“Mary. I hadn’t expected to see you.” She pulled me into a tight hug, then pushed me away as abruptly. Her gaze trailed again from the top of my head down to my ballet flats. “What are you wearing? You look dreadful . . . Did you just arrive?” She waved her question away. “Tell me later. Now we can ride.” She looked around as if searching for someone. “Grant, who is the groom here, said he would take me riding. And while that’s not inappropriate, I wouldn’t want to start talk. But now that you’re here . . .”
She pulled my hand and stepped toward the stables. “I thought we’d ride to town, but he says we cannot. It’s no matter. This estate covers over thirty acres. Come on . . . I can accept his invitation for us both.” Isabel spun back and drew me close, whisper-distance apart. “He’s very kind, a perfect gentleman, and so handsome, but he’s only a few years older than we are. Not like home.”
“Home? Texas home or an imaginary home? Are we in character?” Something about her tone kept me quiet, calm, as if trying not to spook her. “Because also, I don’t ride. You know that.” I watched her, waiting for a crack in the charade.
I expected a half-knowing smile or a flash of annoyance; instead she clutched my hand.
“How is that possible? You’ll love it. You simply can’t have tried it and . . .” She stepped back to the horse and held his long head between both hands, lowering it to look in his eyes. “You aren’t scary, are you, Tennyson? Tell her you’re the dearest thing in the whole world.” She reached for me again. “Pat him. He’s sweet. You will love riding.” She let Tennyson’s head go, then grabbed his bridle with one hand and my hand with the other. She pulled us both toward the stable’s open door.
I glanced back to Gertrude, then I tugged at Isabel and dropped my voice to a whisper. “This isn’t funny. Can you stop for a sec and talk to me?”
Her eyes went wide with confusion, almost a look of panic.
“Isabel?”
“Why . . . What?” Her voice wobbled. I felt a shadow draw near and twisted toward it. A man emerged behind her. His presence startled me, but pleased her. “Here is Grant. If you hurry and change, we can set off.”
“Stop it, Isabel. I’m not riding with you.” Fear cracked my voice. “Give me a second to catch up. We don’t need to be all Regency for two weeks straight. Please don’t take it that far; it won’t be any fun.”
She shook her head. Black curls bounced about her face. “Why are you yelling? I only wanted you to join me. I was trying to do something nice and fun and—” She took off, running up the path.
I started to follow when a firm hand clamped down on my arm. I looked from the hand to the man. He was tall, made taller by his rigid stance. Clean-shaven, short hair. Military short. He wore a khaki shirt that matched his hazel eyes. He held me so close I could see flecks of gold in them. I tried to step away.
“I’m sorry I startled you, but may I talk to you?” He nodded up the path. “She won’t go far.”
“I need to go talk to her.” I looked to my arm. He still held it within his hand. “Who are you?”
“Grant Chessman.” His focus was not on me, but above my head. I followed his line of sight to Isabel’s retreat. Gertrude followed at a fast walk. “Your friend is hurt.”
“She’s playing some weird game. I just need to talk to her.”
The memory solidified.
“Didn’t you see her eyes? She’s not playing at anything.” Grant dropped his hand the exact moment I stopped struggling. “Serve in combat and you learn who’s afraid, who’s faking, who’s lying. Work with animals and you see the same emotions. Some will deny the pain and fear, some will push it down, and some will run.” He tilted his head back to where Isabel had disappeared. “Miss Dwyer has run to safety. Please be careful with her.”
He hadn’t meant up the path and to the house—but that’s where I needed to go. I took off before he could say more and caught up to Gertrude on the path. She gestured to Isabel in front of us, and I raced on. Upon reaching her, I stretched out to grab her arm, then stopped before contact. We needed privacy. She stiffened as I matched her stride, but would not look at me. So side by side and in silence, we walked around to the house’s front door and proceeded straight up the stairs to our room.
She opened the door and flung herself on her bed. I shut it and leaned against it, watching her. “Can you tell me what’s going on? You have Gertrude worried. Me too now.”
“Why would she worry about me? I have barely spoken to the woman. And why should you worry?” Isabel sat up. “Did you have to be so dreadful? I just wanted to go for a ride, and you embarrassed me in front of Grant. We’re here to have a lovely time and enjoy ourselves. This will be the last party of the season and then we’ll be back home where it is dark and cold and I . . . Can’t we enjoy ourselves?”
“Texas is never dark or cold.”
Isabel’s face fell and paled. She took a deep breath and seemed at a loss for how to reply.
I held up a hand to stop her. “You’re right. We are here to enjoy ourselves.” I pointed to my wardrobe. “Will you please choose a dress for me? I’ll be right back.” I palmed my phone and headed into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me.
Dad answered on the second ring. “Hey, dar—”
“I’m sorry I woke you, but do you remember that spring break when Isabel’s dad didn’t come home and she stayed with us?”
I heard a scratching noise. I envisioned him rubbing his face to wake up. “How could I forget? What’s going on?”
“She’s like that again. She’s doing that pretending or dissociative thing the doctor talked about. This is beyond role play, Dad. It’s like she really believes we’re at a Regency house party.”
“What happened?” Dad’s voice was strong and clear. He was sitting up now.
“Everything was fine yesterday. She was so excited . . . Well, she got a little upset because her dad set up all these interviews and—” My breath caught. “He got married yesterday. Her dad married some young girlfriend and sent Isabel a horrid e-mail. It was cruel, Dad. I couldn’t believe he wrote it, but she assured me it was real.”
“She should have been taken from that man years ago.”
Dad always contended that Malcolm Dwyer wasn’t just indifferent to his daughter, his neglect was abusive. One spring break Malcolm had approved his nanny’s request for vacation but then had not returned home to Isabel. She came home from school to a locked house, broke in through a window, and we only found her three days later when I went to empty her mailbox and pick up the newspapers in the driveway. She recognized me, but neither of my parents. Dad, because he was listed as the school’s emergency and medical contact, was able to take her to the doctor. He never told me the full extent of what was said, but the result was we brought Isabel home to our house.
“What do I do now?”
“Back then, Dr. Milton said rest and safety. It took a few days, but she was fine. Does she know you?”
“It took a second, but she does.”
“That happened last time too. She recognized you almost immediately. It took her almost a day for your mom and me, then after three days she was fine.”
“Do I need to take her somewhere? A doctor? Or I wonder if we should hop a flight home. But you should see her with the horses—she’s confused, but she was happy. Before I upset her, that’s what struck me. Remember how happy she was that week? It’s like her protective coating is gone again.”
“Then she feels safe there. Don’t take her anywhere and don’t upset her. Let me call Dr. Milton and I’ll get back to you. Do what we did before—stay close and reassure her.”
“Do I need to call her father?”
“You can. He didn’t come fifteen years ago; I doubt he’ll do different now. I’d throttle that man if I could.”
Dad’s conviction soothed my fear. “Call me back?”
“Of course, Peanut. You can do this.”
I nodded as if he could see me.
&n
bsp; “I’ll call as soon as I reach Dr. Milton. Text or call if you need me.”
“I will. Thanks, Dad.”
I tapped off the phone and exited the bathroom. Isabel stood next to my bed holding up a plum-colored dress. She was grinning.
“This one.”
Chapter 13
Isabel was Emma. Lady Bountiful at her best. And maybe I was Catherine from Northanger Abbey as I’d insisted the day before—naïve and completely out of my element.
Within an hour Isabel had me dressed and my hair pulled up in a matching fashion—a high bun with tendrils framing my face. It looked better on a head full of curls rather than one with straight brown hair, but I had to admit it was soft and pretty. And some deep place within me got a kick out of the transformation.
“Are we ready?” I heard my nerves coming to the surface.
“Not yet.” She pulled a black ribbon from another dress and tucked it into my hair. “You look beautiful.”
Her compliment surprised me. It wasn’t the words so much as the delivery. Gone were all the sharp edges. In their place, I found glee—there wasn’t another word. It was bubbly anticipation—it was glee.
“Thank you.”
Isabel clapped her hands together. “I am so glad you are here. What shall we do now?”
Isabel rarely asked me what to do or where to go. Isabel led.
“Didn’t you want to go riding?” I thought back to spring break fifteen years ago. We watched her favorite movies, played her favorite games, ate her favorite foods. And she came back.
“You said you don’t ride.”
“But you love it. You’ve been riding for about twenty years and, honestly, you’re happiest on a horse. Riding is better than Austen for you.”
“Austen?”
I felt my lips part and pressed them shut. They made a soft guppy noise. “Never mind. We can talk about her later.” I opened the door and waved Isabel through.
We walked together down the path, but she skipped ahead at the last bend when the horses came into view. “Tennyson, you’re still here.” She called back to me. “Come meet Tennyson now. I’ll ride him, and Grant said he would saddle another horse named Lady Grey for you. He said she is very gentle. He is going to ride Lord Byron. I hope he’s here and we haven’t missed him.”
Isabel walked inside. “Grant? We’ve come back. May we ride?” No one was there.
She walked back to me and stepped close. “I had so wanted to do this. There are few things I feel I can do, really do, to be on my own.”
“We could go for a walk. We could . . .” I tried to think of the things Austen ladies did. They walked, painted, drew, drank tea, visited the poor, flirted with officers . . .
I noted movement and turned.
“Hello again.” A deep voice reached us before the man emerged from shadow. It was the same man who’d held my arm, rigid and stiff. Yet it wasn’t at all. Grant’s stance was relaxed, his smile broad. The sharp lines of his face seemed soft and inviting. He looked at Isabel. “How are you?”
Isabel blushed.
Grant faced me. “When Miss Dwyer was here earlier, I assured her she didn’t need a chaperone, if you’d rather not ride.”
Still the color of roses and cream, Isabel drew me close. “That’s not possible, Mary.”
“I’ll ride, but I haven’t before. I’ve never even been on a horse.”
He held up a finger for us to wait, then disappeared into the stables.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Isabel whispered.
“Very,” I agreed.
Grant reemerged, walking a large gray horse. “This is Lady Grey. Clara has just finished a ride with her.” He looked to Isabel. “Are you planning to ride sidesaddle?”
“Of course.”
I almost laughed at the shock-tinged horror that skittered across her expression and its implications for me.
“Not me?” I ventured. “I think I’ve read it’s dangerous.”
“You’ll be fine.” Grant handed us both riding helmets.
He helped Isabel fasten hers under her chin. I struggled with mine and clicked the fastener just as he turned to assist me. Amused was the best way to describe his eyes. He then held his hand out to me and led me to a small flight of stairs. Lady Grey stood next to them.
“It can be challenging, but I modified the saddle, and Clara was perfectly at ease this morning.”
“Clara has been taking riding lessons,” I reminded him.
“Clara is eight years old,” Grant reminded me.
“Good point.”
He positioned me in the saddle.
“I’m just supposed to balance here?”
“I’ve lengthened this pommel and added one here for greater support.” He swung my right leg over and around the second pommel. “As I said, Lady Grey is gentle and knows what she’s doing. I trust her. But . . .” He paused until my eyes met his. “If you must fall, fall this way.” He patted my dangling shins and smiled without any humor.
“Got it. Fall toward my feet. Not my head.”
He lifted Isabel to her saddle without any instructions, but then again, Isabel had been riding horses for years.
As we ambled out of the pen, I called to Grant. “You made these changes yourself?”
“Ladies love riding sidesaddle on these vacations, but few have ever done it before. I spent some downtime on my last deployment working out improvements. It helps my grandfather.” He twisted in the saddle. “Then when Gertrude mentioned a young girl was coming, I felt we needed more safety measures.”
“I’ll be sure to thank Clara.”
Grant’s chuckle was deep and genuine. Isabel darted her eyes between us.
After a few moments of awkward silence, I spoke again. “Did you say your grandfather lives here?”
“Yes, and he’s lived here his whole life. I used to come here for summer vacation as a kid. My grandfather—you’ll meet him somewhere on the grounds—has been head gardener here for over fifty years.” He twisted the other way to address Isabel. “You said you were interested in the gardens. If you want to learn about them, you need to talk to him. I’ll introduce you later.”
She said nothing in reply but gave an almost shy-looking nod.
Grant turned back to me. “I’m staying with him while on leave.”
“Oh . . .”
Flirt with military officers . . . Napoleon was on the edge of every Austen story. Britain was at war and soldiers populated her scenes. And, unlike the Marys, Austen liked her soldiers.
“You’re part of all this too. Fighting the French, are you?”
Grant burst out laughing. “Lieutenant Grant Chessman at your service. Real name. Real officer. On real leave from the real British army.” Lady Grey, as if needing to be near Lord Byron, brought me beside him. “But it was a natural assumption. Gertrude has the house staff dress for these parties, but they do keep their real names, real life stories too. It can get confusing. But I’m not on staff, and Granddad steers clear of it all.” He glanced to Isabel again. “Are you all right, Miss Dwyer?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”
We walked on. I asked a few questions about house parties in hopes that Isabel would chime in. I wanted to draw her out. It didn’t work.
She said nothing more during the entire ride. So as we looped back along the path, I decided to find out all I could about this Grant Chessman, who made Isabel blush at first meeting and left her speechless now.
He was on leave for six months, having just returned from two deployments to places unknown and classified, was staying with his grandfather and helping him through the winter, and appeared very adept at soothing horses and nervous women. I liked him.
When we reached the stables, Grant helped us both down.
“Thank you, Grant.” I patted Lady Grey. “Isabel? I think Gertrude is expecting us for lunch.”
“I wanted to meet . . .” She stepped to Grant. “I thought you might introduce me to your grandfa
ther.”
“I’d be happy to. He’s beyond the terraced gardens. We can go after lunch or . . .” He looked back at the horse. “If you feel comfortable coming with me alone, we can ride there now.”
Isabel raised her arms for assistance. It was a definitive answer. “Mary, will you tell Gertrude I’ll be along shortly?”
I looked at Grant.
“I’ll take care of her.”
I nodded and headed up the path. I knew he would and—more importantly—Isabel did too.
Chapter 14
I walked to the house alone and, rather than walk to the front, headed straight to the kitchen door I’d exited earlier.
The kitchen was a bustling enterprise. Two enameled stockpots sat on the Aga; a short elderly woman, who reminded me of my maternal grandmother, was putting away dishes; and Sonia stood at the counter cutting a selection of cheeses and meats. Six full platters lay before her.
“Is Isabel okay?”
“Yes. She is deep in character.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I could leave it there. They didn’t know Isabel; there was no reason to expose her. “Is this lunch?”
“Cheese, cucumbers and other vegetables, and a variety of cold meats. We even have a lovely salad of boiled eggs. Our nineteenth-century version of egg mayonnaise. And a pudding for dessert.” Sonia wagged a finger to the Aga. “It’s in the blue pot.”
“There’s a brick on it.”
“Sticky toffee pudding is sealed in a tin inside, then submerged in boiling water. The brick keeps the top on.” Sonia poked her knife toward the door. “Head into the dining room. Everyone just came in. You haven’t seen them all yet.”
I entered the dining room and found everyone seated. Helene, sitting at the end of the table, flapped a hand at me. She was now dressed in beige with a red wool shawl pulled tight around her. It puddled in her lap.
I stalled, unsure where to sit.
“Come in, my dear. Have you been out with the young men? I met that handsome Grant at the stables.” Helene pointed her fork at an open chair to her left, then cast her gaze behind me. “Where is your pretty friend?”
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