Dearest Lady Weis,
If you must know, my valet burnt one of my old shirts. It was from my father and the only thing that he gave me that did not amount to money.
I must say I nearly fired my valet, but the damage has been done.
I am glad that your cat has returned. Have you any idea where it goes during its monthly disappearances?
Yours,
William
*****
The worst thing to have happened after that rainy day came the following morning.
Ysabella sent the maid to the Hayward family that she could not join them for breaking fast.
"Why?" Wakefield demanded from the maid.
"Is Lady Ysabella feeling all right?" Thomas asked.
"Oh, dear, the rain must have gotten to her," said Lady Hayward, hand clutched to her chest with worry.
Wakefield accepted the guilt for if she was truly sick, then he was at fault.
The maid nodded. "She is feeling feverish and when I checked, she was hot to touch."
"Call for the doctor," Thomas ordered. "And while you wait for him, care for her. Send me word after the doctor's visit."
The maid nodded and rushed out of the room.
"I was afraid this would happen," Lady Hayward mournfully uttered.
Wakefield stared at her family with disbelief. Was no one going to do it?
His mother and Thomas looked up and followed him with surprised eyes when he threw his napkin and stood up.
"Where are—"
"Since both of you think that the only person to have a look at Lady Ysabella is the doctor, I shall do the sensible thing."
"Which is?" asked Thomas.
Without giving a reply, Wakefield strode out of the room.
*****
Ysabella was feeling out of the weather when she awoke, but by breakfast she was feeling quite weak. Too weak, in fact, that she was slightly confused when Wakefield came storming into her bedchamber with a frown on his face.
"Fret not, my lord," she weakly said when he ordered for the servant to bring her hot porridge. "I shall live to torment you for years."
He did not appreciate the humour and instead walked to her side and reached out to touch her forehead.
"Bloody hell, Ysabella, you are burning."
"Your fault," she moaned, her eyes closing on her. "Carried you...cabin. Raining."
"Stop talking. But do not go to sleep just yet. You need to eat."
"Can't. Want to sleep."
The next few hours were a blur. She remembered a spoonful of porridge being fed to her. She also remembered a glass of water forced through her mouth.
Then she remembered calm voices talking. Was that the doctor?
The worst was the bitter taste of something which she nearly threw up if not for the voices urging her to swallow and drink more water.
It felt like she was being experimented upon—too many voices, too many hands. What she wanted was just to rest. Why could they not let her?
When she awoke again that night, she was damp with sweat.
"Mama," she moaned, crying for her mother. Where was Emma? "Em..."
Her mouth felt dry. She ought to get water. Or perhaps a slice of pie as well. She was starving.
"You're awake," Wakefield's voice croaked from beside the bed.
Ysabella blinked and realized the room had gone dimmer. Was it already night time? "I was sick, was I not?"
She felt a hand over her damp forehead. Then a sigh of relief. "Yes, you were sick. But you must rest more. I shall send for the maid to—"
"Water," she said, pushing away from the bed. "I want water."
He was sitting in the shadows and when he stood up to help her, she realized he looked utterly tired. His cravat was loosened and there were dark circles under his eyes. Once she had settled, he poured her a glass of water from one corner of the room.
"I know you must be tired, my lord, but could you also ring for food?" she guiltily added.
She saw his shoulders shake a bit after she said that. Was he laughing at her expense? Well, he must be. He must find it funny how he was now taking care of her after how she had helped him after his accident!
"Food does you great wonders, does it not?" he asked with amusement as he carried the water to her.
"It does us all wonders, trust me," she weakly replied before she gulped the entire content of the glass.
"Rest, little one," he said, taking the empty glass from her, his eyes unreadable as he gazed down at her. "I shall go and ring for your food."
He did not come back after that. The maids came with a tray of food and helped her discard her damp night clothes for fresher ones.
Ysabella, once full and dry, was not able to think of anything else but more sleep.
He did not come back the morning after. The doctor did, accompanied by Thomas and Lady Hayward, but not him.
*****
"Levi once taught me the art of coppering the bet in Faro," Ysabella was saying to his mother two days later. They were on a picnic by the grassy grounds, near the same spot where his leg met its unfortunate accident.
Wakefield scoffed at Ysabella's statement. Her brothers ought not to teach their sisters how to cheat on games. But who was he to tell them anything? He was not her brother.
His blue eyes secretly studied her. Her colour had returned. Gone was the pale, shivering girl in her chamber two days prior. Nearly shuddering at the memory and the worry she had caused everyone, Wakefield stilled.
She was not his sister.
It was true. He was not her brother.
A white cat suddenly came into view and bounded toward Ysabella who immediately petted it with gentle hands. It belonged to one of the workers working in the fields.
Thomas chuckled beside Wakefield when their mother cried out in alarm at the presence of the feline. The two of them were standing not far from the two ladies, drinking wine and pretending to be utterly chummy.
"Do allow the owner to take her back, dear," Lady Hayward said to Ysabella. "It might scratch."
"Do not worry, Lady Hayward. It seems harmless," he heard Ysabella say. "Have I told you about the cat who keeps disappearing—" she started to say with amusement but stopped, her gaze involuntarily flying toward Wakefield. "Ah, no matter. It is not important," she said with a wave of her hand, dismissing the matter entirely.
He frowned. Was she about to tell the story about the disappearing cat? Was she about to hint again that she was Lady Weis?
But the hesitation he noted was genuine. She had always been outspoken even with a lie. What made her stop now? Was she afraid he'd ask for more details and that he'd find out she was lying?
For a moment he wondered how much Samuel Theobald had told her.
And for a brief second he wondered if Samuel ever told her anything and she truly was Lady Weis. But it couldn't be. She was Ysabella Everard, no one else.
His brother's quiet and well-modulated voice spoke beside him, drawing him away from his thoughts. Ysabella and their mother were now talking about something else, bending over the cat that was enjoying the attention.
"She told me that you do not feel what your family feels toward you, thus the animosity." The way Thomas had said it was unheard of. He could tell that Thomas was having a hard time discussing this very matter. Before he could tell his brother to stop whatever it was he was trying to do, Thomas added, "You are wrong if you believe we hate you, William."
Surprised that Thomas was capable of such words, Wakefield sharply turned his head toward his brother. Was the bastard foxed?
"Do not look at me as though I am a monster who grew a halo, brother," Thomas said under his breath. His brother's eyes wavered as he veered his attention to the workers working on the fields. Every second the air was getting more awkward. They were both not used to such talks. "I am quite proud of what you have done to Wakefield in a matter of merely a year since you inherited it."
Wakefield did not realize he was holding his breath until Thomas returned his eyes on him. "Father would have been proud as well. We had all believed Wakefield to be infertile, yet you proved us wrong. The land is indeed tillable as you have claimed. I believe it was your arrogance to prove it that pushed you to that success."
He scoffed. Thomas would always take a moment to point out a negative at a time like this.
"I am not accustomed to this kind of chat," Wakefield admitted. "I find it better to deal with you if you act like the usual arrogant, loathsome bastard that you are."
Thomas laughed, causing their mother and Ysabella to turn to them with curiosity.
"We are not killing each other, if that is what you fear, ladies," Wakefield told them, raising his glass of wine.
They both shrugged and focused their attention back on the cat.
Wakefield saw the look Thomas was giving Ysabella.
He did not like it.
"She is the best candidate for a wife," his brother said in a voice only for Wakefield to hear. "She is sensitive, a rich young lady with a kind heart. It is quite rare in our world."
"You and I both know that you would merely ruin the very things you mentioned should she marry you, Thomas. You ought to find someone who can be completely submissive for it is not in your nature to nurture a spirit like Ysabella's. I do not see her submitting to anyone. None of the Everards do."
Thomas slowly nodded, his eyes glinting with alarming, unspoken thoughts. His blue eyes turned to Wakefield. "I know she is in love with another but I am quite intent to change that. Anyone could do anything for love as I heard."
Wakefield scoffed. He looked at Ysabella. She? In love with Thomas? Was it even possible? He did not wish to entertain the thought, but it was stirring alarm in all places.
"Why her?" he found himself asking.
"As I have said, she is quite sensitive to the feelings of others. It is a character that will be very much appreciated by the ton. She is an Everard as well and it would definitely help my name." Thomas shrugged. "She barely had any serious scandal, and any that could be considered one were merely caused by her chasing and provoking you as part of her silly games." His brother paused for a moment. "Once you are out of the picture, Ysabella can be tamed. She'd soon realize that she is truly a woman and she must start acting as one. It is a challenge I am very much willing to accept."
Wakefield was surprised by the rebellious urge to box some sense into his brother. Taming Ysabella Everard was an impossible feat, much more so a very unimaginable one.
His eyes flickered toward the young woman who was now guiding his mother's hand to pet the cat. Everything he had witnessed her do was far from what Thomas had planned in mind. He could not picture her as a tamed woman. She was distinctive—unique. Taming her would ruin her and it—
Wakefield stopped himself, surprised that he saw her in such way. But even more so that others like his brother did. Others were seeing her and in an even more way than he thought he knew.
It was an uneasy feeling. He ought to go back to Wickhurst where everything was certain. But leaving meant leaving her here.
"She attracted my attention when I saw her sending that Lady Gedge a secret warning about a secret. She was protecting something and that subtle act gives away her maturity."
Maxine Theobald, Wakefield thought. He was not aware Ysabella would go as far as warning the mother of all gossips from spreading rumours about Theobald's bastard daughter.
"Do you know that she told me that she has made a vow never to lie to you? She said so herself that day I met her at the Theobald's."
Wakefield shook his head, not quite certain if he ought to believe. But he did not like the fact that Thomas had approached her at the Theobald party.
"But I do have a far better reason why I want her," Thomas murmured as he gazed at Ysabella.
Wakefield's head turned, holding his breath. "What is it?" he said through gritted teeth.
Thomas had a knowing look on his face when he squarely met Wakefield's gaze. "You want her."
Wakefield scowled, ready to object Thomas's proclamation. He could feel the sudden rush of blood to his ears. "And although I do love you, brother, this competitive atmosphere between us just brings out the worst in me as it always did in the past." With a sneer, Thomas started to walk away. He paused to add over his shoulder, "And I always want what you want."