Tor sighed heavily and perched his bottom on the edge of the feasting table. “Henry is always looking for money for his wars,” he said. “I would prefer that he didn’t know I was married to a gold mine, but I suppose he would find out soon enough.”
“Did you do it because of Steffan?” Ronan wanted to know. “Because of what he did to Bella? Did you do it to appease him?”
Tor could see that Ronan was concerned that perhaps Tor was paying the price for a broken betrothal. But Tor smiled faintly at his cousin.
“I do not do anything I don’t want to do,” he said. “You needn’t worry, Ronan. I am not sacrificing myself for the common good.”
“It is not a bad bargain,” Christian spoke up. He’d been watching the entire situation unfold but, more than that, he’d seen the way Tor looked at Isalyn. There was interest in the man’s heart. “It’s not simply the wealth, but Lady Isalyn is a beautiful woman. She is quite a prize. But are you sure about this?”
Tor remained neutral as talk of Isalyn’s beauty was introduced. “I am,” he said. “But if she is not, then I will not pursue it. The woman lives in London and I have no intention of living there, so she may very well be opposed to a union that will keep her in Northumberland. This may be all for naught.”
Even as he said it, he genuinely hoped not. Surely he couldn’t have imagined the warm smiles and glimmer in Isalyn’s eyes that told him she had interest in him, too. But he was a good deal older than she was – she had seen twenty years and he had seen thirty-eight, so there was quite a spread. Even so, she didn’t seem young and juvenile in manner, but rather a woman of poise and maturity.
Every moment he’d spent with her had been a moment of joy that Tor hadn’t experienced in nearly seventeen years. It didn’t take a man of great intellect to realize the years of his life since Jane’s death had been dull and colorless. He had been existing, not living.
He wanted to live again.
He only hoped Isalyn felt the same way.
“Marriage?”
“That is the fourth time you have asked me, Isalyn. Are you hard of hearing?”
No, she wasn’t hard of hearing, but she was having difficulty believing what her father was telling her. Sitting in the chamber she now shared with Isabella, who had been chased from the room when Gilbert arrived, she was looking at her father as if the man were speaking in tongues.
She could hardly believe it.
“But…” she stammered. “But you cannot mean it.”
“Of course I can.”
“He is a de Wolfe, Father. The males of the family are more in demand than royal princes.”
“And this one has agreed to a betrothal with you,” Gilbert said. “Tor is the second son of the Earl of Warenton, do not forget. Behind his older brother, he is in line to inherit a vast empire and the prestige you would know as his wife is something the finest and most well-placed women in England would kill for. Don’t you realize what this means?”
Isalyn did, in fact. Living in London made her very aware of excellent marriages, politics, lords, and ladies. Aye, she knew it well.
London…
“Father,” she said, trying to find the right words. “I do not like living in the north. I would feel lost and out of place here. My home is in London.”
Gilbert could see that she wasn’t as excited as he had hoped. “You live with your spinster aunt,” he said shortly. “If you are not careful, you will be a spinster, too. Is that what you want? To live alone for the rest of your life and die alone? Isalyn, I have found you the greatest husband you could possibly hope for and he does not even seem to mind that you are rather old for a bride. Do you not understand this, lass?”
Now he was starting to lob insults at her. “I understand,” she said. “I understand very well. But… I must think on this.”
“What is there to think about?”
She eyed him, growing annoyed. “When I came to Featherstone to visit you, it was because I was told that you had been ill and you were asking to see me,” she said. “I did not come north for any other reason than that, and certainly not to marry a provincial knight and spend the rest of my life in the wilds of Northumberland.”
Gilbert frowned. “Is that all you see? A provincial knight? We are speaking about a de Wolfe.”
“I know who he is.”
“Then do not be stupid about this!”
She stood up. “Being stupid would be to agree immediately,” she said. “I… I am simply not prepared for this. It has all happened so fast. I must think on it.”
“Do you not like the man? He is big and handsome and wealthy. God’s bones, what is wrong with you?”
“If you like him so much, then you marry him!”
Gilbert threw up his hands. “Does living in London mean more to you than having a fine husband and a powerful position?” he asked. “Would you really turn down this offer and return to London to live in that smelly house with your smelly aunt? Isalyn, there is nothing to think about. I am accepting this betrothal on your behalf.”
“Don’t you dare!”
A knock on the door interrupted their building argument. With a growl, Gilbert went to the door, throwing it open to reveal Tor standing on the other side.
“I am sorry,” Tor said, smiling timidly. “I could not stay away. May I have a word with your daughter?”
Gilbert nodded his head with frustration. “Go,” he said, indicating Isalyn standing on the other side of the chamber. “Talk to her. Tell her what an excellent husband you would be and how foolish she would be to turn down the offer. Tell her she will die alone and unloved if she does, and that I will never speak to her again!”
With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Tor standing by the open door. His eyebrows lifted as he looked to Isalyn.
“Is this true?” he said. “You will die alone and unloved, and ignored by your father?”
His eyes were twinkling at her as he said it and Isalyn broke down into a weak smile. “Apparently,” she said. “I am not happy about being alone and unloved, but it might be worth it if he really did ignore me for the rest of my life.”
Tor grinned and shut the door to give them some privacy, but he remained by the panel. He made no move to enter the chamber any more than he already had. He gazed at her a moment, his smile fading.
“May I make a confession?” he asked.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“I was listening outside of the door. I heard everything.”
Her smile vanished. “I see,” she said, averting her gaze as she went to sit down on the only chair in the chamber. “You must understand that I did not mean to insult you. Never did I mean to insult you. But this has all happened so quickly. It is simply not the way I had ever envisioned my life to be.”
He leaned back against the door. “You want to return to London.”
She looked at him, then. “That was my intention,” she said. “But I have made no secret of that. My life is there. My dramas are there, as are my friends. Everything is there.”
He nodded in understanding. “I cannot say that if I was taken away from my family and friends that I would be so agreeable,” he said. “Then… it is nothing I have said or done to make you question this betrothal?”