The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(69)

“Thank you.” She beamed at him and slid back to his side with a sigh. “I also asked Mrs. Featherfitch to send a maid here earlier this afternoon to organize your clothing.”

Well, perhaps he wouldn’t give her anything simply to make her smile. His clothing? A maid? He sat forward and turned to look at Isabelle. What fresh hell was this? The maids tended to talk, especially Molly. How did Isabelle know which one could be trusted? “Which one?” he asked, with every other question piling high in his mind as if in a long queue waiting for answers.

Isabelle winced before cautiously replying, “Mrs. Featherfitch recommended Emily. I…had her put order to your clothing as well as see if you had any pieces that required replacement.”

“I will not have you replacing my clothing with some garish ensemble that Hardaway or blasted Grapling would wear,” he grated a bit louder than he’d intended.

“Of course not,” she said, her voice getting smaller the larger her eyes grew. “That wouldn’t suit you at all.”

“You instructed Emily in organizing my clothing,” he repeated, wondering what had brought all of this on. Was Isabelle that lonely during the day?

“You’re angry,” Isabelle said. “I’ll go make a mess of your shirts and try to put everything back where I found it. I can tell Mrs. Featherfitch to cancel the order for the new staff uniforms and to ignore the new cleaning schedule I put in place. I thought after last night that you wouldn’t mind, but I can see that I was quite wrong there.” Her words were rushed, as if she were using them as a vehicle to run away from their conversation. “You can find me another room to stay in while I’m here, I’m sure. There won’t be any way to tear apart the blanket I mended from your bed though. But if I leave you be…” She looked down as sorrow seemed to fill her expression. “Clearly this isn’t right, whatever is between us.”

“What?” What was happening? She wanted to distance herself from him? She’d taken over his life, changing things without warning, and when he reacted, she changed her mind? Only Isabelle had the ability to turn his life on its head in one day.

He sighed and pushed to his feet, unsure how to proceed. He always had a plan of action, yet all he could do was stare at her in confusion.

“I apologize for my work on your blanket. I found a needle and thread and mended it while Emily sorted the contents of your wardrobes. I didn’t want you to catch a chill.” She crossed her arms over her chest and drew back into the corner of the sofa. “Other than the blanket, I’ll take the rest away, cancel all plans. If you would be so kind as to find me another place to sleep for the evening, you can have your bed back.”

“You’ll be sleeping here tonight, tomorrow night, and the night after that,” he commanded in the same voice he used when he had to end a quarrel between men. He should soften his tone with her, but he was so rattled he couldn’t make himself do it. “Until such time that it’s safe for you outside this room, you’ll remain here.”

He didn’t understand anything that had occurred in the past hour. He’d chosen a fine time to go multiple days without sleep. If he only had a moment to put his thoughts together, but that didn’t seem likely while he was getting threats and sullen glares. He needed to find the solution to this mess, to regain what little control he had over the situation.

“Good night, Isabelle.” He turned and went to his dressing room, shutting the door behind him.

Once alone, he took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, blinking into the small, candlelit room. Eyeing the tidy space, he reached to the side and opened the nearest wardrobe. Inside, his shirts hung pressed and ready for the day. They marched in a blasted row, and damn if it didn’t look orderly. It was something he should have seen done long ago, yet it irritated him. Isabelle had made changes without involving him.

“Surprises,” he grumbled to himself. The sensation of surprise was quite overrated in his experience. Sinking to the bed, he lifted the folded blanket in his hands. I didn’t want you to catch a chill. Isabelle’s words repeated in his head. He found the hole that Isabelle had mended and ran a finger over the small lines of thread. She’d wanted to help him. Her intent had been noble. He’d only questioned her methods and timing, and then everything had tipped sideways.

There must be some rationale behind the way she’d pulled away. She hadn’t even allowed him time to understand what she’d done before she’d announced her desire to leave.

Facts—those were always a good place to begin.

One. Isabelle had stepped in as if she were the lady of the house and begun ordering things as she would have them. He’d witnessed her hurry to fall in love with three different men in the span of two months. In hindsight, he really should have seen this issue on the horizon. It was like her to rush into her life here as well, even if it was temporary.

Two. She’d changed the manner in which his home was run within a day. If she’d discussed it with him or involved him in some way, he wouldn’t have reacted as he had. He liked knowing what was happening in his own home, after all. Was that honestly too much to ask? But he also knew from his men’s complaints that he tended to take his oversight to the extreme. Was that so bad? He only wanted to make sure they succeeded in all their endeavors. And he was the only one suited to such a task.