Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1)

by Heather Chapman

  There was a chance I needed more of that kind of determination in my own life, and less of the kind of determination that had me running over the continent in the hopes of avoiding the exact situation my mother was surely about to push me into. I had escaped nothing, only prolonged the inevitable. What would my blonde mystery lady do? I’m quite sure that if she had my same privileges, she would not have spent two years hiding from her own family.

  “And you suppose Mr. Somerville in need of an entire box of books?” Kearns asked, rearranging the newly purchased collection. He had a way of packing things twice as efficiently as any other servant in the whole of England.

  I nodded, struggling to repress a chuckle. Taking in the vast quantity of titles, she had good reason to suspect I worked in the shop. Not many packed entire boxes full of literature—even if it was a superb notion. I would have added to my library with such abundance each month if it were possible. “You think my choices excessive? I have not seen Elliot since he joined me in Italy last year. I thought the gesture a kind token.” At the very least, it would give me something to tease him for—his lack of reading. And him to tease me for—my abundance of the same endeavor.

  One of Mr. Kearns’s thinning brows lifted into a perfect point. “I am not one to judge what is or is not excessive, Mr. Windham. It is only that Mr. Somerville seems the least apt, of all of your acquaintance, to enjoy such a collection of books.”

  “Perhaps I hope to convince him to change his way,” I challenged, already suspecting that many of the titles would end up in my library rather than his.

  Mr. Kearns cleared his throat. “A very respectable collection, Mr. Windham. Perhaps Mr. Somerville has already changed the last two years...or, rather...year.”

  Elliot was the best type of man, but for all his gentlemanly ways—reading was not part of his soul. I wished it were otherwise, so that we might talk about books, aside from the teasing. However, I would be fortunate if my friend were to read above five of the boxed books. A love of reading was not easily instilled in an unwilling participant, no matter how many times I endeavored to convince him.

  My best friend, and the book-less lot like him, called to mind a scene I saw in Italy, where a mother outside a café attempted to feed her young child a treat. The child stubbornly refused the pastry by clamping down his mouth and shaking his head. He had no idea what he was missing.

  My eyes rested on the spines of Fantasmagoriana. I’d purchased one for Elliot, and another for myself.

  I rather wished I had concocted a way of introduction, but my being suspected as a clerk had made that impossible. And, not that an introduction would have mattered; fate had teased me. Witnessing such an odd, though charming lady, on my last day in London seemed just my luck.

  She had stumbled over her words as clumsily as she had knocked the book upon my head. I felt the pulsing bump atop my head but did not mind the ache. The entire situation had been pleasantly unusual. The ribbon tucked into my pocket was proof of that. Strange and sentimental fool that I often was, I had removed it the instant of her departure in order to preserve the memento.

  “Shall you be returning to town this afternoon, or shall we set off shortly?”

  I blinked, shaking myself back into the present moment. “No, I won’t be needing anything else from London.”

  “Then I shall call for the carriage…?” he trailed off. “To...the manor?”

  He seemed as reluctant as myself about our journey to my parents. “Yes. I’m afraid our fun is over.”

  “I shall see to it sir. The cook has set aside a fine basket for inside the carriage.”

  But wait...I thought of the adventurous young woman on the street and at the bookshop. Thought of the fun that Elliot and I would have riding our horses to and from the city. “I believe I would like to ride—at least for the final day. My old gelding is still in the stables in town, is he not?”

  “Champion is here, sir. Yes sir.” Kearns mouth dropped open. “We can bring him and you may ride as you wish, but please remember you’re out of practice from your tour, and I’m quite—”

  I waved down his worry. “Once you’ve ridden a horse, you never forget. I think the exercise and fresh air will do me good. Fortify me before stepping foot into my parents’ home. Our final day will not worry my unpracticed body in the least.”

  We shared a moment of silence, where Kearns face didn’t so much as twitch before he responded. “Very good, sir.”

  “Thank you, Kearns,” I said, climbing the grand staircase. My fingers slid across the newly polished banister. I paused, glancing down at him once more. “Will you have my accountant draw up a small bonus for the staff?”

  He startled. “Whatever for, Mr. Windham?”

  I gestured around the entry. “I do hate that they went to such lengths to prepare the house when I have stayed such a short time.”

  “As you wish, but you must know that such generosity is not required. Your parents never would have seen to such things. A servant’s tasks are never wasted, even if only to be enjoyed for a few days.”

  I swallowed. He was right, but I knew no other way to ease my guilt. Besides, the house was truly prepared in the best of ways. “Please have the accountant distribute the bonuses. Of that, I insist, and, Kearns—make sure you receive the highest.”

  His pale expression turned pink, and his eyes widened. “Mr. Windham, I could not—”

  “I insist,” I said, before resuming my climb.

  A few moments later, without Kearns’s support as he was overseeing final details, I had on my finest riding breeches. Or, what were my finest just over two years ago. Even after all the fine food Europe had to offer, as well as two years of my life, they fit quite well.

  The three days’ journey would not feel so long after my travels of the past two years. And with Elliot’s new volumes to accompany me, the first two days’ journey from London passed in a near blink. On our third day, closer to home than I’d been for years, the carriage and Champion awaited me in front of the inn.

  I mounted, and the groom set my stirrups to rights. My saddle was just as I remembered, the leather smooth and the seat worthy of a long ride.

  “I’ve been keeping him well exercised for you, sir,” the young man said. I’d have to ask Kearns or Roberts his name later.

  I tipped my hat to him, and we started out of town. When we finally found room for a brisk trot, my legs began to ache almost immediately. I’d forgotten what a big trot Champion had. Even a posting trot used bits of my legs I’d forgotten I had. At least the ride wasn’t long. I gave him a pat as we continued our journey.

  Such a funny name, Champion. Elliot and I had gotten our geldings at about the same time, and as a joke, I named mine Champion, knowing I’d always be able to say—here’s a champion. Elliot had named his horse Blaze, and I’d always tease him about how his horse was on fire because Champion had beat him so soundly. As is the way of thirteen-year-old boys.

  Once we were outside of the city, I was able to nudge Champion into a nice canter, which was far smoother than his trot. But the insides of my legs were on fire from the exertion. At any moment, I could have asked the party to pull over and I could have climbed inside the carriage, which now seemed quite comfortable, despite my protests to the contrary at the end of our day yesterday. However, I had made this ride once or twice a week when Father first allowed me to come to town on my own. Surely I’d only grown in strength since then.

  After nearly an hour on horseback, my legs said that I had not grown in strength, but was in fact, a man nearly as feeble as my aging father.

  The horses pulling carriages and my belongings were in far better shape than myself. In the country, I looked forward to riding my stallion, but I should continue with Champion—aging, though he may have been.

  Daft, foolish pride prevented me from asking for the carriage to take me on, but I did request a stop for lunch. Kearns asked me questions about my riding seat, which I answered with lots of non-
committal noises while feasting on the ham and bread that the cook had prepared.

  When it was time to get up and continue our journey, my legs burst into flames. Honestly, it was time for me to get into the carriage. Just as I was about to state my intention, Roberts led Champion to me.

  “E’s had a nice drink of water and a little grazin’. He should be right as rain for ya.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. Stared at the height of the stirrup compared to my foot, which rested on the ground, underneath a leg that felt as if it were made of wood. Wood that was on fire. With a quick contortion comparable to a street performer, I grasped Champion’s breastplate, climbed up his side, and slumped myself back into the saddle.

  As we set off again, I knew continuing my ride was a terrible idea, but I could not stop. I would not show my weakness at having been out of the saddle for so long. Every gentleman should be an accomplished horseman. I would not arrive at my parents’ house in a carriage when my very tame, very calm gelding, was being ponied behind. I also would not arrive in a carriage when I knew full well that my mother would be irritated with me for being a gentlemen on horseback for the purpose of travel rather than for the purpose of sport. Perhaps it would prevent her from creating any matches for me, unsuitable as I may show myself to be for a young lady of means.

  Our long meal meant that darkness was creeping in around the trees, creating long shadows along the road. I’d ceased to be able to feel my legs. I was quite sure that my seat bones were forever altered. This ride was far longer than it had been two years ago. I may never walk properly again.

  When we finally arrived at Windham Manor, my chest rose in pride at having come so far on horseback after a two-year riding hiatus. My father’s butler stood on the front stoop, and apologized for my parents, because they had retired for the evening.

  I sat on poor Champion with the realization that all my efforts to appear strong and virile had quite possibly both crippled me, and only aided me in showing off to the servants, which was far from necessary. My only hope was that word would travel from the servants to my parents. Though, I had to admit, the effect would be nothing like I’d hoped. This wouldn’t be the first time a foolish venture had hurt me, and left my intended target unscathed by my idiocy.

  After leaning forward over Champion’s neck, and wrapping my arms around his neck, I was able to slowly slide my leg up to the saddle where my thigh caught on the cantle, and I hung, rather stuck until Champion shifted his weight, unlocking my leg and allowing me to promptly fall onto my backside.

  As much as it would pain me to tell Elliot, he always loved a good story, and after my full rejection of his wish for me to marry his sister, giving him the highlights would be a perfect way to start our first conversation in a year.

  Two servants were next to me immediately, hauling me to my feet and brushing me off.

  “I’m quite fine. Good. Excellent,” I said. Though, I wasn’t sure yet how I’d manage to walk up the stairs to my room. I also wasn’t yet sure if I told my leg to move forward, that it would listen.

  “The road was unusually rough today,” Kearns said, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Any fine horseman would suffer the same.”

  In this moment, I accepted his lie as truth. Although, I’d spent enough time with him over the past two years to know he was attempting to hide his smile. “Yes, yes,” I told him. “You have your fun and help my quivering legs up the staircase, will you?”

  “Of course, sir.” He placed himself under my arm almost immediately, and we walked slowly into the massive and quiet house.

  I’ve heard of the relief that most people feel in coming home, but as we stepped into the vast receiving hall, all I felt was watched, studied, and scrutinized by the family portraits hanging on the walls. What had I done in my tour of Europe, if I were being honest? Smoothed over my French? Learned enough Italian to play cards? I had read novel after novel, but in Father’s eyes, novels were a waste of time. I’d spent two years hiding. My deceased family staring at me from portraits knew it. I knew it.

  In moments, Kearns had me to my room, a bath drawn, and had procured a small selection of books, as well as a fine drink.

  Of all the daft things I’d done in my life, my ride today may very well have been near the top of the list. As I allowed the hot water to soak away the pain, I was left wondering if I’d be able to walk in the morning.

  Chapter 7

  Isabelle

  “Be sure to send my thanks again to Mrs. Somerville,” Mother said. She straightened the lace border of my bodice, and her blonde hair ruffled ever so slightly, her eyes misting in the warm breeze. “To invite you to Haven’s Landing for the month, regardless of your friendship with Anna, is generous indeed.”

  The sky, blanketed in clouds like I had grown accustomed, cast a gray haze on Mama’s light eyes. I kissed her cheek. Haven’s Landing sounded like just the thing to lift my spirit, but standing in front of Mama, seeing her pain at our parting, dampened my excitement.

  “Yes.” I nodded emphatically, hoping to convince Mama of my gratitude. “I will send Mrs. Somerville and her husband all our gratitude and endeavor to be a pleasant companion for Anna.”

  “That,” Mama said with the faintest smile, “should not prove difficult for you. I imagine your sisters, particularly Juliet, will be disappointed you are not returning to Bridlington straight away. You will be given another chance, and as you are so bent on refusing Mr. Braithewaite, I will pray for your success.”

  My eyes stung, but I blinked away any emotion—as I always did. My season had, in many ways, been everything I had dreamt about since I was a child; I had attended more balls, parties, and dinners than I could count. I had seen places and people I had only read about in newspapers and books. I had gained a dearest friend in Miss Anna Somerville, and I had met my share of attractive, eligible gentlemen.

  My chest tightened at the thought of it—gentlemen had shown interest in me.

  They flirted and asked me to dance, they called on me and extended invitations to dinner, and some were as bold as to offer an absurd number of compliments. But male interest never led to anything substantial, unless I counted Mr. Braithewaite. The fact was clear: respectable men of means did not wish to marry the daughter of a country physician, no matter how much Mama wished it otherwise.

  Mama sighed, fanning her cheek with a gloved hand. “You must be sure to write every week. Juliet will be far too lonely without your letters.”

  “I will write every chance I get,” I promised.

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  Our conversation drifted into nothing, and the steps of Aunt Susan’s townhouse seemed the only thing grounding me.

  Most parents did not claim a favorite child, but Mama was not like most parents. She had let me—and others—know on occasion that she favored me. She doted on me, begging Papa to buy me the loveliest dresses he could afford and even spending a large portion of her modest inheritance to send and accompany me to London for my first and only season.

  When Mrs. Somerville’s black carriage rolled to a halt in front of our steps, Mama turned toward me one last time. Something about her voice grew urgent, and desperation leaked between each whispered word. “Isabelle, you must try your hardest to attach yourself to the young Mr. Somerville. You will have a whole summer to convince Elliot of your good qualities. And considering your friendship with Anna Somerville, I do not think Mr. Elliot Somerville out of reach.”

  I drew back, shaking my head. “I could not. His heart belongs to another. I believe the words have been spoken.”

  “Are you certain?” she whispered.

  Nearly, but I withheld any more comment, to prevent Elliot gaining any idea of Mama’s wishes.

  Mama grasped both my hands in hers, just as the carriage door swung open. Her last words came out dry, cracking as she hugged me a final time. “If you do not attach yourself to a gentleman of means, you must consider Mr. Braithewaite. Think of your famil
y.”

  I twisted my hands in the muslin fabric of my dress. From the corner of my eye, I saw Elliot’s tall hat, and a servant began loading my trunks.

  “Isabelle,” Mrs. Somerville said from inside the carriage. “We are late, as you are well aware. I hope you can forgive us. Elliot had some nonsense business that kept him.”

  Her warmth lifted my spirit for a brief moment, and I broke from Mama’s embrace. “Not to worry.”

  “Isabelle,” Anna’s voice rang. “You must sit by me, no matter what Mother says.”

  Elliot offered his hand, and I took it smiling. “Thank you.”

  “As I said, business kept Elliot.” Mrs. Somerville smiled from inside. “I cannot tell you how relieved I will be when we are far from London, and business will not steal my son—or my husband for that matter. I took great lengths in convincing Elliot that a house party was just the thing.”

  Elliot gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “May I help you into the carriage?”

  Goodness. I still stood there, holding his hand like an incompetent child. I laughed but climbed into the carriage on my own, glancing back at my mother. She stood on the steps, searching my expression for some assurance of her earlier appeal.

  I closed my eyes, turning away. I took my seat beside Anna, smiling and hugging my friend, all the while acutely aware I had failed Mama far too many times.

  Perhaps the Somerville house party would offer another candidate.

  “You should have seen the way Mama was carrying on about you.” Anna’s melodious voice offered a welcome distraction. “I had to remind her that you were coming as my particular guest, not hers. She would have gladly claimed you as her own child, even before me.”

  Mrs. Somerville laughed, shaking her head. “Do not be silly, Anna. I worry you will not allow me a moment's rest on this journey.”

  Elliot found his seat next to his mother and tapped his cane against the ceiling of the carriage as signal to the driver. “I would claim Isabelle over the pair of you.”