There was no denying the tenderness in his voice; it sounded much like the ache in my chest. I caved against his sweetness, and I relished in the comfort of his closeness. I’d never had the audacity to hope for this moment, to hope for his care.
The softness of his nearness did not change facts. His parents would not approve a marriage, and I could never attach myself to the man Anna had wished for her entire life. But, standing next to him, feeling the weight of each of his breaths and the way he cradled each of my hands, felt like a dream.
I startled when a gust of wind brushed against my neck and pulled my hands free. “The tea, the clue, Mr. Windham.”
He did not seem to hear my words. Instead, he placed one hand at my side, gently pulling me closer.
I gasped, unable—or unwilling—to resist his touch.
His face dropped lower, until his perfect lips met my own.
Chapter 30
Simon
I had not intended to kiss Isabelle, but once again, I was falling at her touch. At the softness of her lips beneath my own. The exactness…the rightness of her slender height next to me. Her fingers now clasped around my arm.
“Isabelle,” I whispered, my lips brushing against hers.
As if suddenly possessed of a new mind, she pulled back from my grasp and peered up at me with tear-filled eyes.
How had I come to have such a skill as to make every young woman cry?
“Please,” I whispered again. “I’m sorry if I have overstepped boundaries, but I have not—”
She took a step back, widening the space between us.
I longed to step forward. To take her in my arms as we’d done in the trees, dance together, and never let her go. To call her mine as Elliot called Mary his.
“I’m so sorry.” She blinked, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
Immediately, I brushed it away, but she flinched when our skin connected.
I let my hand drop. All sense left me, and I began to speak. My desire, my need for her to know my heart surpassed all reason. “I believe I fell in love with you the first night I saw you.”
She took another step back.
“I’ve not told you this—not since our first brief meeting.” I could not stop the words from coming. “You were outside Almack’s, in the rain, your mother trailing you. I’d never seen someone move through the carriages with such determination, and then…you appeared again on a ladder in the bookshop…”
Her lips trembled, and I longed to be the one she would turn to for comfort. The distance between us was too great—her unknown heart, her slowly retreating steps.
“Fate has twisted our paths together again and again, Isabelle,” I pled, as she increased the distance between us. “I love you. I’m sure of it. I love you.”
“Impossible,” she whispered. “Impossible. I need home. I need…”
We stood on the terrace, still alone, my heart resting bare between us.
Her shoulders straightened. “I’m leaving.” More trembling of her lips. “I’m going home.”
“So soon?” Home? “Bridlington?”
“I cannot…” she faltered, but then stood even taller. “I miss my sisters. My family. The summer party is nearly at an end, and…I’m returning home.”
Isabelle disappeared into the house, and it was as if the wind had swept the air from my body. My head grew light as I stood alone. “But I love you,” was lost in the breeze.
I stood on the terrace, every muscle in my body once again tightening in frustration, when I finally dropped into one of the chairs set up at the small tea table.
Tugging at my cravat, I pulled the fabric from around my neck and took in a long breath of air, rubbing my brows as I did so. Mother would faint if she saw me in such a state—all of Mr. Kearns work turned into this depressing figure.
What a disaster I’d created.
I’d brought tension to two close friends. Displeased my mother. Devastated Anna, or at least I’d severely wounded her. From every angle, I had handled my affection for Isabelle Kinsley in a terrible manner. But there had to be a way to set it right.
Perhaps it was best that she was leaving. Without her presence, I might be able to see logic, rather than feel the unrelenting draw to her.
I grasped a small scone and took a bite, but the sweet morsel felt like paper in my mouth. The sweet morsel was paper. The now damp paper and ink ran together in a blur. I could just make out a note containing four hooves and Boney. The stables. Isabelle and I could have been at the stables together. Instead, I sat on the terrace with a mouth half full of paper and ink.
In the shortest space of time, Isabelle Kinsley had turned my world around, and I could not yet bring myself to wish it righted.
As often as I attempted to remind myself that remaining tucked away in my room meant that Isabelle Kinsley would not have the misfortune of facing me—the truth was that I preferred to remain hidden. From everyone.
Another sleepless night was spent staring at the dark window and attempting to read. Though, I sat in front of the fire, opened my book, and upon turning the page, came to the realization that I could not remember a single detail that I had read.
Bustling in the hallway and light around my curtains were evidence that morning had come again.
Kearns began to gather my toilette. I had not removed myself from in front of the fire. “I believe Mother is going home today.”
“She is, sir,” Kearns replied. “And Miss Kinsley has left just this morning.”
The twist of my heart had become nearly as familiar as breathing. I’d known she planned on going home, but I hadn’t even had the opportunity to request permission to write to her. I’d been a fool at every turn.
I eyed my toilette, and instead asked Kearns for riding clothes. Given my current state of mind, I was more than happy to ride the five miles to my family’s estate rather than suffer in the carriage with Mother and Grandmother.
“Here you are, sir.” Kearns rolled up my stockings, and set my worn waistcoat over my shoulders.
“Mother will have words, I’m sure,” I mentioned as he continued to dress me.
“As she does, sir,” he responded with a faint smile.
I released a long sigh. Throughout the Somerville’s party, I had been quite a morose individual. Perhaps too enthusiastic at first, which had gotten me nearly nowhere. Not nowhere, however, low, lower than low. Below decks, as a sailor would say.
“I’ve received word that Napoleon is ready,” Kearns said from the doorway, making me start. “And I believe your mother is as well.”
“Blast it.” I sighed. “I’ve started off on the wrong foot already.”
“Not if you hurry sir.” Kearns gave me a wink as I dashed out of the room and nearly collided with Anna, Miss Guppy, and Mary.
“Oh!” Anna gasped. “Simon! You’ve given us quite a scare!”
“I’m so sorry.” I bowed. “Forgive me.”
“Forgiven,” Miss Guppy said softly.
“Oh, Simon will be quite happy to be away from such company for a while,” Anna chided. “Though, I do hope you come visit us soon, or we shall be forced to come to Windham Manor.”
I had no words for Anna. At that very moment, I hardly trusted myself to speak. “You have provided a most splendid time for so many.”
“Well, thank you,” Anna said with a slight curtsy.
“And it was lovely meeting you,” Mary added. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
“And I you.”
“The carriage and your horse are waiting, sir,” Kearns said as he stood just behind me.
Once again, Kearns was saving me from stumbling through an awkward conversation with Anna—the distance would do us good.
“I dare not keep Mother waiting,” I said as I started down the stairs.
In moments, Mother and Grandmother were in the carriage, I was atop Napoleon, and we were on our way home. The farther I traveled from Haven’s Landing, the farther I felt from Isa
belle. The notion was absurd, as she lived far from both estates, yet I had memories of her at Haven’s Landing. Instead of continuing to face company whose presence had become something to navigate rather than enjoy, it was best I go home to busy myself in Windham family affairs. A dreary task, yet a necessary one. In time, I may forget Miss Kinsley and the marriage that almost was, or I may yet find it within myself to run away from my parents’ expectations and go to Bridlington in order to beg her to be my wife.
Chapter 31
Isabelle
Waves crashed against the sand, leaving behind shelled creatures and an array of chunky greenery. Back and forth, over and over—the sound seemed to syncopate each of the beats of my heart to the rhythmic and steady beat of the water. I dug my bare toes, hanging over the blanket, into the sand, and closed my eyes to breathe. I’d always believed smells performed best when vision did not distract.
“Then our trip to Bridlington and the beach was what you needed?” Juliet asked, leaning her head against my shoulder.
Moisture collected in my closed eyes, and I tried to blink them away. Since Haven’s Landing, I seemed to overflow with emotions—as if Simon had opened the doors for all tenderness, and I was incapable of shutting it away.
I kissed Juliet’s forehead. I never wanted to leave her again. “Just what I needed.”
We sat there another ten minutes, listening to the water and seagull squawks. Silence with Juliet was not silence at all. Her intuitive ability to read me was as clear as her crystal blue eyes, and her quiet comfort served me far better than advice ever might.
“How is it,” I asked, sad to break up the perfect silence, “that you, my younger sister, seem to be the one to take care of me?”
Her full lips lifted into a magnificent smile. While I possessed the impulsivity and spirit of our family, Juliet possessed the beauty. Her skin was clear and pale like porcelain, her eyes far wider and rounder than mine. Even her hair seemed purer—a solid color of blonde, bordering on white. Perhaps her appearance matched her mind; my sister was the epitome of bright and genuine. She needed no flowers or ornamentation of any kind.
“We both depend on each other,” she said, grasping my hand. “And I will be here, when you wish to speak of it.”
“It?”
Her thick brows lifted. “When you wish to speak of whatever it is that has you so sad.”
“Oh.” My voice cracked, but I shook my head. “I am glad to be home. That is all. I do not wish to ever venture away again. Everything I need is here.”
Juliet’s eyes widened. “From your letters, I suspect this has to do with that wonderful Mr. Windham.”
Wonderful? Had I really spoken about him in such terms? I had simply relayed stories—the bookshop, his feigning a ghost in the library, the incident with Duchess, the dancing in the woods…
I swallowed.
“Did he attach himself to your friend Anna then?” she asked.
Shaking my head, I pulled my knees to my chest and dusted away the sand.
Juliet leaned around me, forcing me to face her. “Then you might still have a chance?”
I huffed. Explaining Anna’s attachment to him and my loyalty to her, or the way Mrs. Windham had lifted her nose at me, felt too exhausting. Instead, I squinted near the fisherman dock, where Papa and Charlotte sat to fish. Mama had not wished to make the walk to Bridlington. She rarely did. After London, our seaside village seemed especially dull to her, while the same sights brought nothing but comfort to me.
The waves slowed, softening to whispers.
“Perhaps we should begin walking back.” I replaced my stockings and laced my boots. I did not wish to leave the beach. The cliffs by our home were just as lovely, but, in my current state, I longed to sink my feet into the sand. The warmth of the sun-soaked particles calmed me, and the shimmering grains made feeling sorry for myself near impossible.
Nature often had that affect.
We both stood, and Juliet collected the blanket, once more reciting the news from our village. The recent ship that ported in our small town and the uproar it caused, the ailing Mrs. Clifton, and the old bachelor that had moved to Hosmer Hill Abbey. As well as Whittingham Hall being possibly purchased from the family who was rarely home.
From the edge of the dock, I saw Charlotte reeling in her latest catch, a fish nearly twice the size of the one my father had caught just minutes ago. I laughed, still watching as my sister’s wispy braids frayed with each blast of the wind. She was as carefree as the ocean, and certainly as powerful. I rather wondered what she would become. At five years younger, she’d always been quite separated from Juliet and me.
“Has Charlotte caught our dinner again?” Juliet hollered.
Papa grinned, lifting the fish into the air. “A good day at sea, I tell you.”
His hat’s torn brim and the leather’s spotted stains made me laugh. He had not—and would never—give away that hat, much to Mother’s shame. I was tempted to run down the dock into his arms for his act of defiance. Papa was never made to be anything but himself, and that was precisely why I loved him so. I laughed at his ridiculousness, and my own silliness in adoring him.
The walk back to our home was full of everything I’d missed—sights, sounds, memories, and security. I tried to allow myself to get lost in the familiar rings of Charlotte’s laugh or Juliet’s talk of her recent book. I wanted to forget the last month altogether and enjoy my home.
Familiarity brought comfort, yet with it, a familiar stabbing.
The ache.
Each moment with my family, each sight along the seaside—this bliss would not last forever. I would have to marry, Juliet would marry, everything would change, and this false sense of comfort would dissolve. Not even homes stayed the same.
But for now, I leaned against my father’s arm and laughed at his clever ramblings. I would try to forget Simon another day; today, I would allow myself the comfort of this moment.
Dearest Isabelle,
I hope this letter finds you happily settled. Haven’s Landing is now an empty, sad sort of place. Everyone has returned to their homes; except I have been stuck with the worst guest of all—my own thoughts. They have tormented me this last week, quite incessantly.
On the night of the ball, Simon said the harshest of words to me. I was furious, but as his meaning began to sink into my heart, I cannot deny the truth. Isabelle, I have been selfish and blind. I thought to make him love me, when the truth is that a person cannot be made to love anyone. He does not love me, and perhaps he has changed so much as to not be the person I loved in my youth. I have surrendered all hope of our ever being together.
Worse, I fear I have prevented you from finding happiness. Simon’s interest in you was quite apparent from the first time I saw you two together after your tour of the stables. I told myself nothing would come of it, mostly because—I’m ashamed to say—I did not think such a union possible, considering your circumstances.
Can you find a way to forgive me? I have been prejudiced, selfish, and cruel in demanding you school your own heart for my sake.
Mama was right. I have much growing up to do. Upon this realization, I have determined to refuse Mr. Rowley and the rest of the gentlemen that offered. I have a strong inkling that I do not know a thing about love nor the type of future I want.
I treasure our friendship, and I hope you will allow me to continue to claim you as my very best friend. In the meantime, if Simon does still try for you, I hope you will not reject his efforts on my account.
Anna Somerville
Chapter 32
Simon
Even Mother could not find fault with my clothing as we sat in the chapel while Elliot and Mary exchanged vows. Grandmother tugged at her fine gloves, her handkerchief still tucked against her covered palm. Again and again, Mother rested her hands over grandmothers to prevent her gloves from being removed.
Watching Elliot take such care as he held Mary’s hands, his gaze never leaving hers, made m
e see my childhood friend as the man he’d become. Knowing our ages were the same, catapulted my mind to me standing in the same place, and even after such a short time, I could not imagine anyone but Isabelle Kinsley standing where Mary stood now.
My hands touching Isabelle’s. Her eyes fixed on me as we promised to love and honor one another throughout our lives. As I sat, I could almost smell the faint scent of lavender she wore, almost feel the warmth of her nearness, hear the lilt of her laughter. How my heart ached to be near her again. The business of my family had not, as I’d first hoped, cleared my head of Miss Kinsley. Instead, I felt the loss of her more keenly with each passing day.
My attention shifted toward my mother. Would there ever be a way or a time when she could accept Isabelle as my wife? Would Isabelle ever be able to make peace with Anna and accept that position? Would I fall in love with Bridlington the way Isabelle had? And the most important question of all—had I stumbled too severely for her to ever return my affections the way I wished she would? If I were able to offer, and she were able to accept…would I wonder if she accepted out of love or necessity?
The questions pounding through my head were enough to drive me mad and possibly make me the worst company in all of England.
Mother dabbed at her eyes as the ceremony finished. We all stood as they made their way down the aisle, and Elliot’s exuberance was the perfect pairing with Mary’s quiet happiness. Like two pieces of the same whole. What would Isabelle’s face look like if we had the opportunity to be married? She and I…we would laugh our way down the aisle, too much happiness spilling between us for anything else.
As we left the small, white church, I pulled Elliot into a hug. “Congratulations.”
He patted my back twice before stepping back. “Let us hope it is you next, my friend.”
Let us hope.
The day was bright and warm. My thoughts strayed to Isabelle and how she’d enjoyed the past weeks with her family. It was time to put my thoughts to paper.
Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1) Page 23