Page 37 of Betrothal Between Enemies

‘You’re breaking a family pact over a single day’s wager?’ Alistair pressed. He had to protest a bit—not only to avoid showing himself to be overeager but to remind Sir Thomas he was breaking the very engagement that had been his own idea.

‘Not just any wager. What you wagered today would go a long way to helping families in need.’ Sir Thomas raised a scolding eyebrow.

‘I believe you mentioned that earlier. I’ve taken heed of your suggestion. I have donated my winnings to less fortunate families. Since I tripled my earnings with the bet, many more families will be helped.’ Alistair knew that was not the logic Sir Thomas wanted to hear.

‘You took an unnecessary risk. Not just today but last night with your gambling, and in other ways. You’ve encouraged Ismay to also take risks. You let her climb that dratted mountain in the dark, for instance. You’ve supported her scientific work. There is only disappointment for her down that road. You do her no credit.’

Ruse or not, Alistair bristled at the last on Ismay’s behalf. ‘Perhaps it’s you who do her no credit. Perhaps you ought to fight for her. She is brilliant and is being overlooked because of her gender. Not unlike my horse today, I might add.’ Alistair couldn’t resist the goad. If Ismay wanted her freedom, he wanted it to be worth something for her.

‘Women are not accepted in the scientific community at large. Once she realises that, she will not appreciate what you’ve done,’ Sir Thomas warned. ‘Ismay has always been wild. You were supposed to tame her, not incite her.’

‘As she was supposed to tame me?’

‘Marriage awakens a man’s sense of responsibility and a woman’s sense of the domestic. So yes, that was the plan, the hope your father and I had.’ Sir Thomas looked defeated, and Alistair felt guilt prick him, opening yet another wound, another scar he’d carry with him when this was over. These were the badges of freedom, he told himself, but the argument didn’t carry the same gravitas it once had.

‘Instead, you two did the opposite. I cannot allow my daughter to marry a wastrel, to make a fool of herself in her choice of partner, or to be encouraged to make a fool of herself by that partner. Your luck will not last, nor will society’s tolerance. I cannot afford that for her or for myself. I had hopes for you, too. By leaving the business to you, I could in effect leave it to Ismay. But now, I see what I’d be risking in that decision. It’s a shame. You were very good at it.’

‘I enjoyed it,’ Alistair said, nodding, trying to stay calm. Inside, his emotions were roiling. Last night had devastated him; today had rubbed salt in those wounds, and there was still more to bear. It was deuced hard to sit there and be pilloried for a lie. He wanted to shout that this wasn’t him, it wasn’t who he was. It might have been who he was in March, but it was not who he’d become between his journey, his time in Florence with Hayes and his months here. But such rantings would serve no purpose but his own. To save himself, he’d have to betray Ismay, and he simply wouldn’t do it. He wondered whether that would even be enough at this point. Why would Sir Thomas believe him?

Sir Thomas pushed a key across the desk to him. ‘I have taken the liberty of securing you lodgings until you can depart. The house off Piazza Vittoria has been rented for you. If you are amenable, I’d like you to stay and finish the projects at the warehouse that require your specific attentions before you leave. That shouldn’t be more than a few weeks. If you could be gone by Christmas, that would be best. I want Ismay to start the new year fresh.’ And the Roses would need the holidays to rebuild her social standing, to tell their narrative of the courtship with him in absentia.

Alistair took the key and put it in his pocket. ‘And the engagement? I believe the party was slated for tomorrow night.’

‘My wife will send a note to guests in the morning.’ It would happen immediately, then. Once that note went out, Naples society would be abuzz with the news.

‘May I ask what you will tell everyone? Perhaps for the sake of your business, you might wait until I am gone to ruin my reputation thoroughly.’

‘Yes, I had thought of that. We will tell people initially that you were called away on family matters as soon as you could settle affairs here, and that it was not possible for Ismay to go with you, so the engagement was postponed. And then we will slowly reveal that in the interim we revisited the wisdom of the match.’ Alistair knew what that meant. Later, it would come out that Sir Thomas had been concerned about his gambling, his risk-taking and his inability to be the head of his house. So be it.

‘And Ismay?’ Alistair asked quietly. ‘How will she fare in all of this?’ Sir Thomas had seen them today, hugging, and that kiss he’d given her had not been the kiss of a couple who were politely neutral about one another. ‘Does she know you’re breaking the engagement on her behalf? Without her consent?’ The ruse demanded he play his part and give nothing away at the last.

‘She will come to understand,’ Sir Thomas said firmly. Under other circumstances, Alistair wondered if she would. Did Sir Thomas understand his daughter so little to think that she would allow him to make such a decision for her? Only in this case, unbeknownst to Sir Thomas, Ismay had made the decision for him. ‘I prefer you not see her again. I will do all explaining necessary in the morning.’

‘As long as Ismay is taken care of and not made to suffer socially for your decision, I will abide by it.’ Alistair rose, taking his cue to graciously bow out. ‘I held her in genuine affection and your family in sincere esteem. I am sorry that it is ending this way. I will be gone before Ismay awakes.’

He ought to be elated. The ruse had come to fruition. He was free of his father’s machinations to see him wed and tamed to a life of purpose, of direction. But his footsteps paused outside Ismay’s door. The temptation was strong to knock on her door and tell her all that had transpired. But there was no point. She would know all that already. It was what they’d planned. He had nothing new to add, and he’d be breaking his word to her father within minutes of giving it.

Alistair moved on to his own chamber. The key was heavy in his pocket. He had a long night ahead if he was to leave at dawn. Sir Thomas had said he wasn’t to see Ismay before he left, but he’d said nothing about leaving her a note. It would have to be carefully worded since he was sure it would be scrutinised, but Ismay would know the meaning beneath it all. She would play her part publicly as a disappointed fiancée at the postponement of her engagement, which she would be told behind the scenes was entirely off. Her parents, none the wiser and thinking this was their decision, might worry for a week or two about her eloping, and then that, too, would pass.

As the sun rose, Alistair took a final look about the room. It seemed emptier, more sterile now with his things tucked away in his trunk. Two footmen had hauled it downstairs for him a few minutes ago. The carriage was waiting. Sir Thomas had been generous in expediting his exit from their lives. On the desk was a sealed note and a leather pouch, his parting gifts for Ismay.

He shouldered his satchel and tried to muster his usual sense of anticipation whenever change loomed. What an adventure this had been. Now it was over. Time to move on to the next one. But the usual anticipation didn’t come.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ismay opened the door to Alistair’s room, her body filled with the worst kind of anticipation: the trepidation that came with the sure knowledge that something awful waited for her inside. Finality. When she stepped inside, when she saw it empty, it would truly be over. Worse than that, it would be the beginning of erasing him. It would start with exorcising him from the physical spaces he’d occupied, like this room. It would then slowly move on to other spaces—mental spaces, emotional spaces, until it would be as if he’d never existed. But it had to be done. Much like the import of viewing a body in order to believe someone was really dead.

The scent hit her first. The room smelled like him: bergamot, citrus and herbs. He hadn’t been gone long if it was still noticeable. She breathed deeply, knowing scent would be the first thing to fade. Ismay glanced around the room, hoping for a piece of clothing left behind, something worn close to his skin, full of his scent, but he’d been thorough in his packing. Or perhaps the valet had been the thorough one on her father’s orders that nothing be left behind, nothing that could provide an excuse to seek him out.

Her fingers trailed over the smooth bedcoverings. He’d not slept. He’d wasted no time acceding to her father’s wishes that he’d be gone by morning. From the looks of it, he’d left by dawn. Her throat tightened. Her father had not allowed time for a goodbye. She’d not thought it would happen so fast. Maybe it was for the best. What did lingering accomplish when they had achieved what they wanted? They were free now.

There was something on the desk. A letter with her name on it and a dark leather wallet that at a distance had blended in with the wood of the desk. She pulled out the chair and sat, her fingers trembling as she slid a thumbnail beneath the seal even as she smiled. There’d been a goodbye for her after all.

At first glance, the note was something of a disappointment. There were no overt protestations of love. Did he think she didn’t want them? Perhaps. She had not handled his first declaration well. Neither was there any congratulatory mentions of the ruse having been achieved, perhaps out of concern the note might be read by another and expose their plan. Instead, there were simply instructions and encouragements. He wanted her to pursue her dreams, to start the scientific journal, to continue her research on the mountain.

Ismay hefted the pouch before opening it. It was heavy, and it didn’t so much jingle as thunk enticingly. Suspicion rose along with her pulse. She untied the drawstring at the mouth of the pouch and spilled a few coins into her hand. Gold ducats! The kind he’d won at Eddington’s and the horse race. A bag full of ducats was no small sum. Tears smarted in her eyes. The money communicated what the words couldn’t risk. He didn’t simply wish those things for her. He actively wanted them for her. Because nothing said I love you like the funds to publish a scientific journal. Dear God, what had she done in pushing him away, in making him leave?

The show of active support nearly undid her. There were men in the accademia who encouraged her work like Teodoro Monticelli, but not one of them had offered her any tangible tools through which she might do that work. Alistair had shown her kindness even at the last, when her family had shown him the door. At the sound of footsteps in the hall, she wiped hurriedly at her tears and tucked the leather pouch beneath her skirts.