Dearest William,
You cannot forever be the rake that you are for I know you are much more than the reputation the ton has given you. They ought to see that.
As your friend, I would dare not judge you as I know the real you.
Rest your mind for there is one person in this world who does not merely look at you, but truly sees you.
Your friend,
Lady Weis
*****
If there was one more thing she kept to her sister, it was the incident that took place in the opera. Emma would be utterly furious and might resort to telling their brothers who would then resort to harsh gestures.
Ysabella would not wish for such a scandal—for anything eventful that would lead to her name be mentioned on the Herald once more.
And she'd rather forget that night. If she could manually smudge and erase it from her memory, she would. Adam Nimrod had always been good to her. He may not have been her choice, but he was a good man.
Until that night.
It was nearly a week since, but Adam's concerting attack bothered her still.
"Dear, you seem too distant," Lady Hayward's gentle voice snapped her back to the present. Ysabella turned to see the lady's worried look. "What is the matter? Is it Emma?"
Ysabella blinked in surprise. "Emma? Why would you believe it is my sister that bothers me?"
Lady Hayward smiled. "You and Emma are quite inseparable, dear. She has not shown herself to my estate for quite some time now." The blonde woman inclined her head toward her. "You are both going through something."
Her shoulders dropped as she sighed. "We did fight, but it is not something we could not fix in time. Truly, we are all right. We merely are giving each other enough space to think. It is not her that bothers me."
Lady Hayward cocked her brow. "It is my son, then, is it not?"
"Wakefield?" Ysabella said with a laugh. "Your son has been quite a challenge for years now, my lady, but it is not him."
"You must know, dear, that I feel bad my son does not see your worth at all." Her voice had gone stern, reminding Ysabella of her own mother. "He does not think so highly of himself and mayhap it might be the reason why he could not see the best of everyone. He is such a fool to deprive himself of a fine lady such as you!"
"Oh, Lady Hayward," Ysabella chuckled, covering the woman's hand with hers. "If you were only your son, I would already be happily married!"
"That son frustrates me on some occasion." Lady Hayward slowly shook her head. "I am visiting Thomas in his estate in a few days yet he refuses to come with me."
"Is Lord Bertram here or has he already left?"
"He has urgent matters to attend to in Bertram. I am afraid I must go alone," the woman said with sigh. "William reasons that he has important matters to attend to in Wickhurst, but we both know he refuses to go because of his relationship with his brother."
"Mayhap he is merely truly busy, my lady," she said, reassuring the woman's feelings.
"Busy on what? That Lady Weis he so claims to marry if he finds her?" Lady Hayward uttered with a scoff. "We are not even certain if she exists. For all we know, someone has been fooling him for two years, writing him letters and laughing at his expense!"
Ysabella nearly choked and she cleared her throat as she tried to calm herself. The feeling of guilt of hiding such a big secret from the mother of the man she loved was getting heavier by the minute.
"But I could not very well keep him from finding his own happiness, of course," the woman said with a sad smile, "even if I think that very same happiness has been in my parlour every Friday."
Ysabella threw her head back and laughed.
Lady Hayward joined in and they rang for more tea.
*****
Wakefield stood by the window, watching Ysabella talk with Morris down below.
She was wearing a yellow dress, her hand holding a red flower.
What could they be talking about?
His butler was laughing at something she had said and her shoulders shook with her own laughter.
His upper lip pulled back to bare his upper teeth. It seemed that in every visit, Ysabella had been allotting more time with his butler. He would not be surprised if the bloody bastard was narrating how Wakefield wore his cravat every morning at that very moment.
Another round of laughter rang from both of them and he saw Ysabella reach out to pat Morris on the shoulder. She said something, turned around and started walking away, the flower still in her hand.
Wakefield frowned as he watched Morris call out to her. He then realized his mouth had opened in an attempt to say she had forgotten something. Bloody hell!
She looked down and saw that she was still holding the flower and she laughed once more, walking back to Morris. She held out the red flower to Morris who graciously took it with a wide smile.
Ah, so she nearly forgot what she came here for? Was that conversation so fun she forgot about the bloody flower?
He watched as Ysabella stopped at the side of the street, looked at both direction and crossed it.
He was about to turn away the moment she reached across, but he pivoted back when he saw her calling out to someone who walked past her. When the blonde man did not hear her, she ran after him with a laugh.
Wakefield's jaw clenched. Had she no sense at all? She was a lady! She could not simply shout at someone on the street and run after them. That was not done!
The man had finally heard her voice and Wakefield stepped closer to the window to see clearly. But the man was facing away. He gave her a bow and Ysabella slapped his arm, poking him in such a teasing manner.
Were they chummy? But even still, she ought not to act like that with a man who was not family for it was clear that the bloody bastard was not one of her brothers. Had she not learned her lesson that night at the opera?
The door to his study opened and he heard Morris say, "My lord, Lady Ysabella has—"
"Throw it out," he murmured to the butler, eyes still on Ysabella and the man she was talking with.
"I do hate to see it go to waste, my lord," Morris replied the same words Wakefield had heard countless of times. "Would you like it placed in a vase?"
"No," Wakefield snapped, rapidly waving his hand. "Go."
When the silence reigned for a few seconds and when he thought the man had already left, Wakefield nearly jumped to his feet when Morris' voice said, "Would you like to inquire what Lady Ysabella and I were discussing downstairs, my lord?"
His head snapped back over his shoulder to glare at the man. "I do not bloody care, Morris. Leave. Remove yourself from my sight at once."
Morris bowed. "Very well, my lord. The flower is—"
"Go!"
"A missive also arrived for you, my lord."
"Put it on the table."
"I already did, my lord."
"Then go!"
"Another matter, my lord, if you may."
"Bloody hell, Morris, what is it!"
"There have been quite a few callers for this afternoon regarding your—uh, quest for Lady Weis. There are five ladies from Tiny Town, two from Granville, two more from—"
"I am indisposed this afternoon."
"Very well, my lord."
"Now, go, Morris."
"Yes, my lord." The man stiffly turned and walked out of the room.
Wakefield turned to see that Ysabella had looped her arm around the man's when he offered it and they were now walking away. She was saying something, the man's head bent down, intently listening.
Reaching for his curtain, he roughly pulled it closed. Turning around to go back to his desk, jaw clenched, he saw the red flower.
Brooding, he snatched it off the table to throw it out. She dare deliver this flower and now she was walking in the arms of another man? He ought to tell her brothers to watch her more closely. An unmarried woman ought not to be doing what she was doing at this very moment!
He made a motion to throw the flower but stopped. His hand fell to his side and he heaved a breath to calm his nerves.
She had not even directly done anything to him to cause such reaction.
He walked back to his desk, settled in his seat and glared at the flower as though it was Ysabella Everard herself. He snapped the stem in half with as much force one could enforce for such task and sent the end of the stem without the flower flying the room.
With heavy hands, he reached for the book he was currently reading, opened it to a random page and grudgingly tucked the flower inside. Then he shut the book closed with more strength necessary in closing a book and dropped it on the table with a loud thud.
He reached for the letter next.
You have not visited since the opera night. Should I wait for you tonight?
-A
He crumpled the paper and it too joined the stem in the middle of his study.
He was not going anywhere tonight.
*****
"You must know that despite the recent clamour over Lady Weis," Samuel Theobald said while they walked, "I am quite relieved that I no longer have letters coming in and out of my estate. Letters, I might add," he pointedly uttered, "that I never get to read."
Ysabella threw her friend a darting look. Samuel may be Ralph's best friend, but the man had been a frequent visitor to their estate during countless family dinners that Ysabella and Emma also enjoyed the same friendship with the man.
Like all the Theobalds, Samuel was blonde and he had pale, grey eyes. Well, apart from Lady Theobald who had blue eyes—and Maxine, of course, with her dark hair.
It had been quite a while she saw Samuel and she never had the opportunity to talk to him about his hidden sister. But now was not also the right moment to do so. She was not certain if Maxine would wish to be the subject of any discussion.
"You shall not expect more, Samuel, I promise you that."
Samuel was not overly handsome in Ysabella's eyes, although there were some who would disagree, including her sister, Margaret, who had always found Samuel quite charming. But he did have his own ways to make himself endearing to Ysabella. He was easy to talk with and he had great knowledge on almost anything.
He had also joined her and Emma into many of their tricks where Ralph was the victim.
"What do you intend to do about Lady Weis?" he asked under his breath, looking straight ahead. "Wakefield has made such a commotion publishing that article. I would have stopped it should I have known, really."
"Well, it would not have been best if you did. You could have placed your position in the Herald in jeopardy. He is quite determined to find her, you know. We do not know what he would have done if you stopped that article."
"Which leads me back to my question—what do you intend to do now?"
Ysabella sighed. "Lady Weis is no more, Samuel. She was a mistake." She tilted her head and nudged his side. "Your mistake as well, you know."
"Me!" he said with a laugh. "But it was you who penned that ridiculous letter about your cat!"
"It was you who dared me!"
Samuel chuckled, giving her hand a pat. "Very well, it is both our fault."
Ysabella's smile slowly vanished. "I do not wish for him to know me simply as Lady Weis," she admitted. "If the day will come that I shall marry him, it will be because he wants Ysabella Everard. Me, Ysabella, not Lady Weis."
"But you and her are one, Ysa," Samuel said with a frown.
She rolled her eyes. Why could no one see her point?
"It is high time I prove to him that Lady Weis is not the only one out there. That is all you must know."
Samuel laughed once more. "You are competing against yourself, Ysabella, it is quite hilarious."
They walked in silence for a while, two friends having a comfortable time together.
"How is Emma?" Samuel asked.
"Oh, still ignorant of your feelings toward her, I assure you," Ysabella said, glad to have found a reason to torment the man.
Samuel glared at her. "Dare not repeat that to anyone, Ysa."
"Or what? You shall have my throat? Emma would hate you then."
He groaned. "I should not have told you."
"You did not have to, Samuel. It was quite obvious. My sister is merely blind to your feelings, but I am not."
"Emma and I are good friends. I would not wish that to be tarnished."
"But you must let her know sooner or later, Samuel. A love not shown is more painful than a love rejected."
"And you know this very well, do you not?" he asked, voice teasing.
She smiled at her friend. "Yes, utterly so."