Chapter 33 - A Father's Treachery Unveiled

Hours passed in tense silence. I remained by the window, watching darkness settle over the grounds, while Clara Meadows sat in a chair, fidgeting with her apron. The once-reassuring lock on my door now seemed flimsy protection against whatever my family was planning.

"Your Grace?" Clara Meadows's voice broke the silence. "Perhaps we should step outside for a moment? The air in here has grown stale."

I shook my head firmly. "We stay here until morning. The Duke will arrive soon after dawn."

Clara Meadows sighed, rising to pace the small confines of my bedroom. "I understand your caution, but I've been in this room all day. Perhaps I could fetch us some dinner? The household will be eating soon, and no one would question my presence in the kitchen."

I considered her request. My stomach had been growling for the past hour, and our small stash of bread and cheese was nearly gone.

"I'm accustomed to confinement," I said quietly. "This room has been my prison for years. But I understand this is difficult for you."

Clara Meadows stopped pacing, her expression softening. "How did you bear it all these years?"

I touched my mask reflexively. "When you have no choice, you learn to endure."

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded. "Very well. You may go fetch dinner, but return immediately. And be careful."

"I'll be quick as a shadow, Your Grace," she promised, her relief evident as I unlocked the door.

The moment she slipped out, I locked it again, pressing my ear against the wood to listen for any suspicious movements in the hallway. All seemed quiet.

I returned to the window, studying the darkening road that led to Thorne Manor. "Just a few more hours," I whispered to myself. "Then I'll be free of this place forever."

Twenty minutes passed with no sign of Clara Meadows. Unease crept along my spine. Had she been intercepted? Questioned?

A sudden knock at my door made me jump.

"Isabella?" My father's voice came through the door, unnaturally pleasant. "Are you awake, daughter?"

I froze, saying nothing.

"Isabella, the family is waiting for you at dinner. It's your last night with us—surely you'll join us for a final meal?"

His tone was wrong—too solicitous, too kind. In all my years, Baron Reginald had never personally invited me to dinner.

"I'm not feeling well, Father," I called back, keeping my voice steady. "I'll stay here tonight."

A pause. "Nonsense. I insist you join us. Clara and your mother are expecting you."

The doorknob rattled. My heart pounded against my ribs.

"Father, I'd prefer to rest. Tomorrow is an important day."

"Yes," he said, his voice hardening slightly. "About tomorrow. There's been a change of plans we need to discuss."

Cold fear washed over me. "What change? I'm marrying Duke Alaric tomorrow."

"Open this door, Isabella. Now."

I backed away, scanning the room frantically. Where was Clara Meadows? Had she betrayed me?

The doorknob twisted more violently. "Isabella!" My father's pretense of kindness vanished. "You will open this door immediately!"

"What change of plans?" I demanded, stalling.

"You cannot marry the Duke," he snarled through the door. "I've found another match for you—a more suitable arrangement."

Lord Malachi Ravenscroft. It had to be him. The realization hit me like ice water.

The door shuddered as my father slammed his shoulder against it. "Open this door or I'll break it down!"

I rushed to my bed, yanking off the sheets and blankets. By the time Clara Meadows slipped back into the room through a servants' entrance I'd forgotten existed, I was already tying the bedsheets together.

"Your Grace!" she gasped. "What's happening?"

"My father means to stop the wedding," I explained rapidly, knotting the makeshift rope. "He's trying to break down the door. We need to escape—now."

Clara Meadows paled but quickly helped me tie the sheets to the heavy oak table near the window. Together, we pushed it against the wall.

"ISABELLA!" My father roared, the door splintering under his assault.

"Lower me down," I ordered, throwing the sheet-rope out the window. "Then follow."

I climbed onto the windowsill, gripping the sheets tightly. The ground looked impossibly far below.

"Hurry!" Clara Meadows urged as the door gave another crack.

I began my descent, the sheets rough against my palms as I lowered myself hand over hand. The night air was cool against my face, and for a moment, I felt a surge of triumph—I was escaping, I was going to be free.

With a final splintering crash, the door gave way. Clara Meadows screamed.

"Stop her!" I heard my father bellow.

I looked up to see Clara Meadows's terrified face at the window, my father's looming shadow behind her. Her hands, still holding the sheet, trembled violently.

"Don't let go!" I pleaded.

But fear had taken hold of her. With my father reaching for her, Clara Meadows released the sheets.

I plummeted, the sudden slack sending me into freefall. By some miracle, I managed to grip the rough fabric again, slowing my descent but burning my hands raw. The ground was still six feet below when I lost my grip entirely.

I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my ankle as I crumpled into a heap beneath my window. Looking up, I met Clara Meadows's horrified gaze as my father yanked her away.

"Jasper!" my father bellowed from the window. "She's in the garden! Stop her!"

I struggled to my feet, ignoring the throbbing in my ankle. The garden gate was just yards away—if I could reach it, I might have a chance of following the road to Thorne Manor.

Heavy footsteps rounded the corner of the house. Jasper, my father's brutish servant, appeared with a lantern held high.

"There she is!" he shouted, pointing directly at me.

I turned and ran, limping badly but driven by pure terror. The garden path stretched before me, moonlight illuminating the way to the gate.

"Stop her!" My father's voice echoed from the house. "Don't let her reach the road!"

I pushed myself harder, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The gate was just ahead—freedom just beyond it.

Something caught my skirt, yanking me backward. A branch had snagged the fabric. I tugged frantically, hearing Jasper's heavy breathing as he closed in.

With a desperate wrench, I tore free, but the sudden movement sent me careening into a low-hanging branch. Pain exploded through my arm as the sharp wood sliced into my skin.

I stumbled forward, barely keeping my balance. The impact had knocked my mask askew. With horror, I felt it slip entirely, falling to the ground with a soft thud.

Barefoot, unmasked, and bleeding, I finally reached the gate. My fingers fumbled with the latch, slippery with blood. Behind me, Jasper's footsteps grew louder, his breathing closer.

The latch gave way. I pushed through the gate and onto the road beyond, my scarred face exposed to the night air for the first time in years.

Fear consumed me as I began to run, my ankle screaming in protest. Behind me, I heard the gate slam open as Jasper pursued. Ahead lay only darkness, the long road to Thorne Manor barely visible in the moonlight.

I ran anyway, tears streaming down my exposed face, one thought driving me forward: Alaric would come for me. He had promised. But would he find me in time, or would my father's men drag me back to face whatever fate awaited me with Lord Ravenscroft?

The sound of hoofbeats in the distance gave me a flicker of hope—until I realized they were coming from the wrong direction.