My toes were still cold from our marching through the damp brush, and I was late for tea, and at every turn since the arrival of my mother, I continually discovered Anna waiting with a smile rather than Miss Kinsley. We had taken so long in the country due to Mr. Barrington, that I had no chance for a bath between the hunt and now. Haven’s Landing was supposed to be a sanctuary from the frustrations of the world, rather than a place which exacerbated them.
“Blast!” I jerked the cravat off my neck. “Kearns!”
Why did I ever attempt my own cravat?
“Of course, sir.” He moved from where he had been folding my riding clothes.
“Allow me, sir.”
My eyes fell closed as he worked the fabric around my neck.
“Too tight.”
He unwrapped. Wrapped.
“Too tight,” I mentioned again.
He pulled the fabric and the floor creaked.
I stared at the man who had become so much more than my valet. “What do I do?”
He once again wrapped the fabric over my collar. “You will need to be more specific, sir.”
“Anna. Isab...Miss Kinsley…” I only wished to call her Isabelle. To hear Simon from her lips. Perhaps as an experiment. Perhaps as a way for me to know if I would miss my wife the way my grandmother missed my grandfather. That was the kind of love I wanted in my life. I did not need to marry soon, if it were not for Mother’s insistence. Surely, I could wait until Anna had found a gentleman more suited to her than myself. But in that time, surely Isa...Miss Kinsley would also find someone more suited to her tastes than myself.
“Blast,” I said instead.
“Do you wish me to speak freely, sir?” Kearns asked as he adjusted the knot.
I peered at myself in the mirror. The silk waistcoat would please both Mother and Anna. Sadly, there would be no way to ascertain if my more formal dress would be more or less appealing to Miss Kinsley without branching far outside the realm of decorum.
“You cannot marry Anna, sir.” Kearns stepped back and lifted my tailcoat. “She is a girl who doesn’t yet know her own mind.”
“Is that so?”
His cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s above my station, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no,” I urged. “What is it about Anna?” Perhaps he would bestow a nugget of information that could be used to persuade Mother.
“She should not marry anyone until she knows her own mind. She will make herself miserable. She would make a husband miserable.”
I slipped my arms into the coat. “You sound quite convinced.”
“I am.”
I lifted my chin. “And Miss Kinsley?”
“You are falling in love,” he said.
“No,” I responded. “I hardly know Miss Kinsley.”
“I did not say that you were in love, Mr. Windham. Merely that you were falling.”
Falling was perhaps the right word. And I was bungling it up as poorly as I had when I’d tried to dismount Champion without the use of feeling in my limbs. “She is Anna’s best friend. The situation is impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Kearns said. “Only...a bit like your card games.”
Like my card games? Ah. “I must read the other players cautiously.”
He nodded once.
“What I would give to see Miss Kinsley in her own home. With her family. Along the shores of the ocean. Rather than here, where behavior and talents are showcased like awards, allowing us all to compare one with another.”
“Well sir, you do seem to come out on top.” Kearns adjusted the shoulders of my coat. “At least most of the time.”
“Honestly,” I responded, “I think I only care about coming out on top, if she’s by my side.”
“That far fallen, are we?”
“That much...that much...hopeful for the chance at possibility,” I responded.
Two loud knocks were followed by Elliot. “I certainly hope you are decent my friend.”
“I suppose that depends on your definition,” I answered quickly.
“Mr. Gregory is reciting ridiculous poetry again. Come.” He gestured with his head. “You must not miss this.”
Running my hands over my front one more time, I followed Elliot from the room. No more would my notice of Miss Kinsley be watched by Anna and Elliot alone, but also my mother and perhaps my grandmother as well.
“Elliot,” I started. “I...about Anna…”
“Oh come on, my good man.” Elliot lightly tapped my shoulder. “You appear far too serious. Let us enjoy the fine words of Mr. Gregory, then we may entertain more serious topics.”
“If Mary hasn’t once again captured your entire attention.”
Elliot shrugged. “I do not mind her capturing my attention in the least.”
If I were able to make my own way to a match, I hoped that one day, Elliot’s reactions would be my own.
Chapter 21
Isabelle
Teatime at Haven’s Landing was an event as spectacular as a musicale, at least to me. The parlor was filled with tiered platters spread between the house party. The men, recently returned from a morning hunt, were now gathered along the sofas and armchairs. Mr. Fullerton had exiled himself to a corner with his paper.
Three scones. My stomach already bloated beneath my light blue dress. I had never consumed such an exorbitant amount in one sitting, not when there were other cakes and fruits and cheeses to be had. Yet, once Mr. Gregory began composing poems aloud, he did not stop.
Eating had become the only distraction, and I had done so in the most unladylike fashion possible. My patience, severely tested by Mr. Gregory’s recitations (if one could call them that), teetered on the brink of dying altogether.
Sonnets about roasted duck, a limerick about a passing cloud, and riddles about the timbre of Anna’s voice—I could think of little more absurd to discuss over a cup of tea. Was Mr. Gregory blind to Miss Somerville’s disinterest? Perhaps he thought the entire party’s silence a plea for his forging forward.
Mr. Somerville, a self-proclaimed recluse, had joined the party that morning, and his wriggling eyebrows and quiet “hmm”s spoke of regret. Regret or indigestion—I did not know the man well enough to decipher, but I gathered from his pursed lips and refusal to face Mr. Gregory that Mr. Somerville would not be joining our party again voluntarily.
Twenty poorly written poems might have been bearable had Anna not claimed the seat next to Mr. Windham. Her amused expression each time Mr. Windham spoke to her only served as a further test.
Ladies were not to be so forward. One might trigger a scandal if she were to flirt too openly. Anna seemed to ride the line, the line of propriety and manners and flirting and saying everything she wished to with a single glance, all with enviable proficiency. She was not coarse, nor was she irritating in her attempts. No, much worse: Anna was perfectly lovely in every way.
Jealousy did not pair with my complexion. Mr. Windham had claimed preference to my temperament, but after the arrival of his mother and grandmother, I doubted preference mattered. Not where wealth and manners were concerned. Not where anything of consequence was concerned. My enjoyment of Mr. Windham was only that—enjoyment.
Thank goodness Mrs. Windham attended to Mrs. Lovell instead of tea. I could not bear to witness her disapproval of me yet again. Her initial glance had burned in my memory and was made all the brighter during dinner. I did not utter more than a few words for fear of a scolding.
“I tell you, Miss Somerville.” Mr. Gregory paced the room, teacup in hand. His hair bounced as he tossed his head back and forth. “Tea without the proper room is not tea at all, though I am sure Mr. Barrington—who takes his tea in the library this very moment—would disagree.”
Mr. Barrington. I might have tried to catch his attention from the start. At least he had enough sense to avoid this spectacle altogether. The two of us might have found more in common than originally thought. And, sipping tea in silence was infinitely pre
ferable to that of watching Anna grin and giggle at every single thing Mr. Windham said, even when he did not, himself, find anything to smile about. The ease of his conduct had been much changed since the arrival of his family.
“What say you, Miss Somerville? Shall I compose a verse about the enigma himself?” Mr. Gregory asked, alluding to Mr. Barrington once more. His ambiguously colored hair bounced like a dandy.
Anna’s eyes danced at the suggestion. The man had no idea Anna was teasing him, allowing his efforts to stand as a spectacle. “I do believe you should.”
Though Mr. Gregory hadn’t needed any encouragement, Anna’s urging sent him into an almost prance. He discarded his teacup on the cart and scratched at his head. “There once was a fellow, a man whose face ran rather yellow. He dared not mingle for tea, for he preferred the company of brie. And so, you see, his life was terribly mellow.”
Mrs. Somerville’s complexion darkened considerably. Her upturned nose and lowered brows were quite as fierce as a bear, protecting one of its own. “I agree that taking tea in solitude is mighty particular, but you mustn’t tease the young man. Many ladies would do well to choose such a man. I know I certainly did,” she said and smiled in the direction of her husband.
Mr. Somerville’s jaw came forward, and his eyes widened considerably. For someone so expressionless, I worried the animation might crack his smooth, gray skin. His lips ticked, ever so slightly. Was that a smile I detected?
I covered my lips to hide my own grin. Mr. Barrington, Mr. Somerville—I was beginning to doubt my initial judgement of either character. Not to mention, Mary had turned out to be a pleasing companion.
“I have never thought to choose such a man,” Anna blurted, standing. She paced around the sofa where Mr. Windham sat. “Not for a moment. Oh, Mama, you are perfectly right to protect Mr. Barrington, for he is agreeable and has much to offer a wife. Of that, I have no doubt. However, I find I much prefer the type of gentleman that teases and speaks.”
“Teacups and fiddlesticks.” Mrs. Somerville’s voice sliced through the breath of silence.
I straightened. A mother’s chiding was as recognizable to me as the back of my hand.
“I won’t have you say such a silly thing, Anna. Now, let us not speak of gentlemen and preferences a moment longer. In fact, I rather think we all need a turn in the gardens. Nature has a way of clearing muddled minds,” Mrs. Somerville continued, setting her teacup to the table. She rose from her chair and faced her daughter with a sternness that made me wish I could crawl beneath my chair. “I have already decided upon pairings for our walk, and you must oblige. Mary, you shall take Elliot’s arm. Miss Guppy, Mr. Gregory. Anna, Mr. Barrington. And Isabelle, Mr. Windham.”
A piece of scone slipped down my throat, lodging near my windpipe. Instinctively, I downed an entire cup of piping hot tea in order to clear my breathing passage. The liquid scalded my tongue and chest with a fierceness that could only be matched with my nerves. I would live to regret that swallow.
Anna’s mouth dropped to protest.
Mrs. Somerville lifted a chin in challenge. “I do enjoy hosting house parties. Dearest husband, come take my hand.”
The half-eaten trays seemed to call to many of the guests, as reluctant gazes peered with longing over the plates of treats.
Mr. Somerville, however, stood, taking his wife’s hand and wrapping it around his arm. “As you wish, my dear. Shall we fetch Mr. Barrington, Anna?”
Anna’s shoulders slumped slightly, but she nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
People filtered through the room like a flask funnel, the group petering out the door and into a thin string of couples. I paced near the back, awaiting the inevitable—my heart’s sputtering to absurd rhythms. I could not think of anyone I wanted to walk with more than Mr. Windham, and the thought troubled me. My commitment to Anna rung in the back of my head, shaking away my girlish fancies. Or, at least, I attempted to shake them away. Girlish fancies claimed a mind of their own, one I was ashamed to say I could not curb.
“Miss Kinsley?” Mr. Windham said, when we were the last remaining.
“If I must.” I cringed. “That is—I would much rather finish devouring those platters.” My poor excuse only served to make me appear glutenous. I shook my head and tucked my hand in the crook of his arm. “In truth, I am glad to be done with the awkward discussion of earlier.”
His eyes danced, though I did not know whether he found more humor in my clumsy words or the uncomfortable dialogue between Mrs. Somerville and Anna. “I am sorry to take you from the plates that have so clearly stolen your affection. But, I too dislike being placed between sparring mother and daughter, and I have witnessed it for many years. Those two are much too similar.”
We passed through the grand entrance and out the back door, behind the other couples. Mr. Somerville had, apparently, located Mr. Barrington as quickly as he had left, and Anna and the silent-tea sipper walked more solemnly than if they were taking part in a funeral procession.
“I have never seen Anna and her mother at odds, but you say it has happened many times throughout the years?” I asked, eyeing the leading couples.
Mr. Windham spoke slowly. “Perhaps I should rephrase my earlier assessment. It is not that they have many disagreements—both ladies are uncommonly accommodating and generally pleasing. However, where Anna lacks wisdom, her mother is more than happy to supply it for her. But as they are both stubborn, you can imagine the rows they get into every once and a while.”
I could well imagine. Mama and Juliet, though for opposite reasons, were known to disagree with a fierceness that frightened Papa, a man unaffected by the worst of physical ailments. The cavity between my sister and mama remained a mystery; I was far more unruly, and finding fault was infinitely easier to do in me than my sister.
We approached the gardens, surrounded by ten-foot stone walls, walls that might have been thought in ill-repair if not for the charming way the ivy and scaling rose bushes climbed the cracked surface. The plot of land was divided into different gardens—roses around the statues and stone arches in the center, wildflowers on the outer perimeter’s beds, and shrubbery and trails swirling between. The bushes reached only waist height, but the design made for a maze of sorts, with seating scattered throughout.
Mr. Windham cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should compose a verse or two about what lay before us?”
Laughter resonated through the air. I inhaled, aware my voice had carried far farther than I had meant it to. “Mr. Windham, I do believe you mean to tease poor Mr. Gregory.”
He chuckled. “Tease? No. I believe the man, who is far from poor, is well aware of his ridiculousness and only speaks so to tease others. He isn’t so daft.”
“Then you mean to tease me?” I asked, watching as his brows settled into a playful angle.
“Perhaps.”
Happiness brushed against my frame, but I feared giving into the sensation entirely. I enjoyed him—undoubtedly. But, I was not so childish as to forget my station or his duty. Instead, I settled on detached teasing. “You will have to compose me a poem someday.”
“Must I?” His steps halted, and he looked down at me with a smirk. “I am not used to being commanded by new acquaintances, and I am even less used to obeying such commands.”
Here was again the lightness that his countenance had held when I’d first arrived. My lips spread into a smile, one that pinched my cheeks. “I should like to see your attempt at besting Mr. Gregory. Words are not so easily manipulated, not for most at least. My sister Juliet is rather skilled at them, but I have met few that possess a skill equal to hers.”
His expression softened, and small lines creased near the corner of his eyes. “You speak of her with such affection.”
I shrugged. “She is my dearest friend.”
“To consider a sister a friend—rare indeed. I consider Elliot and Anna as close to brother and sister as they could be.”
“Yes, rare,” I agreed, aching for Anna
. I could not decipher the slightest romantic feeling on Mr. Windham’s part for her. But if anyone could sway a gentleman to fall in love with her, Anna could. I would try at my part too. I swallowed. “Strange, wasn’t it? Seeing Anna as a child and now as a young woman, beautiful and captivating?”
He led me along the path once more, remaining silent on the subject.
I pushed once more, as much for Anna as for myself. No man of Mr. Windham’s station would wish to marry me, but I longed to know he at least approved of me, perhaps even found my company enjoyable. “Well, Mr. Windham? Are you quite amazed at her transformation? Elliot said you were gone the last two years. Those years must have brought about a great change in Anna. She has three pending proposals already.”
I winced at the sound of my voice. I sounded as desperate for his denial as Anna must be for his attention.
“She has not changed, not really, not in any significant sense. I am not the least surprised she has been sought after—she was raised to such expectations. Beauty and money often try for more beauty and money.”
A lump formed in my throat. If he was trying for ambiguity, he succeeded by neither denying nor admitting affection for Anna, either of which would have provided some definitive peace. My voice grew hoarse against the sudden brush of wind. “Why did you go away for two years? Elliot and Anna felt your absence.”
Mr. Windham’s glance settled on my disheveled curls. He released an audible breath, simultaneously retreating. “It is the duty, of young gentlemen, to travel and to learn of the masters as they tour the continent. I was eager to escape England for a time. Mother was eager to place me among the gentlemen she assumes I wish to have as my peers.”
My hand, the one that had rested on his arm, fell to my side.
“Can I be frank with you, Miss Kinsley?” he asked.
Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1) Page 17