Of course,” she snapped, clearly offended.

“Ah, of course. Then do tell me about geography.”

But I am merely jesting… No one likes geography…

Rosa Gimer remained silent. “Then do tell me what you think of fairy tales. You said you have witnessed enough to make you believe them. Please, Miss Gimer, do tell me.”

Love, I think, moves one to do foolish, romantic things…

At that very moment, Wakefield was no longer interested in the servant maid’s responses. His mind was already rushing to somewhere else. “And how do you fare with spirits?”

Oh, I do not fare well with spirits. Do you have lemonade instead?

He started to choke in his own voice as he continued to ask the questions, his eyes stinging with tears. Rosa Gimer’s hazy face was frowning at him now, confused by the sudden different tone he was taking. “And bandits? What do you think of them?” he demanded. “I read that Lady Weis do tend to understand their nature.”

It is going to be all right, my lord. They are good people. They are friends.

He could feel his own hands shaking, his body turning cold despite the rage. “And how about your pianoforte skills? You love music, do you not?”

I know I do not have the talent… But it ought not to stop me from thinking I am good enough, yes?

Wakefield’s breath hitched as if a force had punched him in the pit of his stomach. He nearly stumbled on the ground if he had not found support on the table. He rapidly blinked away the tears from his eyes, his hands shaking as he snarled at Rosa Gimer, “And do tell me where the mask is, Miss Gimer.”

Her eyes went frantic.

“Where is it?” he gritted out, the veins of his neck engorging with restrained fury.

The woman stumbled back in fear.

Sapphire. Everard.

I would not even be surprised if my own sister would come forward and present herself as Lady Weis , he heard Ralph’s mocking voice in his head, and she could give you as many sapphires as you want for proof.

“Tell me the truth now, Miss Gimer, before I call the Town Guards and have you arrested for treachery!”

Finally the woman saw the extent of his rage, saw the seriousness in his face and she burst in tears. “I am sorry, my lord!” she wailed. “Please forgive me! I was merely desperate for money! I did not—”

“Who gave you the damned letters, Miss Gimer?” he demanded with a snarl.

The woman shook her head. “I do not know!”

“I swear, woman, if you are lying—”

“I swear I do not know!” she shouted. “Someone sent me the letters out of nowhere with some money and a letter giving me instructions to present myself as Lady Weis the moment you return to Wickhurst. The rest of the money is to be delivered to me on the morrow! I ought to disappear from your life the moment I get hold of it. I swear that is all I know!”

This time he saw that she was telling the truth. It was in her eyes, the way she was desperately looking at him.

His jaw tightened.

“My lord, I do not wish to go to prison.”

“With what you have been willing to do for money, Miss Gimer, you do deserve it,” he spat, “but I am not as heartless as you or as the person responsible for this. I want you to remove yourself from my estate. Dare not speak of this encounter to anyone.” He straightened, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “What time do you expect the money to come tomorrow?”

“L-late evening, my lord,” she said, sobbing in fear.

“I shall have someone to watch and wait for this delivery to be made. And you shall take the money and give it to that man. Do you understand?”

When she hesitated, he said, “I shall double the money this person sends you so long as you help my cause.”

Rosa Gimer whimpered.

“And do not speak of this to your mistress. She is the worst gossipmonger there is and if this event ever reaches the Herald, you shall find yourself standing before the Men of Courts.”

The maid was vigorously nodding her head.

“Now go. Go!”

The moment he was alone in his study, Wakefield leaned back on the table, weak. He did not know how long he spent staring blankly at nothing. He just stared.

Would you not want to know my secrets? You might find one of them quite revealing, my lord, I tell you.

He took a long, shaky breath as Ysabella’s voice came back to him. Every hint she had given him came rushing, drowning him that it was getting harder to breathe.

I am she. I am Lady Weis.

He brushed his hair with shaky hands.

Ah, such a pity that you refuse to believe me when I am being utterly honest…

A pained groan escaped his throat.

And he shouted at the top of his lungs and the sound echoed around the room.

Morris came rushing in, alarm on his face.

“Saddle my horse at once, Morris,” he barked.

Morris nodded and ran out of the room.

Everything was clear now. Every bloody thing!

Merely moments ago, he knew what he wanted to do. Now, he knew what he needed to do.

He had to go now. He had to go to her and grovel at her feet.

He shouted for Morris as he climbed down the stairs.

“The horse, Morris!” he shouted but when he landed at the foot of the stairs, he skidded to a stop, seeing his mother’s furious form in the middle of the hallway. “Mother? I thought you are at—”

“What do you think I would do, William? Allow you to make a fool of yourself? I decided to demand for Thomas to take me back the moment I read about the Lady Weis chit coming out. Was that crying woman from earlier Lady Weis?”

He ignored his mother’s question. He had no time to explain Rosa Gimer or how she came to be in his estate. His eyes went behind his mother. “And where is Thomas?”

“Taking over your study, of course. He has to bring his work here.”

He sighed. Bloody great. “Mother, let us talk about this—”

“No, son, we shall talk about this now.”

“I have somewhere else to go and—”

“Do you ken what those recent articles would have wrought upon Ysabella? Do you?” Her mother cried out. “They are having a feast on the sweet, poor girl, William!”

He opened his mouth to speak but his mother was not done.

“That girl has done naught but love you, son. You have become her dream and now…” her mother choked with tears, “…not only is that dream shattered, everything in her life is almost out of control.”

He took a step back when Lady Hayward advanced toward him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Morris absently nodding at his mother’s words with approval. Was everyone his foe here?

“If you cannot reciprocate that love, William, then by God, go on and marry this Lady Weis and have the girl deal with it once and for all. Allow her to heal fast so she could find a more decent man who would have her!”

The very thought of Ysabella walking down the aisle to meet someone else was horrendous.

The best part was that I saw his face. He was smiling. And he was seeing me…

Lady Weis’ letters finally had a voice in his head.

I’ve loved him since the moment we exchanged words. I fear, however, that he does not know the extent of it…

Everything—everything was her. It had always been her. It had always been her all along.

“Well? You are not mute, are you? What do you plan to do now?”

He patiently stared at his mother. “Can I speak now?” he asked.

The woman’s eyes narrowed at his sardonic remark.

“I do have plans, Mother,” he said, “but trust that it shall all be all right in the end. Now, all I have to ask from you is that you pray.”

His mother frowned in confusion. “Pray for what?”

He sighed. “Pray that I shall survive a very hard beating brought about by five bloody angry brothers—four for now, but I am certain the other one is on his way.”

Lady Hayward blinked her blue eyes once, looking quite lost, but when his words finally dawned on her, his mother smiled with satisfaction and uttered, “Oh. Oh, how marvellous!”

“The beating or the praying?” he wryly asked.

“Well, I could not truly decide. Now, now,” she said when he made a move to go, grabbing his arm, “tell me more.”

“Mother, I told you I am in a rush to—”

“You cannot go out in a rush, my boy. If you do intend to face her brothers, then you ought to have a cool head. And a mother’s guidance, of course.”

Morris cleared his throat from where he was standing by the door. “I quite agree, my lord.”

He glared at Morris.

“Your butler is a wise fellow, is he not?” Lady Hayward said. “Now, let us go to the parlour so you could tell me every detail of your plan.”

“I do not have a concrete one, Mother,” he droned as the woman dragged him to the parlour door. “As a matter of fact, the only one I have in mind is get through the door, get beaten, survive it and marry Ysabella.”

“Unacceptable!” she stopped to study him from head to foot. “You look like hell, son. You are white as paper! Have you had a bath? You reek! Your smell is an insult to my nostrils! Do you plan to make Ysabella swoon at the smell of you?”

“He has not had a bath ordered—” Morris started to say but Wakefield threw him a murderous look. “None at all, my lady,” the bloody bastard finished, closing the door.

“I shall deal with you soon,” he snapped at the man as turned to his mother. “Mother, I—”

“And have you had any food?”

“None, my lady,” Morris answered.

“Bloody hell, Morris!” Wakefield shouted.

“Not good, son, not good at all! You cannot go to battle hungry and filthy!”

“Should I prepare the bath and the food, my lady?” Morris eagerly asked.

“Yes, Morris, very good!” his mother replied with a bright smile. “And while we wait for you to be made presentable, dear, do tell me how it all started. And Morris, do bring some tea!”

Wakefield sighed, but thought it might be better to have someone to talk with. His mother might give him a much needed enlightenment on the matter of courtship.

And mayhap he indeed needed a bath.

---

“Why can’t anyone believe me?” she suddenly found herself asking the three women in the drawing room.

Agatha, Margaret and Emma turned their heads to stare at her.

“We do believe you, Ysa,” Margaret said, walking close to her. Her sister took her hand for a gentle squeeze. “And whatever you do or decide to do, we shall support it.”

“Benedict is quite intent on taking you to Devonshire,” Emma said, “but should you not wish to go, you can always say no.”

A tear dropped from her eye. “I do not think I could ever forget him,” she admitted.

Margaret’s eyes watered. “You shall someday find someone who can give you as much love as you can give, Ysa,” her sister reassured. “I do not wish to give you false hopes, but should you not stay here and see this through? Lord Wakefield must be trying his best to sort everything out.”

“I agree, Ysa,” Agatha said. “Ben only desires for you to go to Devonshire because of the gossip that surrounds you. He does not wish for you to suffer through it, but I know he will allow it should you decide to stay.”

Her shoulders shook in tears. “I simply cannot fathom why they believe I would resort to such treachery. I have always been true!”

“You have a good heart,” Margaret said, her own tears rolling down her cheeks, “And it is not your sin if the rest do not see it, or worse take advantage of it.”

She sniffed and seeing her sisters’ tears, she scoffed. “Do not cry for me. Why are you crying for me?”

“Because we hurt with you, you dimwit,” Emma whimpered. “It is not you to cry in pain! I hate seeing it!”

She smiled, her lips quivering. “Which is why I agree I ought to go to Devonshire. I do not like how this matter has turned me into, see?”

“But Ysa, it is not you to run away either!” Emma insisted. “We can still offer Wakefield the truth. If he does not realize the truth or what Aurora has done, then it is about time we make him do it.”

She was already shaking her head. “No. No! I will never deign myself to such act,” she uttered with what was left of her pride. “And I am tired. I have been foolish enough for too long and I need to find something else to give me life.”

Margaret pulled her closer.

“I have lost him, I believe.”

“But, Ysa!” Emma uttered with frustration, “He wants you! You said so yourself Lady Weis no longer matters. Why do you wish for him—”

“Hush, Emma,” Margaret gently said. “One of the complications of love is that we want something complicated no matter how simple the people around us think the answer is.” She sniffed, pulling Ysabella closer, adding in a whisper, “You shall realize it as well if the moment comes to you.”

Emma’s jaw tightened and she sighed. “Well, it might turn for the better if you go.”

“How so?” Agatha asked.

“He’d chase after you for certain,” Emma said with confidence. “And he’d beg for you to marry him.”

Everyone was surprised when Ysabella scoffed and laughed through her tears. “Quite a lovely picture, Emma, but I do not think he’d go to such extent. I have already relieved him of his promise.”

“Oh, you never know, sister,” Emma said. “You can never know.”

---

Wakefield was guarded by his brother that evening, along with Morris, under their mother’s orders.

“You ought to have proper sleep,” his mother had said. “It is necessary that you have a clear mind the moment you face her. Grovelling is never an easy task, see?”

“You are not going to touch that, are you?” he asked his brother, glaring at the glass of brandy.

“I do not wish to get foxed and wake up with you gone. Mother would have my throat,” his brother droned.

“I am amazed you have let her drag you here to watch over me,” he scoffed, giving up on his plan to escape his own estate.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I would by now be asleep in the comforts of my own estate if you have not been a bloody idiot.”

“Do not tell me you were aware of her identity,” he accused.

“Of course not. I bloody did not care about your Lady Weis. I was talking about how you have been denying yourself of such woman.”

“The one you tried to steal?”

His brother let out a mocking laugh. “Is that how you would call it? Very well, then, I must admit the chit did amuse me. But it is a relief she did refuse my offer.”

He scoffed. “I’d wager you realized you are better off alone after that.”

Thomas slowly nodded. “Indeed.” He crossed his leg over the other to stare at Wakefield. “What do you intend to do to the other chit?”

“What other chit?”

“The one who stole the letters.” When Wakefield glared at him, Thomas shrugged. “Mother told me everything.”

“None of your business. I shall handle her on my own.”

“I wonder what—”

“My lord,” Morris interrupted, stepping into the room.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“Someone has arrived to call on you.”

“In the wee hours?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Morris said. “You might wish to see her so I allowed her entry . “

“Why does it not surprise me!” he said, jumping to his feet. So did Thomas.

Ysabella was the first to come to his mind, but the woman who entered the room was not her.

Her green eyes were swollen with tears, but the gaze she gave Wakefield and Thomas was strong and determined.

“Good evening, my lords,” Margaret Everard-Devitt greeted.

XXXV. Brothers and Sisters

Dear Lord Wakefield,

I wish this short missive finds you well.

You may perhaps find this letter quite odd, but I must do this in my desperate attempts to find what I am looking for.

Have you, by any chance, seen a black cat prowling around your estate?

Sorry to have bothered you,

Lady Weis

---

Margaret was no stranger to Wakefield. As the eldest amongst the Everard sisters, and closer in age to her older brothers, Wakefield had had the honour to know her. He even had the chance to dance with the woman before.

But he must also admit that the woman was no like any others. Her presence emitted something strong and mysterious. Her eyes had always had a knowing and curious look about them. And if she was staring at someone like she was doing now, with utter determination and confidence, it could be quite unnerving.

“Good evening, Lord Bertram,” she said to Thomas, giving the man a curt nod. “Would you be so kind as to provide my husband company outside? I believe he is quite cross that I had to drag him along at such an hour.”

Thomas immediately moved and although Wakefield never asked for his brother’s help, he had the sudden instinct to grab Thomas’ arm and beg him to stay.

But he stopped himself for it would be quite pathetic.

Margaret simply stared at him while Thomas exited the room. Once his brother had firmly closed the door, Margaret moved and without waiting for an offer, sat on the chaise.

“Fret not, my lord,” she said when Wakefield took a hesitant step. “I am not my brothers. I am here as a woman and I do not yearn for blood be spilled.”

He knew he ought to feel relieved, but it merely made him even more anxious. He was inclined to believe that a good beating would be less worrisome than a talk with Margaret Everard.

He came to sit back on his chair across from Margaret.

She gave him a level look. “The past few days had been difficult for us all, as you may have noticed,” she started.

Wakefield swallowed with guilt.

“But I do admit that I have been amongst those who never believed Ysabella’s feelings toward you.”

His eyes widened with surprise.

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. “And it pains me to think that I believed it for years. She had always been a baby sister in my eyes. I ought to have realized that she was capable of growing up, that she is capable of a mature mind.” She managed a bitter smile. “I believe we have all sinned against her in this regard.”

His jaw tightened. Having to be reminded of how he had treated Ysabella was not fun at all.

“I am saying these things for I wish you to know that I do understand why you felt you had to stay away from her and break her heart countless of times, although unintentionally. She was merely eighteen when she made a vow to make you her husband. She had chased you around in naught but ballrooms and social events, but nothing further than that—until of late, of course when she had to be quite aggressive.” She wiped the tear that rolled down her cheek. “Little did we all know that she had been seeing you for the real man that you are, that she had other means to be closer to you, thus proving her love to be true.”

He nodded. “As Lady Weis.”

Margaret smiled. “When did you realize?”

“Just this morning,” he bit out with bitterness. “And I have been a fool to have not seen—”

“No, my lord,” she interjected, “we have all been a fool. None of the Everards took her affections for you seriously until the truth was revealed. I knew of the first time she wrote to you and she had led us all to believe that she had stopped the correspondence. I was in Ashmore when I read about Lady Weis in the letters and even until then, I thought she had been such a child to have continued her foolishness.”

“I should have recognized her the very moment I saw the real her,” he choked out.

“But you merely knew her as your friend’s sister, a child who chased you from one ball to another. Whoever you knew from those letters could not be Lady Weis for your mind has created a different picture. Your imagination limited you to not see Lady Weis in someone else.” Her smile turned gentle, even pitiful. “Trust me when I say that first impressions are stronger, my lord. Your mind would always refuse facts and evidence because they do not match what you have already convinced yourself to think of, which is why most of us are not Leaguers or Town Guards.” Her lips twitched at her own words.

But Wakefield refused to free himself from the guilt. He ought to have realized it. Margaret saw his struggle and sighed.

“A man who believes he has been eating an apple every day for years would never believe someone who comes to him with a claim he had been eating oranges all this time instead. Such was your case with my sister. Add to the fact that you have always been concerned about the years between you and her being Levi’s sister, you have convinced your mind that she was no other than Ysabella Everard, the child and that she could not be someone else, especially the perfect Lady Weis who has been your friend and companion in letters for years.”

Silence reigned between them for quite some time. Wakefield frowned at Margaret. “I was not expecting you to come here and utter such words, my lady.”

“I was, as a matter of fact, been debating whether or not I ought to use a pistol or a sword, but my husband can be quite convincing,” she said in jest. “Now that you know she has been telling the truth, my lord, I wish to know of your plans.”

“I will marry her,” he immediately uttered without thinking.

Margaret Everard cocked her brow. “Do you love her?”

“Of course I do. I do more than anything else. More than I ever loved her through her letters.”

As if it was answer enough, Margaret sighed with relief. “Good. I was afraid you would act like a fool as Levi did a long time ago and deny your feelings.”

She stood up, ready to leave. Wakefield jumped to his feet.

“Tell her,” she ordered in a stern voice.

“I already did. She would not believe me.”

“That is what I hate the most. She is torn between being Ysabella Everard and Lady Weis and it is confusing her as well. She can be stubborn as a child and she had lately let that, along with her pride, complicate matters. She may claim that she does not wish to be identified only as Lady Weis, but I know that she wishes for you to recognize it as well. She might have gotten lost along the way, and I hope you make her remember who she was before all of this. And do make certain, my lord, that she believes you believe her.”

“I am such a blind fool to have missed the fact. I understand that now.”

“Yes, I must agree, but we have all been blind fools where Ysabella is concerned. It is nearly too late when we all started to realize that she had grown up before our very eyes, is it not?” Margaret uttered with bitterness. She lifted her chin to stare at him with confidence. “Now, be a man and fawn at her feet if need be. Do it fast, my lord, for she is leaving soon.”

He straightened in alarm. “Leaving?”

Margaret nodded. “I fear she has not merely given up on you, William, but on herself as well. And I do not intend to stop her from leaving for I, too, wishes for her to reclaim her old self.”

Wakefield went cold.

Margaret walked to the door. “Your butler has informed me that your mother has arrived to put some sense into you. I believe you have finally had someone to talk with? Someone had told me you needed someone to be with you and I am glad your family is here.”

“She berated me more than offered advice, my lady,” he said with a groan.

Margaret laughed. “Read between the scolding words then,” she said between chuckles, “they can be quite helpful. That is how family do it best.” She paused at opening the door. “By the by, William, I believe you have figured out the true culprit of the letters?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I need no longer ask what you intend to do with her for I trust your judgement. For now, do what you must.”

When she pulled the door open, Wakefield asked, “When is she leaving?”

“Nearly two hours from now.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “She is taking the carriage. Benedict is staying here until Agatha gives birth. I believe Ralph, who is to take her to Devonshire, shall be delayed by a good friend ,” she added with a wink.

Wakefield’s heart swelled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“Do not thank me yet, my lord. You still have to face her.”

With those simple yet heavy words, Margaret walked out of the room as silently as she came.

Moments later, Thomas entered the drawing room wearing a mocking, curious grin.

“Before you prepare yourself for a chase, I believe you ought to see this,” his brother said, showing him a box. When he simply stared at it, Thomas sighed. “Someone sent this while you were having a nice chat with Lady Devitt.” Wakefield reached for the box. “I believe an Everard footman delivered it. Them Everards seem to be in quite a rush, are they not? Calling at such a late hour and making rushed deliveries.”

Ignoring his brother’s sardonically amused voice, Wakefield opened the box and his heart began to pound.

Inside was the very same mask he saw Lady Weis wear at the Cinderella ball. With shaking hands, he picked up the small note on top of it.

“I am inclined to believe it is supposed to represent something for I fear the thought of you wearing it quite repulsive,” Thomas was saying but Wakefield had stopped listening, the loud beating of his heart louder now.

His eyes read the short message written on the note over and over again.

His eyes studied the white mask one more time, the sapphire stones glinting against the light of the drawing room. The empty spot where the stone must have been was there.

“You look as though you are about to faint,” Thomas uttered.

Wakefield turned and started for the door. “I must go.”

“Now?”

“Morris! My horse!” he shouted instead. “Dare not stop me, Thomas,” he added over his shoulder.

His brother scoffed and held up both hands. “I never intended to.”

As Wakefield waited for his horse outside the manor, he read the note again.

I swear I pray I am not committing a sin, but may this be proof enough. Do not tell my sister for I believe she is being quite a fool to herself.

A lady who hopes to see you alive soon,

Emma Everard

PS. Stop being a fool yourself.

Wakefield sighed. “I need no more proof,” he muttered under his breath.

---

Ralph had been quiet since he came down, all dressed and ready to take her to Devonshire. She had caught him many times staring at her with confusion.

“I have already sent word to Devonshire regarding your arrival,” Benedict was saying, his expression unreadable. The talk he had with their mother might have saved them from a lot of trouble for Benedict had never once more broached the subject of Wakefield or Lady Weis.

When Ysabella nodded, her brother gently said, “No one is forcing you go to, Ysabella. You can stay here in Wickhurst.”

“I know, brother,” she said with a smile. She looked over at Ralph. “Are you quite ready?”

“Have you said goodbye to Mother?” Nicholas asked.

“Last night. I hate to wake her at such hour.”

Emma came bounding down the stairs, “Ben, Agatha is looking for you.”

Their eldest brother jumped to his feet in alarm. He gave Ysabella’s head a quick ruffle before he turned to run up the stairs with Emma. Her sister looked over her shoulder, saying, “You know I do hate goodbyes, Ysa, but I am certain I shall see you sooner !”

Ysabella blinked in confusion as her sister sent her a wink.

Maxwell was frowning as well, eyes still following Emma and Benedict.

“We can still bring out the pistols, Ysa,” Nicholas offered in jest.

She rolled her eyes.

“But to be honest, sister, this is not you to go and escape,” Ralph stated.

“Could a lady not yearn for some peace?” was her retort.

“Wakefield might be a total fool, Ysabella,” Maxwell said, surprising her with his serious tone, “but he also does love like one.” Her brother patted her cheek. “And a man who can be a fool for love is worth another chance.”

Nicholas and Ralph stood gaping at Maxwell, so did Ysabella.

He glared at Nicholas and Ralph. “I am not saying I am willing to be one, you bastards,” he droned, his bored, cynical tone returning. “Now, what say you to a glass of brandy, Nick?” he asked.

Nicholas started to shake his head. “I don’t think—”

“Ah, but I want one,” Maxwell said, pushing Nicholas to the direction of the parlour.

“Take care of her, Ralph. You are not a Guard for nothing,” Nicholas uttered before he was shoved into the parlour by an impatient Maxwell.

Ysabella turned to Ralph. “Well? Are you quite ready?”

Her brother stared at her. “I am serious, Ysa. If any part of you thinks staying is for the better, I will not stop you. I may not say this often, but I do love you more than I love the thought of beating the soul out of Wakefield. Assuring your happiness is greater than any of my desires at the moments.”

Her eyes watered and without warning Ysabella flung her arms around her brother’s neck.

“Ah, Ysa, let go of me at once,” Ralph said but did not push her away. “I am warning you, let go of me—”

“I do love you, too, brother,” she said with a laugh, jumping away from him. “Now I am quite ready to go.”

“But I said—”

“I know, but I still wish to go.”

He frowned. “This is not a part of a ploy to trap Wakefield, is it?”

She burst out laughing. “No. Well, mayhap a tiny bit yes, but no, truly, I simply wish to have some quiet to gather my thoughts back together.”

Ralph groaned in frustration. “I am constantly in awe by how complex women’s brain is.”

“Cannot handle the drama, eh?” Ysabella asked.

Ralph rolled his eyes and offered his arm. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and looped her arm around his.

They started for the door but were stopped by the sound of a horse bounding toward them.

Frowning, Ralph glared at the surprise visitor. “What the bloody hell are you doing here, Samuel?”

Samuel jumped from his horse. “I was—well, could I—Are you going somewhere?” he asked when he saw the carriage.

“Apparently, as you can see, yes,” Ralph snapped at her friend. “Now, answer my question. Why are you here?”

Samuel scratched his head with a wince. “I was at Grey’s and I ran short of money. Could you spare me some? I lost a couple of card games, see?”

Ysabella rolled her eyes, letting go of Ralph. “Ah, men!” she said, shaking her head. “I will be waiting in the carriage.”

Ralph was frowning at his friend. “Why would I lend you some, you bastard? Go home and get—”

“My mother is currently in my estate for a visit. I would not be able to escape in time to save my arse from a duel! Leander, that bastard, is demanding for his win as we speak!”

Ralph let out a frustrated sigh before he sharply turned around to walk back into the estate.

“Do make it quick!” Ysabella shouted through the window of the carriage.

Samuel gave her a suspiciously wicked grin before he bounded up the stairs to run after her brother.

Ysabella sighed and tried to be patient, leaning against her seat. She closed her eyes and wondered if she was indeed doing the proper thing.

Ah, the very fact that she was questioning her decision should be enough to convince her that she needed to get away. She no longer knew what she truly wanted. She had thought she did, but the recent events merely caused her to be irrational.

She had to get over the pain of losing Aurora, to have more time to understand why her friend would do such an act. And much more so, she needed time to come to terms with what she truly wanted.

Should Wakefield come after her, then she would face him. If not, then she would accept it.

But for now, she—

Did she truly want him to go after her?

For the first time, she allowed her mind to set aside Lady Weis and what Aurora had done and let herself think back to how it all began.

It had been quite simple. She fancied him and grew to love him.

I am in love with you, irrevocably and desperately so…

She had made him fall in love with her. It was the simple thing she had ever wanted.

Yet she had demanded more from him when all she wanted was to make him see her as Ysabella Everard. She never once tried to see things through his eyes. She had been quite selfish, thinking only of herself, of her goals. She must have understood him better. She had not been Lady Weis for nothing. She ought to have understood his fears yet she chose not to for she had let herself be guided by her emotions and selfish desires.

“Ah, bloody hell,” she groaned in frustration. It was simple! She loved him and he loved her!

She heard the carriage door open and close. Ralph knocked on the carriage ceiling and the carriage started to move.

She began to feel a sense of panic.

“Ralph,” she said, opening her eyes, “I know you might throttle me for this, but I think I have changed—”

Her eyes widened when she saw Wakefield grinning across from her.

XXXV. A Lord’s Guide to a Carriage Ride

Dear Lady Weis,

I am not aware of any presence of a feline around the premises of my estate.

In agreement that your letter is odd,

William Hayward, Lord of Wakefield

---

Ysabella did not speak for she could not find a word to say. As the carriage turned to a different direction she looked out the window in alarm.

Was he abducting her?

“My brother would not like this at all, my lord,” she managed to say in a deadpan voice and the grin was wiped off his face. “Where do you intend to take me?”

He shrugged. “I truly do not care at the moment.” His voice was calm and composed, far from the one he used during their talk in the parlour.

But his gaze was the same—intense and determined. Ysabella swallowed, her heart hammering against her chest.

“Are you giving up, Ysa?” he asked, eyes wary.

She blinked. “Yes. I am leaving as you can see,” she uttered with defiance, sticking her chin out.

His jaw tightened. “Why?” he whispered.

She wanted to leap across the carriage and throw her arms around him but she stopped himself. Praying for strength, she started, “I have been reading a book on how to court a lord for quite some time now.” His brows arched with wonder. “I’ve read it from cover to cover too many times than necessary. And do you know the most important lesson it taught me?” she asked, voice shaking.

Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes staring at her with longing.

“Know the right moment to leave.”

At her words, his eyes flickered with raw fear and he did not bother to hide it.

Once more, Ysabella stopped herself from reaching out to him.

As the carriage continued to roll down the empty street, Wakefield reached for something inside his coat. When his hand came out, her eyes widened. He was holding her white mask in her hand.

He laid it down beside him without a word.

“Ah, the evidence you wanted,” Ysabella said, hoping to sound nonchalant. “Did my sister send it? She ought not to have. I had wanted you to believe me by my own words, not by mere evidence.” With a sigh, she looked out the window. “I wonder who helped you convince the driver to take me away in such a scandalous manner. It must be Emma.”

“Ysa, will you listen to what I have to say?” his voice begged.

“That you now believe me to be Lady Weis?” she asked, snapping her eyes back at him. “Well, of course you should. You now have the mask and—”

“I realized the truth this morning after I’ve gone through the letters. The mask was delivered just tonight.”

Realizing what his words meant, her heart swelled with relief, but then she could not simply make this easy for him. So she shrugged. “Well, she no longer matters, really.”

“Of course she does,” he said, peering down to catch her eyes. “She is a part of you—a small part of the whole you.”

Ysabella remained silent. When she made a move to avert her eyes, he kneeled on the floor of the carriage so he was closer to her, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

“You questioned how I can love someone I barely know,” he continued, tone growing desperate. “But I do know you, Ysabella. I started to the moment I caught you stealing turkey in Theobald.”

Her nose flared as she fought the tears that threatened to escape.

“Before I knew who Lady Weis is, I could not accept anyone for I could not see her in anyone. I refused to do so. She was unique and almost unreal in my mind. She was like the fairy tale you have been talking about.” He reached out to take her hand and she let him. She let him because she wanted to and because she felt weak to pull back.

His hand rubbed the top of hers, his eyes searching hers. “And then I started seeing you—the real you.” He gulped, his hands shaking around hers with his words. “In my head, Lady Weis had no actual voice. Ysabella Everard does. You talk too loud and too provocatively. You like to sing and although I am yet to hear it, I know it will be quite as awful as your pianoforte skills, but I would love it nonetheless because you love doing it and find no shame in it. I could listen to your voice all day talking about everything and anything that might fit your fancy.”

Her lips shivered and she could no longer stop her tears and they rolled down her cheeks. He reached up to wipe them away with his fingers.

“Lady Weis never talked about her friends and her adventures with them in fear of giving out clues of her identity. Ysabella Everard forced me to join hers. You are friends with bandits and I am not certain if I can live with that, but I love that you draw no lines around you.

“I never read about Lady Weis’ adventures in specifics. Ysabella Everard let me join hers. You forced me into so many frustrating, challenging and exciting journeys to your very being and your life. You are carefree and honest and you love truly.”

He seemed unstoppable now. His words rolled ought of his tongue and she could barely keep up. But she realized what he was trying to do. He was letting her know that she knew her, her and Lady Weis.

“In my head, Lady Weis knew the worst of me through my letters but all the while I never knew Ysabella Everard saw more than that—she saw far beyond that and she wanted me far beyond that.” He choked at his last word and he swallowed. “You… you showed me everything that Lady Weis never was and I love every single part of you. I love you, Ysabella Everard, all of you.”

Ysabella’s shoulders were now shaking as she whimpered in tears and wonder.

“I do not deserve your love, but I want it. I yearn for it and I will work my arse off to prove to you that I love you the same. I fell for you in more ways I did for the woman who penned those letters. You have crept into my heart, Ysabella, and I God smite me right this moment if I do not accept it.”

When Ysabella saw his tears through her own, she finally gave in. She slowly slumped down toward him and he caught her as she caught his face in her hands and kissed him, tasting her own tears. She heard his great sigh of relief when she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder. “I love you.”

This was far from what she had imagined. Not as far-fetched or impossible, but it was real.

Gently leaning away from her, Wakefield cupped her face and wiped her tears dry with his thumbs. “You are not going to Devonshire, are you?”

She scoffed and shook her head, eyes filling with fresh tears.

When he leaned to kiss her, she pushed him away. “Would you not wish for me to wear the mask? You might just recognize Lady Weis’ kiss,” she could not help but jest.

He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers, eyes tightly closed as if in pain. “Do stop tormenting me, Ysa,” he begged. “I already do feel utterly stupid.”

“Ah, but I shall live to torment you for years.”

He stiffened in her arms and she leaned away to frown at him with confusion. He started laughing, squeezing away tears from both eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You cannot imagine how I have longed to hear those words,” he said before he pulled her down toward him for a kiss.

---

Wakefield did not realize that Ysabella had slid down from her seat and was straddling him on the carriage floor for the kiss was just as he had remembered it at Blucksley. It was consuming. His hands pulled her closer, shaping her waist, her hips as his hungry mouth danced with hers.

There seemed to be a sense of urgency from them both and it took so much of his strength to lean away from her. Breathing heavily, his shaking hands gathered her long waves behind her nape so he can clearly see her face.

“I should take you home now,” he said with a groan.

She smiled. “You are not considering Tiny Town?” she asked, batting her eyes, her eyelashes still damp with tears.

He closed his eyes and growled under his breath. Kissing her one more time, Wakefield guided her back on her seat and settled across from her. He held out his arm when she attempted to cross the distance between them. “Ysa, please, do not tempt me.”

She snorted. The glimmer in her eyes that he never knew he had been longing for had returned.

“Tiny Town is—”

“You and I are to be married in a church,” he firmly stated.

She blinked in surprise then smiled. “Can I invite the bandits?”

His eyes widened. “Your brother is a bloody Town Guard, but if you could ask them to kindly dress up and promise not to steal anything, even a mere spoon, then you can have your way and have your friends at the wedding.”

She laughed at his reaction. “Do not fret. I shall only invite Alex. And Barto and Ned might want to come too.”

He groaned.

“But we must talk about the now , William,” she said in a serious tone. “You abducted me using our own carriage and my brothers could probably be hunting for us both by now.” She met his eyes with equal determination. “So I highly suggest we go home to your estate instead.”

Wakefield just stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds before he let out a helpless chuckle.

Knowing he would not agree, she further said, “I would not wish my mother to witness how my brothers will deal with you, you know.”

He gave her a patient smile, shoulders still shaking with mirth. “No, darling, I shall face your brothers tonight if I have to.”

He gave the carriage roof another knock as Ysabella asked, “Are you quite certain? They will be furious. Your estate is quite near and—”

“You are not to step into my estate until our wedding day,” he said with finality.

Her lips pursed.

He reached for her hand and pulled her across toward him. His arm wrapped around her waist, sliding her closer beside him. “We both have to be patient. We are going to do this properly. We are to go to balls, dance in them, enjoy them. We shall go to the park and you are yet to tour me to Haram. We are yet to have a proper picnic in the woods. There are too many things I plan to do with you.”

“But William, that seems to last forever and—”

He silenced her with a kiss. And before he knew it, they had already returned outside the Everard manor.

He reluctantly reached for the door and climbed out. He reached for her hand and to his surprise, Ysabella pulled him back inside, her smile and eyes wicked. “Does my breath smell?” he asked, smiling, his lips brushing hers.

A chuckle rumbled in her throat before she gave him a quick kiss. “I love you, William Hayward.”

“And I believe you do,” he said, stepping away to help her down the carriage.

As they walked up from the driveway, the front doors opened and Emma slipped out.

“What has taken you so long?” Emma demanded in a hushed tone.

It was only then that Wakefield realized she was carrying a black cat in one arm. And the feline seemed to be looking at him as though he was the most stupid human it had ever encountered.

“I suggest you do not face my brothers for now, my lord. They have been awfully quiet in the drawing room since they discovered Ysa is missing. I had to assure them that she is completely safe but I am afraid they might start thinking otherwise. Them being too deafeningly calm and quiet is not good at all, see?”

But Wakefield was only half-listening as he continued to stare at the cat. “That is the bloody cat that started it all, is it not?” he asked Ysabella.

Ysabella chuckled, nodding her head. She turned to fully face him, giving him a shove. “Go for now. You heard Emma.”

“No, I shall face them—”

“No, not tonight,” Emma hissed. “It is best if you wait for them to come to you.” When he started to protest, Emma added, “And Mother is here.”

Wakefield gave in with a sigh. He looked at Ysabella. “I have important matters to attend to the entire day and tonight,” he said, “but I will come and call on you on the morrow.”

She nodded with a knowing look. She knew what he was planning to do. He would tell her everything soon, but for now, he wanted her to sleep in peace and spend the day free or worry.

Emma started to pull Ysabella away but Wakefield grabbed her hand and pulled her back for a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered, hearing Emma’s wry voice saying, “Oh, goodness, not here!”

He turned to Emma to add, “Thank you.”

The lady merely rolled her eyes.

Wakefield left, his mind already on the task at hand.

He had won the lady he wanted.

Now, it was time to face the one who nearly made it impossible.

XXXVII. The Mistress

Dear Lord Wakefield,

Thank you for your kind reply.

The cat shall return soon, I believe.

Mayhap I will consider caging it.

Sincerely,

Lady Weis

---

Ysabella was prepared for a long and loud lecture, threats included, when she entered the drawing room, but she was taken aback when she saw her brothers chatting quite amiably about the upcoming hunting game.

Emma stepped beside her, Mrs Beagle in her arms, and said, “Hmm. Do you think they are merely acting?”

Ysabella tipped her head to the side and cleared her throat.

Benedict, Maxwell, Nicholas and Ralph all turned their heads.

“I came back on my own volition,” she started with a smile, shoulders squared.

“You do look significantly different from when you were leaving,” Nicholas said, narrowing his eyes at her. “How is Wakefield?”

“Ah, don’t bother telling us,” Ralph interrupted before she even spoke. “We do not wish to know.”

Maxwell and Benedict simply stared, faces disinterested.

“I swear Ralph was about to tear Wickhurst apart when he discovered you were gone,” Emma whispered beside her. “I warned you, they are up to something!”

“That was a fast talk,” Nicholas added, arching an eyebrow.

“He did say the right things,” Ysabella said with a shrug. “You cannot go and meet him tonight for he has more important matters to do than receive fists,” she added.

When none of them made a move, Ysabella frowned. Turning to look at Emma, her sister shrugged. “I told you, they have been quite quiet after Ralph’s outburst.”

“We heard that, dear sisters,” Nicholas said wryly.

“Then why are you still here?” Ysabella asked.

“Tired of threats?” asked Emma.

Ralph scoffed. Benedict and Maxwell looked amused. Nicholas grinned and said, “Ah, we are simply waiting for someone, see?”

Ysabella went cold. Levi. “You cannot be utterly serious!”

“We received word of his arrival yesterday. I believe we shall be expecting him on the morrow,” Ralph offered. “Now that I think of it, I am glad you decided not to go. I do not wish to bore myself at Devonshire and miss the action.”

She gasped. “You twit! Is that why you nearly begged me to stay!”

Ralph jumped to his feet in alarm when Ysabella stormed toward him, ready to attack. “I did mean what I said, Ysa, of course, but—bloody hell! Not the bloody face!”

He held up his hands to protect his face from her punches. None of the other siblings moved to stop them.

Benedict allowed the scuffle for nearly a minute before saying, “That is enough,” to which both Ysabella and Ralph immediately jumped away from each other.

“Oww, Ysa! Look what you’ve done! I have scratches all over!”

“Well, they are better than what your lovers give you!” she shot back. “I thought you were being sweet!”

“Well, I was! But you must admit that I was right. You did not truly wish to go, did you?”

“And now you rejoice because you can join the rest of them!” she cried out. Whirling to face Benedict and Maxwell, she asked, “Is there any way you can face him without getting into a fight?”

“It will not be a fight,” Nicholas said, “it will be torture.”

Ysabella ignored him, staring at Benedict and Maxwell with begging eyes.

“We decided to let Levi decide,” Maxwell said. “He is Wakefield’s best friend for a long time before now, after all.”

She lifted her chin. “Ah, then I could count on Levi to be forgiving. He does owe us, does he not?”

“For matching him with Tori, you mean?” Nicholas asked with a laugh. “You do not know your brother well enough then, Ysa.”

She lifted her chin with confidence. “Of course! Levi would not have had Tori if not for us.”

“Oh, believe me, sister, he would still have.”

“I hate you!” she said to Nicholas. “And you!” she added to Ralph. “You wait until you meet your match and I do pray she has dozens of brothers for you to face!”

Ralph simply shrugged. “They will never be like us if that is to happen.”

“Try to make yourself believe so, brother. Did Wakefield ever think he would face all of you for me? He did not, yes? And he has finally been proven wrong.” For a moment she saw alarm cross Ralph’s eyes but he quickly covered it with a laugh. “For now, I shall go to bed.” She walked up to Emma who was waiting for her by the doorway. “And if I am to wake up to a dead fiancé, I shall never forgive all of you! Ever!”

---

Ysabella woke up quite late that morning as she and Emma spent the night talking and squealing, spending the first two hours talking about the carriage ride and the next in planning wedding dresses and gowns. When she came down for breakfast, her brothers were still in residence much to her disappointment.

Her mother, of course, expressed her excitement over her reunion with Wakefield and she expressed it later that afternoon in the parlour with Margaret, Agatha and Emma.

“I have to call on Lady Hayward soon,” her mother said, excitedly making notes for the wedding.

They drank tea, celebrating the many blessings bestowed upon their family while the brothers were in the library, impatiently waiting for Levi’s arrival.

To take their mind off the gentlemen, Emma narrated to Margaret how she had managed to succeed in helping Wakefield get into the carriage.

“I had to scribble a fast note to Samuel, of course, giving him instructions to delay Ralph at all cost for as long as he could,” she said. “I believe he did a good job.”

Margaret and Agatha laughed.

“I was thankful, though, that Maxwell and Nicholas decided to disappear into the parlour. I was afraid Samuel would have a hard time gathering all three men together. He can be a lousy actor, you see.” Emma turned to Agatha with a grateful smile. “And of course, Agatha was graceful enough to tag along with my plans, asking for her dear husband’s much-needed presence.”

“It was quite suspicious, Emma, but well done,” said Ysabella. “You might wish to cover the wicked smile on your face next time.”

“Oh, dear Lord, I have given birth to she-devils!” Lady Alice said in mock horror. “Although I would have preferred if Emma did wake me up. We could have delayed the time further. Ysa might have gotten back in time before your brothers realized she had been abducted.”

The four women threw their heads and laughed.

“By the by, Margaret,” Emma said, “I saw you whispering something in Aurora’s ear at the Seymour ball. What was it? She looked quite stunned.”

Ysabella tried to ignore the pang in her chest at the mention of Aurora. Perhaps she could someday think of the woman without the pain. For now, she had to bear it.

“Oh,” Margaret chuckled with a wave of her hand. “I simply told her that Ysa may have five brothers, but she also has four sisters, one of them rumoured to be a witch—and a mother.” She said the last word as she turned to their mother with a meaningful look.

It was Lady Alice’s chance to laugh out loud.

The library was utterly quiet in contrast to the merry atmosphere in the parlour.

---

The very moment he arrived back in his estate, Wakefield ordered for the presence of solicitors and his banker.

He sent one of his footmen to watch outside the Gedge residence until late evening.

He made drafts and paid everything that needed to be paid.

Once, Thomas inquired what he was doing when he ought to be with the Everards.

“Cleaning a mess, brother,” was his simple reply.

Their mother, not much to his surprise, had decided to call on Lady Alice. He did not worry, of course, for the Everard men would dare not hurt her. Their business was with him, after all.

By late afternoon, Wakefield was tired. He had had no sleep the previous day and even the nights before that. No, in fact, he had not had proper sleep since he arrived from Bertram.

He dozed off in his study until Morris came to his door. He jumped in alarm when he realized that it was already too late in the evening and the footman he sent out to watch the Gedge estate had come back.

The footman gave him the package. He opened it and found the money. It was enough to make someone like Rosa Gimer go away.

“Did you give the servant her money?”

“Yes, milord,” the footman said. “She would not stop crying, milord.”

“And did the owner of the money return to the place I have guessed?”

“Yes, milord.”

With a sigh, Wakefield came to his feet.

A part of him had hoped he was wrong, but it could no longer be helped. He had the evidence and his footman was witness.

All he needed now was her confession. And then it would be over. He could finally set himself free of her.

---

Aurora was surprised when her butler informed her of Wakefield’s presence in her drawing room.

She immediately ran down the stairs to find him and when she did he was already sitting on the chaise.

She stopped halfway into the drawing room, her steps faltering, when she saw the box of letters and the money sitting beside his lap.

Wakefield was wearing a murderous look on his face. Her eyes frantically searched for anything she could use, any weapon she might need to protect herself. It was instinct, really, and she could not help it.

“Tell me the truth, Aurora,” his cold voice asked, his blue eyes almost dark. “Why?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. What was she to say? She had been caught.

“You and I both know who she is, Aurora. So tell me… why?” his eyes, murderous.

So he knew. And he did not hate Ysabella. She had been right all along. The bastard fell for Ysabella Everard!

Disappointment, anger and desperation rushed through her. “I—I—but she lied to you! She purposely hid the truth from you!”

“And she told me and I did not believe her because you have led me to believe so! You are not even my lover to begin with! You never were!” He came to his feet and she stumbled back.

She had not been anxiously waiting for this. No, this was not part of her plan!

“Is this how you repay me for what I did for you?” he demanded. When she merely managed a whimper, he added, “I am leaving as I should have done months ago.”

“I did what I can for—”

“—for yourself and no one else!” he snarled at her. “In your attempt to protect yourself, Aurora, you ruined the only true friend you could have ever had!”

Picking the money from the chaise he threw it at her. The bundle landed on the floor with a thud.

“Where did you get that?”

Her lips quivered. “Adam Nimrod.”

“Adam Nimrod,” Wakefield said with mocked amusement. “Of course, the desperate bastard who holds a grudge against Ysabella and I. You are proving yourself to be quite resourceful and brilliant indeed, Aurora.”

Aurora fell on the floor and started to gasp. She willed her tears to come out. She needed them to come out. It was her last card—the tears. Men were uncomfortable at the sight of a lady in distress.

“Stop the act, Aurora,” Wakefield snapped.

She looked up and saw that he was picking up the box of letters. He was leaving. She knew it.

“I took the ribbons back and I hope that you do not mind.”

“William—”

“I shall not be coming back, Aurora. You are on your own now.” He paused at the door. “I suggest you start finding someone else to protect you from the horrible man who turned you into this.” He motioned his head to the tea table where a pile of papers lay. “Your parents’ debts are paid. I had the title of the estate transferred to your name. Everything is yours. Do whatever you wish with them and by God, do yourself a favour and learn to love others as much as you love yourself.”

Fury rushed inside her. “You are just like them—all of them. You do not know me at all! No one wants me. Not the Everards, not Adam Nimrod, not even you!”

“Adam Nimrod is a cad. Ysabella had always known you were in love with the man, Aurora, but she also knew he was never good enough for you. She wanted you to be with someone you deserve. Try to think the same and mayhap you would find that one person. Do not make me think that I made the biggest mistake of my life by saving you that night.”

Aurora’s shoulder sagged as she stared at the empty doorway, stunned.

She was not certain how long she had stayed slumped on the floor since she heard Wakefield’s carriage drive away outside.

She had been utterly certain she would succeed. Yet how? Where did she fail? The realization, the horror, was dumbfounding.

It was over. Everything she had hoped for was gone.

He left. Where would she go now?

Away. Far, far away.

Panic seeped inside her.

And then she stood up and gathered the money from the floor. She ran to the tea table and picked up all the papers.

She had to go.

Soon.

But as she was making her way out of the drawing room, she found someone else standing there.

She had not heard anyone come in. Where had her butler gone?

For a moment her heart swelled, thinking Wakefield came back. Mayhap he changed his mind!

Heart pounding against her chest, she started to frown when the man stepped into the room.

The features were similar. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes.

But his was not a gentle face—his was dark and dangerous.

With a gasp, Aurora realized who was standing before her. She had seen him in the Theobald party. He was in the opera.

His lips curled into a cold, unnerving smile. “You must be the whore who caused my brother quite some trouble,” Thomas Hayward uttered in a deadly voice.

XXXVIII. Meddling

Dear Lady Weis,

I have to be honest and say that I abhor the idea of caging the cat.

It may simply be lonely, thus the disappearances.

Caging it, I fear, would not merely fail to abolish its loneliness, but you will deny its freedom as well.

I do hope you reconsider.

From someone who does not have a cat but does love his freedom,

William Hayward, Lord of Wakefield

---

“Do not look so surprised, Miss Randolph,” Thomas said, walking into the room to sit on the chaise. “I gather you are quite surprised of my presence. I do not do this very often, after all.”

He watched her turn to face him, her eyes curious and scared. Her body was stiff as if it was ready to run any moment and escape.

“I am a very curious individual, and unlike my brother, I have means to… let us say, look into things.” He smiled when her jaw twitched. “Would you like to play a guessing game?” He rested his chin on the tips of two fingers.

She did not reply. She did not even move.

Thomas let out a low chuckle, looking at her up and down. “Do you not want to guess why I am here?”

Again, no reply.

“Very well, then, I shall start,” he feigned to think deeply as he tapped one finger against his chin. “You grew up in Granville.” She did move, but merely a twitch. He was enjoying this. “Your parents were merchants, but were very bad at the business. They were buried with debts.” He watched as she carefully let out a shaky breath. “They sent you to Sheills for a season, hoping you’d land yourself a lord. You failed them. Then you were whisked away to Willowfair eight years ago.” Finally her eyes betrayed her and Thomas saw them move in panic. “But they died, did they not? Despite what you told everyone in Wickhurst, you are an orphan.”

The way she managed to cover the panic was astounding. In merely a blink, she managed a smile. But he would not be fooled by the arrogant mien she was trying to muster.

“Am I doing a marvellous job?” he asked. This time he got a reply. She shrugged. “Then shall I continue?” Her nose flared, this time in anger. “You did try to work as a governess for the Osegods to pay your parents’ debts. A very powerful family, the Osegods. They treated you well. That is, until you found yourself in love with Alan Osegod himself.”

“Stop,” she finally said in a cold, eerie voice.

“Ah, but I am enjoying this, Miss Randolph. Very much so, in fact. Now, where was I?” He stood to his feet to walk to the corner to pour himself a glass of brandy. “He took you in as his mistress. He gave you everything your parents could never have afforded. Finally you were able to pay half of the debts. But something happened.” He paused to sip from his glass. When he turned, he saw her standing in the middle of the room looking as pale as paper. “Something forced you to disappear from Willowfair.”

He slowly made his way back to the chaise.

“You disappeared for three years, but more than two years ago, you came to Wickhurst for another chance of a season. No one knows you here. You tried to bury the past. But the money was running out and this time you knew the easiest way to secure one and you found another lover. You became friends with the Everards. But fate can truly be cruel, yes? Your lover hurt you when he caught you stealing from him.” He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “Suddenly you found yourself nearly at death’s door until my brother found you. The rest, as they say, is history.”

When he saw the relief in her face, he nearly laughed. He was not done.

“But what I do not understand, Miss Randolph, is why you would want to betray a friend who had been naught but good to you. Why would you risk losing my brother’s protection?” He let out a look of mocked confusion. “You are in need of protection, that is given. But from whom? Surely not your second lover here in Wickhurst, the man who nearly killed you. A fool would know that to escape out of town would be the best way. But you chose to stay here. That leaves Alan Osegod then, yes?”

Her eyes widened and the panic resurfaced. Her lips pursed, hands balling into fists beside her.

Thomas sighed. “But why would a Town Leader come after you? Surely there are far more beautiful women in Willowfair to satisfy him.” He chuckled when she lifted her chin in an arrogant fashion. “You betrayed your friend to secure my brother’s protection for what, Miss Randolph? Why the desperation?”

“The money?” Her jaw flinched. “Mayhap, but not quite enough. For someone who has as much pride as you, I believe you would have secured another position as a governess here instead of once again making yourself yet another man’s mistress. Surely a governess’ wage could eventually pay off your parents’ debts.” He sipped from his glass once again. “Mayhap the debts were not the only cause of monetary concern. I wonder then what happened in those missing three years before you came to Wickhurst.”

This time her gaze was murderous. “I told you to stop, my lord. Remove yourself from my estate!”

“I shall, after our talk, of course,” he snapped at her darkly. “You have done enough damage on Ysabella Everard, I heard. She is a sweet lady and I have gotten quite fond of her. And you broke her heart. Why, Miss Randolph? Surely there is a far justifiable reason behind betraying one’s friend.”

“I have no friends,” she spat out although her eyes did waver at the last word.

“What could make a woman so desperate that she would whore herself and betray those around her?” he continued. “Money? Greed for more of the same? Protection? Revenge?” He slowly smiled, letting the silence reign a little longer before he added, “a child.”

And that was when he finally saw her show real emotion. The fury in her eyes as she stormed toward him nearly made him jump to his feet. “You bastard!” she shouted, tears flying out of her eyes as she approached.

But she stopped short when Thomas said, “Take another step and your precious girl shall be taken out of Granville and I would personally deliver her to her own father.” The horror in her eyes was quite unsettling. “He wants her, does he not? Or should I say, he does not want her enough that he desires to find you and dispose of her.”

Her face contorted in fury and pain, her face the same hue as her hair, her eyes scathing.

Thomas smiled. “Ah, the wonders of a child. Such a small creature, yet so capable of innocently pushing one to do the vilest of deeds.”

“I swear if you touch one strand of her hair, I will torch you alive,” her shaky voice warned and he almost believed her. He saw it her eyes—the passion and fire too great that he knew he had finally found her greatest weakness. Before he could say more, she said, “What do you want from me? I know your kind, my lord. You always want something.”

“Simple, Miss Randolph. You disappear from my brother’s life completely. You free Wickhurst of your filthy presence.”

She scoffed. “I intend to do that.”

“But I shall make the arrangements for you, of course.”

“I can manage—”

“With the money you can get from selling this estate? It shall cost quite much, but would it be enough to offer you the protection you need from Osegod? Enough to see through your child’s needs?” He shook his head when she remained silent, lips quivering. “It would barely cover your little angel’s expenses, my dear. I am correct, yes? Her condition is not as perfect as the others.” He sighed and stood up. “You cannot forever whore yourself for men would always find someone younger and more fun.” He gave her an assessing look. “And by how I see you, you are no fun at all, Miss Randolph. One look into your eyes and a man would immediately see trouble and a deep, seething kind of doom.” He placed his glass on the table. “It is settled. A carriage shall arrive by the morrow to take you out of Wickhurst. You shall assume a new identity and yes, Miss Randolph, I shall be kind enough to allow the girl to join you.”

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “You have someone you protect, I have mine. I do not wish for our good name be tainted by you. We are to be united with the Everards and it is a great honour. So long as you stay out of the picture. If making you satisfied would help, then I must do it. And a satisfied woman shall not cause trouble, yes?” He did not expect her to respond. “But do what you did with my brother, Miss Randolph, and your child shall soon face her father—before he kills her, of course. Both of us know what Osegod is capable of, do we not? A bastard may taint his name, but that is not merely why he is after her, is it?”

“She is not—”

“A cretin?” he asked. Her hands flew out of nowhere but he caught it. “It hurts to hear the word, does it not? They do have another term for it, but I would dare not say it. You cannot change her—”

“I never dreamed of changing her! Not one part of her!”

He shoved her hand away and she stumbled. “Then why hide her?” He clucked his tongue at her silence. “You know what happens to the likes of her, do you? They send them away, Miss Randolph, because they are never a part of society. And you still say you would not wish to change her? You must be jesting!” He took a step back. “This is why you are in such pathetic situation. You cannot let her go.”

Tears of anger were streaming down her face and her entire body shook with it. “You obviously never had anyone you would sacrifice even your honour for. You’re a monster.”

“Your former friends do believe you are as well, Miss Randolph. But you are not the only one. My family may think me an arrogant bastard, but they too are not aware of what else I can do.”

He started to walk toward the door, brushing past her as she shivered, controlling her tears. “Dare not try to escape, my dear. I am quite capable of finding anything. Be ready by the morrow.”

“This is not merely about protecting your name. I know you have something planned. If you plan to use me to—”

“Trust me when I say that I will do anything for my name and honour,” he droned on. “Be content I am not throwing the child to an asylum where the rest of the ton would point her to if they know of her. Do as I say and leave Wickhurst as quietly as you arrived.”

He heard her pained whimper and ignored it.

Stopping by the doorway, Thomas asked, “I am good at guessing as you may have noticed, Miss Randolph, but I could not ken why you never asked for their help? The Everards, I mean.”

He watched her shoulders stiffen. She did not turn, her back still facing him. “No one would dare go against the most powerful man in the Town, my lord—even the Everards. And I am yet to see someone who would accept and embrace, as what you would call her, a cretin .”

Without another word, Thomas turned and left the room. He nodded at the butler who had let him in.

When he finally settled inside his carriage, Thomas smiled with contentment.

He now had the person Osegod wanted the most.

The perfect pawn.

---

Levi’s arrival was delayed until the next day, but he did arrive much to Ysabella’s horror. It was Emma who rushed into their chamber that morning to breathlessly say, “He’s here! He’s here!”

Ysabella jumped out of bed and out the door, still in her nightgown, but her sister called out to her saying, “They’ve already left, Ysa!” to which Ysabella made a sharp turn to ran back inside the room to grab a dress. She placed it over her head and Emma helped her, buttoning the buttons at the back. “He was utterly red with fury, Ysa. I am telling you, he looked as though he was ready to kill!”

“Oh Sweet Mr. Jones!” Ysabella uttered, rushing out the door while Emma finished buttoning her gown.

Once her dress was looking quite presentable enough, they both bounded down the stairs but stopped short when they found Benedict at the door, waiting for her, blocking her path.

Her brother’s scars deepened as he smiled. “I volunteered to make certain that you stay indoors.”

Ysabella gasped in disbelief. “Ben! You cannot let them do this to him! Please, you cannot—”

Her brother sighed and turned to open the door. “But I did not specifically say which indoor,” he said.

“You are the best eldest brother I had ever had!” Ysabella said, rushing up to him to give him a hug, kissing his scarred face.

He scowled down at her. “I am your only eldest brother,” he wryly said.

Ysabella beamed. “Precisely.”

He rolled his eyes. “The carriage is—”

“We love you, Ben!” Emma interrupted, pushing Ysabella out the door. “Come, Ysa, we must hurry!”

---

Wakefield stumbled and fell on the floor of his own study when Levi’s fist crashed into his cheek.

He shook his head to clear his vision and he knew blood was tricking down the side of his lips. He dared not touch it for it would be awfully pathetic to lose consciousness in front of his friends—who were, at the moment, his foes.

“I have warned you countless of times, Wakefield,” Levi Everard snarled above him, green eyes nearly in fire. His once perfectly made up hair was in disarray, a sign that he had ridden on horseback from Standbury to Wickhurst.

Wakefield began to stand up but Levi’s fist came down once again.

“That must have hurt,” he heard Ralph’s voice from somewhere.

“Not enough,” said Nicholas said.

“Why are you here again, Devitt?” asked Maxwell’s bored voice from a far corner.

“Wife’s orders, gentlemen. She concluded you would be here at this hour,” was Cole Devitt’s reply. “Simply ensuring none of you goes to prison.”

“Prison my arse!” Levi retorted, grabbing Wakefield’s collar to pull him back on his feet.

“Have you made certain my mother is not here?” Wakefield asked no one in particular.

“Your butler suggested to your brother to take Lady Hayward to the park,” Maxwell replied. “Bertram added that he would need to borrow your study this afternoon. I am guarding the desk, as you can see—if you can see through the swelling, of course.”

Another blow came from Levi and Wakefield’s vision nearly went black.

Bloody hell.

“Stop it this instant!” Ysabella’s voice cried out, followed by the crash of the door against the wall.

Ah, bloody hell.

“What are you doing here, Ysabella?”

“Saving my future husband, of course!” Her voice was nearer now. “Let go of him, Levi. He is mine.”

Wakefield’s chest swelled at the claim, but this was not the time to grab her and kiss her for it.

“I am not done, Ysabella,” Levi growled.

“I believe you are. Oh Sweet Mr. Jones, he is bleeding!”

Wakefield groaned at the reminder.

“He is a rake! He is not pure enough for you!” Levi shouted and Wakefield peered through one half-closed eyes. From one side of the room, Ralph and Nicholas were nodding. On the other side, beside his table, was Cole Devitt with a look of distaste on his face. Maxwell stood beside Devitt, hip hitched on the table, face filled with amusement.

To his surprise, Benedict was by the door standing with Emma.

“As every bloody man in the Town!” Ysabella shouted back at her brother, her face filled with frustration. “I know him, brother, do not mistake that. I know he’s had lovers and I accept him.”

Levi let go of Wakefield’s collar. He slumped on the floor with a grunt. A drop of his blood fell on his hand. He closed his eyes to fight the dizzyiness.

Bloody hell, not now!

“Ysabella, you do not know what—”

“I have been through so much to get him and I shall not allow any of you to be fools and deny me of him!”

Wakefield opened one eye. Everyone was staring at Ysabella with awe.

“And dare not talk about age or I swear to God I will kill all of you!” she growled. “Including you,” she pointedly said to Wakefield.

“Bloody bastard,” Levi snapped at Wakefield, eyes murderous. “I ought to have had you killed the moment you flirted with my wife.”

“I believe you’ve had your fill,” Benedict said from the door.

Ysabella rushed forward and bent down to help Wakefield to his feet. She started to wie the blood off his lips while Levi stood his ground, glaring at him.

Benedict looked around the room. “Can I go back to my wife now?” he asked before adding, “That includes everyone but Wakefield.”

Ralph and Nicholas groaned. Devitt immediately jumped to his feet to join Benedict at the doorway. Emma was grinning from ear to ear.

Maxwell, however, stayed to stand beside Levi and asked, “Did you make him grovel as I advised?” His eyes were on Ysabella.

When Wakefield opened his mouth to answer, Ysabella nudged his side and hastily uttered, “Of course! He nearly kissed my toes if I did not stop him!”

Levi made a motion to attack Wakefield once more, but Benedict’s distinct voice said, “Lady Hayward shall be returning, I believe, Levi. Mother would soon call on her to discuss about the wedding and we would not want our own to know about this at all.”

Levi stepped closer, nose to nose with Wakefield. “Hurt her, make her cry, or dare glance at another woman and I will have your throat.”

“Would not dream of it,” Wakefield uttered, wincing in pain.

Levi lightly pushed him away before he whirled around to join his brothers outside the door.

“Ysabella, you cannot stay,” Maxwell warned, following Levi.

Ysabella hesitated.

“Go,” Wakefield whispered to her. “I will call on you this afternoon.”

Ralph came back to get Ysabella. He pulled his sister away, but not without sneering at Wakefield.

“How does it make you feel having your siblings meddling with your romantic life, sister? Fun, eh?” Wakefield heard Ralph whisper to Ysabella as the two sauntered to the door.

“Not as fun as I would have when your time comes, brother,” Ysabella replied.

Wakefield snorted—or gurgled—at her quip. Ysabella looked over her shoulder to send Wakefield a wink before she disappeared out of the room with her family.

Wakefield let out a sigh of relief.

Then he suddenly felt faint.

Now, where the bloody hell was Morris?

XXXIX. A Couple’s Guide to Courtship

Dearest William,

I saw him today.

I am afraid he chose not to see me.

Would you be so kind as to give him a good beating should fate allow it?

Your friend,

Lady Weis

---

“Do not be embarrassed, dear boy,” Lady Alice said, staring at Wakefield as though she saw the same sight every day. “It does not bother me, truly. As a matter of fact, you did manage to come out better than poor Cole did in this time.” She looked around the table to give her sons a scowl. “But I must admit I am very much disappointed at all of them—”

“I did not lift a finger,” said Maxwell.

“As did I,” Benedict added beside his wife.

“Well, I did not lift a finger, but I was certainly hoping I did,” Ralph droned, causing Ysabella to scowl beside Wakefield.

“Ah, next time then,” Nicholas said, following it with a laugh when their mother glared at them.

“But no beating from here on, of course,” Lady Alice said to Wakefield. “You are family now.”

Her statement was met with groans and grunts from five men around the table.

This time, Ysabella managed a satisfied smile.

Wakefield managed a smile that did not hurt his swollen face. “Thank you, my lady. I hope you did have a marvellous time with my mother.”

“She and your brother were terrific, dear. As a matter of fact, I have accepted their invitation to spend a fortnight in Bertram after the wedding.”

“They talked about baby names,” Emma said with a snort. “I believe they came up with nearly ten names.”

Wakefield suddenly found it hard to swallow. Ysabella lightly patted his back when he started to cough.

Ralph and Nicholas guffawed.

“I want the first boy be named after me,” Maxwell said, surprising everyone.

“I am the eldest,” Benedict disagreed.

“No one is—” Ysabella started but Levi spoke for the first time, eyes hard on Wakefield, “I am the best friend.”

Everyone fell quiet. Maxwell, Ralph and Nicholas shrugged. Ben shared a look with Margaret.

Wakefield cleared his throat and smiled at the rest of the group. “It is settled then.”

“And while I also enjoy names,” Lady Alice said, her tone suddenly serious. “We must talk about how we shall announce the engagement.”

Margaret frowned. “We can simply do it the usual manner, Mother.”

“You are saying you shall deprive me of my fun, dear?” Lady Alice asked, eyes filled with malice. “I wish to do this in a grand way.”

Ysabella groaned beside Wakefield. She leaned to whisper in his ear, “I did say we go to Tiny Town, did I not?”

He chuckled under his breath and stopped when he saw Nicholas and Ralph glaring at him.

“What do you suggest then, Mother?” Emma asked, back straight with excitement. “I would love to see the reaction of the ton. Have they not made fun of you, Ysa?”

Ysabella started to shake her head. “Truly, I do not wish to—”

“Ah, never mind her, Mother,” Emma said with a wave of her hand. “She is too eager to get to the wedding day to think of the engagement.”

It was time for Wakefield to pat Ysabella’s back when she sighed and dropped her shoulders with resignation.

“When do you ken your bruises will heal, William, dear?” Alice Everard asked, her face too serious and nonchalant all the same that Wakefield swallowed the laughter in his throat.

“Uh—”

“A week the least,” Cole replied for him. “Mine took more than a fortnight.”

Ralph and Nicholas chuckled with contentment but stopped when Margaret sent them a darting look from across the table.

“Very good, then!” Lady Alice clapped her hands together. “And while we all—”

“What is it, Blair?” Benedict’s alarmed voice stopped their mother’s next words, forcing everyone to look at Agatha with concern.

Benedict’s wife was wincing, as if in pain.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Lady Alice said, jumping to her feet. “Charlotte! Charlotte!” she shouted and a middle-aged woman who appeared to be the housekeeper came rushing in. “It is time!” The housekeeper’s eyes widened and she immediately walked out of the dining room, shouting names and orders.

“What is it?” Ralph and Nicholas asked, jumping to their feet, looking at Agatha.

Maxwell was also making his way toward Agatha. “The doctor, Jefferson!” he cried at the butler.

“Take her to her chamber, Ben!” Margaret said, jumping to her feet. “When did the pain start, Agatha?”

Agatha winced and closed her eyes in pain. “This morning.”

“Bloody hell, Blair!” Benedict cried out, scooping his wife in his arms. “That is why you have been awfully quiet than your usual. Why did you not say anything!”

“No, I can walk—truly, I can—”

“No!” Nicholas, Ralph and Maxwell cried out, walking behind Benedict as he carried his wife out of the room.

Lady Alice went to find Charlotte. Margaret followed the brothers. Emma and Ysabella stood in front of their seats, quite lost.

“It is time for a new babe, sisters,” Levi wryly explained the obvious.

“Oh Sweet Mr. Jones! Of course!” the two ladies cried out, jumping to follow Margaret and the others.

Wakefield, Levi and Cole were left in the dining room.

Levi sighed. “Perhaps it is time to pour Benedict some brandy,” Levi said. He looked at Cole and Wakefied, brows arched. “Well? Are you not joining me?”

“I still have trouble assessing whether or not you are serious, as you can see,” Wakefield said, pointing at his swollen right eye.

His friend glared at him. “Do you want to find out what it would feel with both eyes?” Levi asked.

“No, of course not,” Wakefield said, standing up with a grunt.

Cole patted his shoulder as they followed Levi to the drawing room. “Be thankful they are not depriving you of the good brandy,” the man muttered beside him.

---

Agatha’s labour was not merely excruciating for the entire family, but it also did cause everyone to worry. She had lost the first child and Benedict and the others could not help but wonder if she was handling the process well.

Margaret had emerged from the room merely once to tell everyone that Agatha was doing great. But that was five hours ago.

Wakefield stayed with Ysabella and the others and watched as Benedict paced around the room, refusing the brandy offered by his brothers. He had tried to join the rest of the ladies earlier but he was kicked out.

Levi and Cole who had gone through the same process dared not say a word. Ralph and Nicholas, however, were more impatient, checking the door once in a while, whining about the doctor and suggesting time and time again that they ought to call for another one, to which Maxwell merely rolled his eyes.

“Do tell me something to take my mind off the worry, please,” Ysabella begged Wakefield. He watched Mrs Beagle bounce off Emma’s lap to follow Benedict’s pacing in the room.

“Well, I do not have anything in mind at the moment.”

She groaned. “I am starting to believe our life together will be such a bore.”

He scoffed and stopped himself from laughing for it was not the perfect time. He took Ysabella’s hand in his. “I did receive a message this morning,” he said. “I was not planning to give it to you tonight for I know it might upset you—”

“What missive?”

“Perhaps I should give it to you on some other day. After the wedding. This is truly not the time.”

Ysabella stood up and pulled at his hand. “Well, you have already mentioned it. Come to the garden. We can talk there.”

“I am going with them,” Emma snapped at the brothers before they could protest.

Minutes later, the three of them were in the garden. Wakefield looked at Emma and Ysabella. “Aurora left Wickhurst this morning.”

They remained silent and noncommittal. “And she left the two of you a note.”

He saw the hesitation in Ysabella’s eyes. Emma was the one who held out her hand to receive the paper Wakefield had produced from his pocket.

---

Dear Ysabella and Emma,

You were the best friends I will ever and never have. Do not forgive me for I do not deserve it. Forget me if you must.

I wish you all the best.

Aurora

“Well,” Emma said, folding the paper, “at the very least she knows we were the only best friends she could ever truly have.”

Ysabella was quiet and she could sense Wakefield’s gaze on her.

“You must probably be wondering how she came to be under my protection,” Wakefield started.

“I was nearly at my wit’s end thinking about it,” Emma admitted beside her.

Wakefield allowed a smile for Emma’s honesty. “Nearly three months ago, while your family were spending the holidays in Devonshire, I found her on the side of the road, nearly dying with deep cuts and bruises.” Ysabella snapped her head to look at Wakefield, eyes wide with surprise. “I thought she was dying, see?”

“You have spoken about it in one of your letters.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“That was her?”

“Yes.”

“But what happened?”

Wakefield shrugged. “She had refused to tell me all the details. All I know was that her former lover did it. I do not even know his name for she would not tell me. She insisted that he was coming for her and I took it upon myself to offer her protection.”

Ysabella’s mouth fell open. “But—I never knew she had a lover.”

“I believe that there are many things about Aurora Randolph that we do not all know about, Ysa,” Wakefield said.

“Yet you still helped her?” Emma asked.

“She could have come to us for help! We would have offered help!” Ysabella said.

“I learned to believe that she despised her secret life as a mistress more than anything else,” Wakefield offered. “She never wanted to talk about anything but that her life is in great danger. She wanted to find a husband who could offer her a lifetime of protection. She was desperate for it.”

“But her family—”

“She could have been lying to us about them,” Emma snapped. “Of course, she did, did she not?”

Wakefield shook his head. “I truly cannot say. All I know is that she had solicitors coming to her door, demanding for payments for her parents’ debts. She never talked about them with me. We never talked about many things, as a matter of fact, for all I was concerned about was her fast recovery. I found her an estate merely weeks ago so she could feel utterly safe. Her maid had reported that she had been feeling unsafe in her previous apartment.”

“You could have told us.”

“I gave her my word.” He studied Ysabella and added, “Her situation warrants our pity, Ysa, but that does not change the fact that she played with us all. She used your friendship to her selfish advantage. She became desperate, too dependent on me that she chose to risk even your friendship. Do not force yourself to forgive her simply because you pity her.”

Ysabella brushed the tears with the back of her hand. She wanted to hate Aurora, but she also hurt for the woman. She hated to think that the innocent smiles and laughter Aurora let out in the Theobald party or even when she dipped into the lake for the first time were all but true.

“Well, I do despise her for what she did to us,” Emma said, “especially to Ysabella. Ysa trusted her.” Silence reigned for a few seconds before Emma added, “She does remind me of Faye, actually.”

“Faye?” Ysabella asked, wondering why her sister would think that Margaret and Cole’s adopted child would remind her of Aurora. “Faye never did anything remotely close to what she did!”

“I was not talking about the betrayal, Ysa,” Emma said. She turned to Wakefield who was frowning with confusion. “Faye was a servant who escaped slavery before Margaret and Cole adopted them,” she explained to Wakefield. “And when she came to our estate, she was quite desperate for protection from the bad men she claimed to be looking for her. Maggie had shared that the young girl begged her. She was willing to work for naught but Margaret’s silence and protection. She was desperate. Pride had abandoned her.”

“But Faye was a child—is a child. Aurora isn’t. She knows what is good and bad!” Ysabella insisted.

“Perhaps you are correct,” Emma said with a shrug. “She could be truly just plain evil, but I cannot help but think—and I do hate myself for thinking this—that mayhap Aurora did the things she did for the very same reason you did the things you did—for love. We do not know her fully well.”

Ysabella fell silent.

“It could be love for money and comfort or something else entirely,” Emma added. “Love for herself as well. She loved herself too much she dared not think of our feelings.”

“We could have helped her. She would not have been judged!”

Wakefield sighed before them, drawing their attention. “Of course she could have asked for help. But to some people, asking for help means laying bare your weakest point because for them, asking is begging. You could have helped her, you could have not and that was not the kind of risk they are willing to take.” His words were filled with meaning. He truly believed his own words for he had always felt it toward his brother. “Not all family is the same as the Everards. To most of us, even families have their own limits and boundaries. They know they cannot rely on people, even one of their own. Aurora knew that as do a lot of people in the Town.”

“And here we are debating about her when she has chosen to leave without even begging for our forgiveness,” Emma said, giving Ysabella the note. “I would rather think she never did the things she did and she simply went away for a long vacation.”

Ysabella agreed with her sister. Aurora left them with many questions they may never get answers to. It might as well she followed her sister’s decision and think that Aurora left as a friend. If there was anyone who would carry the burden of the painful memories, it would not be her but Aurora.

Whatever or whoever Aurora truly was, Ysabella had thought her a good friend. That would have to suffice.

---

Ayah’s birth into the Everards was the talk of the town. Even a week after the beautiful green-eyed girl was born, she was the topic of many conversations. They talked about the meaning of the unusual name which the Everards were happy to announce as miracle , for the babe was indeed a miracle for both Benedict and Agatha who had lost their first child. Some were even dramatically at awe to have seen Benedict Everard smiling from ear to ear on one occasion after the birth of his child.

Ysabella and the rest of the Everards, even Wakefield, would also have to agree that Ayah was indeed a blessing for the scandal that revolved around Ysabella was suddenly forgotten. People, after all, would still want to hear the good news over the bad. None even took notice that Aurora Randolph had left Wickhurst.

Wakefield and Ysabella also rejoiced to the fact that the town was currently occupied with the growing Everard family tree, unaware of the hushed secret of yet another family tying itself with the said tree.

For a few days, they were able to postpone the announcement of the engagement much to their mothers’ utter thrill for the idea of surprising the ton with yet another big announcement was indeed a matter the two women were looking forward to. They had been inseparable of late that their children started to grow concerned, dreading whatever they were brewing in the midst of their tea parties.

Lady Hayward, of course, did the honour of throwing a lavish ball where everyone they knew of was invited, including all the most influential gossipmongers around town. In fact, most of the guests had been whispering that mayhap Wakefield would finally announce his marriage to the mysterious servant girl who had proven herself to be Lady Weis. The same servant who, after a few questioning, Wakefield found out had left Wickhurst as well.

Such matter about Lady Weis had been debated by all members of both families, but Ysabella eventually won with the decision of not exposing the truth about Lady Weis. She was a secret and she would always remain as such.

The ton could bloody go to hell and wonder all their lives, she had said to her brothers who were adamant she clear her name as the desperate impostor Aurora had painted her to be.

But keeping Lady Weis’ identity a secret was proving to be quite a challenge especially when the ton was looking at her with expectation when she came to attend the Hayward ball with her family. Of course, they were expecting her to make another scene, one that would surpass the one at Seymour.

Ysabella dreaded the ball. Merely months before, she had fantasized about the ton looking at her and Wakefield with amazement while they danced and kissed in the middle of the dance floor. But that had changed now. She did not wish for their courtship be feasted upon in the same way her one-sided courtship was.

“What seems to be the problem, Emma?” Ysabella asked her sister to distract herself. Emma had been awfully quiet the entire way to the ball and she was certain it was not about Mrs Beagle having gone missing once again. Something was bothering her sister.

“What? Oh, do not mind me. I am simply wondering when Wakefield would come out and announce your engage—”

“Do be quiet!” Ysabella hissed. “They might hear and Mother would not be pleased should the guests know about it before her planned announcement.”

Emma stared at her and scoffed. “You do look as though you are about to faint, Ysa. Whatever happened to the brave woman who had crossed countless balls to beg Wakefield for a dance?”

Ysabella rolled her eyes. “She had gone for a long respite, I believe, until the wedding is over.”

Emma was shaking her head when she paused, frozen at the sight of something behind Ysabella.

“Oh, bloody hell, Ysabella, he is here.”

Ysabella frowned. “Who?”

“Wakefield!”

Ysabella’s heart began pounding against her chest and she found that she could not move. “What is he doing?”

Emma kept her eyes at the scene behind Ysabella. “He is walking toward us. Everyone is looking. Bloody hell, Ysa, I believe we ought to run.”

“Should we?” she asked in panic. She changed her mind. To be seen dancing with Wakefield in front of everyone would render her unconscious.

“Dimwit, of course, we should stay,” Emma snapped. “But I must say,” her sister said, lips curving into a smile, “Wakefield is looking quite pleased to be crossing the ballroom to get to you. It is quite a refreshing sight.”

“Where is Margaret and Mother? The brothers?” Her sister rolled her eyes. Ysabella knew everyone was not about as they had all spread out to meet friends and acquiantances. “Em, I cannot move.”

“Then pretend not to notice him. Make it as natural as you can. But move if you can manage it for you look like a stone figure.”

She drew in a long breath.

“They must be mocking me. They must think he is merely on his way here because he feels bad after what happened at Seymour. Or worse, that he pities me.”

Emma gaped at her incredulously. “Did I hear you correctly, Ysa? Since when did you care what the ton would think?”

“Since I won Wakefield! They must later think I won because I seduced him—or that because our brothers forced him into this.”

“As I recall,” Wakefield’s voice said from behind her, “Ysabella Everard never cared. As do I, of course.”

Emma pushed her so she was forced to turn around and face Wakefield.

“Smile, Ysa, for they might think I am issuing a threat,” Wakefield said. “Now, that is better,” he added with satisfaction when she managed to move her lips.

And suddenly she forgot about everyone. She was seeing him—just him.

And as he reached out to check her dance card, he frowned. “No dances?”

She swallowed. “All are reserved, my lord.” Her wicked smile reappeared and her breath came back to her lungs. Her heart started to calm.

She was seeing him—just him.

He tore the card and pushed the pieces into his pocket. “Now, can I have this dance, my lady?” he asked, blue eyes glinting with gentleness and mirth and everything she had dreamed of.

And as though the musicians had heard him, the music changed into a waltz.

“Ah, a waltz!” Ysabella said with a laugh. “I am the best at it, my lord. Have you heard?”

Wakefield chuckled as he tucked her hand at the crook of his arm. “Someone has confessed otherwise, my lady.”

Ysabella looked over her shoulder at Emma before she let Wakefield whisk her away to the dance floor. Her sister waved back with a smile.

Emma was the only person near she cared to see. The rest, as she had thought before, could bloody gawk.

She would survive this night.

And she would most definitely survive the wedding.

XL. A Guide to a Wedding

Dearest Lady Weis,

Me? Marry? The chance of that happening is very much the same as your cat not disappearing again!

Perhaps in another lifetime.

Yours,

William

---

“I am sorry, my lady,” Morris mournfully uttered, “but I received specific instructions from his lordship.”

Ysabella narrowed her eyes at the man. “You have allowed me entrance when my brothers were here.”

The man rapidly blinked. “Well, it was a different matter entirely, my lady. My master was being murdered!”

Ysabella sighed. “And what could be the reason why I cannot enter this time around, Morris?”

The butler gulped. “Well, you are a lady and you are alone. You cannot enter.”

She let out a dramatic gasp. “But I am to be your mistress soon, Morris! The entire town knows of my engagement with your master. Surely there can be no more scandal!”

“I regret this, my lady, but I truly cannot allow you entry.” He leaned closer and whispered. “He has pointed out, quite very specifically as well, that I would definitely have myself thrown out should I allow you.”

“I simply wish to have tea with him.”

“He knew you would say so, but he said to relay the information that we do not have tea.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You are lying.”

Morris’ face went scarlet. “It would be the master who would be lying, my lady. I am merely the messenger of the lie.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he hastily added, “but he did promise to call on you this evening.”

“My brothers are guarding our estate. They do not wish for the two of us to meet until the wedding.”

“Ah, well, then, my lady, I do hope my master can face them again.”

Ysabella finally sighed with resignation. “Very well.”

“Have a good day, my lady!” Morris called out to her when she started to leave. “I am quite ecstatic to serve you soon!”

She ignored it, already fuming.

Two days! It had been two days since she last saw him! Did he not wish for her company as much as she did?

She found Emma waiting for her from across the street.

“Well? Did you find Mrs Beagle?” she asked her sister.

“No. Well, Morris did not allow you entrance, did he?”

Ysabella rolled her eyes. “Apparently, yes.”

Emma fell silent as they walked back to the Everard mansion.

“Something is definitely bothering you, Em,” Ysabella said.

Her sister smiled. “No, of course not.”

Ysabella chose to drop the matter. Mayhap she could bring it out again later.

As they walked on, Emma broke the silence saying, “While you were talking with Morris, did you see Agnes and Nettie talking to me?”

She frowned. “No, I did not.”

Emma’s face turned sour. “They seemed quite amused that you are still taking such great efforts to see Wakefield when you two are to be wed in a week.”

“I am certain they think the same as the rest of Wickhurst,” she murmured. “Two months since the engagement and they still think it?”

“Quite so,” Emma admitted. “Are you bothered?”

“No, of course not. I know the truth. Wakefield does love me.”

“That is the spirit.”

“Although I wonder until when would they believe that he merely agreed to marry me because I compromised him?”

Emma laughed out loud, the first in the past few days. “That gossip is the best they have ever come up with where you and Wakefield are concerned. Famous!”

Ysabella snorted. “I would have believed it myself if I was someone else. I do believe I might have been capable of it.”

“Ah, but you did not.”

“I would have,” she uttered wickedly.

Emma gave her a look of horror.

She looped her arm around Emma’s. “Now, how do you figure we ought to spend the rest of the afternoon? Tori and Lindsay are not to arrive until tomorrow. Benedict would not allow us to play with Ayah just yet. Perhaps we should call on Faye and Fiona. Are their dresses ready?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Then off to the Devitts we should!” Ysabella said, pulling her sister along with her. “I do not wish to return home for now. Mother and Lady Hayward are quite a team to handle even with our spirits combined.”

“They do leave you tired and weary, do they not?” Emma asked. “Off to the Devitts then!”

---

Wakefield knew that he would not be permitted entry into the Everard mansion. It was the last resort of Ysabella’s brothers to make him suffer, but he could not simply spend his days to the wedding without seeing her! The last he saw her, she was guarded by Ralph and Nicholas. The day before that, it was Levi.

He could not allow it this time.

And so, in the middle of the night when everyone else had retired in their beds, Wakefield crept to the back of the Everard mansion and picked up a pebble.

He threw it to the window. When it did not open, he threw another one. And another until it finally flung open to reveal the scowling face of Emma, followed by Ysabella’s excited one. The two of them disappeared for a while and when they returned the long rope that he had seen Ysabella use before dropped from the window.

He stared at it, considered the risk and shrugged.

It was not an easy feat, but it was worth it the moment he reached the window.

“Our brothers would hang you this time, you know,” Emma said, arms crossed over her chest.

Ysabella was already putting on her coat.

Wakefield poked his head through the window and looked around the large bedchamber. One large bed was situated at each side of the window. “Where is your bed?” he asked Ysabella.

It was Emma who pointed at the one on the right.

“And where is Mrs Beagle?” he asked, looking around for the cat.

“Disappeared once more, of course. She did return last month and disappeared yet again earlier this morning,” Ysabella said, running up to him. Her face was beaming as she cupped his face and kissed him fully on the mouth.

“Do take this cringe-worthy sight outside the bedroom!” Emma hissed at them. “I do not wish to bear witness!”

“But Em—” Ysabella started but Emma held up one hand and said, “Go. I shall cover for you.”

Ysabella grinned at her sister and turned to Wakefield. “Climb back down, my lord.”

He did as he was told and returned to the ground. Ysabella followed, her descent faster than his. She had obviously done this too many times, he wryly thought.

---

Moments later, they were snuggling in the woods, under a tree in front of the lake. The moonlight made the water sparkle and it mirrored the light around it.

Ysabella pulled away from Wakefield’s embrace and said, “I have to confess something.”

He stiffened.

“No, it is not about you, you fool. I am talking about Emma.”

He frowned. “Why? You did not have another fight, did you? She seemed her usual self earlier.”

“She seemed to be a bit distant of late. I often catch her looking troubled.”

Wakefield blinked and considered her words. “You have been together all your lives, Ysa,” he said, gauging her reaction, “and perhaps the thought of you marrying off is troubling her.”

“But I am not going away. Well, not from Wickhurst. And we shall live here, yes? I would love to see Wakefield but I do not think I can live far away from Mother and Emma.”

He smiled. “Yes, of course we will settle here. You are yet to see the rest of my estate.”

She rolled her eyes. “Morris is doing his job keeping me off the doors marvellously well.”

Wakefield chuckled and pulled her closer. “Talk with your sister. She may simply be worried that your lives shall change after you’re married.”

“Thank you. I shall do that,” she said, pulling away from him once again. The wicked glint in her eyes was back. “What say you to a dip into the lake?”

He groaned. “No. I love my clothes dry, thank you.”

“You were very furious at me when you found me in the lake during the hunting game.”

Wakefield carefully chose his next words. He did not wish to mention Aurora. “Ever since I acknowledged my affections for you, Ysa, I realized I have always been different around you. I am not the rake that I was when confronted by you. I felt too many intense emotions when it comes to you.”

“Yes, of course. You acted more like a scared cat every time I chase you around!”

He scoffed. “I did, did I not?” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “But now feel like a man in front of you. I acted like an older brother, like a jealous lover, like a friend… and I realize I want to be all those men for you, Ysabella Everard.”

Her innocent smile swelled his heart and the happy sparkle in her eyes caused a lump in his throat.

“I have to admit I do miss you calling me little one .”

“I am not going to call you my one as you have once hinted,” he said, flushing.

Her laughter rang around the lake. “Of course.” She shifted beside him so she could fully face him and his heart began to beat faster inside his chest, his body betraying his control once more. “Now, my lord, I am quite ready for you to take me home.”

He could not help to show his disappointment.

“To your estate, I mean,” she said with a seductive smile.

Wakefield swallowed. “No.”

“But William, we are to be wed! We could do whatever we desire so long as we are both at the wedding!”

“Ysa, I am going to do this properly.”

She pursed her lips. “But I wish to know if it will be wonderful.”

His eyes widened. “Of course it will be wonderful!”

“But what if I will not like it? What if I change my mind and back off the wedding because it is not?”

Wakefield gasped in disbelief and she laughed, her shoulders shaking with it. “Of course I was merely jesting, do not look so scandalized.”

He glared at her. “It is not the best joke I heard, trust me.”

Ysabella chuckled and gave him a chaste kiss. “But really, it shall not matter if we do it now or later. In my mind, I have already married you a hundred times over. Are you going to make me chase for this?” She leaned back to bat her eyes at him.

God, he wanted to give in. But resist he must.

“We shall only be married once, darling. We might as well do it properly.”

She looked at him for a long time and he met her gaze measure for measure. Finally she sighed and gave up.

“And while you mope,” he said, drawing away from her embrace to reach inside his pocket. Her head bent down at the velvet box in his hand. “I had asked Maxwell to create this especially for you.”

He opened the box and when she saw what was inside her eyes flew back to him, filled with tears.

“Quite romantic of me, is it not?” he asked proudly, taking the ring out of the box. The sapphire glinted against the moonlight.

Her hand was at the ready, eager for him to slip the ring through her finger for a perfect fit.

“Lucky for me, your brother is the maker,” he lightly commented to retract the tears from his own eyes. To finally return the stone to her in such a way was creating havoc in his chest.

It was perfect.

He cupped her tearful face with one hand and gave her a kiss.

She was perfect.

---

The guests arrived earlier than expected and most of them huddled together, whispering words faces filled with malice.

Ysabella peeked through the door, anxious to be done with the event.

She should have asked for a smaller wedding. Truly, a tiny one would have sufficed!

“When will they ever realize that I won Wakefield fairly?” she asked with frustration as she closed the door behind her.

Emma was sitting on a chaise and they were alone as their mother had to go out to order more things to anyone she could find.

“I am certain they would do so soon,” Emma absently said as she bent her head over her book.

“Em,” Ysabella started, gently taking the book from her sister’s hold. “We must talk.”

Emma scoffed. “About what? Please, if you are about to ask me how a man and woman ought to mate, I would dare not say anything although I have an idea. Mother or Margaret is the best—”

“Em, you must realize that I am not going away merely because I am marrying Wakefield,” she interjected. Her sister’s mouth pursed, jaw tight. “You are still my sister and my one true best friend. You must never forget that.”

She started to cry and Emma did too.

“As much as I love being alone, Ysa,” Emma choked, taking her hand, “I do love being alone with you the most.”

Ysabella whimpered. Things would change, but she would never allow her and Emma to change. Theirs was a bond far greater than sisterhood. “I will miss you, Em. I will miss being alone with you the most as well.”

Emma nodded, wiping away tears. “I will miss you dearly, but I do not wish for you to feel bad about it. I shall cope faster than you might expect.”

Ysabella sniffed. “You can live with us.”

Emma’s tears quickly disappeared as she stared at Ysabella with horror. Ysabella laughed in return. “I would dare not! Do not attempt to suggest such a thing ever again, Ysa!”

Ysabella wiped her tears as well.

“Do not wipe your hands with your dress! It will ruin it!” Her sister scolded, taking her hand and wiping it with her own. “Now, stop crying. We shall soon see each other after your honeymoon. I will not live with you and Wakefield, but you can be certain you shall have me more often than that for tea.”

Ysabella cried some more. The thought of her sister being alone in the estate with their mother clenched at her chest. But then the rest of them would always be there. Always.

The door opened and their mother walked inside with Benedict. “Are you ready?” their mother asked with a wide smile.

“Have you been crying?” Benedict asked.

“Happy tears, brother, happy tears,” she lied although it was also true. Emma stood up with her and they walked outside the room and found that the entire family was waiting for them outside.

“You look beautiful, Ysa,” Tori said while Lindsay stared up at her with wonder in her eyes. Beside her stood Faye and Fiona, eyes sparkling with excitement, beautiful in their gold dresses.

“Now, now, it is time for a wedding,” Margaret said to everyone.

“I hate my task, but know I am doing this for you,” Ralph said, coming forward to plant a disgustingly loud kiss on her cheek. “Come, fellow ushers,” he said to Levi, Maxwell and Nicholas.

The three filed to give Ysabella a pat on the cheek, a wink and another loud kiss on the cheek. By the time Agatha and Tori and the children were done giving her kisses and hugs, Ysabella was crying again.

Emma wiped her tears, her own eyes filling. Her sister gave her a peck before joining the rest.

Their mother sniffed beside her as Benedict took her hand to guide her to the back of the aisle.

“Live a happy life, Ysa,” Benedict whispered beside her as they watched the entourage walk down the aisle. “Never change who you are for that is how he fell in love with you.” She swallowed and nodded. “I will not merely be walking you down this aisle. Remember that I will always be walking with you—all of you.”

“I love you, Ben.”

“And I love you, too, Ysa,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Mother,” she whispered, turning to her left. “I am scared.”

“Fear not, dear. We are here. So will be your husband,” Lady Alice uttered, wiping Ysabella’s face dry.

Emma was the last to walk and when her sister finally turned at the end of the aisle and cleared the way, she saw Wakefield standing by the altar beside Thomas. The fear crumbled away at the sight of him.

And the sudden innate urge to walk toward him pushed her forward, causing Benedict to chuckle under his breath and for her mother to nearly stumble.

Her eyes were only on him. Him and no one else.

She cared not for the ton’s watchful eyes from both sides of the aisle.

She was seeing him. And he… he was seeing her.

And he was walking toward her.

Ysabella halted in her steps, confused. This was not how it was supposed to be.

“Stop right there,” Wakefield said, his voice loud and clear enough for everyone to hear.

The large church was suddenly filled with hushed and excited whispers.

But Ysabella could not hear them for her heart was beating too fast and it leaped to her throat and her tears welled in her eyes when he added, “I will come to you.”

Benedict let out an amused scoff beside her and her mother gasped with wonder while Wakefield took another step toward her.

He was walking toward her.

He was letting everyone know that he was here because she won the game and he was a willing loser. Yet at the same time, the way his face was filled with triumph and tenderness, he was letting them know that it was he who won.

And he was walking forward to claim his prize.

Her dashing rake was claiming her. She had once thought his beauty forbidden. But it was no more for he was hers and he was proclaiming it now.

It took almost forever for him to reach her and when he did, Ysabella fought to urge to throw her arms around him. His blue eyes glimmered with his own unshed tears as he shook Benedict’s hand and gave her mother a kiss before taking her hand, his own shaking as hers.

Wakefield then tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and started walking back to the altar, his bride beside him.

She was that bride. She was his bride.

Benedict and her mother followed close behind.

As they neared the altar, she found her sisters crying for her at one side, her brothers grinning with amusement and disbelief at the other. She threw her sisters a look of tearful joy and her brothers one that silently said, I told you so .

When they reached their destination, Thomas approached them to shake his brother’s hand, but not without saying, “Are you quite resolved to this idea, Ysabella? I can have my brother tied to a rock at the other end of the Town while I take his post.”

“Do not push it, brother,” Wakefield scowled as Ysabella giggled with happy tears.

The vicar cleared his throat and Thomas turned to sit beside the crying Lady Hayward.

As vicar started, “We are gathered here today…” Ysabella leaned her head closer to Wakefield and whispered, “Did I not announce I shall marry you in a wedding much like this years ago?”

He snorted, causing the vicar to glare at them both.

Ysabella straightened her face, so did Wakefield.

And they got married.

---

The party was as lavish as the wedding. Spirit and dancing was abundant, and so was laughter and merry felicitations.

Ysabella was laughing with Emma, Tori and Agatha about Ayah’s tendency to cry when she would sense her father leaving the room, when she noticed a familiar figure from across the ballroom, looking straight at her with a happy smile.

She frowned for the woman seemed quite out of place despite her beautiful blue gown. As a matter of fact, she did not look far from the other guests, but the look she was giving Ysabella was quite odd.

Finally, when she managed to blink a few times, and when the two very familiar men in suits stood beside the woman, Ysabella gasped and grabbed Emma’s hand. “Excuse us for a moment, ladies,” she said to Tori and Agatha while she dragged her unknowing sister across the floor.

She saw Wakefield coming toward her and she called out to him saying, “I shall join you in a while, darling!” her happy steps taking her closer to the lady and her two companions.

“Bloody hell!” Emma gasped when she finally saw what Ysabella saw and they both hurriedly crossed the remaining distance that separated them from the lady.

“I was hoping you would come, really, but I figured you would not risk it!” Ysabella uttered with excitement as she wrapped her arms around Alex.

“I believe it is not proper to embrace with such intimacy in such social event as this one, even if you are embracing a good friend,” Alex said with a laugh.

Emma joined in, saying, “And you talk like us! Marvellous!”

“Hello, Ned, hello Barto,” Ysabella said to the two men who looked very much uncomfortable in their clothes. They simply grunted with a nod.

“They refuse to talk beyond what they are used to,” Alex said with a wink. “Perhaps I found the best way to shut them up, eh?”

The twins laughed.

“Ysabella had told me of your second meeting and I envy it!” Emma said.

“Ah, you can always visit us,” Alex said. “And you shall not meet any rope. Am I right, Barto? Ned?”

Her cousins grunted in answer.

“You look beautiful, Alex,” Ysabella stated with awe. “I barely recognized you!”

Her once bushy black mane was neatly donned, her fair skin showing, her face made up. She could pass up as gentry any day!

Alex rolled her grey eyes and leaned closer to whisper, “Am wearing me breeches underneath, me friends. This bleeding gown’s not comf’table at all!”

The twins’ head fell back as they roared in laughter.

“Is the Guard brother of yours here?” Alex asked.

“Of course!”

Alex blinked and let out a dramatic sigh. “Ah, too bad then.” She turned to her cousins. “No gold for tonight, cousins.”

Ysabella and Emma rumbled with laughter once more.

“People might think that you are both talking to a jester,” Wakefield’s voice said beside Ysabella. “Hello, Alex, glad you were able to come.”

Alex smiled. “Ey, guv!” she whispered with a wink.

“Are you quite satisfied now?” Wakefield asked Ysabella.

When she merely stared at him with confusion, Alex said, “He sent for us, see? He gave me this gown.” She motioned her head to her cousins. “And their suits.”

The two men merely grunted.

Wakefield looked at them with wonder. “Speechless Ned and Barto? Well, I will be damned!”

Ned and Barto glared at him. “Ye see, guv, I still have me ropes with me.” Ned hissed under his breath.

“Speech, cousins,” Alex reminded them. “Watch your speech.”

Ysabella stared up at Wakefield, eyes filled with adoration. “Thank you.”

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “All for you, little one.”

“Now, since you are here, Alex,” Emma said, “You might as well meet Tori and Levi! It will be a grand reunion!”

“I do not think your brother Levi would want to—”

“Oh, but I would love to see his face when he recognizes you!” Emma said, pulling Alex away to find Tori and Levi. Barto and Ned followed.

Ysabella and Wakefield stayed behind to watch the four cross the room. She could not help but giggle. Alex was brushing skirts with Wickhurst’s prominent personalities, people she might have stopped in the middle of the road once or twice to rob, and they had no idea!

“The Haverstons have been looking for you,” Wakefield said beside her, guiding her to another part of the ballroom.

On the way there, Ralph met them, his face filled with curiosity. “Who was that woman you were talking with?”

Ysabella frowned. “Who?”

“The black hair.”

“Ah, a friend. Why?”

Ralph blinked and shrugged. His head turned and he started to walk to where Emma, Alex and her cousins were.

“Should you not warn them?” Wakefield asked with worry.

“Oh, Alex shall survive this night. She is doing a terrific job. Levi, Tori and Emma would dare not reveal her identity. Now, where are the Haverstons?”

She let her husband take the lead.

She smiled, looking down at his hand holding her as they walked through the crowd of guests.

---

Maxwell was standing with Nicholas in one corner of the room, looking at everything around him.

Levi and Tori were talking to a black-haired woman and her two male companions, Ralph, the bastard, slowly joining them, looking at the woman with great interest.

Benedict and Agatha stood in one group with their mother, Lady Hayward and Thomas. With them was Cole.

Where was Margaret?

“The bastard will die. He will not be able to handle her,” Nicholas uttered beside him, eyes on Wakefield and Ysabella as they talked with the Haverstons.

Maxwell saw Margaret walk out of the ballroom.

“Put a leash on it, brother,” he merely said, patting Nicholas’ shoulder before walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“Sleep,” he lied. His eyes were on Thomas who had left his mother’s side to follow Margaret.

Maxwell looked over his shoulder and found Nicholas making his way toward Adrien Haverston and his wife. From where he was standing, he also saw Calan Haverston’s eyes following Thomas but the man did not leave his wife’s side and returned his attention on Ysabella and Wakefield.

Maxwell, careful not to get caught, followed Thomas and saw the man enter the study.

He did not like this. Margaret ought to find a more suitable place to handle her work with the League of Founders.

Intending to merely guard, Maxwell stood outside the door but he found that their hushed voices were clear enough for him to hear.

“Has she arrived safely?” he heard Margaret ask.

“Yes,” Thomas Hayward answered.

“And the child?”

“On her way.”

“Good. That is all I need to know.”

Footsteps followed her statement but they stopped when Thomas asked, “Why did you do it?”

“Agree to your plan?”

“Yes.”

There was a short pause before his sister replied, “Because you are correct. She is the best way for you to succeed.”

“Then why do you look guilty?”

“Not as much as I would be should my family suffer instead.”

“Ah, even an Everard would dare do a moral wrong.”

Maxwell frowned and his jaw twitched. He did not like how the Lord of Bertram was talking to his sister.

But Margaret could handle herself as she always did. “We all protect the greater love. Miss Randolph is aware that I will not have my family be associated with her troubles. It merely took a whisper to relay my message.”

“She had expressed her lack of trust on your family. Now I know why.”

“And she was right to do so for I would not have allowed it,” was Margaret’s strong response. “I will always choose my family above all things, Bertram. Do not think I cannot do an evil act for them, even if it means putting others at risk. I have said enough. I am leaving.”

“I suppose you do not wish to be part of this mission?”

“I have the slavery case. Consider me out of this. I have done enough damage.”

“But you helped me find her.”

“The damage I was talking about. That sacrifice merely meant I want you to succeed, Bertram, nothing else.”

“You were worried, were you not? When you found out who she was. You feared for your own.”

Another long silence reigned. “We may be the Everards, Bertram, but her enemy is an Osegod.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“I have to go. But do grant me a favour. You do owe me one.”

“Of course.”

“Keep her alive. And keep her child alive.”

“Guilt is indeed eating you, Margaret.”

“And I would allow it so long as I am saving my family from danger. You know what he is capable of. You know the horrors he has done.” Maxwell leaned away from the wall he was leaning on, surprised to hear a sense of fear in Margaret’s voice.

“Very well, you have my word. We are feeding them to the great wolf, but I will keep them alive if I can help it.”

“Good luck, my lord and I do hope you succeed,” Margaret uttered and Maxwell did not hear the rest of her words for he walked away.

He went back in the ballroom and waited until his sister emerged, face distraught. But when she saw him, she smiled and her face brightened.

He walked beside her. “What have you done, Maggie?” he whispered in a nonchalant voice.

Maggie stiffened but did not pause. “A hard decision,” was her answer.

“Maggie, if the Osegod you were talking about—”

“Do not meddle, Max,” Margaret snapped. “I did not take the mission for the very purpose of keeping the family from potential danger. Forget whatever you have heard for we are all safe.”

“Whatever this is, Maggie, I do not like this.”

“Fret not, brother,” Margaret said, “let the League worry the things we all hate to face.”

He did not comment. He walked away.

Ah, bloody hell, he needed to sleep.

He did not want to meddle in his sister’s business or that of the League, but the mention of the Osegod name was not good at all.

Margaret better stay out of Thomas’ mission. 

Osegod.

Bloody hell.

If he guessed correctly, to have the head of the Town Leaders as an enemy would not do any of them good at all.

XLI. A Lady’s Guide to Life

“Has it ever bothered you?” Violet asked their grandmother half an hour after they had settled in the guest room. “What Margaret did,” she added to further elaborate.

“You mean agreeing with Thomas’ plan?” their grandmother asked.

“No,” Violet said, “Getting rid of Aurora is more like it. I never took her for someone who could do such a thing.”

“I agree,” Valerie said with a nod. “She was a Leaguer. She could have done something.”

Their grandmother smiled wanly. “What she did, my dears, she did to protect us all.”

“But you know what happened to Aurora and her child. Things could have ended differently if Margaret kept her as she did you and Faye.”

Their grandmother sighed. “Many things happened that I never wrote in the books, my dears. Many terrible things that was not suitable for the fairy tales I penned.”

“But she did what Aurora did to her sister. She went behind their back. They would have done something different if they knew the truth. I simply cannot accept that Margaret would do that.”

Fiona Trilby smiled. “Mayhap, when you are older and have children of you own, then you will understand why Aurora and Margaret chose the things they did. And I believe that Lady Alice would have done the same should she have known. Motherhood can push one to do the vilest of things for the love of her child.” When the twins just stared at her with confusion, she added, “There are things the Everards could not handle, my dears, and they are not perfect. They were rich, yes. They ruled Wickhurst in a way, but they did not rule the entire Town. Aurora and her child were just a small piece of a big story brewing in the background and Margaret was aware of that. As a Leaguer, she saw the amount of damage it would cause should she have helped them. She had to make the sacrifice or risk the family’s safety. Was it bad? Perhaps even evil. But was it a good decision? Considering how the Everards ended their story, I have to say yes.”

“Except for Aurora and the child, yes, it did end well. I still think Margaret should have helped Aurora.”

“But like Aurora, Margaret valued her family more that she was willing to do the bad thing her family would not have done. Aurora knew that. Margaret had made certain she understood it.”

Valerie scoffed. “Then I am sorry to say that Aurora was right—that the Everards would not have lifted a finger for her. Margaret’s actions simply proved that and it sucks!”

Violet was silent, just staring at their grandmother with a meaningful look in her eyes. “But they did still have to face Osegod. And he did terrible things.”

“As I have said, my dears,” their grandmother patiently said, “things could have turned worse. They merely got a piece of Osegod’s wrath, see?”

Valerie sighed. “I assume everything else—your story with gramp will reveal more of this? You said so yourself that there are other things you did not write in the books. It is about the future of the Town, isn’t it? What truly happened after the final book? How you ended to be here ?”

Their mother chuckled. They heard the front door open. “Your grandfather is here.” She stood and faced the twins. “Have I ever told you about the Trilbys?”

The twins frowned.

Their grandmother turned to walk away. “They are quite interesting, I tell you,” she said over her shoulder.

The twins gaped at Fiona Trilby. “Oh my God, gram! You cannot be such a cliffhanger!” Violet violently said.

“In time, my dears. In time.”

“Vee? Val?” they heard their grandfather’s voice ask from the hall.

“Gramp!” the twins jumped in unison to meet their grandfather.

Perhaps they could push their grandmother to spill more about the Town later.

Or would their grandfather be willing to tell a tale?

Well, it would not hurt to try, would it?

---

Ysabella opened one eye with a frown. She was awakened by the heavy weight on her midriff.

But it merely took her a moment to realize it was her husband’s arm wrapped around her waist. She stretched and quietly yawned.

Wakefield groaned against her neck and she smiled at the tingling sensation it sent down to her fingertips and toes.

“It is too early to rise, little one,” her husband murmured against her skin. His hand unwound around her, his palm caressing her naked hip under the covers.

Ysabella suddenly felt the warmth of his touch spread out and she turned to snuggle closer, wrapping one leg over his. “Should we do something else then?” she croaked, lightly biting his shoulder.

“Hmm,” he said, mouth traveling to her jaw.

His hand rested between her legs and Ysabella’s hips hitched. “Now?” she wickedly suggested but groaned in frustration when he removed his hand. It travelled back up to the underside of her breast. “William,” she started to protest but gasped in surprise when her husband swiftly pushed her to lie on her back and he was suddenly on top of her, his erection pressing into her.

“Did I not tell you it would be wonderful?” he asked as he slowly moved, slowly burying himself in her warmth.

Ysabella could not help but groan and roll her eyes. “Do you have to say it every single time?” she snapped, her cheeks flushed, her thoughts slowly drifting away as their bodies moved.

Her husband’s hungry mouth devoured her, her question forgotten.

Having him in bed was utterly wonderful. It was heavenly.

But to be with him outside the privacy of their chambers was equally rewarding as well.

Never did she have to suffer a moment of boredom.

Most often than not, he would feed her childish fantasies of fairy tales. And when the moments came that he rejected to do so, he would drag her somewhere and prove they could be far better.

Nearly a few hours later, or forever if Ysabella would allow her mind to do the counting, Wakefield rang for breakfast and helped her dress, delaying the process by stealing kisses.

“Emma will be calling for tea this afternoon,” she told him after breakfast.

“And I assume Mrs Beagle is still missing?”

“Oh, she came back two days ago. Did I not tell you?”

Her husband scoffed. “I would have remembered if I could remember how many times your cat has ran away and returned, darling.”

“But do admit that you nearly dragged me around the dangerous alleys in Haram when you thought you saw a black cat.”

“I did, did I not?”

“By the by,” Ysabella said, “would you join us later?”

“Will your sister promise not to talk more about Mr. Jones and her theories?”

Ysabella chuckled. “No, of course not, dear husband. But I do love hearing her theories. They are quite convincing, see?”

Wakefield turned to face her. “I will join you later.”

“You will love Mr. Jones,” she promised. “Simply have an open mind.”

“I do not believe that a myth about a man who supposedly came from aboveground would interest me greatly. I do like where I am now,” he said, walking up to her. He cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I would not ask for another place than here.”

Ysabella’s heart swelled as Wakefield’s lips descended down toward her.

---

While her husband was having a social meeting with one of his correspondence, Ysabella chose to stay inside the study.

She loved reading while he worked behind his desk. They would not spend the entire time talking while he worked. They would both be lost in their own worlds—him in his papers and she in her books—but the thought of each other being near offered a sense of comfort and security.

The door opened and she looked up to see Morris step into the study. She frowned when the man looked over his shoulder as if he was afraid he’d be seen.

“What is it, Morris?”

Morris walked toward her and smiled. He stared at the book in her hand. “I have long concluded that you love reading, my lady,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I found this precious book at Haram yesterday with William.”

The butler’s smile widened. “Then perhaps you would be interested reading a few of his lordship’s books?”

Ysabella made a face. “I do not believe I would love his books. I have looked into some of them, but I was never interested.”

The butler jumped to his feet. “Ah, but you might be interested to some of them, my lady! Trust me…” he turned to walk over to a shelf, scanned through it with deliberate fingers until he found what he was looking for. He pulled it out of the shelf and carried it toward her. “This shall make you immensely happy, my lady.”

She frowned at the leather-bound book. “ Crops and Where to Find Them ,“ she read.

She looked up at Morris and apologetically uttered, “I believe you are yet to learn of my taste, Morris. Fret not, you have years to do that.”

“But it might surprise how you would find what is inside , my lady,” Morris said, pressing the book in her hand.

Ysabella sighed, giving Morris a darting look as she opened the book.

The butler seemed oddly excited and she wondered why a book about crops could—

Her thoughts halted when she finally bent her head and saw what lay between the cover and the first page.

At that very moment, Wakefield walked in and stopped in his tracks when he saw Morris and Ysabella. “What seems to be so horrifyingly amusing?” he inquired, making Morris jump away in panic.

“Darling,” she said, picking up the dried flower, “what is the meaning of this?”

Her husband shot Morris a murderous, frustrated glare. “I really ought to consider throwing you out, Morris, you bastard.”

Morris merely cleared his throat, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Well?” Ysabella asked, brows arched high.

Her husband stared at the flower and he sighed. He walked to sit behind his desk and from there Ysabella saw the tender look in his eyes as he said, “Mayhap you would like to guess?”

Ysabella sent him a wicked, knowing grin. Instead of playing along with her husband’s game, she turned to look at Morris. “How many of these do you figure I would find in these books, Morris?”

The butler smiled. “Hundreds, my lady.”

She heard Wakefield growl from across the room.

“Then should we collect them?” she asked the butler.

“And frame them, my lady,” Morris suggested, ignoring Wakefield’s darting look.

“The flowers are to stay where they are,” her husband finally said, reaching for one of the papers on his desk.

“But—”

Wakefield looked up to gently say, “I rather like the surprise it gives me every time I open a random book, darling.”

She scoffed. “But—”

“Put the flower back where you found it, Ysa,” he ordered, eyes glinting with harmless warning. “They are mine.”

She cocked a brow. “Truly?”

“Yes. And they are as precious as the one who delivered them. Do not touch them.”

Ysabella carefully tucked the flower back in the book. She handed it to Morris who immediately took it back from where he pulled it out.

Picking up her own book, she continued reading.

Morris walked out, tightly closing the door, leaving her alone with her husband.

She peered over the book and found her Wakefield staring at her. She smiled and gave him a wink.

Wakefield chuckled, slowly shook his head and continued working.

Ysabella read, wondering how she would reward her husband later.

---

The woman stared at herself in the mirror.

Pale grey eyes stared back at her, daring her to do what she planned to do.

Drawing a deep breath, the woman in the mirror gathered her long, black mane over one shoulder. She positioned the scissors, narrowed her eyes and snapped the blades close.

The sharp snap was followed by a lingering silence.

Staring down at the long strands in her hand, she gulped.

Bloody hell, she did it.

Dropping the thick strands on the floor, she finished her task, although it was proving to be a difficult task.

Once she thought she had done enough damage, she stared at herself in the mirror.

Same pale grey eyes, same thick eyebrows, and same square jaw. But all in all, the look was entirely different.

A smiled crept on her lips. It would have to do , she thought, ruffling her now short hair which hovered just above her shoulders.

Straightening her back, she tucked her shirt under her breeches and turned away from the short-haired man she had created.

She grabbed her bag from under her bed and prepared to leave.

Clad in her breeches and boots, her bag over one shoulder, she went to her table and read the note once again.

Dearest Samuel,

I have decided to follow a friend’s advice—LIVE.

Do not find me for I will find my way back. I am not certain when, but I shall return.

I have longed to do this and now I found the courage to do so.

Please allow me this chance.

I have to find her.

For now, fret not. Tell father and Lady Theobald that I shall take care of myself and it is not anyone’s fault.

I love you all.

Yours,

Maxine

Author’s Note

Quite disappointing, isn’t it? To stumble upon the next page and realize it is the Author’s Note.

But do this, I must.

I was not able to reply to all comments and messages, but please know that I religiously read all of them when I wake up, on my way to work (yes, of course I have work. I am a nurse) and on my way back home. 

You have all been a part of my journey as I wrote this story and I hope to see you all again on the next one. Mayhap with a few friends you managed to convince this series is utterly good enough to waste their time?

By the by, I hope that the in-story video ads did not inconvenience you in dreadfully, and if they do appear quite often than necessary, please do contact Wattpad Support. I have tried lending a hand to those who have asked for my help, but sadly it is still the Wattpad Support Team who could do the magic. Do try to message me anyway and I shall try my best to relay the problems to HQ. I would not wish to compromise your reading experience. 

In addition, I shall take a short respite, probably a fortnight, to finalize the plot for the next story and perhaps start painting again as I have quite a lot of photos I wish to put on canvas from my latest vacation in Vietnam. 

If you are wondering why I take very short respites, well, I have this very complex mind and it runs 24/7. It is like having hundreds of windows in my head, but not all windows are in the same building. If I take longer respites, then I believe I might end up walking out of the building I am currently in and enter another, which means I might end up writing about another story or another family because they offer different windows for me to look into. So, in order to stay in the same building and look out through the different windows of that building, I have to keep feeding myself so I do not go hungry and search for another home. (Okay, this is weird already!)

Furthermore, if you do have a Facebook account and if you wish to join other Town readers, you can search for THE GREEN HERALD where we share gossips, theories, rants and others (the recent rave is the cover for Lady Alice’s story which is not coming out until very much later). Oh, and spoilers about the next stories and some epilogue-ish reports that come in the form of the Town Herald written by me about the previous characters of the Town we all learned to love.

If you decide to join the group, you will encounter questions. Should you encounter a question asking for a password, the password is: TOWN

For now, enjoy other stories–mine or that of other Wattpad Stars (see my reading list “Start with the Stars”). 

I wish you all the best and jolliest holidays.

Preview for

His Lady in Breeches

shall be up in a week or so.

(See the teaser photo below)

![](https://img.wattpad.com/bc51b5ebb6af6398ed485e6290365846695699a0/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f4b3967313153666d796e797459673d3d2d3334323134383038372e313438643663663130663234623134333832353339313233393132382e6a7067)

PS. Town readers in The Green Herald Facebook closed group has been giving Mrs Beagle a LOT of attention. I am telling you, it is like the cat is real. They’ve been wondering where it goes and they’ve asked for a story about its adventures. I would not be new to the idea of writing a story with a cat’s POV for duh… Toto and the Boys, people, is in the POV of you-know-what (not saying it here for the benefit of those who may decide to read it). Anyway, IF I am to write Mrs Beagle’s story in the future, this shall be the title and cover:

![](https://img.wattpad.com/c1112368c922b918161c5c33b404e8472ae6f952/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f3749552d5a504d307533397162413d3d2d3334323134383038372e313438643730333137393338313762353637373938323031373730362e6a7067)

His Lady in Breeches Preview

AN EXCERPT FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER, I. GRAMP

“So, gramp,” Valerie started, smiling, tucking her dark hair behind one ear. “What do you think about the Everards? You’ve met them, right? You were in Margaret’s story.”

Their grandfather looked up to study them with dark eyes, a stark contrast to his greying hair. “Hmm,” he said, turning to look at his wife. “I figure your grandmother did not tell you what you wanted.”

Violet answered, “She will in time. I am sure of it.”

Fiona Trilby simply smiled.

When their grandfather looked back at them both, he said, “The Everards…”

The twins waited but the man did not continue.

“Yes. Who did you like the most?” Valerie urged.

He shrugged. “I liked Cole the best.”

“But he was not an Everard!” Violet said.

“He married into the Everards,” Valerie provided.

“Ah, yes, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, I liked the ladies the most. They were quite fun.”

“And among the men?”

Their grandmother laughed while her husband groaned. “I would rather not choose, believe me.”

“But we want to know!”

“Is it Ralph? He is closest to your age since he is the youngest of all the brothers,” Valerie asked.

“No,” their grandfather said, shaking his head. “And I was way younger than him.”

“Benedict?” asked Violet. “I like Benedict.”

“He was often away in Devonshire. No, it is not him.”

“Levi?”

“Too bloody beautiful.”

The twins snorted. “Then who? Between Maxwell and Nicholas, I bet you liked—”

“Nick,” said Eddie Trilby. “I liked Nick the most.”

The twins turned to their grandmother. “Was he a rake like Nick?” Valerie asked, pointing at the old man before her.

Their grandmother shook her head as she lovingly stared at her husband. “Not quite.”

“Nick shared amazing stories of his travels from all over the Town,” their grandfather pointed out. “And he is quite an easy man to be with than Max. That bloke was too bloody difficult to read.”

“I like Max,” Violet admitted. “He is an alluring, cynical bastard,” she added with a chuckle.

Their grandfather rolled his eyes. “I do agree with the last two words, dear. The alluring part I will consider.”

“You were intimidated by him, were you not?” asked Valerie in a teasing voice.

“Intimidated?” Eddie Trilby asked in disbelief. He stared at his wife incredulously. “I have told you that you painted me wrong in those books.”

Fiona Trilby shrugged. “They were about the Everards, dear, not you or the rest of the Trilbys. I had to paint you how you were when I was at a certain age.”

“You mean eight,” said Valerie. “You were eight when you appeared first in Margaret’s story.”

Their grandfather had a knowing look on his face. “I know dear. No one would dare forget that.”

He looked over at his wife and they both shared a gentle look, one that spoke of years of both pain and joy.

Violet was staring at their grandparents. “So, can you at least tell us if whether or not it is true that you are cousins? Because it would entirely change our lives if it is.”

Their grandfather, like he always did, threw his head back and laughed. Slowly, as his laughter died down, he stood up from his chair. “Fee, dear, is there any tea left?”

“Yes, of course,” his wife said, coming to her feet.

Valerie and Violet groaned with frustration.

“The two of you are the worst storytellers ever,” Valerie called out to them.

“Will you at least tell us about the Trilbys?” Violet asked.

“Will you ever tell us anything?” Valerie asked with a groan.

Their grandfather looked over his shoulder as his wife walked past him to go to the kettle.

His wrinkled eyes glimmering, he mouthed, “Later.”