Chapter 4

From that day on, Isabelle appeared at Harrington Manor every few days. She made a point of drifting into Edward's sight, reciting overly sentimental verses whenever she could.

Aurelia warned me more than once that Isabelle's intentions were far from innocent and hinted that I should bar her from the house.

I had seen it clearly a long time ago. When one harbored feelings and the other was willing, how could anyone truly stand in the way?

Isabelle came armed with Edward's own permission. Why should I play the villain?

Still, I was curious. Was Isabelle truly willing to settle for the role of a kept woman? Or could Edward's feelings for her be strong enough to withstand the weight of gossip and custom and to raise her to replace me?

That night, when Edward kissed the hollow of my neck, desire was unmistakable—but I pushed him away. "I don't feel well," I said.

He stopped at once. I heard him sigh softly. Then he turned over and went to sleep.

I was so irritated that I struck the bedframe with my fist.

*****

Two days passed, and Isabelle did not appear at Harrington Manor again.

A month later, word came from my stepmother. My father was holding a birthday feast and invited Edward and me to return.

When the invitation reached Edward, he accepted at once and ordered generous gifts to be prepared.

Had it been left to me, I would not have brought so much as a ribbon. For nearly a year, I had cut off all contact with the Ainsworth household. "Such a bother," I muttered.

At the family banquet, Charles did not appear. Only Isabelle returned—and she seated herself snugly beside Edward the moment she arrived.

One glance was enough for me to know this was no friendly gathering.

My father was well past his prime, with little hope of further advancement. In the early days, Charles had hovered around him, eager to secure a better post. Unfortunately, he lacked both talent and resolve—more bark than bite.

Three years on, a new scholar had risen to favor. Charles had long since slipped from the crown's notice and now held a trivial office, scarcely better than my father's.

So that was the husband Isabelle chose.

"Is Charles not joining us?" I asked casually.

Isabelle drew out a handkerchief, covered her mouth, and began to sob softly. "My relationship with Charles is long over. It was a mistake from the start. If only I'd known..." she said, her voice trembling.

Few tears fell, but her glances toward Edward were frequent and deliberate.

Edward kept his head lowered, carefully trimming the fat from a slice of roasted lamb, saying nothing.

My stepmother and Isabelle took turns lamenting their misfortune, a performance fit only for the blind.

Edward placed a piece of tender meat onto my plate. Isabelle's crying immediately grew far more sincere.

After we had eaten our fill and exchanged a few hollow pleasantries, I rose and suggested we take our leave.

My stepmother insisted that Edward and I stay a while longer to rest.

"Very well," Edward said smoothly. "We shall follow your wishes."

With that, I had no choice but to lead him toward my old courtyard.

"Sophia," Isabelle called suddenly. "I have something to say to you." Before I could reach the gate, she rushed over and pulled me aside.

I meant to refuse, but weariness weighed heavily on me, and I was dragged along despite myself.

She shoved me into an abandoned storeroom—the very place where I had once been locked away as a child for punishment. My mind swam. I had not expected Isabelle to scheme so brazenly.

"Sophia," she said coldly, "I will take back everything that should have been mine. All that you hold now will soon belong to me. As for you—let the Preston family have you. Let that old matron teach you your place."

My fingers brushed the hidden blade sewn into my sleeve. I nicked my skin just enough to clear my head.

I did not mind parting ways with Edward. But I would not lose my honor here.

Isabelle radiated the thrill of triumph, turning on her heel and racing toward my courtyard.

By the time she arrived, Edward was already out of it—the effects of the drug were just starting to hit him.

Her hands shook uncontrollably, as if she were already imagining the freedom she might one day enjoy—luxury like mine, no need to answer to in-laws, no endless chores, no scolding for taking an extra bite at the table.

"Edward," she whispered, "I did not know how to cherish you before. I let you slip away, but it is not too late. When Charles holds Sophia, and I have you, then everything will fall back into place."