CHAPTER 22
The words hung heavy in the air. He’d finally said it out loud, and he braced himself for Maggie’s reaction. He expected shock, outrage, maybe even colorful cursing for daring to think of Isla that way—a girl ten years younger, barely out of her teenage years. But Maggie didn’t respond the way he expected.
Instead, she sighed, her expression softening, though it carried a tinge of pity. “And she said no?”
Graham barked out a hollow laugh, the pain evident in the sound. “Multiple times.” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if searching for answers there. His vision blurred, whether from the whiskey or the ache in his chest, he wasn’t sure.
Maggie watched him for a moment, her face unreadable. Finally, she broke the silence. “Master Graham, you don’t know how worried we’ve all been since your father passed away,” she began, her voice quieter now, more measured. “Me, Edwin, the others—we’ve all been thinking about Isla, about what would become of her. She’s practically got no family to speak of. And with Mr. Lancaster gone…”
Her voice wavered for a moment before she steadied herself. “With her being deaf, we all knew she’d have a harder time than most. She was even talking about going to college, trying to figure out how to make it on her own. But we’ve been dreading the day she’d have to leave this house. Because she would, eventually.”
Graham sat up straighter, the haze of alcohol no longer enough to dull the intensity of the conversation.
“If you marry her,” Maggie continued, her words deliberate and weighted, “it would be the safest, most secure thing for her. She’d have a family, a home. And you’d have someone to care for, someone to care for you in return.
Graham sat back in his chair, momentarily stunned by Maggie’s unexpected emotional outpouring. Just moments ago, she had been an indignant whirlwind, demanding answers about his intentions toward Isla. And now? Now she was practically encouraging him to go for it. For a moment, he forgot all about the whiskey in front of him.
He blinked, processing her words, before finally breaking the silence. “Maggie, if there’s ever a marriage between Isla and me,” he began, his voice steady, though the words felt strangely intimate, even in the privacy of his study, “it won’t be just about offering her protection or security. Yes, that would be part of it—maybe even a big part—but it won’t be the only reason.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his gaze fixed on Maggie as if willing her to understand. “It wouldn’t be a sham, like you might think. It would be real. The forever kind of real. Isla wouldn’t just be my wife in name—she’d be mine, heart, body, and soul.”
The weight of his declaration hung in the room, unspoken thoughts flickering through his mind. He pictured a life with Isla: quiet mornings, shared smiles, perhaps even children—dark-haired and green-eyed like her, shy and thoughtful. The thought startled him, and he shook his head, scolding himself silently. Children? Why was he even thinking about that? And why was he having this conversation with his housekeeper of all people?
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed his empty glass and tossed it aside, the clatter of it hitting the wooden surface a sharp punctuation to his thoughts. The whiskey was doing a number on him tonight.
Maggie, unflinching as ever, gave him a wry smile, her dimples softening the sternness of her earlier demeanor. “I never meant to imply it wouldn’t be a real marriage, sir,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. “You’re a great catch, after all.”
Her words struck him as oddly funny, and he found himself chuckling, a low, dry sound. Maggie’s sudden shift in tone had an almost disarming effect on him.
“It would be like one of Isla’s dreams come true,” she continued, her expression softening into something almost wistful. “I just don’t understand why she said no.”
Her brows furrowed as she pondered the mystery, and Graham took the moment to pour himself a glass of water from the jug on the desk. The coolness of the water was a welcome relief against the heat of the whiskey still lingering in his system.
Maggie chuckled, a warm, knowing laugh that made Graham freeze mid-sip. "For as long as I can remember," she began, her tone almost teasing, "from the age of eleven onward, she’s had the biggest crush on you."
Graham choked on his water, coughing violently as droplets sprayed across the desk. "What?" he rasped, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
"It never went away," Maggie continued, entirely unbothered by his reaction. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned slightly closer. "When she was twelve or thirteen, she used to cut out your pictures from magazines and newspapers—every article, every photo from when you started your company or were declared a self-made millionaire. I remember finding a whole collage under her bed, pink hearts drawn all over it with sketch pens."
Graham stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. "A collage?" he echoed, the words feeling foreign in his mouth.
"I told Master Robert, of course," Maggie said with a shrug. "Turns out, he already knew. He thought it was just a phase. You were handsome, older, and had that mysterious, untouchable air about you. He was sure it was just teenage infatuation."
Maggie paused, sighing softly as she gazed up at the ceiling, a wistful smile playing on her lips as if recalling a fond memory. "But he was wrong about that. Very wrong."
Graham’s mind reeled. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Isla? A crush on him? For years? "You can’t be serious," he muttered, shaking his head. "It’s impossible. I would’ve known."
"I’m surprised you didn’t," Maggie said, blinking as if even she couldn’t believe it. "Truly surprised. Everyone in the household knew, Master Graham. It wasn’t exactly subtle. She’d take one look at you from across the room and blush so hard the hibiscus bushes outside the window would look pale in comparison."
He furrowed his brow, his mind reaching back into the past, trying to summon any memory that aligned with Maggie’s claims.
"You’d send a message home saying you were coming for the weekend," Maggie continued, a hint of fondness lacing her voice, "and she’d practically float around the house. Isla would be twirling through Thornfield like the happiest little butterfly, picking out her prettiest dresses, smoothing her hair, and trying on every ribbon she owned. Then you’d show up, greet your father, and give her a polite ‘hello,’ and she’d blush so furiously she’d put a beetroot to shame before scurrying off like a startled kitten."
The vividness of Maggie’s description struck a chord. Graham frowned, his mind catching on fragments of memory: Isla’s quick, flustered exits, her wide eyes whenever he spoke to her, the way she always seemed to disappear when he turned his attention to her for too long. "I… I just thought she was shy around me," he said, his voice unusually high-pitched.
"Shy?" Maggie repeated, her laughter bubbling up again. "Yes, shy. But only around you, Master Graham. Only around you."
It felt like the ground had shifted beneath him, leaving him in a state of disbelief he couldn’t quite shake.
A few hours earlier, Graham had stormed into the study with a head full of questions and a heart weighed down by doubt. Isla’s reaction to his touch that evening had left him grappling with uncertainty. Had he misread her entirely? Had he made a terrible mistake in pursuing her? The memory of her startled retreat haunted him, a sharp contrast to the desire he had so vividly imagined between them.
But now, as he settled into bed, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Maggie’s words echoed in his mind, softening his doubts. "She’s skittish only around you, Master Graham." Isla hadn’t run off because she feared him. No, she had run because she was overwhelmed—by him, by her feelings, by the unspoken pull that had always simmered between them.
The thought made his chest swell with newfound confidence. She was attracted to him, just as much as he was to her. Perhaps even more so, if Maggie’s stories of her years-long crush were to be believed.
Graham chuckled to himself, the sound low and rich in the quiet of the room. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, he would put an end to this game of hesitation and retreat. No more guessing, no more chasing shadows. He was going to claim his skittish, deaf princess and show her the depths of what they could share.
The idea filled him with an intoxicating mix of determination and longing. His earlier plans of waiting until their wedding night to consummate their union seemed almost laughable now. That vision of their first time, slow and ceremonial in a marital bed, dissolved in favor of something far more immediate, far more primal.
Tomorrow, he would have her. Not just in his arms, but beneath him, her body arching into his, her soft cries of pleasure filling the air as he buried himself inside her completely. He could already imagine the heat of her skin, the way her lips would part as she whispered his name, the undeniable connection between them burning brighter than ever.
A low hum escaped his lips as he closed his eyes, the vivid fantasy lulling him into a deep, dream-filled sleep. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.