Chapter 29: Truth

Geoffrey said nothing, but his face darkened, a storm brewing behind his silence. Seeing his lack of response as consent, Matilda pressed on. “Didn’t you ask me to arrange a match for Harley? The estate is little more than an empty husk now. Even if we secure a marriage, we can’t send a shabby betrothal gift. You’re the Duke. Your status demands a wedding befitting your title. With this gold, we can host the banquet in proper splendor. It’s your face we’ll be saving, after all.”

Geoffrey’s expression remained inscrutable, though his eyes hinted at something deeper. “Didn’t Prunella leave a manor and shops that brought in money every month? How has the estate been reduced to this—an empty shell?”

Matilda looked aggrieved. “The manor’s been parched by drought these past two years—there’s been no income. As for the shops, poor management has run them into the ground. They barely sustain themselves, and when they don’t, I’ve had to use household funds to keep them afloat. The larger sums are in Mother’s care; whether they yield profit or loss, I cannot say.”

Geoffrey considered her words for a long moment before replying. “If the manor is barren and the shops are failing, then hand them over to Isolde. They belonged to her mother and will be hers sooner or later.”

Matilda gasped. “Hand them over? To her? She’s a young girl! How can she possibly manage manors and shops? Besides, those were Prunella’s dowry, yes, but she’s been gone for years. Her dowry is part of the family estate now. Handing it to Isolde? People would talk! Even if we agreed, the gossip would destroy her.”

Geoffrey’s voice turned icy. “I’ll not stomach the theft of Prunella’s dowry. Even if I could, my conscience wouldn’t allow it. What do I care for the whispers of outsiders if her mother’s legacy is returned to her rightful hands?”

Matilda’s composure faltered, her voice rising in panic. “But what about Harley? You must think of him! Isolde will marry one day, and if she takes the manors and shops, what will he have left?”

Geoffrey’s tone sharpened. “Harley is a man. Let him make his own way in the world. Did I rely on anyone when I earned my title? No—I fought for it with my own two hands. If he desires wealth or power, he must earn it himself.”

Matilda paled. “Are you saying you won’t even pass down your title to him?”

Geoffrey’s gaze hardened. “We’ll see what he’s capable of. If he remains as useless as he is now, then giving him anything would be a waste.”

Matilda recoiled, stunned. “How can you be so cruel? He’s your son!”

Geoffrey’s chest tightened at her words, as though something had crushed his heart. Harley was his son, yes. But Isolde was his daughter—the daughter of the woman he had loved most in this world. For years, he had abandoned her. Even after bringing her back, he had turned a blind eye to her existence.

“In the accounts you bring me each season, there’s always a sum marked for Isolde’s clothes and jewelry. Yet I visited the Pearl Tower this evening and saw barely a handful of garments. Where has that money gone? Who were the clothes really for?”

He hadn’t intended to bring this up tonight. He had always avoided trouble in the household, choosing peace over confrontation. But Matilda’s words had struck a nerve—and stirred his long-suppressed fury.

Matilda stared at him, aghast. “You went to the Pearl Tower? To look at her clothes? You distrust me? After all these years as husband and wife, you don’t trust me?”

Geoffrey’s voice was cold and resolute. “No, I don’t. Return the manors and shops. All of them.”

Matilda staggered back, disbelief in her eyes. For years he had entrusted her with everything—Prunella’s legacy, the estate’s holdings, the entire household. “I’ve poured my heart and soul into this family,” she said, her voice trembling with outrage and grief. “And you repay me with this? Geoffrey Langley, how can you be so heartless?”

Her tearful words and pained expression would have melted any other man’s heart. But Geoffrey was unmoved. He had never reflected on his failings toward Isolde, let alone Matilda. Why would I waver for this woman—this second wife who meant little to me?

“You have three days,” he said coolly. “Return everything of Prunella’s to Isolde.” With that, he turned and strode from the room, the sweep of his cloak marking the finality of his words. At the door, he ordered, “Harlan, prepare the Orchid Chamber. I’ll move there from now on.” The Orchid Chamber had been Prunella’s home. Ever since her death, it had remained sealed, untouched by anyone.

Matilda collapsed into the chair, her tone sharp with defiance. “Fine! Fine! Don’t come if you like, but don’t think I’ll hand anything over. Not only will I keep it, I’ll take the money too. It belongs to Harley.”

Anne entered quietly, speaking in a hushed voice. “Madam, there’s no need to challenge the Duke. Promise him for now. Even if you give up those things, Isolde will never live to enjoy them.”

Matilda hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right. What’s the point? A dying woman—no matter what you give her—will return it to me in the end.” She realized, in her panic, she’d nearly forgotten the plan.

Isolde had grown up on the estate, trained in combat, and stood more than half a head taller than Michelle, who had known only a pampered life. When Harlan brought over Michelle’s clothing, it was laughably short on Isolde. The sleeves stopped at her wrists, the hem dangled awkwardly at her calves, and her green satin shoes peeked out, plain for all to see. It was an embarrassment.

The next morning, she presented herself to Geoffrey in that very outfit. Geoffrey froze, his anger obvious. He turned sharply to Harlan. “Is there nothing longer?”

Harlan shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Then get to the tailor. Have something made to fit her properly. Immediately.” Geoffrey couldn’t let Isolde appear before the court looking so absurd. One look, and tongues would wag that he treated his own daughter poorly.

Harlan left with a resigned sigh, leaving Isolde and Geoffrey in strained silence, staring each other down. After a long, tense moment, Geoffrey spoke. “What’s this about Lord Harmon?”

Isolde met his gaze coolly. “Did you ask him yourself?”

“I did. He claims he’s never seen you before. Says no one from Mary’s family lodged a complaint, nor did he summon you.” Geoffrey’s frustration was clear. He could tell Harmon was lying. But what man would dare such bold deceit without cause?

Isolde was silent for a beat before answering, deliberate and calm. “Mary’s family wouldn’t dare complain without undeniable proof. But they would know something, even if not the whole truth. If someone stirred them up—thinking you’re easy to extort—it wouldn’t surprise me. But the curious part? Lord Harmon was able to summon me, yet I never arrived at the High Court. Instead, like the heir, I ended up at Wolf Mountain. Think on that.”

Geoffrey froze, realization dawning. “You mean—” He stopped himself abruptly. She couldn’t know of the Shadowmere affair, and yet her words hinted otherwise. If Lord Harmon isn’t acting on orders from the High Magistrate, then who is he serving? And if the carriage has indeed been bound for Wolf Mountain, does that mean Lord Harmon is in league with those forces?

“Who else have you spoken to about this?” Geoffrey demanded.

“No one,” Isolde replied flatly.

A thrill ran through Geoffrey. The fog obscuring the truth had shifted, if only slightly, revealing the shadow of something deeper. Isolde, meanwhile, lowered her head, idly straightening the too-short hem of her dress, though the steel in her eyes remained hidden.