She took the stairs slower than she needed to, savoring the last few minutes of her time here. If things went as planned, she'd be back in the year 2012, almost instantly. Izzy shrugged and realized she didn't have a plan that went farther than that for getting home.
There'd never been any sign of her purse or its contents after it had fallen on the floor right after Charles found her in the closet. Had one of the maids disposed of it? With no money or passport, she'd somehow need to contact one of her co-workers to wire her some money for a plane ticket home. But that was the least of her worries right now. Just getting back to her time with her heart intact was going to be a major endeavor.
****
A knock sounded on Charles' study door.
"Yes, come in." What did his pestering uncle want now? Hadn't the man caused enough trouble? Charles reached over and rubbed Henrietta's ears, glad to have the cat's company. Before Isabella, it never would have occurred to him to take pleasure in a pet.
The door squeaked as it opened, reminding Charles of the door to Isabella's bedroom. His heart squeezed tight, threatening to stop altogether. How long would it take for him to not think of her every minute? She'd left last night, but Charles hadn't had the heart to watch her step into the closet. There was only so much a man could take.
He glanced down at the figures he'd calculated. With Isabella no longer here to occupy his time, he needed to get back to his work. He was behind in caring for tenants who lived on the estate. What was taking Sebastian so long? Henrietta meowed and jumped from the desktop, trotting toward the doorway.
As he darted a glance at the now-open door, Charles widened his eyes. It could not be! Isabella? He jumped from his chair too quickly, causing it to topple over. Charles ran across the room, stopping just short of the woman he loved. Wait. She'd said she was leaving, that it was best for both of them. She'd broken his heart. Why was she still here?
He crossed his arms over his chest, regretting making such a hasty dash across the room. "Isabella. Why are you here?"
She glanced down at Henrietta who purred and wound around her boots. Isabella bent over to pet the cat and then straightened. Something glistened in her eyes. Tears? "Charles, I…" She pulled her shoulders up in a shrug.
"I asked why you are here? You made it quite clear your dream was elsewhere." Unless… What if she'd tried the closet and it hadn't worked this time? Waiting for her to answer was excruciating. He wanted so badly to ask if she'd tried and failed, but couldn't seem to form the words.
"I was wrong."
"What?" Had his ears deceived him? He blinked. "You were—"
"Wrong. Please, please forgive me."
"I—"
"Last night I walked downstairs to the closet. I stood in front of the door. I even reached out my hand. Charles, I only went to the closet last night because you said I needed to go. But I couldn't do it. The thought of leaving you tore me apart. I… I honestly felt like I would die if I left." She glanced away from him. "If you don't want me to stay here, I understand. I'll figure something out, a place to live and work. You offered me the gift of true love and happiness and I refused it."
"Oh Isabella."
"Please, Charles. I was a fool. It took me way too long to realize how wrong I was for thinking going back to America and being independent would make me happy. Trying to please a father who never loved me and never will was a waste of my time and heart."
She pressed one hand tentatively to Charles' chest. All of the tension he'd felt since she announced she was leaving poured from his body. Was it true? She was staying? "Isabella, you didn't even try to get into the closet?"
She shook her head. "No. I just couldn't do it." Isabella took a step closer. "I was wrong. You are my dream."
He pulled her to him so tightly he feared he might crush her. Loosening his hold slightly, he pulled back to see her face. "You don't know how badly I needed to hear that. You've made me the happiest man who will ever live. I love you, Isabella."
"And I love you." She pressed close again. "Charles, it's my time for a duke."
As he leaned down for a kiss, he smiled. "And my time for a duchess."
About the Author
Ruth J. Hartman spends her days cleaning teeth, and her nights spinning sweet romantic tales that make you giggle, laugh, and all-out guffaw. She, her husband, and their two cats, love to spend time curled up in their recliners watching old Cary Grant movies. Well, the cats, Maxwell and Roxy, sit in the people's recliners. Not that the cats couldn't get their own furniture. They just choose to shed on someone else's. You know how selfish those little furry creatures can be.
Ruth, a left-handed, tooth-scraping, Jeep driving, farmhouse-dwelling romance writer uses her goofy sense of humor as she writes tales of lovable, klutzy women and the men who adore them. Ruth's husband and best friend, Garry, reads her manuscripts, rolls his eyes at her weird story ideas, and loves her in spite of her penchant for insisting all of her books have at least one cat in them. Or twelve. But hey, who's counting?
Also by Ruth J. Hartman:
Chapter One