Chapter 247

Isabel stared at her.

She remembered the first time Mrs. Sinclair had invited her to lunch without her father present. She remembered the older woman asking about her education, her interests, and her plans for the future.

At the time, Isabel had thought it meant something.

Perhaps it had.

Perhaps Mrs. Sinclair had liked her well enough.

"Surely you don’t expect me to repay my father’s debt," she said.

Mrs. Sinclair’s gaze remained steady. "I expect your father to repay his debt."

"Then why are we discussing it?"

"Because your father has not done so."

"I’m not responsible for his business."

"No. You aren’t."

The answer came so quickly that Isabel almost felt relieved.

Then Mrs. Sinclair continued.

"But you are responsible for your own decisions. You have spent the better part of a year accepting the benefits of an arrangement that depended on your marriage to my son."

Isabel’s face burned.

"I didn’t force Christian to agree to the engagement."

"No. You merely agreed to it."

"What was I supposed to do? Refuse?"

"If you had wanted to."

Isabel stared at her. It was such a cruelly simple answer.

As if refusing an engagement arranged by two powerful families were no more complicated than declining a dinner invitation.

As if her father’s business, her family’s reputation, and every expectation placed on her could have been discarded without consequence.

"You knew what this marriage meant to my father," Isabel said. "You knew how much it mattered to him."

"And you knew what it meant to me."

"Then you should understand why I agreed."

"I understand perfectly."

Mrs. Sinclair rose from her chair and walked toward the window.

Beyond the glass, the estate’s gardens stretched into the distance, their hedges trimmed with almost mathematical precision. A groundskeeper moved along a path, carrying a basket of tools.

Everything outside looked exactly as it had the day before.

Yet Christian was no longer part of it.

"Do you know what your father said to me the last time we spoke?" Mrs. Sinclair asked.

Isabel shook her head.

"He assured me that the marriage would strengthen our relationship. He told me that once you and Christian were married, we would be able to resolve any remaining difficulties between our families."

Mrs. Sinclair turned from the window. "Your father was very confident about a marriage that was never his to promise."

Isabel’s eyes stung. "He thought Christian would come around."

"Did you?"

She whispered, "Yes."

For the first time, Mrs. Sinclair’s expression shifted. Her eyes hardened. "Then you were both foolish."

Isabel looked away.

Mrs. Sinclair returned to her desk. "I want the outstanding balance settled."

Isabel forced herself to look up. "Then speak to my father."

"I intend to." She nodded thoughtfully. "However, until he pays what he owes, I will be making certain arrangements."

"What arrangements?"

Mrs. Sinclair opened a drawer and removed a single sheet of paper.

She placed it on the desk.

"Your father has been informed that his credit arrangements with me are no longer being extended. He has also been informed that the debt is due according to the revised terms of our agreement."

Isabel stared at the page.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Your father used your future marriage as part of his assurances. He presented the union as a certainty and relied on it when negotiating with me."

"That was his decision."

"Indeed."

"Then he should be the one dealing with the consequences."

"He will." Mrs. Sinclair folded her hands. "But you will remain here."

Isabel frowned. "Here?"

"At the estate."

"Why?"

"Because I have no intention of allowing you to disappear into a hotel or return to your father’s house while he continues to evade his obligations."

Isabel let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You can’t keep me here."

"Of course I can’t."

The answer was so calm that Isabel briefly wondered whether she had misunderstood.

Mrs. Sinclair continued.

"You are free to leave the estate whenever you wish. You are also free to return to your father, if you prefer. But if you remain here, you will do so under my terms."

"And what terms are those?"

Mrs. Sinclair slid a second document across the desk.

Isabel did not touch it.

"You will assist the household staff with their duties. Your accommodation and meals will be provided, and the value of those provisions will be recorded against the debt your father owes me. Any additional work you perform will be documented and credited accordingly."

Isabel stared at her.

Mrs. Sinclair’s expression remained unchanged.

Isabel pushed the document away. "You cannot be serious." She refused siftly.

"I rarely make jokes about money."

"You want me to work here?"

"Yes."

"As what?"

Mrs. Sinclair looked at her as though the answer should have been obvious. "A maid."

The room fell silent.

Isabel felt the blood drain from her face.

She had spent years learning how to move through rooms like this one. She knew how to sit with her back straight, how to speak without appearing desperate, and how to make people believe that she belonged among them.

She had imagined herself walking down the aisle in a designer gown, marrying into one of the most powerful families in the country.

Now Mrs. Sinclair was telling her that she would be carrying trays through the same corridors where she had once been welcomed as a future daughter-in-law.

"You can’t humiliate me like this," Isabel whispered.

Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes were merciless.

"You seem to believe humiliation is something I have brought into your life. I assure you, Isabel, I did not arrange Christian’s press conference. I did not ask him to abandon his inheritance. I did not tell your father to borrow money he could not repay."

"I didn’t do any of those things either. Why am I being punished?" Isabel’s voice broke.

She hated herself for it.

Mrs. Sinclair watched her without softening.

"You are not being punished for Christian’s decision. You are being made to confront the consequences of your father’s."

"Then send me home."

"To a man who cannot repay what he owes me?"

"He’s my father!"

"And I am a woman who is owed a considerable sum of money."

Isabel rose so quickly that her chair scraped against the floor.

"You said you wanted me in this family."

"I wanted you to marry my son."

The distinction struck harder than any insult.

Mrs. Sinclair did not look away.

"I believed the marriage would be beneficial to both families. I believed your father would honour his commitments. I believed Christian would eventually accept the responsibilities that came with his name."

Her lips pressed together.

"I was wrong about all three."

Isabel’s tears spilled over. She wiped them away furiously. "You’re doing this because Christian left."

"No." Mrs. Sinclair’s voice remained perfectly level.

Isabel looked at the document on the desk.

The paper was ordinary, with a few lines of printed text, and a space for a signature.