Page 67 of Duchess in Disguise
When she spotted Isobel, her eyes widened and she looked away, jumping slightly when her brother Arnold came to stand by her side. They all made a strange picture together, but Isobel could not put her finger on the reason why.
The guests grew fussy for answers, their voices growing louder as they wondered why they had been woken up so late in the night. Moments later, some of the servants walked in, led by the butler who announced,
“The fire has been extinguished without any trouble. Luckily, we were able to put it out without any issues, before it was able to spread too far.”
There was a collective sigh of relief that swept through the room, and the guests began to query if it was safe to return.
The butler shook his head. “We are attempting to clean up what we can as of now, and air out the hallways. It should take a few minutes, and then everyone can return to their quarters.”
Isobel exhaled, relieved that the fire hadn’t done much more than destroy Cecil’s room and terrorize both of them. Lord Gramfield was still stewing about the damage to his house, andshe tried not to feel too disappointed in his abject lack of concern towards their well-being, focusing on finding the culprit.
If all the guests were gathered in the parlor at that moment, it meant the culprit was there as well. This was their chance to end this once and for all. She glanced at the people who milled about impatiently, the ones who spared her glances ever so often, and noted those who appeared to be sleeping whilst standing.
But her attention continued to return to her aunt and cousins, noticing the visible distress the women wore on their faces… and the calm expression Arnold wore.
It was strange. By now, everyone had gotten the gist of what had happened, and most of the guests were still in shock. However, many of them had glanced in Isobel and Cecil’s direction at least once. Those close enough asked Cecil if he was all right – likely too afraid to approach Isobel due to Richard’s imposing presence next to her.
But Arnold… he had refused to look at them.
Despite his calm expression, the tension in his jaw told her something was bothering her cousin.
“Miss Wightman,” Isobel looked up at the sound of Richard’s voice, only to find that he was not addressing her but Bridget instead. “Might I borrow your shawl for a moment? Miss – the bride seems a tad chilly, and I think a little more covering might help.”
Bridget was wearing a dressing gown and still had a shawl loosely wrapped over her shoulders. At Richard’s request, her gaze darted to Isobel’s, and for a moment, Isobel expected her cousin to feign shivers so she would not have to help her.
But Bridget, to her surprise, had nodded. Instead of handing the shawl over to Richard, she fixed a resolute gaze on Isobel and said,
“Certainly. I will give it to her myself, Your Grace.”
Slowly, Bridget approached her, slipping the shawl off her shoulders as she drew closer. When she reached Isobel’s perch on the sofa, she stared down at her, but in place of the usual condescending ire that Bridget had each time she looked at her was genuine remorse. She draped the shawl over Isobel’s shoulder gently and lingered for a moment, her grip on the light piece of fabric tightening before slipping away completely.
Then she handed Isobel a handkerchief, mumbling under her breath.
“This is yours. I found it in the hallway, outside Cecil’s room, as we were coming down.”
Isobel frowned, denial on her tongue. But before she could speak, Bridget took her hand and pressed the handkerchief into her palm.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” She whispered, before slipping away.
Isobel stared at the piece of fabric, something within her twisting anxiously. She did not need to study it closely to identify that it was not hers. She had given hers to Cecil to keep him from inhaling too much smoke, and it was still clutched in her younger brother’s hand.
So… who did this one belong to?
As Isobel’s gaze dropped to the dark piece of fabric, Bridget’s words echoed around her head.
‘I found it in the hallway… outside Cecil’s room.’
Isobel’s heart began to beat faster when she noted some greasy stains of what she guessed – and confirmed with a light sniff – was gasoline. And then she spotted a neat embroidery of initials at a corner of the fabric, telling who its rightful owner was.
A.W.
At first, Isobel just stared at the letters, then she slowly raised her gaze to Richard’s, only to find him already looking at her. Together, they turn in Bridget’s direction to find her trembling as she glanced between them… and then at her brother.
Isobel inhaled sharply, her fingers clutching the handkerchief tightly as the missing pieces of the puzzle came together.
“Arnold Wightman,” she whispered, turning back to Richard. “It was Arnold.”
Richard was still for a moment, then he marched to where Arnold stood with his hands in his pockets, seemingly without a care in the world.
