Dawn at Emberwilde
Page 22
Her instinct was to follow her sister, but the gratitude she felt toward him fixed her to the spot. “Of course, Mr. Galloway.”
“That day when I encountered you leaving the forest. You were upset. Are you sure that nothing happened? That you encountered no one? I do not wish to pry, but in light of some recent discoveries, it is important that I know.”
Isabel swallowed the lump of concern forming in her throat. It had been easy to pretend that the man who confronted her all those days ago was not real or a viable threat, but someone frightening her sister was another matter entirely.
It was time to share what she knew.
She looked up to meet Mr. Galloway’s eyes. His gaze was gentle and patient, and something within her stirred under the directness of his attention. His quiet nature made her confident. Such a sharp contrast, she noted, to Mr. Bradford. Whereas Mr. Bradford always seemed to talk over her, or her aunt always seemed to be telling her how to act, Mr. Galloway genuinely wanted to know what she had to say. It was refreshing.
She drew a deep breath. “I did encounter a man in the forest that day.”
Mr. Galloway’s jaw tightened. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, no, but we spoke, and he did threaten that if I told anyone I saw him, he might harm Lizzie. And so I did as he bid and told no one.”
Mr. Galloway adjusted his stance. “Did you by chance recognize the man?”
Isabel shook her head and bit her lower lip. “I’m not yet familiar with all the faces of Northrop, of course. The only thing I remember with accuracy about him is that he was missing one of his hands. His left one.”
She studied his reaction to see if the description meant anything to him, but his expression remained stoic. He cast a glance toward the upper windows of Emberwilde, then fixed his gaze on her. “Thank you for letting me know, but please, do not worry.”
They stood for several moments in silence in the late-afternoon sun. Somewhere a bird’s call rang out, and a pleasant breeze swept through.
Now that Lizzie was safe, Isabel found that she did not want to leave Mr. Galloway’s presence. He exuded quiet strength. Still patience. He probably wondered a dozen things, such as why she did not inform her uncle of such an event. “I hope this news is helpful and not a burden.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a kind, subtle smile. “You could never burden me, Miss Creston.” He hesitated, then took another step toward her. “I do not think your aunt and cousin know about this investigation, and your uncle has asked to keep it that way. It is perhaps for the best to keep these events to yourself.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He bowed and then mounted his horse. He nodded in her direction before looking to his left, and his profile cut a handsome line against the brilliant sky. Her pulse, which had been beating at am impossible rate, seemed to slow.
She had expected everything to change upon coming to Emberwilde, but she had not anticipated such alterations to her heart.
Chapter Thirty
Isabel walked back to Emberwilde, flooded with relief. She let her thoughts linger on Mr. Galloway. And she smiled.
She knew how she must look. Her hair was loose, dirt was on the hem of her new dress, and she did not know if it was smeared on her face or not. She needed to make sure that Lizzie had changed, but she needed to change as well.
She went through one of the servants’ entrances and climbed the back stairwell. Before she went to her own chamber, she stopped at Lizzie’s. She opened the door, fully expecting to see her sister inside, but as she stepped into the room, no sound met her ears.
Her sister was not here.
Isabel frowned and assessed the room. It looked as if the girl had not come upstairs at all. Isabel returned to her own chamber and rang for Burns.
But it was Constance, not Burns, who appeared in her doorway.
“Constance!” breathed Isabel. “Do you know where Lizzie is? I cannot keep up with that child today.”
“She is down in the parlor with my mother.”
Dread snipped at Isabel.
Constance looked a bit pale as she continued. “Mother has asked that you join them.”
“Are you all right?” Isabel asked, brushing dirt from the side of her gown, noting the change in her cousin’s complexion.
Constance offered a little laugh. “Of course. Speaking of spoiled gowns, you should change as well. Here, I will help you.”
Isabel accepted Constance’s assistance, and before long she was in a fresh cream-colored gown.
“Much better,” exclaimed Constance, stepping back to assess Isabel.
Something still seemed amiss about her cousin’s breathlessness. “Are you sure there is nothing wrong?”
“Absolutely positive.”
Growing more concerned, Isabel followed Constance to the parlor.
Her aunt appeared in the doorway. “There you are, at last! I was beginning to fear you’d gotten lost, and I was about to send Beasley out in search of you. But here you are, so no harm done. Come in here. I’ve a surprise for you.”
Isabel did not much care for surprises, so she wiped her cheek again with the back of her hand and stepped into the chamber, bracing herself for what might await.
Bright afternoon light filtered through the tall west windows, the leaded glass casting its skewed geometrical shadow on the carpets and furniture. The sound of Lizzie’s laughter drew Isabel’s attention to the back corner of the room. Her sister, still clad in the gown that displayed the forest’s muck and mire, was seated next to a woman in gray.
Once they noticed her, the new woman stood, and Lizzie jumped up and ran to Isabel. “Isabel, look!”
But whereas Lizzie showed great enthusiasm, the woman, whom Isabel judged to be about ten years her senior, remained stone faced, her expression pinched and her eyes fixed.
“Isabel, this is Miss Smith. I’ve engaged Miss Smith to be Elizabeth’s governess.”
Isabel snapped her attention to Aunt Margaret. A wave of indignant energy rushed through her. Her words left her lips before she had the opportunity to check her tone or volume. “Governess? No, no. Lizzie does not need a governess.”
Her aunt raised her hand. “If Elizabeth is to become a proper young lady, then we must see to her education. We’ve already lost much time.”
“Lost much time?” she shot back. “I am not sure I follow your meaning.”
Desperation washed over Isabel, inciting anger and frustration simultaneously. But it would never do to lose her composure. Her aunt seemed to feed on such lapses in control. Calm. Isabel knew she had to stay calm.
“I have been seeing to my sister’s education, and we are quite content with that arrangement.”
“But consider, your circumstances are different now.”
“The circumstance has not changed. I am as capable of teaching her as anyone.”
Her aunt stood and crossed the room. Isabel froze as the woman touched her back and whispered to her. “There is no need to cause a scene, Isabel. For can you see to Elizabeth’s French and Italian? Her dancing and etiquette? You might be fine to teach the children from where you came. Indeed, you are well suited to educate the children of our foundling home, and I imagine the demands on your time will only increase. But as long as Elizabeth is under my roof, every care will be taken to ensure she becomes a lady, despite her past. All of these things I mentioned are necessary, but you, admittedly, cannot teach them to her. Elizabeth has a brilliant future ahead of her. And I’ve no doubt she will be a beauty, to be sure, but we must start preparing for her future now. Your efforts up until this point have been valiant, but Lizzie is already behind other young ladies of her same age. Time is of the essence.”
The words stung far more than Isabel cared to admit. But the source of the pain was deeper. Her aunt did not consider her enough of a lady to see to her sister’s upbringing.
“I must protest, Aunt. You have been very generous to us, and we are grateful. But I never agr
eed to this. I never—”
Lizzie drew closer and tugged at Isabel’s skirt. “Look at what Miss Smith gave me!”
Isabel looked at her sister. The pert nose, the inquisitive chocolate eyes. The smattering of freckles, a result of too much time in the sun without a bonnet. Her governess would surely remedy that habit.
As she looked at the child, Isabel saw glimpses of herself.
Once young and wild.
And it hurt her heart.
“Are you looking?” Lizzie demanded, dragging Isabel back to the present, waving the book close to her.
Isabel took the leather-bound volume in her hand and touched the embossed word. Verses.
Her aunt clicked her tongue. “This is my case in point. Speaking so demandingly to adults. The very idea! It is not to be borne. Miss Smith will break that horrid habit, mark my words.”
Isabel’s response rang strong and defensive, even to her own ears. “She only spoke in such a manner because she is excited.”
“That is no excuse. In fact, it’s exactly why she needs someone outside of the family to teach her the proper way. You are too lenient with her. Oh, I am not faulting you. She has a strong will, and she needs a firm governess with even a firmer stance to shape and mold that will.”
Isabel decided to try another tactic, especially as she recalled her uncle’s earlier words on economizing. “You have already done so much for us, Aunt Margaret. And we are so very grateful. But please, we cannot impose and ask you to incur an additional cost.”
Aunt Margaret threw her head back as if amused. “Oh, my dear, money is hardly an issue. I will not have a child in my house without a proper education, and you have other activities that require your attention.”
Other things? The only thing that mattered to her was caring for her sister. It was all she had left. “What could be more important than Lizzie?”
“A dozen Lizzies! Or have you already forgotten that Mr. Bradford and I are relying on you for all those children at the foundling home?”
Isabel felt as if she had been struck. Yes, the children were important to her, and she did enjoy her time there. But her aunt had seemed to discourage such interaction before now, and nothing could be more important than her sister. She had tried to be useful, to bring some good to the children at the home, and now her aunt was using it against her in a demeaning fashion.
She looked toward Constance, hoping to find support. But Constance’s eyes were fixed firmly on the floor.
She glanced at Miss Smith. The unadorned woman looked like the sort of person Isabel had worked all her life to be.
A tight chignon at the base of her neck.
A severely cut gray dress.
Isabel had, at one time, considered that life suitable, but now she was not sure.
Everything was changing, and control of her fate, which had always been so important to her, seemed to be slipping away.
Chapter Thirty-One
Isabel stomped from the parlor, caring little that her carriage was unladylike and her cheeks were flaming.
Normally, she could control her reactions, but this had gone far enough. Thoughts tumbled and rumbled in her head, each one battling for dominance.
She replayed the argument over and over in her mind. She knew she should be grateful for this opportunity to live at Emberwilde, for without it, Isabel at some point would be forced to accept a governess position. She might end up like the austere Miss Smith, and ultimately she and Lizzie would be separated. That she could not bear. Why then was this so difficult to accept?
Her ability to manage her temper had always been a source of pride for Isabel. She was rarely riled by anyone or anything. But now, heat radiated from her.
From the odd encounter in the woods to her sister’s disappearance to the strict rules imposed by her aunt, even the air around her felt too heavy to bear.
She traced her way through the labyrinth of old walls and narrow corridors that whispered of centuries past.
She stepped into her chamber, its colored walls and gilded furniture welcoming her, and let the door close behind her. She wanted to be alone and to shut out the scary and unfamiliar things of the world.
She tossed her shawl onto the chair and folded her arms across her chest. Life here was to be easier—carefree and effortless—was that not what Mr. Langsby had said? And she supposed it was. She was not expected to do any work. Helping Mr. Bradford establish a school at the foundling home was considered an act of charity. And it seemed that her one responsibility, her sister, was being taken away from her only so she could learn the idle ways of this new world.
Deep down, Isabel understood that a lady’s governess would be a positive change for Lizzie.
The girl would become a lady.
She would learn skills that Isabel never had the chance to learn, and therefore could never teach her.
She moved to her bed and sank onto the soft coverlet, then let herself fall backward. She stared at the silk canopy of pale blue above her, almost like a sky. Life was changing whether she wanted it to or not.
A tear slipped from her eye. Then another. She could not remember the last time she had lain in bed, crying. She’d never had the need. Her life had been simple but predictable, calm and stable. Now, nothing was as it seemed.
She shivered when she thought of the man in the forest, whose beady eyes and wicked scowl seemed to grow more villainous with each thought.
And then her aunt, whose actions were no doubt intended to be helpful but hurt and stung.
Of Constance, who took everything in stride, accepting and not questioning.
Of Mr. Bradford, who, if it were up to her aunt, would be her husband.
And ironically, of Mr. Galloway, whose kindness and gentleness were more attractive than money or prestige.
It was all too much.
The tiny sampler Mary had made her was just within her grasp on her side table. She reached for it, then held it in her hands and mouthed the words. How she missed Mary. And how she wished she had strength and faith like Mary to believe that everything would work out for good.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Isabel and Lizzie struggled to adjust to life with a governess. It was not easy. From the strict schedule to the difficult new subjects, Lizzie was frustrated and angry.
Isabel went so far as to wonder if the child would be better off back at Fellsworth. She had blossomed there, and here she seemed to flounder. But common sense always seemed to prevail. For they were preparing Lizzie for a life of advantage and security. Isabel could not deny her that. Lizzie would adjust. After all, she was still so very young.
If Aunt Margaret and Constance were aware of the child’s struggles, they gave no indication. They forged ahead with their social schedules and dress fittings, and spent a week planning a dinner to welcome Constance’s fiancé to Emberwilde for a few days.
As if that were not difficult enough, her aunt informed her that Mr. Bradford was on the guest list.
She was less bothered by the prospect of his attendance than by the manner in which her aunt spoke of him.
“Is it not wonderful? Mr. Bradford is such an agreeable person. And so handsome!” Aunt Margaret said as they sat in the music room one afternoon with their sewing, taking advantage of the room’s wealth of light. “He is a pleasant addition to any gathering, large or small.”
Isabel fixed her eyes on her needlework. She tried to focus on the fact that each day her needlework was improving. Her stitches straighter, her patterns daintier.
But her aunt was not about to allow her out of the conversation so easily.
“Do you not agree, Isabel?”
Isabel swallowed the discomfort rising within her but could not manage to make her eyes meet her aunt’s. “Yes, Aunt.”
“I should think so!” Her aunt’s voice held more enthusiasm than judgment, and that put Isabel further on edge. “And it warms my heart to think of the real reason he so eagerly accepted the invitation.”
Constance must have sensed Isabel’s frustration at her mother’s insinuation, for her response came quickly. “Come now, Mama. They have not known each other very long, in truth. I think it is too early to make such an assumption.”
“These matters of the heart do not take long.” Her aunt’s words were colored with shock. “He is not nearly as wealthy as some, to be sure, but his breeding is sound. He may not have much of an inheritance, but he is clever, hardworking, and would no doubt set it to right.”
Her aunt’s response was clearly directed to Constance, as if Isabel were not in the room, and as if her opinion were not an integral component of this arrangement. Isabel had tried to ignore the increasing frequency with which her aunt incorporated Mr. Bradford into their daily conversations, and how she had found excuses to happen past the school frequently to “check on her investment.”
Day by day her aunt’s hopes and intentions regarding Isabel and Mr. Bradford had become more obvious, to the point that Isabel could not hear his name without her heart racing, not in anticipation of a future, but with anxiety.
The older woman hurried across the room, her lily-of-the-valley scent reaching Isabel before she did. She sat very close to Isabel, so close that Isabel had to resist the urge to recoil. “You shall wear that green gown tonight. You’ve not worn it yet, if I am not mistaken. Mr. Bradford will not be able to take his gaze off you.” Her aunt reached out and touched Isabel’s cheek. “You’ve a gift, Isabel. Does she not have a gift, Constance? You are blessed with your mother’s beauty.”
“I do not think it is prudent to assume Mr. Bradford cares for me in such a manner,” Isabel said. “He does not know me, not really.”
“Oh, child. Will you not get that notion out of your head?”
“But do you not think this all very sudden? Too sudden?” Isabel lowered her needlework. “I’ve not even been at Emberwilde an entire summer, and I—”