Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1)

by Heather Chapman

  His meaning was not lost on me. The way he mentioned my home, the way he studied me. He was, most definitely, not charmed. More precisely, Mr. Sheffield mocked me. He knew of my background—he had to in order to look at me the way he did.

  I inadvertently withdrew my hand from his. Then, aware of the others’ attention, I dropped into a curtsy. I did not bother responding to his question, not when he so clearly meant to rattle me. “A pleasure, Mr. Sheffield.”

  His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. “Haven’s Landing must be a particular treat.”

  Another slight? My jaw came forward, but I pulled it back just in time to produce a polite smile. “Yes, indeed. Haven’s Landing has presented as lovely a picture as Anna promised.”

  One of Mr. Sheffield’s brows quirked.

  Mrs. Sommerville clapped her hands, calling to order the gathering and relieving me from the duty of responding to another word uttered by that dreadful man. “Dear friends,” she said, “let us find our seats. The musicale is set to begin.”

  Anna led me to the front row.

  “Did you not think Mr. Sheffield handsome?” Anna whispered in my ear.

  Handsome? I had hardly noticed his looks at all, except for his smirk and mocking eyes. They were not even a respectable color—not blue nor gray, nor brown nor anything decipherable. And his hair! I preferred the color of Mr. Windham’s and the cut of Elliot’s.

  “Well?” Anna nudged me with her elbow, which was far too pointed.

  “I hardly noticed.”

  “Mr. Sheffield is nearly eight and twenty, and when you are a young girl, ten years difference means everything. I never attempted to gain his attention, for I never thought it possible. Not even the girls five years older seemed to interest him. However, I do wish I had tried to like him, for he is handsome and amusing and beyond rich.” Anna sighed, turning her head to catch a glimpse of this new hero, effectively flipping her curls into my face.

  Perhaps my offense had blinded me. I could not resist assessing his looks once more. I turned to see Mr. Sheffield watched me, as if he anticipated my attention. As if he knew I could not resist seeing his smug face once more. I gritted my teeth.

  “Well?” Anna asked, clearly wondering about my second peek at the man.

  I shook my head. “Not handsome at all, nor agreeable.”

  Her lips hinted at a smile. “To be sure, not as handsome nor as agreeable as my Simon, but a close second.”

  Rather I married Mr. Barrington and sipped tea in silence! Come to think of it, I much preferred Mr. Gregory and his idiotic poems to Mr. Sheffield, no matter what wealth lay at stake. At least I might have a moment of peace, a moment of self-respect. Perhaps I might even pick up the hobby of composing poems; I could think of nothing more I wished to do at that precise moment. Just as Anna possessed the ability to flatter with flowery words, I might possess equal artistic ability in describing Mr. Sheffield’s questionable character.

  Someone tapped my shoulder, and I spun, unaware my expression remained stubborn, hardened.

  “Miss Kinsley.” Mr. Windham’s voice awakened me to my senses. He held out my fan. “You dropped this just now.”

  Here was a man, for all I knew, with privilege and wealth, and aside from the comment he’d withheld that morning, he still treated me with the deference of a lady. “Thank you, Mr. Windham,” I said, collecting my fan.

  Anna, having witnessed the exchange, sent me a quizzing expression. She bit her lip. “Seems you are all distraction tonight, Isabelle. I do hope you can collect your senses before being called upon to play or sing.”

  I felt no different than the shiny instruments in the center of the room, as if the entire audience seemed to say to me, “And what can you do? How will you impress us?”

  I lifted my chin. I had not faltered yet, and I did not intend to. I would not crack. Not for the likes of Mr. Reginald Sheffield.

  Lady after lady displayed her accomplishments—Miss Guppy on the harp, Mary on the pianoforte, Anna singing a solo accompanied by Elliot, and a handful of strangers performing in the same mediocre way: precise and practiced.

  When at last I was called upon to exhibit my talents, I found myself doing the one thing I had sworn not to—falling prey to my unrepentant impulsivity. I walked to the center of the room to introduce my prepared piece but found myself announcing a different one altogether. “Mr. Sheffield, I wonder if you know any country songs at all?”

  For a fraction of a second, his eyes widened. “Not many, no.”

  I dipped my head in mock humility. “Then I must sing one of my favorites.”

  I sat at the pianoforte and stretched out my hands. Mama always said my voice was stronger than most, that my ear was indisputably perfect. And so, I began to sing a song that was particularly popular in London that year, The Joys of the Country by Charles Dibdin. If Mr. Sheffield did not know this song, he had not been anywhere in London at all in the last year.

  “Let bucks and let bloods to praise London agree,

  Oh! The joys of the country, my jewel, give me!

  Where sweet is the flow’r that the May-bush adorns,

  And how charming to gather it, but for the thorns:

  Where we walk o’er the mountains, with health our cheeks glowing,

  As warm as a toast, honey, when it en’t snowing,

  Where nature to smile when she joyful inclines,

  And the sun charms us all the year round when is shines:

  Oh! The mountains, and valleys, and bushes,

  The pigs, and the screech-owls, and thrushes!

  Let bloods and let bucks to praise London agree,

  Oh! The joys of the country, my jewel, for me!”

  I had always performed well under pressure, for reasons that made no sense. Yet, this time, my voice rang even clearer, even prettier than I could have hoped for. I was not delusional in my assessment; I had always been able to rate my performances in an objective manner. This time, I had sung without restraint, and my mother’s years of lessons had paid off, for when I dropped my hands from the keys and stood to face the applause, I saw more than one tearful face.

  “Bravo,” Mrs. Somerville called from above the clapping. “Simply angelic.”

  I returned to the center of the room with an irrepressible smile. I looked to Mr. Sheffield once more. “That,” I said, catching my breath, “is how we sing in the country, Mr. Sheffield.”

  His eyes widened once more, and his lips seemed to search for a word, any word, in response. Yet, nothing came—no scolding, no mockery, and absolutely no insults. His lips tripped in a humorous way, until at last, he said, “Well done, Miss Kinsley.”

  I returned to my seat.

  “My,” Anna whispered, visibly swallowing. “I hadn’t the notion of you truly outshining every single lady. You might have warned me.”

  “I—” I shook my head. Apologizing felt wrong.

  Anna was well aware I was silly and impulsive, but I had never allowed myself full assertion. I made myself known in acceptable ways—a harmless prank, a clever comeback. Sneaking to the library at night had been an indulgence, no doubt, but even then, something had restrained me. Something always restrained me around Anna and the rest of the London set. Perhaps station. Perhaps Mr. Sheffield’s appearance that night, his mockery and his clear disdain, had sliced through that reserve.

  One last month of summer freedom—that’s all I had. In a matter of weeks, I would return to Bridlington. If unsuccessful—and I was almost certain I would be—Mama would make sure I was busy in new schemes, new plans to make a match, if she gave up the notion of my marrying Mr. Braithewaite.

  “You were marvelous,” Anna said, taking my hand in her own, though her gaze did not meet mine. “I think you have quite changed Mr. Sheffield’s opinion of you. Even now, he watches you with particular attention. I doubt I have seen him look so stunned in all his life.”

  I thanked her, but the disappointment coating her compliment was thinly veiled, if d
isguised at all. Somehow, in her mind, my triumph had proven to be Anna’s failure. For someone so privileged, could she not allow me that moment? Had Mr. Sheffield’s condescending and sneering attitudes gone unnoticed by my friend? Had she not felt the triumph of my winning his shock? Was she not happy for my success?

  And what of the previous night—when my enjoyment of Elliot’s and Mr. Windham’s teasing in the library had served to humiliate Anna? Why did my friend ascribe her shortcomings to my strengths? I did not wish for such responsibility, nor did I think it fair.

  A lump formed in my throat, the kind that scratched with each swallow and blurred my vision. I blinked against the rising emotions until I once more secured my composure. I didn’t need a reason to perform my best at the musicale. Or, anywhere for that matter. I had fallen into the ugly trap of believing I had to live in Anna’s shadow. Wealth and reputation dictated such things, particularly when she had the compassion and generosity to offer one of my station her friendship.

  I bit my tongue, looking to the floor. Society might deprive me of praise for my legitimate accomplishments and talents, but Anna need not. Was I fully human to her, or a compassionate venture meant to lift her standing?

  “You might have warned me, as I said earlier.” She tried at smiling. “We might have performed a duet so that we might not be so very separated by talent. No matter, I shall find a way into Simon’s arms by the night’s end. A simple stumble will do the trick.”

  I held my breath, hoping my skepticism would not show itself.

  Anna snickered. “London gentleman need little persuasion, but Simon requires a touch of theatrics.”

  Chapter 18

  Simon

  “Mr. Sheffield is quite a footy fellow,” I stated quietly to Elliot, who snorted under his breath. “Though, I’m sure I’d have no problems coming up with harsher insults after watching his disdain of Anna’s dear friend.”

  “You are defending her honor already, are you?” Elliot said as he watched the conversing guests, all still speaking of the musicale.

  I leaned in closer. “He’s parading about the room, hands clasped behind his back, peering at the ladies as if they’re livestock.”

  “Yes,” Elliot agreed. “The Sheffields are not my favorite of Mother’s local friends.”

  I had made note that particular attention had been paid to allow Miss Kinsley and Mr. Sheffield to meet.

  There was no proper way for me to approach Miss Kinsley and tell her how much I wished she’d performed after the arrival of my parents. My mother would forgive much in station if talent were present. Miss Kinsley was clever, impossible to fluster, and talented in both music and cards.

  “Mary looks lovely tonight,” I said. Her harp performance had been flawless. Of course, she’d lacked the passion so present in Miss Kinsley’s performance.

  “Mary always looks lovely,” Elliot replied as he stared at her across the room.

  “The rain has let up,” I mentioned. “Perhaps we will have our ride tomorrow.”

  Though, if Anna were there as well...I’d been riding with Anna many times over the years, and she always found a way to either injure herself or set her mare so close to Napoleon as to send him into fits.

  Miss Fullerton—I did not know her quite so well as to call her Mary—paused in front of us. She dipped her chin.

  “Lovely performance,” Elliot said. “I did not think your playing could have improved after hearing you play on your last visit.”

  “You flatter me only because we’re to be married.” Mary’s smile was soft, but her gaze direct. She tucked her fingers against her thick hair. Mary had always been lovely, clear skin, thick brown hair, but I’d never given her much thought as she’d been older, and Elliot had always been staring.

  He reached for her hand, holding it in his two. “It is true that I am biased.” He nearly radiated light with his smile. “But it was lovely.”

  “Your piece was brilliant,” I added. “Truly.”

  Her gaze was steadier than most younger ladies’ gazes, but her attention only rested on me a moment before turning toward Elliot. “Well thank you, I’ve been—”

  A small gasp echoed behind me, and I spun only to be immediately tangled in limbs, blue eyes, and familiar dark hair. The weight of Anna fell fully against me, and I grasped at whatever I could to prevent her fall, as I staggered to remain upright. A small tearing sound, followed immediately by a yelp, and it was all I could do to catch both of her arms before she hit the floor. Her legs splayed out in front of her, making it appear as though I were dragging an unruly young child to their room.

  Exclamations burst out around me as I stood there, grasping her under the arms, wondering if I should haul her up, or set her down. Instead, she rested just above the floor for a moment.

  Elliot, in less shock than me, possibly due to being Anna’s brother, intervened. He gathered her left arm, and I concentrated on bringing her right to its normal level.

  Just as she scrambled her legs underneath her again, she yelped. “Ow!”

  My stomach dropped. Of all the rotten luck, and at her own party, no less.

  “Oh dear!” Mrs. Somerville hurried to her side as Elliot and I slowly brought her to the chaise. “What happened?”

  I glanced back to see Miss Kinsley, her attention wholly on Anna. Her face slacked in shock or surprise.

  “My hem.” Anna still grasped my arm around my elbow, forcing me to lean over her on the chair. “The beading along the bottom must have pulled my hem too low and caught under my new shoes.”

  Attempting to slide back to regain my full posture, I only managed to remove Anna’s hand from my elbow to my hand.

  “Oh, your dress.” Mary knelt and fingered the thin fabric overlay. “I don’t know that this is fixable.”

  In moments, Anna was situated on the chaise, having collected a small group of well-wishers. My hand still clutched in hers. She squeezed me, and I released a slow breath to allay my frustrations rather than tug my arm from her.

  “Simon,” Anna said as she looked up at me. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  I patted the top of her hand in a gesture that I hoped was more fatherly than familiar, and finally retrieved my arm from her clutches.

  Only a moment ago, it appeared as if I were about to haul a naughty child to their nurse or governess, and now Anna had the full attention of the entire room.

  Stepping back, I bumped into Elliot.

  “Only Anna,” he whispered, “could go from an ungraceful fall, to smiling and thanking her guests for their concern in this manner.”

  “Oh, Isabelle.” Anna fluttered a hand toward Miss Kinsley who stepped well around Mr. Sheffield to stand by her friend.

  Miss Kinsley hadn’t had a moment to speak before Anna had brought her friend close to her and whispered in her ear. Fortunately, she’d gained some distance from her well-wishers or the gesture would have been unthinking at best, rude at worst.

  A half-moment later, Miss Kinsley’s gaze landed on me, followed almost immediately by Anna’s—the latter of which smiled in a way that always made me wary.

  “I don’t know what those two are up to,” Elliot whispered, “but I’m very happy to not be on the receiving end of both of their gazes.”

  “Well, there will be no ride for you tomorrow, my dear,” Mrs. Somerville said as she sat near Anna’s feet.

  Anna sat up. “No, no, Mama, it is not so bad as that!”

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Somerville sighed. “You see here? I believe it is swollen a bit already, and this is the foot which rests in the stirrup.”

  Anna swallowed. Miss Kinsley’s face paled.

  “It is no matter. Only a few are going,” Mrs. Somerville continued, “and you shall be a wonderful entertainment for those of us left here.”

  Mr. Gregory stepped forward. “I will be here.”

  Anna’s smile appeared forced.

  “He has poems enough to keep the pair of them busy,” Elliot whispered. />
  “Simon?” Anna called. “We have barely spoken since you arrived, perhaps you could once again lend me your support?”

  “Please do not leave me alone with her,” I whispered to Elliot as I moved her way.

  The shuffle of cards rang in my ears, and I glanced up to see a group of four settling in for a game of whist. With any luck, I could help Anna with whatever she needed and then come back for whomever wished to play.

  But of course, Elliot abandoned me for the cards.

  “I’m quite tired,” Anna said, “after my scare.”

  “Of course,” I responded. “How”—I glanced back at Elliot, who was once again engaged in conversation with Mary near the card table—“may I be of service?”

  “Isabelle and I are quite tired and are ready to retire.” She pointed to her feet. “And if I am to convince Mother that I’m well enough to partake in outdoor activities, I fear I need to be far more cautious with myself. Would you be so kind as to escort me upstairs?”

  “I do not believe it appropriate for me to escort you to your bedchamber.”

  “Simon,” she scoffed. “You’ve lived in this house nearly as much as your own before you left us all.”

  “Anna,” Miss Kinsley whispered. “You cannot ask that of him.”

  But there was no polite manner in which I could hope to prevent my escorting Anna. I turned. “Elliot?”

  “Miss Kinsley will go with you,” he said, standing. “We’re all in the same house.”

  At least he’d had the decency to finally join me at his sister’s side, though, he was able to play cards and be near Mary without harassment.

  “Is this satisfactory?” I asked to no one in particular.

  At least the three of us would be seen leaving the room together.

  Anna grasped my arm as I helped her to her feet.