Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1)

by Heather Chapman

  Grandmother patted the cheeks of the bride and groom, exclaiming how handsome they both were. Anna stepped up to me and slipped her arm through mine. “Dear Simon, I find myself in need of thanking you.”

  I leaned back. “Thanking me?”

  “I’ve spent hours thinking since we spoke at the end of the summer party,” she said. “About who you are and who I am and what I want my life to be.”

  We began walking toward the waiting carriages together. “And what have you learned?”

  “That you, my dear friend, would be forever frustrated by my whims and the things I love.” Her smile was wide and smug.

  “Is that so?” Something I knew already, but now was not the time for me to speak.

  “I made a list, as you suggested, and at first, it was a list of all of your traits,” she said plainly. “They are the things I know best about you, but the more I studied them, the more unsure I became if they were the attributes that I require in a husband.”

  The attributes that she required in a husband. I was sure no sentiment was ever spoken that was more truly Anna than that statement. “I see.”

  “And that I fear you would become boring for me.” She made a face before a giggle left her lips. “As I never will be able to spend an entire day reading. Or a night playing cards. And I do so love London.”

  “And I often despise it.” I joined in her laughter, although part of me still hung on her realizations. After so many years and so much pleading, Anna had to find a way to her own conclusions about our future—or lack thereof.

  “I know Isabelle cares for you,” Anna said more quietly. “She is lovely, Simon. Truly, you could not do better.”

  Then, Anna meant to give me permission to seek out her friend? This would surely satisfy both Elliot and Isabelle.

  “This is very…mature of you,” I finished.

  Her smile widened again, and she lifted her chin higher. “I am quite the lady.”

  “And always will be,” I assured her. Though, Anna did not need my assurance.

  Perhaps Isabelle would need time to find her own heart. I knew she was a young woman who would fight for what she wanted, but her loyalty also showed that she would not set aside the wish of any close friend—such as Anna—even if it meant securing her own happiness. I might not always have been as aware of how women’s thoughts and feelings directed actions, but I knew that I would need to reach out to Isabelle if there was any hope of finding our way to a future together. However, I first needed to break the news to my parents that I intended to seek out a relationship with Isabelle. I could not imagine a scenario where that would go the way I hoped.

  Mother and Father situated themselves inside the carriage, and I joined them, still lamenting that I had succumbed to Mother’s wishes and left my stallion at home.

  “What a lovely wedding,” Mother said. “And what decorations. Anna Somerville is truly talented.”

  There had been no doubt that Anna’s exuberant style had created the scene at Haven’s Landing to celebrate the union of Elliot and Mary.

  “Miss Somerville is quite accomplished at all the talents which fine young ladies spend their time perfecting,” I agreed.

  The carriage rolled along the familiar road, and all the while, I thought of the long journey to Bridlington. If Isabelle would wish to see me there, or if my presence would simply be a reminder of tensions between Anna and herself. Of her time in London.

  If I were to travel to Isabelle, I would need some idea of what I could and could not offer her. That is, if her father permitted me to have an audience with her.

  Grandmother began tugging at her gloves, and after Mother patted her hands a few times, finally sighed. “I give up. Remove your gloves if you must.”

  Father chuckled. “We are in the carriage, my dear.”

  Mother’s eyes narrowed briefly, and Father sat back more fully in the seat.

  “How Mother loves weddings,” Mother mused out loud. “Her health may begin to prevent outings.”

  “I should be so lucky,” Father mumbled under his breath.

  “I’ve been thinking…” I paused, preparing myself. We were halfway between Haven’s Landing and Windham Manor. Even if Mother were to be furious, our time in a carriage together would be relatively short. “…of Isabelle Kinsley.”

  Mother and Father exchanged a brief glance. Clearly, they’d spoken of her outside of my presence.

  “Isabelle,” Grandmother whispered, holding her wedding ring in her hand.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Grandmother took my hand in hers, placing it palm up, before resting the ring in the center of my hand. “Isabelle.” She then curled my fingers around the ring.

  I glanced up at Mother, whose eyes had filled with tears. “Mother?”

  Father chuckled. “I suppose that makes one decision simpler.”

  My heart tightened in hope. “Which decision is that?”

  “Which of the properties to move forward with,” Father answered. “I have no illusions that my wishes trump those of your grandmother’s.”

  I opened my hand and stared at the ring Grandmother had worn since I was a child. “Are you certain, Grandmother?”

  She smiled and nodded before re-closing my hand over the ring.

  “Oh,” Mother sighed. “This isn’t quite what I’d…what I’d…”

  I swallowed—equal parts hope and fear.

  “Your grandmother is quite taken with her. She…” Mother clasped her hands together. “She hasn’t stopped speaking of her since we came back to Windham Manor.”

  “What your mother is not saying,” Father started, a wry smile on his face, “is that your grandmother’s approval is the approval that counts in this house. In my house.” He chuckled under his breath.

  After watching my friend marry a woman he loved, I had decided to make my way to Bridlington, with or without my parents’ blessing. However, with their blessing, Isabelle would be welcome in my childhood home, with my childhood friends. She would, if so inclined, be able to accept me without reserve.

  In an instant, my entire being lightened.

  “If we are to acquire Whittingham Hall,” Father continued, his tone ever serious. “I would wish that my son would inspect the property and report.”

  “Indeed,” I said, doing everything in my power to prevent a smile from spreading across my face. The tightness in my cheeks said that I had failed.

  “Of course, we wished for more,” Mother said. “But her performance was spoken of even days after she sang, and her kindness to Grandmother shows a delicacy of character not often seen outside of our class.”

  Only Mother could compliment in a way that also kept a person at their station.

  “The journey is long,” Father warned.

  I had made inquiries of Kearns and Roberts. “After two years of travel,” I responded. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  “We shall miss you,” Mother said.

  My mind was already halfway to Flamborough Head. I would set Kearns to packing this very evening.

  However, I first had a letter to write.

  Doctor Kinsley,

  I would like to introduce myself to you through this letter, and with your permission, in person when I arrive in Bridlington. My name is Simon Windham, and I became acquainted with your daughter, Miss Isabelle Kinsley, through mutual friends—the Somervilles. My family is looking to acquire Whittingham Hall, an estate in Flamborough Head, and I hoped that I may meet with your family while I explore the countryside near your home and take a tour of the estate which we hope to purchase. I hope to meet with you and your family, in particular.

  I cannot presume to know Isabelle’s heart or mind in regards to my person. However, I do know my own mind, and I wish to speak with you as I cannot relinquish my hope that she may find me an acceptable suitor, and that I may receive your permission to spend time with your daughter as well as your family.

  My journey is long, however, and I look fo
rward to receiving your response, whether I am able to receive it by letter or in person.

  I stared at the simplicity of my words for a moment, hope continuing to bloom in my heart before finally signing the letter:

  I thank you for your consideration, Simon Windham

  Chapter 33

  Isabelle

  During my morning walk with Juliet, I stopped to inspect a patch of thrift—the green covering, with its perfect pink flowers. The plant was one of the hardiest of seaside flowers yet still contained a bit of beauty.

  In the weeks since my return, time had jolted me every which way. One day might pass in usual speed, while the next proved excruciatingly long and miserable. The contrast was quite jarring, and I was a mess of unspeakable misery, all the while having moments of happiness with my family.

  I felt broken, but I did not wish to melt into despondency nor depression. How did one rise from such disappointment, such unfulfilled love?

  Juliet slid her hand into mine. “We better head back. Mother says we have a visitor coming.”

  I had nearly lost track of time, or—more likely—had attempted to forget. Without her naming our visitor, I felt uneasy. Mother had a way of surprising me and not in the way I enjoyed. I secretly feared an appearance from Mr. Braithewaite. I did not put it past her to invite him and try to persuade me once more. “She did not disclose the name of our visitor?”

  “No.” Juliet shrugged. “Father could not recall his name—only that it was a gentleman you met in London.”

  Mr. Braithewaite.

  We washed up and re-pinned our wind-blown hair, all the while I dreaded the meeting. I wore my worst dress. I allowed a good portion of my hair to drape down my neck. And, I did not use a single dash of perfume.

  Mr. Braithewaite would certainly not wish for such an unkept girl, so unclean and smelling of the sea. The idea brought a slice of comfort. There was no doubt that I could never accept him—not after my time with Simon.

  Juliet and I situated ourselves in the corners, where we would feel least obligated to converse, saving the sofa across from the large armchair for Mother, Father, and Charlotte. If Juliet noticed my efforts to worsen my appearance, she did not say a word.

  I was sure she noticed, for she always did.

  Mother was the last to arrive, and the moment she saw me, her eyes threatened to pop straight out of her head. She clenched her teeth, breathing rather dramatically through her flared nostrils. “Isabelle, what are you wearing? You must change this instant! Our guest—”

  The bell at the front door chimed. We had no parlor door; we scarce had a parlor. Only a simple sitting room off the front entrance

  I locked eyes with Mother, daring her to debate me further, now that our guest had arrived. Her lips trembled, and she let out a note of exasperation before finding her seat next to my oblivious father.

  Our housekeeper, Mrs. Randal, opened the door, and I could just make out the outline of a tall frame. A fit, tall frame.

  Confusion swept over me. Not Mr. Braithewaite.

  “Mr. Simon Windham to see the Kinsley family.”

  I slumped in my chair, sending Father an incredulous expression. I knew by his smile that he, unlike me, had expected as much.

  “Isabelle,” Juliet whispered, “you must stand.”

  I panicked, stumbling to my feet in an attempt to recover my composure. My failure, however, served to write itself across my reddened cheeks and glossy eyes. Was I incapable of schooling myself?

  Mrs. Randal collected his hat and gloves, and Simon took a step inside, revealing himself fully. His cheeks were red too, though I suspected from riding. The gleam in his eyes sent my heart racing.

  “Mr. Windham, welcome, welcome.” My father took to his side to shake his hand. “I do hope you received my last letter.”

  Mother was already fanning herself. “Welcome indeed, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Simon shot me a guarded glance before turning his attention back to my parents. He bowed, taking my mother’s hand out of consideration. “It is an honor to be received in your home, Mrs. Kinsley.”

  Juliet and Charlotte stepped forward as well, each receiving the same warm introduction.

  My feet did not budge. I tugged at my hair, regretful of the mess I had allowed myself to become. Why the ripped-hem dress, why the unkept hair? Humiliation was quickly finding its way into every part of my being.

  “Miss Kinsley…Isabelle.”

  My chin snapped upward. Simon bowed in front of me, and my entire family studied the exchange. My throat was as dry and course as sand. “Mr. Windham. What a surprise.”

  A smile played on his lips as he took in my appearance—roaming over my messy hair and windblown cheeks. “A good surprise, I hope?”

  No. Yes. I hardly knew. “I am glad to see you made it to Bridlington safely.”

  “The countryside here is as beautiful as you…” He paused, his eyes still wholly focused on mine. “As beautiful as you’d described.”

  I could not devise another response.

  “Do sit down and rest yourself,” Mother offered, and his attention finally strayed from me as he found his chair.

  Juliet’s smile was more of a grin and her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline as she stared at me.

  Seating myself in the corner had been a mistake, for now I had the uncomfortable task of watching him converse with my parents and youngest sister, as if I was not at all in the room.

  “The sea is stunning from here,” Mr. Windham commented. “I’ve just come from Whittingham Hall, and I’ve a mind to never leave.”

  “Oh!” Charlotte scooted forward in her seat. “That stretch of the cliffs and beaches is one of my favorites!”

  Simon glanced my way briefly, but I could not guess as to my appearance. I felt as if another portion of my life had settled itself in my small family home. As relaxed and rumpled as Simon occasionally had appeared before this moment…in my family home, he was every bit the gentleman. “I walked the path from the house to the beach just this morning,” Simon added. “And I can easily see how it is one of your favorites. Of course, if we purchase the estate, you are welcome at any time.”

  Charlotte scooted forward. “And is it true that you’ve named your horse Napoleon?”

  Simon chuckled, his laughter warming me as much as it ever had. “It is true. And I daresay he’s a tyrant, just as one would expect. I’d love for you to make his acquaintance before I leave.”

  My father and Mr. Windham continued the conversation, sharing laughs mid-discussion. My mother, though, did not cease her blushing and compliments to the poor man, and Charlotte only wished to know more about his horse Napoleon and his traveling across all of England to see us and the estate I’d only glanced at from afar.

  Thank goodness for Juliet. She spoke sparsely, answering in my place as I struggled to find words. Her hand against mine also soothed my anxiety.

  The end of the visit came only thirty minutes later. My parents offered their goodbyes, inviting him back whenever he so wished. At his invitation, Charlotte bolted out the front door to inspect his horse, and Juliet quietly dismissed herself after a considerate curtsy.

  “Miss Kinsley.” Simon’s voice snapped my spinning thoughts back into the present. “I hoped you might take a walk with me?” He held my shawl toward me, and I wondered how many moments my mind had been elsewhere.

  I nodded and turned as he lay the cloth over my shoulders, my heart beating so loudly that I hoped I’d be able to hear his words.

  I had not seen Simon since the night we’d searched the library, bounded to the terrace, shared in that kiss.

  Why had he come?

  He immediately offered his arm, and I found myself tucked against his side, my un-pinned hair whipping in the wind. I had not had the sense to grab my bonnet, and Simon was still so silent, that I worried he regretted his coming at all.

  We came to a halt when we reached the edge of a hill that overlooked the ocean, and I withdrew m
y arm from his to wrap my shawl more tightly around my shoulders. The wind carried the slightest ocean mist to my cheeks, cooling them amidst the sun.

  “I see why you wished to return to your family and your home.” His attention was directed toward the sea. “Bridlington must be the prettiest of all England.”

  My nerves settled at his kindness. I allowed myself to stare into his eyes and ask the questions pressing at my chest. “Why have you come, Mr. Windham? You needn’t apologize, and you must not feel honor bound to me in any way.”

  His brows furrowed, and his voice grew softer. “I thought my coming was explanation enough. I do not feel honor bound, but I must admit that I have come to apologize.”

  I swallowed, emotion pooling in my eyes. I did not want his obligated efforts. He was too good, and seeing him like this would make forgetting him eternally impossible.

  “In fact, I have come to return something to you, something I have kept for far too long.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, revealing a neatly coiled ribbon. “I should have returned this long ago.” He rubbed his fingers over the familiar fabric. “Only, I didn’t wish to ever surrender it. Not when it meant so much to me.”

  I gasped amidst emotion, chuckling out of nerves more than humor. “You mean to say you traveled all this way for a ribbon? Simon…” I covered my mouth. I had not meant to call him that. Doing so was far too presumptuous of a connection or friendship I had no right to assume.

  His lips spread into a beautiful smile. His eyes glistened. “I find I am not at all conventional. I had to see you again.”

  A last adieu then. I inhaled and reached for the ribbon. The coil straightened in an instant, weighed down by something tied onto the end. My smallest finger grazed the cold metal, and the sun shimmered against a jewel.

  I staggered backward, and unwelcome tears pooled down my cheeks. “Is this…?”

  He closed the distance between us once more, steadying me about the waist. “Yes, a ring, Isabelle.”