“You are always so sensible, Esme. And I know that it is right; I know that that is what I must do. But it is so very difficult to make such an approach to Elliot for he is such a quiet man. I cannot help thinking that having spent so many years alone, he is much used to keeping his own counsel on so many issues. I am perpetually worried that if I persist, I am doing nothing more than taking his silence away, depriving him of it almost.”
“I have no doubt that that is a very distinct possibility for a man who has been alone for so long. But just because he is used to his silence and solitude does not mean that he enjoys it. It is a habit and very likely follows the path of most habits. Neither enjoyable nor breakable without assistance.”
“I wish I could feel your confidence, Esme,” Isabella said with a sigh.
“Do not be fooled by my confidence, my dear. After all, it is very easy to talk with confidence upon somebody else’s situation, is it not?” Esme gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“Oh, Esme, you do lighten my mood.”
“That is what friends are for, are they not?”
“I daresay it is, and I must tell you that I greatly look forward to the day when I can return the favour. For now, it seems that the tide flows only from you to me.”
“That is by necessity, Isabella, not design.” Esme picked up her tea again and sipped it, despite the fact that it had cooled considerably. “Forgive me for being so forward, Isabella, but there is something that I must say. Or ask; I am not sure which.”
“You may speak freely, Esme.” Isabella smiled at her friend reassuringly.
“You are now in love with your husband, are you not?”
“Yes, I truly believe that I am in love with Elliot.”
“And have you looked upon his face properly since we last spoke of it? Have you made it your business to do so?”
“I have tried, but Elliot is still so private on the matter. Even on that evening when we were so close, Elliot stood behind me. He is always behind me when we play music. And even when he came down to escort me out of the carriage to go to my mother’s funeral; he already had that hood of his in place. He did not wait until he got into the carriage but hid from me immediately. I cannot help thinking that it is me he hides from more than anybody.”
“I cannot see that is entirely true, although there may be some truth in it. You forget; I stood with your husband whilst you spoke to your father after the funeral service, and I saw what he suffered in those moments. Much apart from trying to give an ear to the conversation you were having with your father, the Duke had to deal with the stares and the whispers all around him. And the whispers became louder and louder as everybody grew in confidence. Safety in numbers, I suppose, and the fact that small mobs of people always seem to think as one.”
“Oh dear, did he really suffer so much? I did see some surreptitious glances throughout the ceremony and saw even more obvious ones just afterward. But I must admit, once I realized that my father wanted to speak to me, everything else became forgotten.”
“Well, he really did suffer, Isabella. He suffered in a way which made me furious, made me want to speak out loud and tell them off for their stupidity. For heaven’s sake, it’s just a scar. It is not a contagion, it is not a blight on the soul, it is not a description of the man beneath. It is just ruined skin, and nothing else. And they did not even see that much, did they? They saw only a hood covering it all. Would they be so excited at the sight of a hat, I wonder? Or a new pair of breeches?” Esme grinned.
“You make the world seem so very simple,” Isabella said sadly.
“Because I do believe that sometimes the world is as simple as you make it. Listen, we do not always have control over our destinies, especially as women. But when we do have the opportunity to accept things and to make things our own, we must take those opportunities. We must not sit and wonder how everything will go wrong when there is a chance that everything will go right. We must not dwell upon the look of a thing or the opinions of others when there is a life to be lived. And I believe that there is a life to be lived for you here at Coldwell Hall, a good life for both you and the Duke. Now, why on earth would the two of you not take an opportunity like that in both hands and run as fast as you can with it? Really, it makes no sense.” Esme laughed.
“I do so love you, Esme. You are so bossy, and yet I love you all the more for it.”
“Then you must do as I say and make the best of things. The more you make the best things, the more you realize that you already have the best of things. Does that make any sense at all?”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Chapter 29
“Are you not going to play?” Elliot’s voice behind her made Isabella turn suddenly on the piano stool.
She had been sitting there for almost an hour without moving, just looking down at the keys and wondering how she would best follow Esme’s advice.
It was another evening without Elliot’s presence, and she could see no reason to play any of the tunes she had come to love so dearly. It was not the same without him, and she knew it.
“I could not think of anything to play,” she said and knew that it was only partly the truth.
“Perhaps you could pay the Haydn again? I think it is one of my favourite pieces, but only when I hear you play it.” There was a quality to his voice that was almost sad, and its presence made her feel sad also.
“I will play it if you wish. Will you not join me? Do you not have your violin with you?”
“I do not have it with me,” he said plainly and began to walk into the room.
He crossed to the armchair he almost always sat in and perched in front of the fire. Night after night, Isabella had been careful to make no changes to the lighting in the room. Always she only had the fire lit and the candles of the candelabra which sat on top of her piano. She did not want to do anything which would put him off coming in to see her, to spend time with her.
Isabella had a feeling of foreboding, a feeling that things were not quite right. She felt sad and knew that he did too as if everything was somehow coming to an end. Quite why she felt that way, she did not know and hoped that it was nothing more than a vivid imagination born of days of silence.
With no idea of how to continue their conversation, Isabella could do nothing but play the piano. But she did not play to please him, nor anybody else. She did what he had always talked about and played for the sake of the music itself. She played for the enjoyment of the music, even if to do so made her feel so terribly sad.
And the result was quite miraculous. Isabella had not bothered to rise from the piano stool and lift its lid to find the correct piece of sheet music so that she might follow it. Instead, she closed her eyes and played by instinct. She had played the piece so many times, practiced it so very diligently that there was not a single part of the melody that she did not know by heart. And as for the keys, she felt her way, seeing nothing through her closed eyes but the orange glow of the dancing flames of the candles.
When she had finished, the room fell into silence. She peered across the room into the gloom and felt sure that she had seen Elliot raise a hand to his eye momentarily. Had he dashed away a tear without realizing that he was being watched? And if so, why?
“You liked the piece?” she said, finally breaking the silence.
“I do not think I have ever heard anything played so beautifully, Isabella.”
“You are too kind.”
“No, I am simply being truthful. If either one of us is kind, it is you.”
“Elliot, is something wrong? I cannot help thinking that I have done or said something that has somehow changed your opinion of me.”
“My opinion of you could not be higher, Isabella, and nothing could change it.”
“Not even a murderous streak running through my family? Running through my very veins, even?”
“I do not believe that you have been touched by a murderous streak, Isabella. And evil does not run through your v
eins. Not you of all people in this world.”
“But something has turned you against me, Elliot. I know it; I can feel it.”
“I am not turned against you, Isabella. I would never be turned against you.”
“Then things are as they always were, are they?”
“Insofar as my feelings for you, yes, things are as they always were.”
“Then there is something else, is there not?”
“My feelings towards myself are not as they were.”
“Then you no longer shroud yourself in guilt?”
“If you are talking about my family, perhaps I shall always shroud myself in guilt.”
“On this occasion, I was not talking about your family, forgive me. But once when we spoke, you told me that you felt guilty about the manner of our marrying. And I told you then, I told you most distinctly, that I did not think any the less of you for it now that I had come to know you. I would wish for nothing more than the ability to make you see. But it appears that I cannot, whatever I say, and whatever I do. You are quite determined to blame yourself, and yet you do not see that I have a better life now than ever I did.”
“A better life without your father in it?”
“Quite so.”
“Because he was a monster?”
“Yes, of course, he was a monster. I have now told you everything there is to tell of him, and surely you can see now that a monster is exactly what he always was.”
“So, anything would be an improvement on that, would it not?” he spoke a little sullenly.
“Goodness me, you think that I see you as nothing more than a vague improvement on a truly disastrous existence?” Isabella felt suddenly and inexplicably angry.
“Am I not?”
“You speak as if it must be either one thing or the other. You talk as if I am pleased only to be here because it is better than being with my father. But has it has not occurred to you that I am pleased to be here simply because I am pleased to be here? Is that not a possibility that also exists in a world where you seem to think there are only two choices?”
“I do not understand why it is that you always seek to excuse me. Why are you never angry about what happened to you? Why are you never distraught that your choices were taken away from you in the way that they were?”
“Because I cannot be distraught forever. I have already been distraught. I was deeply distraught at the time my choices were taken from me, and that is the truth. But I had no knowledge of what was in my future and, therefore, it was understandable that I would be distraught, was it not?”
“I daresay.”
“But as I say, I cannot continue to be distraught over something that no longer has any bearing in my world. I will not dwell on something and make it a part of the story of me because it is not. There is more to me as a human being than merely the girl who was sold away to the Duke who had become a myth in his own lifetime. I am not a set of circumstances; I am a person.”
“Yes, but a person who has a right to their own anger.
“And a person who also has a right to dismiss that anger when she no longer sees a use for it. I cannot dwell on things the way you do, Elliot. I cannot make the past my future, do you not see? If we all lived as you do, none of us would ever move forward. We would live only in the past, we would live it over and over, and we would never reconcile the feelings that came with it. The past is the past for a reason. If it were not so, the past would be called the present, would it not? Or even the future, perhaps?”
“You are being a little more argumentative than I had given you credit for,” Elliot said sharply.
“Well, I must always argue against irrationality when I see it.”
“You think it irrational of me to still have my feelings laid waste by the loss of my mother and sister?”
“You are now twisting my words to fit your own mood, Elliot.”
“Perhaps I am. Forgive me.” He turned to silently stare into the fire, the handsome side of his face clearly defined in the orange glow.
As he sat silently, clearly determined not to look back towards her, Isabella maintained the surveillance of him. She would not look away, nor would she give up. She did not know what mood had overtaken Elliot, nor the cause of it. Worse still, she did not know where that mood would take him; where it would all end.
“Elliot, what is all of this? What have I done?”
“As I said before, you have done nothing.”
“Then this is your own mood? Your own feeling?”
“Yes, feelings which will not be denied, I am afraid.”
“I do not understand.”
“Tell me, what did you used to do in the outside world?”
“That is a peculiar question,” she said quizzically.
“You must have done something. You must have played bridge and attended afternoon teas and evening buffets. You must have spent time in London, watched plays, enjoyed Christmas celebrations. Tell me.”
“Yes, I did many of those things. I used to play bridge every Thursday at the home of Lady Brockett. It was a very well attended affair week in week out.” Isabella smiled at the memory of it.
She had always enjoyed Thursday afternoon bridge in Lady Brockett’s home, always teaming up with Esme since they made such a formidable pair. And there was always fun and gossip to be had, albeit of the most benign variety.
“And what of evening events? What of the society you used to keep back then?” He seemed genuinely interested, and Isabella wondered if they were slowly walking back towards the right track again.
“There would be two or three events every week. As you say, evening buffets and afternoon teas. I daresay that I had a very vast array of society at my disposal, given that my father is the Earl of Upperton. My mother and I were invited all over the place,and we generally accepted invitations.”
“And did you make many invitations?”
“Oh yes, of course,” Isabella said and laughed lightly. “My mother was very fond of laying on afternoon tea. She was most lavish about it all, perhaps even showing off just a little. Still, my father was rarely in company with us at the time. He always seemed to be somewhere on the estate bellowing at somebody, a tenant farmer or servant. Anyway, the point is that he was always otherwise engaged, and so I suppose, when I think of it, our little afternoon events were always quite carefree. Or they were what passed for carefree at Upperton Hall.”
“It is hard to imagine that you ever had any joy in that house,” Elliot said suddenly.
“In truth, I had not remembered any of it until my mother’s passing. She was not a kind and loving woman towards me, and that is the truth. But there was a little sympathy between us, perhaps of humour and conversation. We seemed to work well together for our afternoon teas, and as I have said, it was something that I had forgotten until these last few days.”
“Perhaps the pain and injustice of it all mask the good at times.”
“Yes, I believe that is true. Just because I did not have what I truly wanted from my mother does not mean that I did not have anything good from her. I suppose there is a lesson in there for me, is there not?”
“I think you have been presented with far too many lessons for one lifetime, Isabella. You need not search for more of them; I am sure of it.”
“Perhaps we have both been presented with far too many lessons.”
“And what of London?” He seemed determined to continue, to find out more about her somehow.
“I have attended several events in the season but have never played out an entire season in London, if you will. I avoided it. I always gave my mother little hints and excuses for us not to attend it all.”
“Why was that?”
“Because the London season is designed for one thing and one thing only. It is a parade ground where young ladies are trotted out like show ponies to be looked over and finally chosen, or not chosen, as the case may be.”
“Yes, I believe it is renowned as a market for marriage
above all things.”
“You never went yourself?”
“My mother talked of it often, trying to edge me this way and that to find a bride.” He laughed warmly. “But she did not push too hard and, after my father passed, she was more concerned that I find a lady to love and like rather than a lady who was deemed suitable. She was no longer interested in any sort of strategic marriage because you see, she had not suffered such a thing herself. My father and mother were genuinely suited and had, in the end, actually chosen one another.”
Dukes to Fall in Love With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 23