There were no trees out on the cliffs, so Isabella could see Henry and Emily for quite some time, and it turned out to be rather distracting. They rode a race and jumped walls, and sometimes Emily’s shrieks of delight carried to Isabella on the wind. It was lovely to see a father and daughter simply enjoy each other’s company, not something she had thought possible with her own kind but indifferent father.
Once the riders had turned into dots on the horizon, Isabella turned her attention to her painting and imbued it with all her pent-up longing and the sadness she felt at the thought of leaving Henry and his delightful family behind. The summer would come to an end, and then it wouldn’t be long before her birthday. She would move into her cottage and devote her life to painting. It was what she wanted; she had defied conventions and fought many a battle to get to this point.
Then why did she feel this devastating loneliness just thinking about it?
HENRY AND EMILY WERE THE first to return to the house and found both Grossmama and Lady Kistel snoring softly, reclined in armchairs in the shade of a lovely old oak. The garden, though not particularly large, was unconventionally charming. It ran the length of the house and was walled on all sides, and shaded by an oak, three cherry trees, and several walnut trees. Ornamental arches supported grapevines as well as peas and beans, and along the tall back wall, apple trees and tomatoes were supported by wire so they could carry more fruit. The roses shared space with gooseberries and red and black currants, and at their feet strawberries filled in the gaps between. Carrots, spinach, lettuce, and cabbage were discreetly tucked behind rows of lilies and lupine, and the square patches of herbs were surrounded by borders of verbena, lavender, and daisies.
Henry stopped Emily from waking Grossmama and boosted her up to pick some cherries before he went inside to order the tea tray. From a window in the foyer he could see Isabella painting out on the wall. He had watched her carefully over lunch and had seen the unsettled look in her eyes. With any other woman, he would’ve concluded she missed her mother, but that clearly wasn’t the case with Isabella. He hoped it had nothing to do with him, but suspected it did. Henry could tell Isabella liked him; it was evident in her every look and in the measure of trust she placed in him, but she was completely dedicated to her painting and thought marriage incompatible with her profession. With any other man it would be, but he admired her sense of purpose. Perhaps it was time to reassure her regarding his expectations of his future wife.
High above the ocean, a cliff jutted out farther than the others. From there, both sunset and moonrise were quite spectacular in summer. The cliff was within sight of the house, and the moon would be close to full that night. A walk to see it rise might create the right occasion to speak to Isabella about marriage and her plans, and whether the two could be reconciled so they might spend their lives together.
Henry found an almanac in the study toward the back of the house and calculated that, with only a little over a week remaining in July, the sun would set just before nine and the moon would rise about forty minutes later.
He’d had a stone bench placed on the cliff the year he inherited the estate and had discovered the moonrise for himself. They would be able to watch the sun set, linger in comfort to enjoy the waning of the last light of day, then watch the moon ascend out of the sea. Of course they would have to invite Emily along, but with any luck, she would tire of the spectacle as soon as the sun set.
With the plan made, Henry went in search of Mrs. Bennett. When he stepped back out into the garden, he found the old ladies still asleep and Emily sitting cross-legged on the lawn with a large quantity of beheaded daisies in her lap.
Henry crouched down next to her. “What are you doing, Poppet?”
Leaning close, Emily whispered conspiratorially, “I’m making summer wreaths for Isabella and me.” Then a note of uncertainty shadowed her face. “Do you think she will like them, or is it too childish?”
Henry considered for a moment. The notion that Emily cared about someone else’s opinion enough to feel insecure was encouraging on many levels. “I think Isabella would look lovely with daisies in her dark hair. Are you weaving in any other flowers?”
“Cornflowers would be nice, but there are none in the garden, so just daisies. I think that will look best on her anyhow.” Emily picked up another flower and focused on weaving it into her wreath.
The old ladies woke up one after the other as the servants set up tea. Isabella joined them shortly thereafter, elated with a good day’s painting. She stood the board with her work still tacked on it against the oak tree, and everyone agreed she had rendered the ocean perfectly.
“I do believe it’s passable.” Isabella smiled at Henry as she accepted a cup of tea from one of the footmen. “I need to send some of my completed paintings to my gallery in Mayfair. May I ask for some cloth to roll them in, and could you frank it for me, Henry? The mail always tries to tell me they can’t take it unless it has some important person’s seal on it.” She drained her cup in one gulp and handed it back to be refreshed. It was such an easy, comfortably domestic moment; Henry could see his life unfold with Isabella by his side. All he had to do was convince her to accept his suit.
Emily, having finished her wreaths, put one on her own head and stood to place the other on Isabella’s. She made a full circle around Isabella, inspecting the effect, and cocked her head to the side. “It doesn’t look right with your hair all tied up in a bun. Here, hold it for me.” Pulling the wreath off Isabella’s head and handing it to her, Emily stepped behind her.
Looking at the wreath in her hand, Isabella smiled. “I haven’t worn a daisy crown since my youngest sister got married. Thank you, Emily.”
Emily beamed, pulling pins out of the simple knot at the nape of Isabella’s neck, and finger-combed it until it fell in cloudy waves down her back, then put the wreath back on.
With her daisy-crowned soft brown curls cascading to her waist and her simple mint-green painting dress, Isabella looked like a medieval princess. Henry wanted nothing more than to bury his hands and face in her luscious mane. He had to turn his attention to practicalities so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of the ladies. “Mrs. Bennett is sending a cart of cheese and fruit to my house in London. You can send the paintings along. Write a note where to deliver it, and my man, Thomas, will take care of it.”
Isabella, having no idea about Henry’s predicament, laid her hand on his arm and smiled up at him in the most innocently beguiling way. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Then I don’t have to worry about the paintings being crushed or lost.” She thought on it for a moment and added, “I know some of my pictures sold. Do you think your man could collect the money for them from the gallery? And could you hold it for me until I come through London in September? I usually have my brother deal with the business part of things, but since the birth of his son, he hasn’t been able to travel as much.”
Henry stroked his thumb lightly over the back of Isabella’s gloveless hand resting on his arm. He relished not only the softness of her skin, but also the chance to help her with her paintings. “Does the gallery on the Strand owe you money too?”
“Yes, but not as much as the one in Mayfair.”
“Write down the addresses and the amount both places owe you; Thomas will collect it for you. He can then bring it down here when he comes with my mail next week.”
Isabella sighed in relief. The gallerists in the capital sold the bulk of her work, but were the least willing to deal with her because of her gender. The money she earned there, however, was critical to the success of her plans to make herself independent of her father’s household.
The dowager and Lady Kistel watched the exchange between Henry and Isabella with matching sly grins on their faces.
EMILY, TOO, SAW HOW HER father looked at Isabella Chancellor, and noted with relief how Isabella reacted to him. She’d been heartsick for her father when he told her he’d left Eliza to find a suitable wife. Emily knew she was i
llegitimate and what it meant. She had heard the servants whisper and seen visitors stare all her life. She knew she needed all the help she could get in order to have a successful coming out. However, she didn’t want it to mean her father had to give up on love.
But now, her beloved father looked happy holding Isabella’s hand. And it wasn’t just that, or the fact he gazed at her with longing whenever he believed himself unobserved; it was who Isabella was. She was older than the average miss, and although she was from a very good family, she earned her own money with her painting. It made her seem a much more suitable partner for her father than any other woman Emily could think of. Besides, Isabella was nice. Emily liked her. She could see her father wanted Isabella for a wife, and she decided to do her best to help him achieve that goal. She was quite sure Grossmama was in favor of the match, too, so Emily resolved to follow her lead. But she would also have to keep an eye on them to make sure all progressed the way it should. Nothing was going to come between Papa and his happiness this time, not if Emily could help it.
EAGER TO SHOW ISABELLA THE moonrise, Henry disclosed his plan to take them all out to the cliff after dinner, and was gratified that all except his grandmother were enthused by the idea. They stayed in the garden until the bell told them it was time to dress for the evening meal, and reassembled half an hour later in the dining room.
Isabella had donned a simple salmon-pink silk dress with a round neckline. Her hair was in a braided knot at the nape of her neck and she had finished her toilet with small teardrop pearl earrings and a matching pendant nestled in the little hollow between her breasts. Henry noted how exquisite her taste was whenever she chose her own attire.
He had opted for a bottle-green coat with large lapels and carved mother-of-pearl buttons, a vertically striped cream vest with matching buttons, and tan breeches. His feet were in Hessian boots, but he had forgone the customary tassel adornments.
Dinner was a simple but well done country affair: cauliflower and cheddar cheese soup followed by pan-fried trout from the stream and lamb with minted peas. For dessert they had ripe pears and Stilton, which made Isabella smile. Henry was evidently a thoughtful and attentive host. He even peeled a pear for her so she wouldn’t get its sticky juice all over her hands. Marveling at the two perfect pear halves he presented her with, she laughed at the stories he and Emily told of Emily’s various adventures, and gladly took his arm to walk out to the cliffs once dinner was done.
It was a marvelous evening, the low sun painting the country in shades of gold. Isabella wondered if, one of these days, she could excuse herself from dinner to capture the fleeting splendor on canvas. It would have to be canvas and oils; paper and watercolor would not be vibrant enough for this. Or perhaps she would just sketch and commit the colors to memory, then paint it in her sitting room later. Walking up the cliff, it felt as if they were stepping into the flaming orange sky, and the ocean’s roar was a constant reminder of the power below.
Once they reached the top of the cliff, the sea spread before them, shimmering in aqua shades of silver and deepest turquoise. The waves were capped with white foam as the wind drove them against the cliffs, where they shattered into a million sparkling droplets. The sun hung low and huge in all its fiery glory, and the horizon was painted in orange and purple, while the sky to the east was the palest shade of green. Isabella had never seen anything like it. It was so moving, she felt the tears burn behind her eyes as she took in the beauty all around her.
Emily ran ahead, yellow ribbons fluttering and white sprigged muslin billowing behind her in the evening breeze, then she sat right at the cliff’s edge with her legs dangling over the ocean, or so it seemed.
Isabella gave a start, concerned the girl might fall, but Henry reassured her. “There is a ledge right there; she is quite safe.”
Isabella walked over to where Emily sat, and when she realized what a perfect natural perch it was, she joined her new friend. Henry sat beside her, leaving the bench to Lady Kistel, who brought up the rear on William’s arm.
They watched the sun sink into the ocean and the deep shadows turn into twilight. It was a profound thing to see the day bleed out in such splendor.
But then the wind picked up a little, prompting Emily to scramble to her feet. “Aunt Kistel, we better go back, or Grossmama will call it a night and I won’t get my chance at victory.”
Lady Kistel allowed William to help her off the bench and took his arm for the walk back to the house, but there was a youthful spring in her step. She, too, it seemed, was keen to get back to their ongoing game of whist. “Come along, darling, we better talk strategy or she will get us both. The woman is a whist demon.”
Emily skipped after her, ready for the next adventure. “She is, isn’t she. Maybe we could …”
Whatever Emily thought they could, or should, do to beat the dowager at her favorite game blew away with the wind. Henry smiled and turned to Isabella. “Would you like to stay and watch the moon rise?”
Isabella looked after the three departing figures blending into the twilight as they got farther and farther away. Propriety demanded she go back to the house with them, but she had never seen the moon rise out of the ocean before. And although the sunset had been spectacular and soul nourishing, she so wanted to stay.
“I have a lantern under the bench in case the moonlight isn’t enough to light us home.” Henry smiled encouragingly and raised a single questioning brow.
Returning his smile, Isabella pointed at his mobile brow. “How do you do that? Try as I might, I always end up raising both brows, or neither at all.”
Henry raised the other brow and grinned. “It’s a rare talent, my dear. Will you stay?”
Isabella knew it was a risk to linger with him into the night, but this was Sir Henry. She simply couldn’t believe he would ever take advantage of her.
Henry saw her hesitation and decided to play his trump card early. He stood and held out his hand to help her up. “I was hoping you could commit the scene to memory and paint it for me. I think you are every bit as good a painter as Mr. Turner, and I would be proud to call one of your paintings my own.”
How could she refuse such a request? In her opinion, William Turner was the most interesting painter of their time, and to be compared to him was simply beyond flattery. “Of course I’ll stay.” She took his offered hand and they strolled to the bench. Henry pulled the lamp and a couple of leather-covered outdoor cushions from under it. The lamp he set aside where it would be easy to find in the dark and put the cushions on the bench before gesturing for Isabella to be seated.
“I heard the light in a north-facing room is best for painting. Do you agree?”
Isabella appreciated Henry’s thoughtfulness. The cushions would certainly improve the experience of sitting on a cold stone bench for an hour or more. “I do. The light in such a room is even throughout the day, and even light is very important, especially when painting in oils.”
Henry took his seat next to her. “Perfect. The little salon at the back of the house faces north. I had it cleared for you. Feel free to set up in there whenever you want; it’s all yours.”
Isabella couldn’t help but feel gratified to finally have someone’s support for her painting. Her brother helped her sell her paintings, but mostly because he had no wish to pay her an allowance once the estate was his. Everyone else merely tolerated her artistic bent, while complaining incessantly about the smell of her oils.
“Thank you so much, Henry, but will you not mind the odors?”
“The salon in question is tucked away, and it’s summer, so we can always air the place out. Make use of the room, I beg of you. I really admire your sense of purpose and your resolve to go your own way. A talent like yours shouldn’t be belittled by relegating it to female accomplishment, where it is easily hidden from the world by small-minded relatives.”
Isabella was speechless for a moment. It was getting harder and harder to remember why she couldn’t possibly marry th
is man. But she couldn’t, so there was nothing to be done except watch the moon rise and paint him the best painting she could.
Twilight was turning to night when a silvery glow over the horizon heralded the moon’s glimmering ascent into the sky. A companionable silence settled over them as they watched. The moon was big and the palest shade of gold, rather than the silver she expected. The shimmering disk was surrounded by a foggy halo, making it appear even bigger, its light reflecting on the waves below, whispering of magic. The night around them was the deepest, darkest blue, but the higher the moon rose, the paler the shade became until the landscape was almost monochrome.
Henry watched Isabella as she drank in the ever-changing scene before them. The moon reflected in her eyes, its pale light making her skin glow like marble, her hair a dark cloud around her head. She let her eyes wander from the moon, to the sea, to the cliffs, and back; and before his gaze could make her uncomfortable, Henry turned his attention back to the moon, now hanging low and full in the sky. But as the night breeze coming off the ocean got more brisk, he noticed her drawing her arms around herself and realized she had neglected to bring a wrap. Henry contemplated putting his arm around her, offering the warmth of his body. But on top of a cliff on the first night at his home was likely not a good time or location to make his first move toward a physical relationship with Isabella. Instead, he peeled himself out of his dinner jacket and draped it gently around her shoulders.
Isabella stiffened in alarm, but once she realized it was just his jacket, she smiled gratefully. “Perhaps it’s time to head back to the house.”
“Only if you have seen your fill, my dear.”
Isabella smiled and stood, her gaze still fixed on the moon. “I have for now. I would like to go back and make a sketch before I forget.”
Henry had risen with her and busied himself putting the cushions away and lighting the lamp. When he straightened, he noticed his jacket, much too big for her, was about to slip off her shoulders, so he stepped closer to button the top. Realizing his intent, she allowed him the intimacy with a smile. So encouraged, Henry leaned in to kiss her cheek tenderly and brushed his lips briefly over hers, then picked up the lamp and offered her his arm for the walk back. He could hear, as well as feel, the relieved breath she let out, and was glad he had shown restraint. He was certain now: this was the woman he wanted to marry, and she was worth waiting for.
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