“Simon. Come back inside.” Anna leaned toward me, grasped my arm harder, and twisted toward the door. “People will talk.”
“Is that the concern? What are you worried they might say?” I threw my hands in the air, releasing her grasp. “I told you before I left for Europe that I felt for you as a sister. I wrote to you in the plainest terms I could find that I do not feel any romantic inclination toward you, and you refuse to hear me. You disregard my feelings at every turn! And your friend? Your special guest? You would allow her to run away upset with following, when she has done the opposite for you at every chance.”
“Simon,” she chided, as if still not taking me seriously. She fiddled with a flower in her hair, tucking a lose strand around the blossom. I recognized her attempts to act unaffected—she had always been particularly skilled at pretend. “Don’t be silly. Come back to the ball. Isabelle sometimes gets overwhelmed and needs air. That is all.”
“That is not all,” I insisted. “You have no claim to me. If I wish to ask Miss Kinsley to dance, then she must be free to accept that offer.”
“Simon…” Her smile had faltered.
“No.” I snapped. “How can I be plainer? You have much to learn about the world before a gentleman such as myself would ever consider someone like you.”
A sniffled whimper said what I already knew.
I’d gone too far. Spoken out of turn. Ignored any decent amount of decorum. Devastated a dear friend, and for what? Miss Kinsley was further out of reach than she had ever been. “Anna…” I stared at her paling face. “I’m sorry...I…”
She swiped at her cheek, spun on her heel, and stomped back into the ballroom. Whether she would go to her room to cry or go to the ball and be as silly as possible to spite me, I could not know.
Oh, I had damaged my relationship with the Somerville’s in a most devastating way and would need to make my apologies to every person within this household. How had one young woman’s intentions so fully consumed my actions? Why had she not simply listened to me when I’d written her?
I shoved my hands through my hair as I stepped farther into the night air.
A faint ow rang out to my left, and I moved that way. “Hello?”
Rustling in the bushes below was followed by complete silence.
“Miss Kinsley?” I whispered. Had she been so desperate to escape me that she had hidden in a thorny bush?
“Please…” she whispered. More rustling, and a branch snapped. “I only wished for a moment alone. I did not mean to overhear…”
“However, you did?” I squinted into the dark but saw nothing.
She sighed. “Yes.”
“You must think me the worst kind of person,” I said softly.
Miss Kinsley stepped forward, light from the windows casting over her smooth skin. “I need to attend to my friend.”
“Of course.” I had ruined the crowning evening of our party. Anna’s precious ball.
She slowly ascended the steps and paused next to me.
“Miss Kinsley...I…” I reached out to touch her arm, and my fingers found the exposed skin between her glove and her dress. Our eyes connected immediately, and I felt the full warmth and intensity of her gaze. “Why did you not wish to dance with me? If you wish me to place my attentions elsewhere...if you find me repulsive, or…”
“Anna,” Miss Kinsley whispered in response, and then her eyes widened, as though she remembered her friend once more. “I should see to Anna.”
“Isabelle.” I let her name roll off my tongue as my fingers slipped away from her warm skin.
She turned from me, and I clenched my hand into a fist, still warm from her arm.
What a disaster. What a complete and utter disaster. I’d spoken harsher words than a silly girl like Anna deserved. I’d possibly forever damaged my relationship with the Somerville family, and to make matters even worse, the possibility of Miss Kinsley considering me as a suitor had been dashed. What young woman would forgive such words from a man claiming to be a gentleman?
I would need to go inside and at least mention to Mrs. Somerville that I had been less than polite to her own daughter. My stomach churned, making me wish I’d eaten far less for dinner.
My bath was doing nothing to calm my nerves. The evening passed in a blur of mediocre dancing, me pretending that all was well, Anna not looking at me, Elliot’s confused brows, and then me slipping away before the end of the evening. All the while, I ached to touch Isabelle again. To hold her hand or set her mind at ease. I should have felt worse for what I’d said to Anna, but I had meant every harsh word. I hadn’t ever wanted to use such bluntness with a person who felt like a younger sister, but I was in an impossible situation.
I climbed out of the bath, and Kearns helped slip a robe over my body.
The moment I was in the bedroom, my door clicked open and Father stepped in, still in his formal wear from the ball. At least he’d had the decency to attend the ball, though I doubted he had strayed from the table of punch.
I stood next to the bed. “A knock would have—”
“I’m your father,” he said, exhaustion in his voice. “Your mother has sent me.”
No guessing what this discussion would be about.
“I found your ideas interesting,” he said. “Diversifying and using the family’s money to purchase land in faraway parts of England.”
His compliment left me confused.
“And Bridlington felt a little off course, but doable, only now”—his eyes met mine—“I’ve learned that your mention of Bridlington is no random occurrence.”
I swallowed. So, discussion around the refreshments table had turned toward Miss Kinsley.
“Have words been spoken?” Father asked.
“No,” I croaked, only in this moment, I half wished they had. If I’d have told her that I was falling for her, that I wanted to officially court her, to spend time with her...even...
“Good.” Father stood. “No harm done then.”
“Father, I—”
His focus narrowed in on me. “You are a fine young man. Please do not antagonize your mother. We’ve offered you the whole of Europe, London...surely you can find a match more suitable to our family.”
“You would have me marry Anna.” My father as well.
“She is a very pretty girl who is a lovely hostess and would do our family credit,” Father said. “But I also do not wish you to be miserable.”
There was nothing left to do but nod. Miss Kinsley would not be accepted by either of my parents. Did that turn my heart toward her more? Or had I been cautious to prevent an attachment that was forming despite my best efforts? My daft heart had no answer.
“I will leave you.” And with that, Father was gone, and I was once again left alone. I tossed my book to the bed, wondering how Miss Kinsley had passed her evening. She’d re-appeared at the ball on Anna’s arm, but had very much kept to herself, running small errands for Mrs. Somerville rather than partaking. I danced with Miss Guppy, Mary, guests I’d only just become acquainted with, and my mother. I’d even taken Mrs. Somerville to the floor for a set. Anything to prevent my dancing with either Miss Kinsley or Anna. What a disaster.
A single knock was followed by Elliot who dashed into my room, swiftly closing the door behind him.
There would be no rest this evening.
“I am hiding, in case my sister emerges from her room,” he stated. “You have really buggered this.”
“In the worst possible way.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry, Elliot. I lost my temper. I’ve been…”
“Miss Kinsley is far better suited to you than Anna, despite what your parents believe.”
My shoulder slumped as tension slipped from my body. “Thank you, friend.”
“Simon,” Elliot continued. “I know what it’s like to be in love with someone who I didn’t believe loved me back. And it turns out that Mary did love me, and Anna has seen that change, and seen my long-term affection for someone come to fru
ition. Mary and I will be married soon. And Anna...she has felt that same longing for you.”
“I’m sure she will hate me forever after this evening.” I thought back to my harsh words and the manner in which I spoke to her. “My frustration got the better of me. I promise to make it right.”
Elliot chuckled. “You may wait a few days. Anna holds a grudge nearly as well as your mother. But you can’t ignore this messy situation you’ve created, Simon. I fear you’ve lost your chance at either of them.”
“Noted.” I rubbed my forehead. “Will your mother ever forgive me?”
“Your timing was terrible. Your manner was terrible. But everything Anna has done and experienced has been easy for her. My mother hasn’t been in favor of you and Anna for some time, so you won’t have that to contend with, but the fact remains that you did cause pain to Anna.”
Elliot left me, and while I knew he was disappointed, I also knew that our friendship would survive this, just as it had so many other things.
I stood at the window, just as Grandmother had, wondering where Isabelle was. How disappointed she may have been in my behavior. My face reflected in the glass, and I released another sigh. What a terrible, terrible night.
I had no idea how to go about placating and apologizing to Anna, while also maintaining my position that she would never be my wife. How to convince my parents that the daughter of a country doctor was a smart, talented, and sensible young woman whom they should be glad to call ‘daughter’. How to humble myself before Anna’s parents and offer my sincerest apologies. If I could figure out those things, I might approach Miss Kinsley and learn if my actions had forever tainted me in her mind.
I did not sleep a wink, and by morning, I had come up with no solutions, only a knowledge that the more time I could put off the inevitable, the more likely my thoughts and words would make sense.
Chapter 27
Isabelle
Avoiding a person, when living under one roof, proved quite the task—even more so when one wished to avoid two people. I hadn’t the courage to speak to Mr. Windham at length. Avoiding him the past week had not been entirely possible. Teatime, morning rides, dinners, and an outdoor picnic had forced interaction.
My reconciliation with Anna at the ball had been incomplete. I had found her in her bedroom, crying. My presence had pacified her almost immediately, but she had refused to speak of the source of her tears.
I had heard more than my share while tucked into the bushes with my own tears. Mr. Windham had severely scolded her. To think him a possible match now, Anna would have to be blinded by her own whims. But, we did not speak of Mr. Windham asking me to dance, and we did not speak of Mr. Windham at all.
Anna had brooded for an entire week, sequestering herself in her bedchambers as often as her mother would allow. She rarely ate more than a few bites of each meal, and her complexion had paled to a sickly cream.
For my part, I kept my emotions neatly tucked away, my expressions and enthusiasm even more hidden. I answered politely, inquired in a detached but kind way, and attempted to put as much physical distance between myself and the entire party.
The parlor was full of guests that very night, yet I had succeeded in steering clear from any discussions of consequence. Miss Guppy became a safety of sorts. She was more than happy to have the company. Unfortunately, Mr. Gregory also proved a constant. The pair of them were quite attached, and I found a shield behind their meaningless chatter and humiliating poetry.
A week of avoiding truth and Mr. Windham, and only five days more. The image of the sea and my family’s cottage served as the prize for enduring such a strange, uncomfortable feeling.
The parlor that night was livelier than usual. Mr. Gregory was especially in one of his literary moods, though this time he had endeavored to recite poetry as a compliment for each of the ladies in the room. So far, he’d managed to elicit a blush from Mary and a hearty chuckle from Mrs. Fullerton—who seemed to especially delight hearing a dramatic verse about her most recent wig.
Anna sat clear across the room, watching Mr. Gregory carefully—for she was next to receive her poem. Her hair had been pinned into a simple chignon, and her appearance lacked its usual extravagance. No ringlets nor flowers, not a single piece of jewelry, adorned her. Such details might have been overlooked to the rest of the party, but I recognized them for what they were: Anna had lost all hope when it came to Mr. Windham.
“Miss Somerville,” Mr. Gregory said, pacing around her chair.
Anna’s glance lowered, and her dark lashes fluttered. “Yes, I am ready, Mr. Gregory.”
“Do go on,” Mrs. Windham said. She stood directly behind Anna, and one of her hands rested upon my friend’s shoulder. “Your poem will have to be especially pretty for her.”
He lifted one hand, gesturing to Anna. “My exact thought, Mrs. Windham. I shall entitle it Eyes like Oceans.”
Mr. Barrington snickered, immediately correcting his mistake by coughing into his handkerchief. Thankfully, Anna did not notice, or she pretended not to. Instead she fanned her cheek, acting her part as the modest recipient.
“Blue and deep, my heart doth leap…”
A wheezing from behind stole my attention. Mrs. Lovell, Mr. Windham’s grandmother, was hunched over the settee, her wrinkled hand reaching for a pile of cloth on the rug. I slipped from my chair and crossed to the corner where she sat.
“Let me help you with that,” I whispered, grateful to assist her as much as I was to escape Mr. Gregory’s dreadful poem.
Her eyes, dark and blank, met mine. She blinked repeatedly, studying my face. Then, she opened her shaky hand, and her translucent skin revealed a maze of purple veins. “What is your name?”
Her tone startled me—seemingly full of distrust and worry.
“Miss Isabelle Kinsley, Mrs. Lovell. We met last week. Will you allow me to help you?” I asked, kneeling beside her. “Here, you’ve dropped your cloth.”
She gave the slightest of nods, though I wondered if it was a mere tremble.
I examined the cloth, an embroidered piece of art, twisted into wrinkles and worn to an almost rag. The threads outlined an estate, the greenery surrounding it the brightest colors in the faded mix. Two initials sewn into one corner. “You must treasure this, for the picture is beautiful. Is it your home?”
Her fingers paused midair, bent and crooked. She seemed to wince.
I moved to sit beside her, being so bold as to place my hand against her bony and hunched shoulder. I rested the cloth in her hands. “You must miss your home. I understand all about that. I think of mine incessantly.”
A moment of silence followed, though the old woman began to convulse in silent sobs. When she finally turned to me, her eyes were wet. “I did not wish him to leave me.”
I inhaled, but my heart threatened to crack. My father had often treated elderly patients. He much preferred to prescribe exercise or tinctures over the cases of sanity. He said that no medicine nor number of exams could reclaim a person’s mind.
“What is your name again?” she asked.
I offered a smile, leaning closer. “Miss Kinsley, but you must call me Isabelle.”
“Isabelle,” she repeated. “And you must call me Augusta.”
My smile grew to a full grin, and I dropped my hand to her free one. “I’d like a friend. Thank you.”
She squeezed my hand, rattling it.
I lifted my gaze just in time to see Mr. Windham watching. I flushed, rising to my feet, and went back to my appointed chair.
Mrs. Lovell did not acknowledge my absence. Instead, her gaze went blank once more, and she twisted the embroidered cloth in her hands—over and over until the threaded picture disappeared into the twists of faded fabric.
Dear Juliet,
Is it possible that one can grow sick from being away from one’s home too long? I seem to have lost all sense of gravity, and I cannot find my footing in this strange world any longer. If you were beside me, you might recite to
me the exact words needed to calm my aching heart.
That, Juliet, may hit closer to the truth. Perhaps it is not Haven’s Landing nor the London set that has me spinning. I am without you, my very anchor. There is no sea breeze to calm my senses, no familiar friend to embrace, and no father to advise me. I wish he were the letter-writing type like you.
I cannot do more than count the hours and the days until I am back in Bridlington. I fear I prefer our fishing village above any place in England, for I am a fish out of water here, unable to breathe and move about as I wish.
Whether foolish or wise, I am determined to return and never leave my home on my own again.
Isabelle
Chapter 28
Simon
A blasted picnic. These were the activities that the wealthy and unaffected members of society enjoyed. The sun burned my neck, my cravat again felt too tight, and Mother had not ceased watching my every move—whenever she was not attending my grandmother.
Elliot and Mary sat together, smiling at one another more than speaking, and I felt a pang of jealousy, of longing. I had never wanted to be attached. Never imagined what it would be to share my life with another person, but watching Elliot with his intended showed me plainly what my life could be. I amended that thought—Elliot and Mary were a mirror of what I hoped my life would become.
Mother slipped her arm through mine. “After your melancholy mood since the ball, I nearly expected that you would return to Windham Manor with your father.”
The pressures of home were still more acute than the pressure of being under the same roof as Anna and Miss Kinsley. I could not interpret their interactions in a way that could tell me if they had come to some type of understanding. However, I could not yet leave Miss Kinsley behind.
Mother waved to Mrs. Somerville and patted my arm before departing my side.
“Isabelle?” Grandmother’s voice rang only a hair louder than a whisper.
Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1) Page 21