Susan Paul - The Bride Thief

He smiled. “Will you do all that you can to finish your work here very soon? There will be cause for celebration shortly, and I’d not wish you to miss a moment of it. For any reason.” With a bow, he added, “I look forward to our next meeting. Good day, my lady.”

He bade Evelyn a similar farewell, and took his leave. The moment the door shut behind him, Evelyn turned to Isabelle with a triumphant laugh.

“Perfect!” she declared, her richly ornamented skirts whirling as she made her way toward Isabelle. “Just as Father said it would be. Absolutely perfect Do you not agree, Isabelle?” Setting her beautifully feminine hands on the tabletop, she leaned forward. “What? No congratulations, Cousin? Come. Wish me happy. Let me hear the words from your lips. Say them, Isabelle! I want to hear you wishing me happy.”

It was unfortunate, in Isabelle’s opinion, that she had not yet learned how to master her temper. Since her parents’ deaths four years before, she’d learned many things—how to beg for help, how to plead and crawl— but her temper, unhappily, had remained untouched by every misery that either her cousin or her uncle had visited upon her. Very French, her father had often said of her temper, approvingly. A thing to be conquered, her mother had always added with despair.

Her stony silence enraged Evelyn, as it always did, and the stinging slap that followed seemed, to Isabelle, just what she deserved for being so stubborn.

“You stupid little mouse,” Evelyn said with seething anger. “I’ve seen you looking at him, watching him. Sir Justin is handsome, is he not? Handsome, and well-favored in every way. And he’s mine. If you think a man like that would ever look at a repugnant mouse like you, then you’re stupider than I ever imagined. Now say it!” Another slap, harder this time, knocking Isabelle back slightly. “Tell me you’re happy for me, Isabelle!”

Evelyn was one of the most beautiful women in London. In all of England, so it was said. Isabelle recited the fact calmly in her mind, while her eyes registered, with deep satisfaction, that in this moment, mottled and enraged, Lady Evelyn was as ugly as the heart she hid.

“Bitch!” Evelyn cried furiously, childishly. “How can you smile? I hate you! I hate looking at your unsightly face every day, sitting here as if you had a right to such comfort, as if you were a queen, instead of naught but a beggar!”

She raised her hand again, and Isabelle straightened, preparing to receive the coming blow.

“Evelyn! Leave Isabelle be. Will you never learn to leave her in peace?” Sir Myles closed the chamber door behind him as he entered the room. “She has work to do, and I want it finished by day’s end. Leave her be.”

“She’s making me crazed, as she ever does,” Evelyn said angrily. “Why can’t you make her behave as she should?”

“Isabelle’s behavior doesn’t concern me at the moment,” Sir Myles told her curtly. “Our guests have just taken their leave. Tell me what happened with Sir Justin.”

Evelyn seemed not to hear his words. Still holding Isabelle’s gaze, she said, “It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse. You know it’s true.” She laughed when Isabelle closed her eyes against the pain the words wrought. “Aye,” Evelyn said, more softly. “’Tis worse than death, is it not? You’ve too much pride, mouse.”

Sir Myles grabbed his daughter’s arm, turning her about. “Sir Justin?” he prompted.

Evelyn’s smile was wide, brilliant. “He’s ready to give me anything I want to make me his wife. Tomorrow, he promised, he’ll prove the depths of his devotion to me. He said that he understands perfectly what needs to be done to make me comfortable in our marriage.”

“God be praised,” Sir Myles murmured fervently. “Well done, my daughter. Well done. I had thought he would surely run away when you made him wait so long for your answer. It’s been a near thing, I vow.”

“I would have made him wait until the last day, if you’d not been so insistent in the matter,” she said haughtily, pushing free and returning to the table where her wine goblet sat. “’Tis an insult to be given to a man—any man—in such a coarse manner. Sir Justin is fortunate that I find him so favorable, else I’d never have agreed to the match.”

“Oh, no, my dear,” her father countered, accepting the goblet she handed him. “I’d not have allowed you to let such a prize as Sir Justin Baldwin get away, no matter if you’d found him wholly unacceptable. An alliance with one of England’s wealthiest and most powerful families is naught to be trifled with. I gave you your moment of revenge, my sweet, but never should I have let you throw away such a boon.” He lifted his cup to her in tribute. “Wedded to a Baldwin! Who could have foreseen such a miracle befalling us? You’ll have everything your heart desires.”

“And you,” said Lady Evelyn, “will have the influence you have long craved. I expect you to remember what I’ve brought you, Father, and to be ready to repay me in the future.”

“Repay you? What nonsense is this? You’re soon to become one of the most envied women in all of Britain.”

“Being the wife of Sir Justin Baldwin will have its certain pleasures,” Evelyn admitted, “for he is well-favored in face and form, as well as in his relations. Howbeit, a duller man I’ve yet to meet. Lady Alicia told me what she suffered at his hands years past, before she found the courage to break their betrothal. He constantly wearied her with his dull manners and vexing conversation, and, despite his skills as a lover, she could not bear the thought of spending her life with such a tedious husband. I’m of no such mind to suffer the same.”

Sir Myles gave a careless shrug. “I care not how you amuse yourself in your marriage, Evelyn, nor with whom you do so. I only ask that you keep your name, and reputation, unsullied.”

“And I only ask, dear Father, that you stand ready to lend me aid as I require it. I’ll guard your interests, my lord, if you’ll help me to guard mine.”

With a smile, Sir Myles put his cup forward to lightly tap the one in Evelyn’s hand. “Agreed,” he said, and, laughing, they both drank.

“He is not dull!” Isabelle was on her feet, one fisted hand crushing her writing quill. She was as furious as she’d ever been in her life—more furious than she’d realized she could be—and when her cousin and uncle turned to her, shock on their faces, she repeated, “Sir Justin is not dull!”

After a moment of stunned silence, Evelyn began to laugh, while the baron’s face darkened with anger.

“You’ve no say in the matter, my lady,” he said sharply. “Indeed, you’ve no say in any matter. Be silent and finish your work, before I’m led to punish you for such intemperate speech.”

“I’ll not be silent!” she said hotly. “You sicken me. Both of you.” Her gaze moved over them with unveiled disgust. “Sir Justin Baldwin came here in truth, speaking honestly, in every word and deed a gentle man. Can you think it any better for him to be forced into an unwanted marriage? Yet he has behaved toward Evelyn, and yourself, i’faith, with naught but kindness and good intentions. How can you speak so ill of such a man?”

“By the rood!” the baron swore angrily, setting his goblet down with such crushing force that red wine spilled over the table and onto the floor. “You’ll not speak to me, or to your cousin, in such a froward manner!”

“Oh, Father,” Evelyn said between gasps of laughter. “’Tis too funny! Can you not see? She’s in love with him! Isabelle—” more laughter, gusting harder “—Isabelle’s in love with Sir Justin! Would he not be horrified to know of it? Can you not envision his face if he knew that such a—such an ugly mouse was in love with him?”