“The orb isn’t always necessary, and so it doesn’t always appear. And no, it’s not the only magic here.”
“What else have you seen, then?”
Isabel took two sips of soup as she considered the question, and her answer. Beautiful, sparkling sunrises, a cat who’d appeared from nowhere and now seemed to come and go at will, the deep, satisfying sense of belonging she’d found the moment she’d set foot inside the house – did any of those things provide proof of magic? “I’ve on occasion heard music, lutes and drums, when no one else was about,” she said slowly. “And a sound like chanting, in a language I’ve never heard before.” There. That sounded more magical than some of the things Adam would have dismissed as coincidence.
“Fascinating. And you said the orb had disappeared and reappeared several times as well, yes?”
“Yes. I believe that may be what happened just a moment ago, in fact, and there have been other things. Some may call them luck or fortune, but I prefer to believe that magic…helped them along.”
He smiled at her over his glass of wine. “I admit I was hoping for fairies and goblins and flaming swords.”
“There isn’t much use for flaming swords these days in Somerset,” she returned, smiling. He was charming, after all. Perhaps she just needed to look again. To stop making it all fit into her vision instead of just allowing events to unfold as they would.
“I don’t know about that. I could think of a few uses for one. Deterring pesky solicitors and other unwanted intruders, for example.”
That was supposed to be amusing, even if she did have a very strong feeling that he was referring to Adam. She therefore mustered a chuckle and a nod at his wit before she returned her gaze, if not her attention, to the soup. Everything had just fallen into place. Why, then, was uneasiness slowly creeping up her spine, an odd dread instead of what should have been excitement?
The orb had warmed to his touch; just because it had then disappeared didn’t mean anything. It disappeared on a fairly regular basis. This…this was what was supposed to happen. Isabel sent another glance at Geoffrey, who seemed to be enjoying his soup.
He hadn’t asked for her hand yet, and they were still two new friends becoming better acquainted. She could ask him questions. She should be asking him questions. “Nimway Hall has our timber rights, our wheat, and our cattle,” she said aloud. “What do you produce at Blackbridge and Alton?”
“We produce Bells,” he returned, sitting back as the servants collected their soup bowls. “And most recently me, a Bell-Spratt, just to continue the lines of money flow and inheritance.”
Jane giggled at that, but Isabel didn’t bother with faking a smile. “With all due respect, Geoffrey, that’s not much of an answer.”
Blue eyes met hers. “I’m a viscount with an inheritance, my dear. I don’t produce anything. With the exception of heirs, of course.”
That couldn’t be the truth; if an estate never brought in any income, even the largest inheritance would eventually run out. Taxes, salaries, food, parties, his horse with twelve names – it all cost money. “Investments, then?” she suggested.
“Why so persistent?” he countered. “You’ve just informed me that your ownership of Nimway Hall is unassailable. I couldn’t take it from you even if I wished to do so. Which of course I do not.”
“I’m merely curious,” she said in her mildest tone, as the footmen brought in a huge platter of roast pig and all the trimmings. “You know much more about Nimway than I know about either Blackbridge or Alton Park.”
“All estates are more or less the same, I’ve found,” he drawled. “What holds true for one holds true for most.” Geoffrey took another swallow of wine. “It’s dull table talk, especially when we’ve much more interesting things to discuss. Your approving orb and what I hope will be our joined future, for one.”
Jane shot to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over backward in her haste. “Oh! Simmons, I need your assistance! You two, as well. At once, if you please!” Grabbing the butler by the arm, she herded him and the two footmen into the drawing room and shut the door behind her.
Isabel’s face warmed and her fingers chilled all at the same time. She finished her mouthful of pork. It would hardly suit if she choked to death. “Well, that wasn’t at all subtle,” she noted.
“No, it wasn’t. It was quite convenient, though. I should thank her.” Reaching across the corner of the table, he took the fork out of her hand and gripped her fingers. “We do need to talk, after all.”
Abruptly she wished she’d asked Adam to join them for dinner. The two men would have spent the meal arguing, of course, but he wouldn’t have left the room like the others. Not unless she’d asked him to. And she wouldn’t have done so. Something felt…wrong. It felt as though someone were playing a poorly tuned violin in the back of her mind, louder and louder until it downed out everything else.
“…knew it would come to this, from the moment I set eyes on you. Your orb just confirmed what I’ve known for a fortnight. Be my wife, Isabel. With your resources and my circle of friends, we’ll be unstoppable. The envy of all England.”
Oh, dear. Oh, dear. “You make it sound very tempting,” she hedged, forcing a chuckle.
“It’s not a temptation; it’s a promise. Say yes. I’ll have a special license by week’s end.”
“A special license? There’s no need to rush, surely. My parents are in Florence; it will take at least a month for them to get here after I write them. You must give me a moment to think, Geoffrey. And more time to know you.” That sounded both practical and logical – to her ears, at least.
“You’re the one with the magic orb to choose your husband,” he returned, in the same smooth tone he’d used when he’d spoken about fishing the other day. “It chose me. And you wanted it to be me, didn’t you? That’s why you asked me here tonight.” He curled his fingers around hers. “Say yes.”
“I don’t—”
The door leading from the hallway shoved open. “Apologies for my tardiness,” Adam said, walking in with a laden tray in his arms. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding in the kitchen.”
14
Geoffrey let go of her fingers as Adam set the tray down on the table. Wordlessly her steward shifted the plate, utensils, and glass onto the place beside the one Jane had vacated. He sat, sliced off a piece of ham, and stuck it into his mouth.
Adam had interrupted a wedding proposal – her wedding proposal. She should be furious. And yet she had to work to keep herself from running over to his chair and hugging him. None of this made any sense. Her thoughts tumbled and swirled like the cyclone she’d argued about with him. More than anything she wanted a minute to think, to breathe, without everyone staring at her.
“You’re not wanted here, Driscoll,” Geoffrey snapped, his expression for once as flat as his voice.
“I live here, actually,” Adam countered.
“Not for long, you don’t.”
“And I dine with Isabel and Miss Jane every evening,” he continued, as if Geoffrey hadn’t spoken. “Now be a polite guest and eat your dinner.”
Instead the viscount grabbed her hand again, startling her and pulling her further off her literal and figurative balance. “You know he’s here because he’ll do anything to interfere in my life and happiness. Ignore him. Hell, dismiss him. I’ll find you a steward who doesn’t have aspirations above his station.”
“He’s proposed, then?” Adam asked, his voice oddly pitched. “And where will the two of you live? Alton? Blackbridge? Here? London?”
“What the devil does it matter where we’ll live?” the viscount cut back in. “It’s none of your damned affair.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Isabel said forcefully. “I haven’t agreed to anything, and yes, it does matter where we would live if – if – we married. I’m the guardian of Nimway Hall. This is where I belong.”
Alton’s fingers tightened around hers. “Then agree now, Isabel. Marry me, and we�
�ll spend enough time at Nimway to satisfy you. Does that assuage your reservations?”
No, it didn’t. She left her fingers where they were, beginning to worry that he would pull her out of her chair if she resisted. “It would better assuage my reservations if you would stop viewing this as a decision that needs to be made tonight. There’s no reason to hurry so.”
“Unless he’s already made arrangements to sell off half your cattle or large sections of Balesboro Wood.” Adam’s expression remained calm despite the coiled, ready sensation she felt from him, and he continued eating.
“The timber rights are mine,” Isabel countered, frowning. “They remain mine, whether I marry or not. Why would you say such a thing?”
“He’s saying it because it’s what he’s been planning. Distract you with those beehives you were telling me about and sell off timber lots to the highest bidder. Bits here and there, little enough that you wouldn’t notice.” Geoffrey narrowed his eyes, pinning Adam with a glare of not just anger, but a hatred that startled her.
“You’ve thought it all through then, have you?” Adam said. “That explains why he wants to be rid of me. I’d never allow you to steal from here. To steal from Isabel.”
Abruptly Geoffrey released her and lurched to his feet. “This does not concern you,” he grated. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Driscoll, but look at yourself. You’re a farmer in everything but name. You smell of dirt and cattle and horseshit. Even worse, that’s all you aspire to. Elizabeth knew that six years ago. She said you liked having dirt beneath your nails. You haven’t changed.”
Isabel’s frown deepened, and something much darker lurched to life in her chest. Who was Elizabeth? Adam’s face when she looked over at him had paled to ash. He stood, his own motions smoother and more…deadly than the viscount’s. “Say her name again, Alton. I dare you to speak her name again in my presence.”
The way he said the words, like an axe cutting through hard wood, struck her with almost physical force. “Who is Elizabeth?” she whispered, odd despair touching her soul. Had there been another woman they’d both loved? Did Adam still love her? He did. She could hear it, feel it, in his voice.
Adam glanced at her, his jaw clenching, before he returned his gaze to the viscount. “You brought it up. Do you wish to explain it, or shall I?”
With a grimace Geoffrey dropped into his chair again. “Considering I’ve no wish to be attacked for uttering the wrong name, I leave it to you.” He jabbed a finger at Adam. “But I did nothing wrong. You chose to make me a monster to assuage your own guilt.”
“You—”
“Enough!” Isabel stood, swiping swiftly at her face and hoping neither man noticed her tears. No one’s marriage proposal was supposed to tangle into a discussion about another woman. And hers… She’d waited for the orb and her life to all come together, and in none of her imaginings had it ever looked, or felt, like this. “You…punch each other to your heart’s content. I’m leaving.”
She shoved through the drawing room door, nearly knocking both Jane and Simmons down in the process. So Adam and Geoffrey preferred to fight over a different woman. Fine. She didn’t care to be a part of that. Ever.
With Simmons away from the front door, grabbing up a shawl and heading out across the drive was a simple matter. Then she walked. It didn’t matter where, as long as she kept moving. The moon was high in the night sky, the air pleasant if a little chilly, and the road in front of her stood out clearly as it curved into the woods.
This was her land, and her well- and frequently traveled road. And if a fox or a badger wanted to argue with her tonight, she felt ready for a fight. The moonlight dimmed as she stepped beneath the leafy canopy, but she could still make out the road and the deer trails that crossed it.
Above her an owl hooted, and the sound echoed once, twice, thrice deeper into Balesboro Wood. It was a lovely, old sound that made her think of ancient times, and lonely enough to suit the hurt in her heart. Adam had said he wanted to woo her. Had he only wanted to do so because he couldn’t tolerate the idea of Geoffrey Bell-Spratt winning her favor? It definitely sounded as if they’d fought over this Elizabeth, as well.
Isabel slowed her steps. Simmons had told her that Geoffrey had been engaged, and that the lady in question had died. Had that been Elizabeth? Oh, that was even worse. A cherished memory of love that would grow more precious and perfect with time. An image with which she could never hope to compete.
That was her, then, a bone to be fought over by two dogs because the meal they preferred was no longer available. No wonder Adam hadn’t wanted to speak of the hostility between him and Alton. She put her hand over her chest and kept walking. It hurt. Her heart physically hurt.
And not because she’d discovered that she was Geoffrey’s second choice. After she spoke with him, and as much as she’d wished otherwise, it had been rather apparent that his first love would always be himself. That had become much more evident tonight. But dropping from second to third hadn’t troubled her, truthfully. His plans hadn’t troubled her, except with the growing realization that she didn’t wish to be a part of them.
Adam, though… The way he’d reacted at just hearing the name Elizabeth – whoever she was, he’d loved her. Deeply. And that had broken Isabel’s heart.
How typical, and how stupid, that she’d realized how important he’d become to her only after she’d made it clear to him that she’d pinned her hopes on Lord Alton. That was irony, wasn’t it? To make him her second choice only to discover that she was also his second choice?
But even if she’d belatedly realized that she wanted Adam, the orb seemed to have a different idea. Before she’d become acquainted with Geoffrey, on the surface he’d fulfilled her fairy-tale ideal of a husband – handsome, titled, presumably wealthy, charming, and a believer. Tonight, though, he’d made her uneasy. He’d refused to answer the simplest of questions, turning her queries into a jest and making her seem unreasonable for asking them. Even before Adam had barged in, she’d felt something wrong in the air.
Nothing made any sense. And the one person who might have helped her figure it all out was one of the men from whom she’d fled. And even he couldn’t help her reconcile her feelings with what the orb had indicated.
A fallen tree lay across her path, and she stopped. The bower. Isabel’s Bower. Had she walked all that way already? It would be a good place to think, and safe from even the most unlikely perils of the road. The brambles scratched her arm and tried to snatch away her shawl, but she managed to duck beneath them and into the clearing.
The three stones glowed a soft white beneath the beams of moonlight, and she could almost hear music on the light breeze. The rustle of leaves and the soft rush of the low waterfall might as well have been ancient voices murmuring words she couldn’t decipher.
Isabel ran her hand across the carved surface of the female stone as she went to stand at the midpoint of the trio. “Is there magic here?” she murmured, lifting her face to the sky. “Are you merely old stones and leaves and water and moonlight, or are you more?”
An owl hooted from one end of the bower, as if to ask who she was to be standing there. And frankly, she couldn’t answer the question. The hoot repeated, faded, then repeated on the opposite side of the clearing. A third owl took up the query, then a fourth and a fifth, then so many, so much mournful noise, that she couldn’t keep count.
She clapped her hands over her ears. Who was she? The offspring of a sculptor? A half-Italian pretender? Or the daughter of a daughter of a daughter of Somerset, the place where Nimue and Merlin had lived and, legend said, had had a daughter of their own to begin the line from which she claimed descent?
Isabel lowered her hands again. “I am Isabel Jacqueline de Rossi,” she stated clearly, refusing to feel self-conscious about declaring herself to a wood full of owls. “I am the daughter of Charlotte Anne Harrington, and the granddaughter of Olivia Heather Devries. And I am the Guardian of Nimway Hall.”
The sound died around her. In the space of a half dozen heartbeats the wood became itself again, filled with the rustling of leaves, the chirping of crickets, and the burbling of slow-flowing water. She blinked. Had she just imagined all that? Was she going mad now?
Wood snapped off to her right. Isabel whirled around to look into the gloom, her heart pounding even as she stifled her gasp. Her gaze immediately went to a small circle of light that bobbed and grew larger, ducked, and rose again.
“Isabel?”
For just a second she shut her eyes. Adam. “I’m here.”
“Thank God.” The light lifted and brightened, becoming a lantern as he approached her through the low moss and white flowers. “How the devil did you find your way here on foot and in the dark?”
“I just did,” she said, and turned her back on him. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m well. I’ll return to the house later.”
His quiet footsteps continued toward her. “Alton’s demanded a room; he refuses to leave while you’re missing, and evidently he asked you a question and insists on receiving an answer.” Adam paused. “I assume the question he’s referring to is whether you’ll marry him,” came from much closer behind her.
Her jaw and her fists and her heart clenched, she faced him again. “I assume the same thing, as yes, we both heard him ask me.”
Adam’s brow dipped in a deep frown. “I hope you’re not—”
“This story about the animosity between the two of you,” she interrupted. “It was over a woman. Elizabeth. Neither of you liked the outcome, I assume, and now you’ve found some other chit to fight over. Which makes me, at best, the second choice for you and for him, and at worst, makes me the foolish pawn in your game of one-upmanship.”
His face looked ashen in the moonlight, his expression drawing hard and tight as she spoke. “You don’t—”
“Considering that,” she broke in again, her fury and hurt warming her, “I suppose it doesn’t matter which of you I marry. The orb, though, grew warm at his touch, so there you have it.”
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