The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(28)

Perhaps she might escape after all.

She sat up, dropping the key on the bedspread and crossing the room to the small writing desk. Throwing open drawer after drawer, she searched once more for her diary. She’d left it here somewhere, she was certain! But she didn’t wish to dig about her rooms all afternoon—not today. She grabbed a piece of paper, slapped it down on the desktop, and began scribbling a list. She would mark down her requirements for the perfect husband—truly the perfect husband this time—and search for those qualities. She would lure the right man from the shadows.

Victoria could keep Mr. Brice. He still held a special place in Isabelle’s heart, and as her first love, he likely always would, but she needed to move forward and find her way through this mess. The quill tightened in her hand for a second as she thought of her sister smiling up into that cheerful face, but then she banished the image. Hanging on to what could have been would only lead to more sorrow. She would find love again. She would find someone who could take her from her father’s home to a place where no one ever yelled, where there was always peace and joy and sunshine. She had made lists like this dozens of times before in her diary. She shook her head. It was just as well she couldn’t place the journal. This time she would look beyond any one man and let go of the dreams of him that had filled the pages there.

This time she would find true love. She had to believe that.

The perfect husband must…

Possess a jovial spirit.

She paused to brush a tear away with the back of her hand. With a sniff, she pulled the paper closer and continued. Nothing would stop her from this mission.

Have a noble and honest heart.

She sniffed again. There were other good men in existence. There had to be. All people had some goodness at their core, didn’t they? It was the one truth she’d leaned on her entire life. Now she wasn’t so certain. If Victoria could hurt her this way—and she was Isabelle’s sister!—what did that mean for the rest of society? Were there good people in the world at all, or had that been the delusion of a lady who’d never had her heart broken before? Her aunt had always claimed Isabelle had delusions of grandeur. Perhaps she was right after all. Isabelle’s entire world seemed to shake with the thoughts coursing through her mind. “There has to be a good gentleman out there,” she whispered.

Be willing to protect me from harm.

Never utter cross words.

Love me.

She would not end up in a loveless marriage like her parents. She would find her brave knight. A hero in armor that gleamed in the sunlight, someone who would happily scale tower walls for her, someone who would love her. Her search would begin at tomorrow night’s ball.

Isabelle stood from the desk, clutching the list in her hand, and crossed the room to retrieve the key to the door. If her mother required her presence, she would be there. After all, supporting family during difficult times was what good daughters did.

*

“Well, I’m Lord Hardaway now. Are you pleased? What do I want with a blasted title, St. James? I only want to be Brice! Only Kelton Brice. Damn this entire season!” Brice—or Hardaway now—fell into the chair in headquarters and buried his head in his hands.

It had been only a few days since the fire, but that had been all the time Fallon needed to fix most of the problems in London. Hardaway had certainly done his part of acting the hero—perhaps too well, since yesterday he’d been awarded a title for his bravery. Fallon had winced at that unexpected turn of events, but there was no turning back once they’d begun repairing the damage done by the fire. Plans were now well in motion to make the entire “burning of Bond” incident vanish from the memories of the ton.

Fallon, along with his begrudging friend, had spoken to Knottsby and arranged for a marriage contract to be signed. His poor friend, now Lord Hardaway, would be bound for life to Lady Victoria. Fallon’s involvement was something Isabelle could never discover, or she would seek the first opportunity to kill him for his intrusion in her life and destruction of her plans. Of course, a desire to kill him seemed to be common among his friends as of late.

“Apologies, but you know—”

Hardaway stopped him with a raised hand and a small shake of his head, clearly not interested in receiving condolences. Fallon shifted in his chair, looking out the front window to avoid seeing the look of agitation on his friend’s face. The man sitting across the small table from Fallon might possess a powerful punch, but it was Isabelle’s anger that gave him true concern. Fallon had had a difficult time not thinking of her the past few days—of her and what she must be thinking. But he’d made the correct decision. Her infatuation with Brice had to end eventually, and Fallon had only helped things along. Even still, he would seek her out at tonight’s ball—he would make time between his meetings. He was certain she could use a friend just now.

Anger and heartbreak aside, Fallon’s plan was working to perfection, as he knew it would. The grandness of the upcoming wedding was already being discussed over every cup of tea in the country—neatly replacing the fire the honorable Lord Hardaway had caused.

What a hero that brave gentleman was to save Lady Victoria. And to be awarded a title for his valor is the perfect addition to the story. How wonderful that love grew from such a nasty start.

Fallon almost smiled.

Meanwhile the Spare Heirs Society would survive another day. If only all problems could be solved so easily. He’d throw half his men into leg shackles if it would help him find Grapling, but engineering marriage proposals would do no good where that man was concerned. The same tricks wouldn’t work with that sort of adversary. Though the man had turned out to be rather unstable and driven by his own greed, he was a worthy opponent—unfortunately.