Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1)

by Heather Chapman

  When Napoleon and I finally reached the manor, Elliot and Mary had already dismounted. Their horses were being led toward the stables.

  “Elliot. Miss Fullerton. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said, swinging off Napoleon.

  “It is no matter,” Miss Fullerton said kindly. “I am to marry your best friend. I believe it would be proper for you to call me Mary.”

  “Mary.” I bowed briefly. “Thank you again for your patience.”

  “We had only just dismounted,” Elliot said. “I gave instructions for the horses to only be held and given a little water before our ride home.”

  Another groom took Napoleon and started toward the stables.

  The front door opened and Mr. Pershing stepped onto the broad entrance. “Your father is expecting you in the study. Mr. Somerville is welcome to join you. I may show Miss Fullerton to the library.”

  “I would prefer to walk the garden, if that is alright?” Mary asked.

  “Of course,” I told her. “I would much prefer the garden to whatever business my father has in store.”

  “Sorry,” Elliot said to me. “Will you survive without my presence? I would love to show Mary the house.”

  “Please, be my guest.” I gestured inside. “I cannot imagine my father and I have much to discuss, and you’ve done your share of accounting on your own home. On top of which, you know Windham Manor at least as well as I.”

  Elliot immediately walked Mary to the ballroom, which overlooked the terrace. The room was every bit as large as the ballroom at Haven’s Landing—Mother was simply far more particular in whom she allowed into the manor.

  The moment I stepped into Father’s office, he peered over his desk. “Close the door. Sit.”

  Always directly to business.

  “I was speaking with Mr. Cranston, recently departed for London.”

  Father’s businessman and solicitor.

  I sat. “And what news from him?”

  “He believes that land will continue to be the most prestigious measure of a family’s worth.” Father smoothed his hand over his chin. “And I agree.”

  And for this, I’d been summoned from Haven’s Landing?

  Father reached behind him and pulled out several rolled papers. The type often used for drawings with listings of large homes either for sale or available to lease. “Do you see?”

  “You wish to…purchase another estate?” I offered.

  Father grunted in the affirmative. “And as your mother and I are determined to see you married soon, I thought you may appreciate some say in the matter.”

  Father wished me to help choose another estate for the family? This was…Well, unexpected, would be a drastic understatement.

  “That is…kind…” I trailed off, holding my breath for the deal he would offer.

  “Have you any inclination in a specific direction?” he asked. “I have some papers for properties here.”

  Father stood and leaned over the desk; I followed suit. It still felt strange to be slightly taller than his towering figure, and instead of following his hands spreading out the drawings of fine homes ready for purchase, I stared at his aging face.

  Life was changing far too quickly.

  “I quite like the façade of this one,” he said, pointing to a massive home—the likes of which I’d assumed would be set aside for the royal family. “Or here…” he trailed off as he slipped one paper aside for another.

  Each scroll held another expansive estate—complete with grounds and drawings from separate elevations. “Impressive,” I said.

  “I have put my favorites at the top, but as I said, I wish for you to have some say. Mother says you and Anna will be married before Christmas.”

  I coughed, which lodged a ball of something in my throat cutting off my air. I coughed again, which sounded more like a dying animal than a human.

  “You have not yet proposed?” Father asked.

  “I…I…” Attempted to find an answer, but instead my eyes fell to the next estate. “Wittingham Hall in Flamborough Head?”

  “That is far too east,” Father said. “I believe Anna would wish to be closer to home.”

  He started to pull the drawing away, but I rested my hand on the corner, holding it in place. Large but not so massive one would be often lost.

  “Whittingham Hall,” I said as I stared. “This is the ocean, here?” Though, it was clearly marked on the map, complete with a trail that led to the shore.

  Father nodded once.

  Possibilities fled through my thoughts so quickly, I could scarcely keep up. “If we are ever forced to diversify, having a home near the ocean may be an asset.”

  Tugging at his cravat, Father stared at the property. “Hmpf. Perhaps.”

  I could imagine running from the house down the cliffs to the shore, my wife and children in tow. Playing in the waves. Feeling the salty spray on our faces.

  Wife and children. Somehow this seemed so simple, after all of mother’s pushes in that direction—this thought had been my own. In a blink, Miss Kinsley’s smiling face came into view—her hair wild from wind and her cheeks rosy from the sun. My heart twisted.

  “I shall keep that one in mind,” Father said, “as well as the home in Oxford.”

  “Father?” I asked, and waited until his eyes finally met mine over the desk. “I thank you for thinking of me in making the decision.”

  “You are a man now,” Father said simply. “Your days of playing and spending the family money without consequence are over.”

  Perhaps, thanking him wasn’t quite the proper response. “Yes. Well.”

  “Wittingham Hall and Single Tree Manor then?” he asked. “I shall make a note for the solicitor to keep us informed as to the dealings with those two especially.”

  “Thank you.”

  I had no intention of moving to Oxford—there wasn’t nearly the distance required between my parents and myself.

  Without another word on the matter, Father laid out the family finance book on the desk, and we sat for a few more moments—long enough that our wealth was once again made clear to me. I would never want for anything. If I did nothing, I would never run out of money. Most likely, my children would not either.

  The details of the home ran through my mind again. Her family was there in Bridlington. She could be near the sisters she often spoke of, the father whose mention brought a smile to her face. To be in a position to offer this to Miss Kinsley…

  I shook my head. If I were to offer for Miss Kinsley, the opportunity to bring my family’s fortune into my marriage would be slim.

  “I shall see you this evening at the ball,” Father said. “Mother requires I be present.”

  “Oh. Yes.” I stood, once again wondering at Father’s brusque manner.

  “Thank you,” Father said. “I will not make a final decision until you have proposed. That is all.”

  Proposed to Anna. With a heavy heart, I went in search of Elliot and Mary.

  Yes, Miss Kinsley was used to living with far less than I’d ever dreamed of. Was I prepared to make such a sacrifice? For a lady I’d known such a short time? Would she want me? Would she want me without my fortune? Did I dare ask? Did I wish to ask? No. Too soon. Was it? Many persons had married with far fewer connections.

  How could my mind stray here so quickly?

  No. I had not known her for enough time for a proposal. Perhaps after seeing her at the ball…perhaps my parents could be persuaded after watching her grace and experiencing her intelligence.

  Just as I reached the windowed door to the terrace, I stopped.

  Elliot had Mary in his arms as they shared a kiss on the edge of the terrace, and my heart twisted. What would I be willing to give up to have that same moment with Miss Kinsley? To call her Isabelle?

  My hand slid off the door handle, and I took a step back. My heart was far more settled on Miss Kinsley than I’d realized.

  If there were a way to love her, to be with her, but
also to give her what I longed to—the ease of wealth, a home near her childhood home…If there were a way, I would find it.

  Chapter 25

  Isabelle

  I glanced into the ballroom, fiddling with my fan. Anna had shown me the room while giving me a tour, but the empty hall had been curtained in darkness then, and the space had echoed with each of her words. Now, the area was lit with candle chandeliers, and torches from the terrace shone through each of the long windows that wrapped around the curved room.

  I twirled the ribbon from my fan around one finger, coiling it as I stood outside looking inside. Preparing for a ball was, without fail, anxiety-inducing. The promise of the unknown, both exciting and dreadful, grew with each pinched cheek and hair pin. My thoughts and hopes for the evening weaved in every which direction, as tangled and coiled as the ribbon around my finger.

  Mr. Windham sat at the forefront of all thoughts. After the meeting in the woods, and his gentle reprimands in teaching me the Sauteuse, something had changed. His teaching me and my failing but trying again and again until succeeding had stripped away all pretense. I felt vulnerable, far too exposed.

  In any other instance, I’d have fled. Pride held the reins to my impulsivity, directing it without my consent. To have messed up so abominably, to hear him laugh at my attempts, would have been enough to send me into a fit of shame and despondence. Yet, for reasons I did not understand, I had trusted in his arms. Trusted in his patience and ability to help me navigate.

  For the rest of the day, I had battled waves of emotion. His tender apology, our shared laughter, and the embarrassment surrounding my over-eager leaps—I alternated between fits of quiet recollection, threatening tears, and indomitable hope.

  “My dear, why are you sulking about the doorway?” Mrs. Somerville, followed by Mrs. Windham, stole my hand in hers. “Is Anna still fussing over her reflection?”

  I dipped my chin at Mrs. Windham and tried to quiet my nerves. “She requested a few more of those roses in the East garden. It won’t be much longer.”

  “Always making the entrance,” Mrs. Somerville said, shaking her head while smiling. “I was once quite as silly. But Isabelle, you look charming. Don’t you agree, Elizabeth?”

  Mrs. Windham’s brows quirked upward. “Charming, indeed.”

  I thanked her, even though her comment seemed made out of obligation alone. I had lived in London long enough to recognize empty compliments. The effect was worse than no compliment at all, for if one was made to say such a thing, it held no meaning or perhaps the exact opposite of the actual words.

  A few more pleasantries were exchanged before Anna appeared by my side, pretty and apprehensive. The afternoon had been filled with talk of renewed ambitions, particularly when it came to Mr. Windham. Anna was determined to secure his affection. “A ball,” she had said, “is the perfect moment. One waltz, one moment together, and I am sure he will realize we are perfectly suited.”

  I refrained from discouraging her; I couldn’t, not when she looked at me with such wide eyes, with such adoration-filled smiles. I did not blame her. Forgetting Mr. Windham, especially after spending an entire childhood with him, would be nothing less than crushing. After two weeks, I felt certain my own happiness might be crushed. Moments, such short things, had the power to change hearts—even when one did not wish it, even when one knew better than to feel or hope for such things.

  Two weeks. Two weeks was nothing to the London season. Months in town about Almack’s and other places filled with suitors like Mr. Rowley or Mr. Braithewaite, and I had never felt an inkling of affection. Yet, two weeks of moments with Mr. Windham, and I was in great danger of losing my heart.

  For all the rationale in the world, I could not deny the strength of my emotions. Emotions were as real and true as logic and perhaps more powerful. The bookshop, the horse ride, the library, the woods—such small instances but instances that softened my heart. Mr. Windham’s kindness, the easy humor that melted between us, and the understanding of our natures had all convinced me to hope, against all reason, that he might wish for me.

  Seeing him across the dance floor did little to dampen such aspirations.

  He stood next to Elliot, and he scanned the room until our eyes met. Then, as if time stopped altogether, he became as still as a statue. His eyes bore deeper into mine, the edge of his lips curving in the most endearing way.

  Anna pulled on my wrist. “Thank goodness my ankle has healed.”

  I nodded, though I had no idea how hurt it had been in the first place.

  “Elliot and Mary are horrid at disguising their emotions.”

  I blinked to regain my senses and glanced at the pair beside Mr. Windham, but my chest still buzzed from indulging my girlish notions. “Yes, but I do like to see a happy couple.”

  “I suppose,” Anna said, tilting her head to one side. Her eyes narrowed, and she bit the edge of her bottom lip. “Do you think Simon likes lavender?”

  I bit my tongue. Did Anna really believe she could command a man’s attention as if he had no will of his own? And, since when did my feelings for Mr. Windham supersede my loyalty to Anna? I would already be in Bridlington if not for her kindness and invitation.

  “Isabelle?”

  I flinched. “Yes… most find lavender lovely, though I’d argue that no one wears it as well as you.”

  The paleness of her skin next to the light fabric, paired with her dark hair and arresting eyes, were far more captivating than my own blonde hair and pink gown. Pink was far too common a color for someone like Anna—at least for a ball.

  She donned her usual feigned modesty.

  I recognized the source of my irritation in that instant. I was not angry with Anna—I’d always known exactly how my friend functioned. I’d known her to be frivolous before. I’d known her to be entitled. No, being angry at her was impossible.

  Mr. Somerville and Mrs. Somerville were already announcing the first dance, but I could hardly breathe amidst my discovery.

  I was angry at myself. Infatuation had altered my view, my loyalty, my very thought patterns. In my selfishness, I’d made Anna the enemy. Perhaps I hadn’t the spirit to think that, not coherently. Still, I had allowed all her qualities—all things I had accepted and loved—to become less.

  Ladies began to line the perimeter of the room, and I allowed Anna to lead me along.

  “I begged Mama to begin with the Sauteuse. I thought it best.”

  My gaze snapped to Mr. Windham’s approaching figure. He looked more handsome than ever before—though I wondered if it had more to do with my own heart than his new overcoat and elegant cravat.

  “Just as I said.” Anna brushed her hand over my arm. “I told you he could not refuse my petition.”

  My mouth grew dryer with each of his steps. His eyes locked on mine as they had earlier, and I could not convince myself that he was heading toward Anna. I clasped my hands together and broke apart our glances. He had to know what it would do to ask me to dance rather than Anna…didn’t he?

  “Miss Somerville, Miss Kinsley.” Mr. Windham bowed in front of us. “I wondered if I might ask for the waltz, Miss Kinsley.”

  Anna’s mouth dropped, and I felt the hurt in her next words, directed toward Mr. Windham. “Miss Kinsley?”

  I lifted my chin, facing the disaster before me. Anna’s eyes glistened already. My voice cracked against my words, “I believe you mean to ask Anna.”

  His brows furrowed.

  “You must dance with her,” I pled.

  His gaze narrowed, and he fell back a step. “I hadn’t the notion that asking one young lady was the same as asking any other. No, Miss Kinsley, I thought I made myself clear in addressing you.”

  My rattling chest and the heat burning against my cheeks were nothing to the monstrosity collecting in my eyes. No, I pled, dropping my gaze to the floor—not tears.

  “Miss Kinsley?” His voice softened.

  Anna stood frozen, her scrutiny heavy.

&
nbsp; I opened my mouth, determined to recover. But a cracked sigh escaped, and a wretched tear rolled down my perspiring cheek. I swallowed and shook my head. My inability to speak—just as when Mr. Braithewaite offered for my hand—returned with even greater force, and I pushed past them both to the open terrace.

  Chapter 26

  Simon

  What had just happened?

  I’d asked Miss Kinsley to dance, but she had suggested Anna instead. I would have thought the act a slight, except for the tears pooling in her eyes. Most importantly, why did Anna still stand in front of me while her friend had run away to the terrace?

  “Are you not concerned about Miss Kinsley?” I asked.

  Anna took a step closer to me, her eyes bright and focused—a look I used to misread.

  I stepped around her, no longer caring about making a scene, and followed Miss Kinsley to the terrace. My only hope was that enough company was settled in the room that my absence would not be noticed.

  Anger overtook any sense of propriety or perception. If both Miss Kinsley and I were absent, our absence would be noticed, remarked upon, and possibly judged as inappropriate. Still, I ran to the edge of the terrace, but saw no sign of her in the garden.

  “Simon?” Anna called from behind me. I almost sensed an urgency in her tone, a slip of her composure. She wrapped her hand around my left arm.

  I whirled around, releasing myself from her grasp—it was about time I did so. “Have you not had enough of my company already, Anna?”

  Her lips dropped into a frown, but she recovered. “Enough dancing? Goodness, no. The first waltz might have been ours if you hadn’t abandoned me. We still might dance the last of it.”

  “Why did you bring her here? She is not your equal in station. Did you truly hope to aid her in rising to your station, or did you bring her to help yourself feel superior?”

  She blinked, pulling slightly away from me. “Simon, I…”

  “I have tried to be kind, Anna. I have tried. But you do not listen.” I scanned the darkness for any sign of Miss Kinsley but still saw no hint as to her whereabouts.