“How could you? I have not told anyone.” He sighed. “Harriet, of course, was devastated. When I returned to school the following year, the boys teased me that I had been the cause of my parents’ death. When I returned to Camellia Estates, Harriet was even angrier with me. Of course, it is not fair to place all the blame on her, for I had already accepted the guilt for their deaths.” He turned to look at her. The pain was gone, replaced by something else. “Now, however, I am ready to let that go.”
“I am pleased for you,” Isabel said as she kissed his cheek. Then she looked at the beautiful painting. “Is that them in the carriage?”
“It is,” he replied. “I have accepted that I am not to blame for their deaths, and therefore, I have allowed them to go on to the next stage of their lives in peace.”
Isabel was overcome with emotion, but she swallowed the tears. He had moved on, and so should she.
“You told me when we argued,” Laurence continued, “that you could not make me happy. At first, I was hurt, for I did not know what you meant. However, now I understand.”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“My refusal to attend parties with you, thinking myself a lesser man. You could never heal those wounds. You helped and guided me, which was what I needed. Yet, in the end, I had to find my own peace.
“Yes. That is important.”
“I have found that, in forgiving myself and realizing that I am a man—a full man, one who is no longer ashamed to venture into town or to attend a party.” Isabel followed his gaze to the painting. “I Will not lie; I did not wish to do those things alone.”
“And the couple there?” Isabel asked, pointing to the images of the man and woman behind the carriage.
“They are the two of us. That is the man I have become, and that is the woman for whom I care deeply—the woman I love. I want her to know that, as I say goodbye to the past, I continue to desire a future with her.”
“What a beautiful sentiment,” Isabel whispered.
He took both her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “I will never ask anything of you that will make you unhappy,” he said. “I believe we have planted a seed and together we will grow it into something wonderful.”
Isabel could not stop the flow of tears, and she accepted the kerchief he gave her. “I have an answer to your request,” she said when she was able to speak again. “However, before I give it, I wish to show you my painting, for I believe it will also answer many of your questions, as well.”
With an exchange of smiles, they walked over to Isabel’s easel. “Your painting,” Laurence said as he stared at the canvas, and for a moment, Isabel thought he did not like it. “It was as I suspected. I knew it would be breathtaking. Is that Scarlett Hall?”
Isabel nodded. “It is.”
You have captured it perfectly. And the faces in the windows? Are those your sisters?”
“They are,” she replied. “And my brother, as well.”
She had indeed painted Scarlett Hall, including her siblings peering out the windows. A young girl stood at the front door, and in the drive stood a man and a woman.
“You asked me if I still loved Arthur,” she said as she turned to Laurence.
“I did. I feared you could not share your heart with two men. Although that thought hurt, I understand why you might still love him.”
“My answer to you that day was truthful,” she said. “I no longer love him. Nor had I loved him that day I learned of his death.”
***
The Barnet Home, eighteen months earlier.
Two years. That was how long it had been since Isabel had spoken her vows to love, honor, and obey the man she loved. Arthur Barnet had been the perfect gentleman, had been the man she had always dreamed of marrying, and he had won her heart and soul.
When they had met just before her eighteenth birthday at a party held in honor of a mutual friend, they had engaged in a lively conversation about Abraham Crowley’s poem The Change.
“How can you say that anything Crowley wrote was ‘metaphysical’?” Isabel demanded. “I find his writing expressive and eloquent. That is nowhere near metaphysical.”
Arthur laughed. “That is exactly what metaphysical entails. It is the idea that love is something other than a physical reaction of two people speaking to the reader at a spiritual level.”
They had spoken for hours, and when the London season began two months later, he was calling over to her parents’ townhome on Buckley Street on a regular basis. With each conversation, her admiration for him grew, and it was not long before he asked for her hand in marriage.
Although he was the younger brother of a titled man, and therefore not titled himself, he came from a family who had wealth, so her parents had readily agreed, and she and Arthur were married as soon as the season ended.
However, the vows she had spoken that day no longer meant anything to her two years later. The more she tried to deny it, the more her heart plagued her. The truth of the matter was, she no longer loved her husband.
Their first month together had been perfection. They had honeymooned on the coast for two weeks, and then he brought her to his home, the place that was to be her home, as well. It was not long after when the illusion of what she had imagined her life to be had begun to unravel.
It all began when Arthur began spending late nights with friends, oftentimes not returning home until just before sunrise. Isabel said nothing, of course, for it was her duty to obey her husband and, therefore, never question him. Yet, when he returned home from one of his late-night outings and crawled into bed beside her, the fragrance of a woman’s perfume overtook her senses, and she knew that he had been lying to her.
Initially, she had been hurt that he had been in the company of another woman, but the more she thought about the man to whom she had given her heart, she assured herself that Arthur loved her and would not do such a thing. Perhaps what she had smelled was not what she suspected. And, by the time he awoke late the following morning, the scent was gone. Yes, she had imagined it.
Yet, the late nights continued, and she spent hours fretting over where he was. That is, until she learned about his accounts.
As it turned out, Arthur did not hold as many properties and businesses as he claimed. It was the visit from the accountant that unwittingly apprised her of that fact, and within six months of their wedding, they were in debt, a debt so massive that she feared it could never be repaid.
Her lady’s maid had been dismissed first, followed by at least one servant each week until only the butler, the cook, and the housekeeper remained. When no more servants could be dismissed, all the properties were sold, leaving them with only the house in which they lived. At least they had that.
However, that was not enough. As their troubles grew, issues in their marriage increased.
“You have caused this,” he had screamed at her one night after the butler had been dismissed. “If I had not married you, I would have been better off! At least I could have married an heiress or someone with a decent dowry. I had several by the ear, you know. They all wanted to marry me, but I chose you, and look where that got me!” He pulled dresses from the wardrobe and threw them on the floor before her. “Go sleep in the guest room! I cannot stand the sight of you!”
She had gathered up her things as tears rolled down her face and did as he bade, moving into the guest room, where she remained for the rest of her marriage.
Isabel leaned against the window frame as she gazed down at her sisters in the garden. They would never understand, and she refused to burden them with her problems. She could only pray that they were luckier than she when they finally married.
Arthur had sent her away to Scarlett Hall. She was to remain a week with her family in order to allow him some time alone, or so he said. However, her joyous visit was interrupted by worries for her husband. His drinking had reached levels of near madness, and, although she was angry and hurt, she still loved him. Therefore, she decided
to return home two days earlier than planned. One way or another she would take care of her husband; had that not been what her vows had been about?
When she arrived home just before sunrise, however, she found him sleeping in the arms of another woman. Her cry had awakened him, and he cursed her for entering his room without permission. She had run to her room, slamming the door behind her, and thrown herself onto her bed to weep. Her heart was shattered, and yet she still refused to yield. He was her husband, and no hussy would take him from her!
The thoughts of a naive woman, she thought as she recalled the days that followed. She had entered his study in order to confront him about his infidelity, but he had sneered at her as soon as she entered.
“I told you before,” he had snapped, “my office is prohibited.”
“I am sorry,” Isabel whispered. “However, it is important that I speak to you.”
“And what could be so important that you interrupt me in the midst of saving our home?” He reached for the drink he had sitting on the desk and took a hefty gulp. “Well? Speak up. You are wasting my time.”
“The woman in your bed?” she said in a near whisper, for she was so filled with terror, she could barely speak. “I have decided to forgive you, and I hope…”
Arthur slammed his fist on the desk. “Her name is Collette,” he said with a glare, “and I do not need your forgiveness. It is my privilege to spend time with whomever I please.”
“Do you care for her?” Isabel asked, afraid of his reply.
“Does it matter?” he asked with a malevolent smile. He finished the remainder of his drink. “Now, is there anything else?”
Isabel almost replied no, there was not, but as she turned to leave, she stopped and looked at the man for whom she had given up her life. “I want you to know that I still love you. I believe we can survive this. I do not understand why you feel the need to seek the arms of another woman. Is it because you do not love me?”
It was the pause before he answered that hurt worse than the words that followed, for the man she saw at the desk was not the same man she had married. And even before he spoke, she realized that he never had.
“Love is a word for fools and poets,” he replied finally. “Your duty is to birth me children and to obey my every word. Now, leave me be.”
He returned to his work, and Isabel left the room. Despite his hateful words, she refused to allow their marriage to fall apart. Not when he came home drunk and kissed her in the night calling her by the name of another woman. Nor when he grew angry and took her by the shoulders and shook her. No, Isabel fought to love the man, to save him, until she came to a point when she stopped. The last six months of their marriage she had grown numb; she felt no joy, but she also felt no sadness, just a heaviness on her heart.
It was on that fateful day when she resigned herself to tell her husband that she no longer loved him. They both needed to be free of one another, for she could no longer endure another day living as she did. She would ask for a divorce, and then he and his harlots could drink themselves to an early death for all she cared. Although she wished the man no harm, she no longer cared what he did.
Voices from the hall had her turn toward the door. She smoothed her skirts, ready to present herself to her husband perhaps for the last time. However, as the door opened, it was not her drunken husband who entered, but her brother-in-law Connor.
“Isabel,” he said, hurrying to her side, “I have some horrible news.”
“Arthur,” she whispered.
“Yes, Arthur,” Connor said as he took her by the hand. “I am afraid he was found late last night. Apparently, he had fallen from his horse…”
Isabel did not listen to the rest of the explanation, for her head felt as if it were filled with cotton wool. When he pulled her into his arms, she wept, but they were not tears of losing a man she loved, but rather of what might have been.
***
By the end of her telling, Isabel had tears streaming down her cheeks, but her heart felt ten times lighter. “That same night after learning about his death, I returned to Scarlett Hall, hoping to find solitude within its walls—and within myself. As my despair deepened, I swore I would never love again.”
“I can understand why,” Laurence said as he handed her a clean kerchief. “You went through much.”
Isabel nodded. “Then my mother came to me with a request—to save the home I loved.”
“Your story explains why you were so distant when we married. I can only imagine what you thought our marriage would be like.”
“I was terrified, to be honest. In my mind, marriage was a trap and I the prey.”
Laurence gave her hand a squeeze. “I know you miss your family. If you remain here, you may go there as often as you wish. I will never stop you.”
“I appreciate you saying so,” Isabel replied. “However, this last time I ventured down those halls, I came to realize something; Scarlett Hall cannot take away my pain, for its walls hold many secrets, including mine. I will never reveal what happened when I was married to Arthur to anyone else, but because of you, I was able to put all my pain and hurt onto that canvas.”
“Tell me about your painting.”
Isabel turned to her work, which held all her fears and worries from the past three years. “That young girl at the door is me,” she explained, “as I once was. A girl who believed that her home was a place of magic that, once a person entered it, he or she would never be hurt again. However, if you were to listen to the secrets it holds, you will learn that the hurt stays with us.” She sighed with a shake to her head.
“And them?” Laurence asked, pointing to the pair at the top of the drive.
“That is us. And like your painting, I wish to say goodbye to the past. To say goodbye to the childish belief that my old home would keep me safe.”
Laurence pressed his lips to her fingers but made no comment, for which she was glad. If she stopped now, she would never be able to continue.
“I once vowed to keep my heart sealed, for to suffer heartbreak again was something I could not fathom. Who could survive such anguish in a single lifetime? However, as we spent time together and learned about one another, I also became afraid. What if what I was feeling for you was love? And if it was, would it not result in the same ending?”
“I could never hurt you,” Laurence said. “I know it may be difficult to believe, but I can assure you, I never will.”
“Yes, I know this now,” Isabel replied. “Over the past week, I have learned to open my heart again. I have learned to accept the feelings inside me, and I am no longer afraid of them. Oh, Laurence, I cannot keep it inside any longer. I love you, and I wish nothing more than to remain here with you at Camellia Estates.”
She fell into his embrace, crying tears she had built up for the past year and a half. And Laurence said nothing, only whispering terms of endearment until she pulled away.
“I am sorry,” she whispered with a light laugh. “I am afraid I am a blubbering mess.”
He pushed back stray hairs that tickled her face. “You have no need to apologize. And you are no blubbering mess. This is our new beginning, and tears are just the cleansing of the soul.”
She smiled and then pointed to a streak of sunlight that highlighted the couple in her painting. “Those rays of sunlight? They are the whispers of light that represent the new beginning we will have, for I see nothing but brightness in our days ahead.”
He pulled her to him once again. “I love you, Isabel Redbrook,” he whispered. “It was you who showed such strength that made me look inside myself to find mine.”
When the embrace broke, Isabel looked into the eyes of her husband, the man she loved. And for the first time, they kissed, and it was beautiful and passionate. She did not compare what she felt to what she had once had for another, for that was long gone. In its place was something far different, something much more real.
When the kiss ended, Isabel smiled with joy, for she
realized that many more would follow, and like the life ahead of them, if their steps were like each stroke of the brush that came from the heart, the possibilities of their life together were endless.
When he lifted her chin and looked down at her, she felt as if all the bones in her body had turned to mush. “I believe we have the most wonderful of futures ahead of us,” he said before he kissed her again—thoroughly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The ballroom had been cleared of all their painting supplies and was now filled with people Isabel and Laurence had invited to their first party. One reason for this gathering was a celebration of the upcoming season, which they planned to attend, of course. However, the main motivation for throwing this party was to celebrate their love for one another. It had been a month since Isabel had completed her painting and confessed her love for Laurence, and with each day, that love grew, reaching new heights she had never known.
Now, looking around at her guests, she was pleased to see they all wore smiles, just as she did. Her gaze landed on her husband, a man who had doubted himself but now held no resemblance to that hermit he once was. For now, he stood in the center of a group of men, his voice filled with confidence. He no longer cared what others thought of him, for which Isabel was glad.
They had visited various shops together numerous times since the reveal of their paintings, often to simply walk amongst the people. Laurence had become a new man, and Isabel a new woman. All the hurt she had endured was now gone, not just buried away inside her but truly gone, left on a canvas now put away, never again to see the light of day.
“Why is the most beautiful woman at this party hiding away?”
Isabel turned to find her mother standing behind her and laughed. “I am uncertain,” she replied. “Would she not rather speak to her daughters?”
“Oh, you,” her mother replied, although her cheeks reddened from the compliment. They both turned to watch Isabel’s sisters. Hannah and Juliet stood beside Annabel by the refreshment table, their heads together.
Secrets of Scarlett Hall Box Set: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection Page 21