He let out a short breath, eyes never leaving her. ‘Tomorrow.’

She was grateful that he let the subject go. ‘What was it like? Riding through the region, I mean?’

‘Empty.’

She had been expecting that answer, but it still made her chest ache. ‘It was such a vibrant place once upon a time. I adored growing up there.’

‘Where did you live?’

‘Llanelieu.’

He nodded. ‘Not much there now.’

She studied him. ‘These camps. Will they help?’

‘Apparently.’ His tone suggested otherwise.

‘I had hoped to come along, maybe visit my old home—or what is left of it. But His Lordship was not keen on that idea.’

‘As much as it pains me to agree with that man, he’s right.’

She studied him a moment. ‘I gather you are not a fan of my future husband, defender?’

Nothing changed on his face. ‘I think he’s fan enough for all of us.’

Isabel did not smile, but she wanted to.

A bullfinch landed on an embrasure a few feet away, drawing their attention.

‘Is this Margery?’ Blackmane asked.

Isabel suppressed a smile as she looked back at him. ‘No. Margery is a tad bigger.’ She pinched her fingers together.

Commander Tatum stepped out of the turret behind Blackmane, looking between them before saying, ‘Lord Hodge wants to see us.’

Blackmane gave him a casual salute before turning his attention back to Isabel. ‘I strongly suggest you go back inside.’

‘People have been strongly suggesting that for the past five years. What makes you think I will start listening now?’

They watched each other for the longest time.

‘Stay off the embrasures,’ he said before turning away.

She watched him until he disappeared into the turret, then turned her attention to the sky.

‘I really do not feel like socialising, Mother. Can you not tell His Lordship that I am unwell?’ The thought of sitting at Hodge’s side for the evening had her imagining all kinds of symptoms.

Gwenore held up a pastel blue dress with drop sleeves, studying it like one did a painting before laying it on the bed. ‘His Lordship is leaving tomorrow. He will want to spend as much time with you as possible before he departs. Is it too much to ask that you eat dinner with the man so he can remember your lovely face while he is away?’

Isabel rolled her eyes.

‘I saw that.’ Her mother stepped up to unbutton her dress, then tugged it down to Isabel’s waist. Gwenore stilled when she saw the bruises enclosing her daughter’s wrists.

Isabel’s first instinct was to move her hands behind her back, but a part of her wanted her mother to see the marks, to ask her about them. At the very least acknowledge them. Instead, Gwenore averted her eyes and went to fetch the gown from the bed.

Isabel’s chest pinched.

What else had she expected? Questions would lead to answers, and answers would force her mother to admit that Hodge was not the man everyone needed him to be. On went the dress, buttoned to the neck. Her lips were painted, hair pinned back, and jewellery selected according to Lord Hodge’s tastes.