The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(15)
“I usually read with purpose, to gain knowledge on a subject,” he said, shifting to continue their stroll past the works of art.
“Pity. And the theater?”
“I’ve conducted meetings there from time to time.”
She gazed up at a painting of violent waters and a small boat being tossed about. Sympathy rose within her, both for the small vessel and the man by her side. “Meetings, knowledge—my dear pirate, when do you become lost in a story for pleasure?”
“Is that not what I’m doing now?”
Isabelle shook her head and gave the back of his hand a pat as they moved down the hall of paintings.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“I’ll provide you a list of books and theatrical productions you must experience.”
“I do enjoy lists,” he hedged.
She made the clucking sound with her tongue that she’d often heard from her old governess before Victoria’s and her first season. “Lists you have time for but not tales of knights, valor, and the ongoing battle between good and evil?”
“Ongoing battles between good and evil require meetings, knowledge, and lists.”
“And which side of the battle are you on, my pirate friend?”
“You best hope the good side. You are a lady lost at sea and without the benefit of familial relations after all.”
“Indeed.” She glanced up at him again only to find she couldn’t look away. Some strange tension held her gaze there on his, pulled to him as if by magnets. How odd. She’d never experienced such a thing. Of course, she’d also never strolled through the museum on the arm of a gentleman.
Having a friend with whom to peruse the pieces housed in the grand building was a matter of much excitement. Art did have the ability to intoxicate the senses, and they were surrounded by beautiful works collected from around the world. That was what was filling her stomach with butterfly wings and her mind with downy clouds—the art.
How long had they stood here? She wasn’t certain, but when he finally spoke, his voice seemed to come from a long distance, as if she were waking from a dream. “I’ll see you safely back to shore now. Or, in this case, back to your paintings.”
Clearing the haze from her mind, she took a step forward. “Let me guess—you have a meeting to attend?”
“Something like that.” His eyes darted to the doorway on the far wall that led to the main staircase. Did his meeting have something to do with his speedy entrance to the museum? Whomever the porter had chased away must be involved with Mr. St. James in some capacity.
“He was a rival pirate,” she declared. “You followed him in pursuit of a treasure you’re fighting over.”
“What?” he asked, but a second later his thoughts must have caught up with hers. “No…but the analogy is a bit close.” He shook his coat into place as if it were a suit of armor. Any openness she’d seen in his eyes vanished as he turned to look at her. “How do you do that?”
“Sometimes friends can understand what others can’t, remember?”
“Friends…” He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Thank you for the tour, Lady Isabelle.”
Just then a flash of movement dashed across the open door, drawing their attention to the top of the stairs. And in the next second, St. James was gone.
“Just as quickly as he arrived,” she muttered, staring after him. One day she would discover who he really was. Friends always discovered secrets long buried. And Isabelle Fairlyn took her responsibilities as friend very seriously.
Three
Isabelle Fairlyn’s Diary
February 1817
Mother and Father are at odds again. There was peace for three whole days while Father acted as if Mother didn’t exist, but she pressed for his attention, as she always does, in the fashion that she always does. Unfortunately she received quite a bit of his attention when she batted her eyes at Lord Hornsby right in front of Father. She only wants Father’s love. I wish he understood that. Or is he capable of love? I’m unsure, even after nineteen years in his company. Today I’m in the garden to escape the harsh words being screamed inside. It will go on like this for a few days yet before Father returns to ignoring Mother and the whole cycle begins anew. I wonder if they ever had happiness together. Perhaps before Victoria and I were born they were content together. It saddens me to think that Mother will live an entire life without knowing love. I wish I could change circumstances for her, that I could make them love each other. All I can do is vow that an unhappy marriage won’t happen to me.
I want a marriage like the ones they sing about in Italian verse at the theater, the ones that inspire books and poetry. That’s the only kind of life I want. I won’t take anything less than an honorable knight with flowers in hand who is prepared to lay down his life for mine. I know it’s a great deal to ask for, but I’ve seen too much sadness in matrimony to accept a marriage of convenience. I will find love with a good-natured gentleman, and he will be the knight of my dreams—perhaps at tonight’s ball. If only Mr. Brice would look in my direction.
—Isabelle
? ? ?
“Brice. Ha!” He released a humorless bark of laughter and turned the page in the diary, searching for more information.