by TYNER, LIZ
He took her arm and they darted into the wooded area. At the first clearing they stopped.
‘You may be a gentleman and dig the hole.’
‘My pleasure.’ He took a stick and in moments the freshly disturbed dirt scented the air and he had a small indentation prepared. He stepped back, drew a line in the soil, then tossed the stick to the ground. ‘You go first.’
‘You will not be able to play by the rules and win against me and I am not certain you can cheat and win.’ Isabel held the coin high for his view. ‘You see, one of the girls I played against, Grace, was quite good. So please—toss. I want to see what competition you offer.’
‘I have wagered against all sorts of men in the tavern.’
‘But none as good as Grace, I’d wager.’ She smiled. ‘Toe to the line and prepare yourself to see how haughty words taste.’
He did and tossed. His coin landed near the indention.
She pitched. The coins rested side by side.
He took her arm, gently led her back a few steps, took his boot heel and made another line. Their eyes met. ‘It’s time to be serious.’
She gathered her coins to break the tie. With her teeth tightened, she toed the line and took aim. Tossing, the coin landed half a width from the hole. She curtsied to it. ‘Go ahead, Balfour.’ She lifted the edge of her skirt so she could walk delicately by him, then she brushed his shoulder. ‘Show me what you can do.’
His eyes widened. ‘I shall.’
Toeing the mark, he aimed.
Just as he threw, she called out, ‘Concentrate.’
The toss fell short of hers.
She moved beside him and smiled. ‘You will have to do better than that.’ She collected the coins they’d tossed, made a show of dusting the dirt from them and strutted his way.
She held a coin up, rubbed her fingers over it and aimed.
Just as she moved to throw, he moved so close his breath brushed her ear. ‘Concentrate. Take your time and concentrate.’
She took a step away, swallowed to lessen the shivers he’d caused inside her and just tossed. She blinked quickly when the coin landed on the mark. Letting out a pleased murmur, she swaggered. ‘I think it’s your turn. Aim carefully.’
‘Looks like I’ll have to,’ he said. He pitched and won. He grinned. ‘I would like to raise the stakes.’
‘Oh?’
He nodded. ‘Hairpins.’
She considered it. ‘How serious are you?’
‘Plenty.’
‘A pin equals a knock.’
‘What?’ he asked.
‘A knock on my door before entering my room.’
He shook his head.
‘You don’t have to play if you fear losing.’ She flounced closer. ‘I’m not worried about losing.’
‘Then I shall raise my stakes,’ he said. ‘Butler’s responsibilities. I want them discussed with me before any changes are made.’
‘Hairpins. Staffing. You are asking a lot.’
‘We will take it one at a time. Unless you’re scared.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. Let us begin. For door knocks versus hairpins.’ Swirling around, she bit the inside of her lip, aimed and threw. It landed and she gritted her teeth and pinched her eyes shut.
His next throw landed on target.
‘Good try,’ he said, stepping to pull a pin from her hair and placing it in his pocket. ‘Let’s try again.’
Brushing at her hair, she said, ‘Lucky toss.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ His voice was soft. ‘Then, double the stakes.’
‘You’re on.’
He won two more pins before she had a run of luck and won three knocks on her door. She was going for a fourth, when he suggested her discussing the butler’s duties with him before making changes versus all the hairpins.
She agreed.
She touched his arm, stopping not just the movement in his toss, but in his whole body. Leaning forward, she blew on the coin in his hand. ‘For luck.’ Then she stepped behind him.
He turned to her, concentration on his face. ‘This works better.’ Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her close for a quick kiss, then he resumed the game. But he missed further than either had done before.
Her toss did no better and went far wide the other direction. Victory was impossible to determine.
‘I need more luck,’ he said, putting a hand at her waist.
‘I think not.’ She backed away several steps. ‘I plan to win.’
‘So do I.’ He followed and again soft lips closed over hers. The kiss took her thoughts and, when it ended, his eyes took control as his hands released her.
Then he turned, and pitched, and the coin touched the mark.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘My mistake the first time was in kissing to give you luck. This last time was for my good fortune.’
His lips met just against hers. Shudders raced in her body as he pulled her close. Her fingers loosened and the purse fell to the ground.
She had no idea how long they’d stood, when he pulled back. It took her a moment before she realised why he’d stopped. Voices. Joanna and Luke calling to them.
‘We’re here,’ William called out. He took her hand and they walked together on the path towards the house. Joanna and Luke strolled up to them.
Joanna’s eyes sparkled as she glanced to Isabel’s hair. ‘Er…we were getting worried when you didn’t show up for breakfast, but I see you didn’t get lost.’
‘We merely lost track of the time while we wandered these lovely grounds and discussed our household,’ William said, putting a hand at his wife’s back.
‘Discussing the household,’ Luke said, turning to take Joanna’s arm as they moved to lead the way back to the house. ‘There’s a lot to be said for it.’
William pulled a leaf from Isabel’s hair and held it for her to see before letting it flutter to the ground. ‘I agree.’
‘I know it’s a bit cold,’ Joanna said, ‘but tonight I planned a starlight picnic. I thought we might leave early to enjoy the sunset.’
*
Horses were readied and Isabel rode with the others to find a bonfire and blankets spread with a feast already laid out. A kettle warmed near the fire, the smell of cider mingling with the burning logs.
As Isabel sat with Joanna, the men trekked about to gather more wood before the night completely darkened.
‘Have you heard more of Grace?’ Joanna asked, holding a mug in both hands.
‘No,’ Isabel answered, taking a stick to poke at the edge of the fire.
‘I remember when Grace started being ill every morning,’ Joanna said. ‘You were laughing when you said the same thing had happened to a relative and the family had been gifted with a new baby within the year.’
‘Grace turned white, put her hand over her mouth and ran from the room. I didn’t even realise what I’d said until I saw her face.’ Embers flared as the stick dislodged a log.
‘I’ll never forget that moment.’
‘Without Miss Fanworth, I hate to think what would have happened. She was there the night Grace needed her so much,’ Isabel added. ‘I held Miss Fanworth in the highest regard before, but after that, I thought her near sainthood.’
‘She always seemed to know how to do everything. She made a poultice for your sting when you decided to make a pet of a bee,’ Joanna said.
‘I thought it a pretty insect. It didn’t seem to want to sting me when I picked the flower and I thought it might be happy in my room. Miss Fanworth understood.’ Isabel straightened, and then laughed. ‘She always understood. But I used to get so angry at Madame Dubois, because she didn’t like the songs I made up.’
‘Perhaps the two of you would have got along better if you’d not called her Madame Dubious.’
‘I didn’t realise she was behind me.’ Isabel tossed the stick on to the flames.
‘Isabel, she was always behind you because you were always dancing into disaster.’
‘Not my Isabel,’ William said, dragging up a limb and snapping it into smaller pieces as he talked.
‘Have you ever had to keep her from getting herself into a misadventure?’ Joanna asked William.
‘She’s been so reserved since our marriage that I cannot imagine such an event.’ Words delivered smoothly. He cracked the biggest part of the limb in two pieces as Luke walked up and placed his bundle of wood on to William’s.
William settled beside Isabel. She tried to still the moment in her mind. The stars and firelight, and William beside her.
‘Well, when you have children, the daughters might be spirited,’ Joanna said.
At that sentence, William’s movements stilled momentarily before he answered, though his words were spoken in the same tone as before. ‘That will be wonderful.’
Joanna’s eyes darted to William’s face.
‘William can handle high spirits,’ Isabel said, knowing Joanna saw too much. ‘He has three sisters and they are all splendid.’
‘You’re right.’ The tension of William’s posture lessened. In the firelight, his smile looked sincere. ‘I can only hope our daughters take after Isabel.’
Isabel didn’t move, except for a quick flight of her eyes to William. ‘And I hope they have his strength,’ she said.
Joanna nodded. ‘I feel the same way about Luke.’
Luke gave her a smile and started discussing the times his family had gathered on the property to search for a perfect yule log.
*
When they finished the meal, Joanna and her husband stared at the stars while the fire crackled behind them. William watched Isabel, sitting alone, staring not overhead, but at the burning logs. The fire’s glow lit her face, but gave her a melancholy air.
When he realised she looked cold, he moved his blanket, surprised to notice they’d sat long enough for dew to fall on to the covering. Then he wrapped the covering around her. She started, as if she’d forgotten he was there.
‘Could we walk?’ she asked.
He reached for Isabel, pulling her to her feet, and away from the flickering glow. Dried leaves crunched under their feet and they left the blanket behind.
Isabel spoke low. ‘Did you mean that—about daughters taking after me?’
‘Of course.’ His voice rumbled and he pulled her into the haven of his arm. ‘Oh, Isabel…’ An underlying humour lit his words. He pulled her even closer, warming himself more than any fire ever could. ‘You should never doubt such a thing. I would even hope our sons have your spirit.’
‘That spirit has caused me some trouble. It has caused you some trouble.’
‘Oh, it has caused me no trouble, except for my concern for you.’ His arms remained around her, cradling. His fingertips brushed a curl back from her forehead.
Only Isabel’s presence seemed to ease the barrier he felt between himself and the others, though he didn’t think anyone else knew of it. In some ways, he envied the others’ innocence. But he didn’t have it and never would. He’d lost it long ago. Like a hanging you could never un-see, he’d seen the way loss into another person took hold. The two could become one, which meant the control of one’s body was given up to the other and to the whims of fate. Fate had a wicked sense of mischief.
‘Do you care for me?’
‘How could I not?’
‘That wasn’t a resounding yes,’ she muttered.
‘I’m giving a resounding yes,’ he said.
‘Wonderful…’ The word trailed away.
‘I don’t have the innocence of my youth any more.’ That had died with his mother and if it could be taken a second time, then it had been drowned by his father’s drink.
Isabel’s presence lightened the memories, though. She took his mind from them and jarred something inside him that he’d not known remained. Some ember of the past that lingered inside him. The last spark of family left that he could feel.
Even if he had not been forced to wed her, he realised he would have wanted to. He could not stand the thought of her wedding someone else. She deserved the highest respect and the most tender care. He would help her regain her dream.
He pulled her knuckles to his lips for a kiss, savouring the delicate feel of her skin. ‘Songbird. The pretence is not doing either of us any good. And I am not sure we are convincing your friend of anything as she keeps studying us. Let’s leave tomorrow at first light.’ He released her hand.
‘I—I don’t want to hurt my friends’ feelings,’ she said.
‘I’ll explain to Luke. He’s newly married, more so than us. I can convince him easily that we wish to spend some time preparing for the holidays.’
‘I have enjoyed the pretence.’
‘I’m glad you did. But we need to return to London if we don’t wish to risk becoming stuck on muddy roads. If the clouds are any indication, we could have rain. I’d like to be in London if the temperature drops.’
‘I do want to return that painting before the artist forgets he promised that,’ she said.
‘The one by the Lawrence no one has ever heard of?’
‘Yes. I decided I quite hate it. The wooded glen is nice, but I would like something more fitting to the room. More fitting to the home.’
‘What about a picture relating to music?’
She shook her head.
‘But you are a songbird,’ he said.
‘Not any more.’
‘You should reconsider that, Isabel. That is the gift I hope for you to give yourself. The return of your desire to become a songstress.’ He wanted her to erase the attack from her memory and continue with her desire to sing.
He could see her vision of them as a couple reflected in her eyes. He must stop this togetherness with Isabel before it progressed any further. She could not understand it was for her own good as well. If something should happen to him, he would certainly not want her burying herself in bombazine, covering the large mirror in her old bedchamber and staring at the wall.
William took Isabel’s hand, held it high above her head and twirled her, pulling her into a spin until she couldn’t keep up and she fell into his arms. He rocked back and forth lightly, his face pressing against her cool cheek, sharing the heat of his body.
‘I cannot let you freeze,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘You are turning into an icicle.’
‘I’m not any longer,’ she said.
‘I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I was the one who needed warming.’ He spoke the truth. He wished he could feel the warmth of her to his core and the same innocence he saw in her face. But he didn’t even remember what it felt like.
‘You pulled us away from the fire to get warm?’
‘Yes.’ His voice was low. ‘One can’t argue with a successful plan.’
His hands moved to hold her waist. ‘Now look at the stars.’
She did and he twirled her again and again, making them spin in her eyes, and stopped by pulling her close, keeping her solid against him while letting the world regain momentum.
‘Now,’ he said, after raining kisses on her face, ‘let us bid your friends goodbye as they do seem to wish to be alone.’
‘Are you trying to escape the togetherness of the night?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve seen many other nights like this, but instead of a camp fire, there was lamplight and a book and my mother would read aloud when I was very young. Then my father took over the reading.’
‘You must miss her terribly.’
He shook his head. ‘She was sick so much at the end.’
He forced a laugh. ‘Isabel. I can see by the tilt of your head that you’re feeling sad for the boy with no mother, but truly by then I was grown. My sisters were the trial for me. They needed my help.’
‘I don’t want to feel like another person you need to help.’
He held her in his arms and tried to force his heart to beat for her and pound with love. He waited. Because if he could not love Isabel, then he knew he could never love
another person.
Chapter Fourteen
Isabel considered the trip a success. She and William hadn’t spoken much during the return home, but the silence had been companionable. William had laughed when he recounted the chuck-farthing game. His smile had sparked something that made her feel treasured. He’d even kept a few of her hairpins as a memento of their game.
She closed her eyes tight, taking time to think of William’s tenderness. Then she stared at the blank page of her letter to Grace.
Isabel twirled a wisp of hair which had escaped from her bun, wrapping it into a curl. Surely it would be acceptable to tell Grace about the wonderful moments shared with William at Pensum Manor. If it sounded as if William had fallen in love, well, that was just how the words unfolded.
She wouldn’t tell Grace that Miss Fanworth had written, expressing concern over Madame’s health. The doctor had been called to bleed Madame, so surely she would recover soon.
The pen scratched as she wrote the salutation, but she stopped while deciding what to say about the marriage.
Isabel nibbled a biscuit when William walked into the room. Her heart jolted, but she distracted him from her gaze by extending her arm to the painting of the wooded glen. ‘I hate this picture more each time I see it.’ She left her biscuit and stood in front of the art, hands on her hips. ‘In fact, I think I should return it today.’
She tiptoed and reached for the painting. In seconds, William was at her back, his shaving soap engulfing her as his arms spread against her and he helped lower the painting. She could sense the individual threads of his coat sleeves against her arms. She could not feel the colour black, but in a way she did—not the sombre dark of mourning but the enveloping warmth of his coat, in the same peaceful manner a pleasant nap might surround one as a dream begins—the moment when the world around fades into fairy tale.
He slipped the painting from her grasp.
‘I do not want this ending up like the Roubiliac,’ he said.
‘If I choose several that I like, would you mind making the final decision? I do not want to keep exchanging them.’
He put the painting against the wall and turned to her.
She could see it in his eyes. The refusal.