CHAPTER 11
Graham’s face was still hard, but there was something else now—something darker, sadder. He shook his head slowly, as though trying to process the absurdity of her words.
Even saying the words felt like a knife twisting in Isla’s chest, the pain sharp and unrelenting. It wasn’t just her head that hurt—it was something deeper, lodged where her pride and her heart lived. That night when she left home, she hadn’t just abandoned Thornfield Manor; she’d abandoned a truth so raw, so shameful, she couldn’t even admit it to herself. Until now.
The truth was that she wanted Graham Lancaster.
She wanted him for herself. To be the woman he looked at the way men looked at their hearts’ desire. To be in his arms, pressed against the solid strength of him, kissed and held as though she mattered—truly mattered. Even to be in his bed, if only for a single night, just once, to know what it felt like to be his. Her much older step-brother. Her protector. Her tormentor.
What kind of wretched girl was she to dream such things?
The shame of it burned through her veins, and for weeks she’d done everything she could to bury it—to forget the way his voice made her shiver, the way his hands, large and capable, sometimes rested on her shoulder for a fleeting second too long, sparking something inside her she couldn’t explain. The life she’d chosen since—scrubbing dishes until her fingers bled, cooking until the heat made her faint, sleeping on damp, cold floors—had stripped her bare. Poverty had a cruel way of exposing truths, wrenching them from you when you were too weak to resist. It tore away every pretense, every distraction, until all that was left was her. Alone, small, and achingly honest.
And the truth was, she wasn’t just afraid of being a burden.
She was afraid of what she wanted. Afraid of him.
Across the room, Graham watched her with narrowed eyes, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was as though he could sense her unraveling.
Isla’s sobs came suddenly, wracking her body with such intensity that the sound itself felt foreign to her. It was a deep, mewling cry, the kind that slipped from her mouth unbidden, and she hated it. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how the tears flowed without warning. She felt small, like a child again, exposed in a way she couldn’t control.
“Isla? Isla?” His voice was soft, full of concern. He reached for her, pulling her close, his arms enveloping her like a protective barrier. She could feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek, the steady beat of his heart as he held her, and for a moment, she felt as though she might find solace there. But it was fleeting.
“No,” she suddenly cried out, the words choking her, raw with grief. “No, it’s not okay!” Her voice cracked, and she clutched at his shirt in desperation. “My father is dead. My maa has been gone for years. I have no one left. No family. Nothing. I’m a proper orphan now. And orphans… orphans belong nowhere!” The words tumbled from her lips like a torrent, each one carrying the weight of her pain. She quickly pulled herself away from his grasp, her face burning with shame as she tried to wipe away the tears, but it only made the hurt sharper.
Graham stared at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. He reached for her again, his voice calm but firm. “That is—That is ridiculous, Isla. You will always have a home at Thornfield Manor. And you will always have a family in me.”
But Isla shook her head violently, her emotions swirling in a storm of confusion and sorrow. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’ll have a family soon, Graham. You’ll get married, have children, and Thornfield Manor will be your home. It won’t be mine anymore. I—I don’t belong there anymore. I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t know where I fit in this world.” The words felt like a confession, like a truth she had been hiding from herself for far too long.
Graham stood frozen, his heart suddenly gripped by a deep, suffocating ache. He looked at her with an expression that was a mixture of wonder, concern, and a painful realization—like the final piece of a puzzle had clicked into place, but the picture it revealed was one he wasn’t ready to face. He understood now, with a clarity that left him breathless. Isla didn’t feel like she belonged at Thornfield Manor anymore. She didn’t feel like she belonged with him. And the sorrow in her eyes, the way her voice cracked as she spoke of being an orphan, it cut him to the bone. She longed for something she hadn’t had in so long: a family. A place to call her own. Perhaps dreams of a husband, children—a life she could create, outside the walls of Thornfield Manor.
The thought struck him harder than he expected. It hurt him, a sharp pang in his chest, as though he had lost something vital. He had always associated her presence with Thornfield Manor, with the memories of growing up alongside her. He remembered her as a little girl, with pigtails bouncing as she followed him around. Then she’d been a shy teenager, blushing like cherry blossoms whenever their eyes met, her face dotted with the imperfections of youth. And now, she was a young woman, standing before him with the weight of the world in her eyes, the uncertainty of her place in it so painfully evident. She was slipping away, and he could feel it, like another part of his childhood, another part of his life, was disappearing.
His chest tightened as the thought settled in: what if he never saw her again? What if this was the last time he would be close to her, the last time he would be able to reach out and comfort her? It felt like losing his father all over again, a piece of him, a piece of his past, fading into nothing.
Outside, Edwin appeared, his presence like a storm on the horizon. He had come back, his arms full of Isla’s bags, his face twisted in disgust as he shoved them into the trunk of the car. Once the bags were in place, Edwin climbed into the driver’s seat without another word, starting the engine with a rough jerk. The car roared to life, and the sound seemed to echo in the silence between Isla and Graham.
That night, in the sterile quiet of a hotel room, Graham found himself wide awake. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to quiet the tumult of thoughts racing through his mind. Despite Isla being only a few doors away, sleeping peacefully on her own, he couldn’t find peace. His thoughts consumed him, spiraling deeper into worry and frustration.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the raw, bruised state of Isla’s hands when they’d sat together at dinner. He had noticed how she winced, her knuckles tender with every movement, as though every action sent a jolt of pain through her. She had been working herself to the bone, and he wondered what kind of life she had been living before he’d found her. He shuddered at the thought of what her condition might be now, as Edwin had informed him after Isla had left the room that she had been sleeping on a damp mattress in a cold, dark basement. It was a far cry from the comfort she deserved.
Then, there was the issue with that sleazy guest house owner. The man had robbed her blind. If Isla hadn’t managed to escape when she did, God only knew what might have happened to her. The very idea made his chest tighten with dread.
But it wasn’t just the immediate danger Isla had been in that haunted him. It was the deeper reality of her life. She was just a child—no matter how old she was. A vulnerable girl with no one to turn to. He recalled Maggie’s frantic words, her insistence that a young man named Emanuel Margeese was somehow involved in Isla’s disappearance. Maggie had been convinced that the boy, the nephew of one of their tenants, had been circling Isla like a vulture, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. “Emanuel’s been watching her, Graham,” Maggie had said, her voice trembling. “He knows she’s Mr. Lancaster’s daughter. He thinks if he can get his filthy hands on her, he can get a taste of the Lancaster fortune too. I’ve seen the way he looks at her, like she’s nothing more than a prize to be claimed.”
Graham had dismissed her at first, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized Maggie was right. Emanuel Margeese was trouble—trouble he couldn’t afford to ignore. And he could already see the rumors spreading across town, rumors that he was somehow involved with Isla, rumors that painted her in a vulnerable light, easy prey for anyone with ill intentions.
He shook his head, frustration creeping in. Isla was a young woman who didn’t know her own mind, someone who could be impulsive, stubborn, and naïve. She was at risk, surrounded by treasure hunters and opportunists. His father had asked him, in his final days, to take care of Isla. And Graham would be damned if he let her fall victim to people like Emanuel, or worse, be left alone in the world with no one to care for her, no one to protect her.
That night, Graham could barely find a moment’s peace. The weight of Isla’s situation, the helplessness he felt, pressed down on him like a vice. He eventually dozed off in the wicker chair, the fatigue from the day catching up with him. But his sleep was fitful, a restless tangle of thoughts that refused to leave him.