The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(96)

Reaching inside the leather bag, her fingers wrapped around several papers and a book of some sort. She pulled the pile of belongings out and looked down—at several official-looking documents and, on top of the stack, her own diary.

She stared at the cover. Clearly her mind could handle only so much before snapping. This couldn’t be. Yet…

She flipped the journal open in her lap. Her writing. Her words. Her feelings and thoughts spilled out for anyone to see.

Her heart hammered in her chest. How did Mr. Grapling have the diary she’d misplaced at the beginning of the season? But perhaps the better question was why?

She spun to look out the window still clutching the diary in her hand, knowing what she must do. They were nearing a busy intersection. They would have to slow. Even a little would help. She scooted toward the door, easing the latch open as the carriage continued to roll down the street. There was no more waiting. It was time to jump.

The congested London streets. There was a street vendor moving his wares and blocking the road. The carriage slowed. She had only a second to make the leap. There was a flurry of flailing arms and wind in her skirts as she leapt from the vehicle and collided with a—thankfully—sturdy woman. Carrots tumbled to the ground as Isabelle bumped the woman’s cart with her hip. She struggled to gain her balance, taking a step and still clinging to the woman’s arm, desperately unsteady.

“Apologies,” Isabelle muttered holding the diary over her face to shield herself from view. She didn’t dare linger any longer. Glancing up from behind the diary, she spotted the merchant where Victoria had insisted they once slip away to purchase rouge. She almost laughed, she was so thankful to her sister for bringing her here. Taking a right, she ran the path she’d taken that day last year, remembering how they’d had to hide their purchase from their mother. And then Sue had worn the makeup to that masquerade ball at the Rutledges’ home.

The roads twisted in front of her, but she knew the way from here. She glanced back over her shoulder after every turn, eventually dropping the diary to her side. Would Mr. Grapling know she’d escaped his carriage? Was he following her again? Isabelle’s grip on her diary tightened.

She didn’t slow until she reached the rear garden of her home. Flinging open the gate, she ran down the stone path, weaving through the roses she knew by heart. But the closer she came to her home, the more uncertain she became of what to tell her family. Her steps came to a stop, and she hugged the diary to her chest as she looked up at her house.

“Isabelle?” her father called out as he rushed toward her.

How long had she been standing here with the wind cutting through her dress as she wondered what she should do now? She didn’t know, but her father made the next step clear when he threw his arms around her.

“It’s almost night. I’ve had every footman out searching the streets for you most of the day. It isn’t safe to set off across town alone even in the best of times. You could have been killed.”

“I nearly was,” she mumbled into the wool of his coat.

“What happened?” he asked as he released her, now staring at her, waiting for answers.

“I was kidnapped by someone I thought I knew.” Her tone was flat even to her ears. She was numb from the cold of the day, the immense fear, then relief of having escaped danger, but most of all, she was numb from crying over Fallon through all of it.

“St. James? I’m aware of where you’ve been hiding, but kidnapping is a bit of a harsh word, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t that. That…” She swallowed and looked away. She couldn’t discuss that. Not now, and perhaps not ever. “I jumped from Mr. Grapling’s carriage not an hour ago. He saw me in a park and forced me to go with him.”

“Did you say Mr. Grapling? He’s here? In town?” All the blood drained from her father’s face in an instant.

“He stole my diary. Months ago, I suspect,” she muttered as if it somehow explained…anything at all, though she knew it didn’t. “I suppose that was how he knew me so well.”

“Knew you?” her father bellowed, but she didn’t flinch.

“Yes, he attempted to court me earlier in the season.” That seemed like another lifetime now. So much had changed. She had changed. Fallon had been her friend then. And Mr. Grapling her secret admirer. She stared at her father without really seeing him as she continued. “But that was all false. Father, he had a pistol today. He shoved me…” Her voice trailed off, along with her thoughts.

“It’s over now. Get inside. You’ll be safe here. You’re home.” He turned and led her to the nearest door, the one that led to the kitchen. “Everything can return to normal now,” he continued. “Your life will be exactly as you left it. You’ll see. It will be like none of this ever happened.”

Like none of this ever happened? Was it possible to simply step back into her old life?

The familiar surroundings of her home pressed in on her, reminding her of how far she’d traveled from her old life and how much she’d changed as a result. As Isabelle looked up at her father and stepped through the kitchen door and into her home, she knew she was still just as lost as she had been on that street across town.

*

Fallon shuffled through the stacks of documents on his desk, looking in vain for the reports from the gaming hells. He’d reviewed the numbers a week ago, but one could never be too careful with gamblers. His eyes seemed to be filled with sand, and he rubbed his hand over them. What time was it? The days had blended together without beginning or end since Isabelle had left.