“She is well, as usual. However, I have a feeling she does not share with us how she truly feels.”
Isabel nodded. She understood all too well the girl’s situation. And her propensity to hide her feelings from others.
“You are upset.”
The statement caught Isabel off-guard, and she stopped beside a large well-trimmed hedge. “I?” she asked with a forced laugh. “I have never been better.”
Hannah sighed and took Isabel’s hands in hers. “You have always looked after me,” she said. Then Juliet and Annabel came around a corner and joined them. “You have looked after all three of us.”
Isabel smiled as the other two girls added their hands to those of Isabel and Hannah to form a circle, and it reminded Isabel of the night before her wedding when they had escaped into the night to drink brandy around a campfire. If only they could repeat that night forever.
“You have encouraged me to do the things I like,” Hannah continued. “Even when others laughed or thought it odd.”
“And I,” Juliet said. “You were patient when you corrected me, demonstrating always how to behave properly.”
Tears welled up in Isabel’s eyes. How she loved these girls so much!
“You are the big sister I have always wanted,” Annabel added. “One who listens to my problems with patience and understanding, and one who gives me sound advice.”
Hannah sniffled. “You have been there for all of us.”
Isabel looked at each of her sisters—Annabel was included in that moniker—and smiled. “Thank you,” she said as she blinked back tears. “I love you all and will continue to help in any way I am able.”
Juliet glanced at Hannah, who gave a nod. “We are worried about you,” she said. “We know you carry some sort of burden, and you can share with us if you would like. It might make you feel better.”
The words were innocent and heartfelt, and Isabel could not stop a tear from escaping her eye and roll down her cheek. As she looked over the three faces before her, her heart swelled with love for them. Although she wished she could bare her heart to these young women, she would not, for they did not deserve to be burdened with what were her problems.
“You are correct when you say that I carry many burdens,” she replied, choosing her words with care. “However, there is no reason for me to speak of them now.” When the girls went to argue, she stopped them with a raised hand. “All you must know is that I am doing what I can to resolve these issues, and if I believe you can lend me aid in some way, I will ask.”
This seemed to appease them as they smiled. Then Juliet took a half-step in and whispered, “Laurence. Does he hurt you? If he does, Annabel and I will march right over to Camellia Estates and shoot him!”
Isabel gaped at her younger sister. “Never say such things about him,” she said with a shake to her head. “He is a good man and would never hurt me.”
As the last words left her lips, a feeling came over Isabel, a near-peace she had not known was there. In her heart, at that moment, she realized that she had spoken the truth; Laurence would never hurt her, and that realization somehow made the day a bit brighter.
“I am sorry,” Juliet said with her head bowed. “I have heard rumors of men who strike their wives, and I did not want you to be in such a situation.”
Isabel hugged Juliet, and then Hannah and Annabel insisted on another hug, as well.
Soon, they were all talking and sharing in what they had been doing since Isabel had last visited, and by the time the circle broke, Isabel’s heart had lightened significantly.
When the girls returned to the house and whatever activities they had planned for the day, Isabel continued her walk through the garden. As she neared a flowerbed filled with a variety of roses, she looked toward the direction of Camellia Estates. Perhaps she had been wrong to leave as she did, or maybe she should have told Laurence the truth about how she was feeling.
And, like many times in her life, Isabel could not unravel the confusion that had turned her life on its head.
***
Laurence entered the ballroom just as he had many times before; however, this time Isabel would not join him. His footsteps, although not particularly loud, echoed in the empty room, now left emptier by her absence. He had grown accustomed to her sitting beside him, even if they did not speak to one another, and that only made the room that much more vacuous.
He turned and studied the row of unfinished canvases that lined the wall. Half-finished paintings of landscapes, various animals that lacked tails or manes, all incomplete. When Isabel had agreed to join him in painting lessons, he had been overjoyed, and during their time together, they had bonded, sharing in stories and laughter with each stroke of the brush.
He had hoped that she would soon care for him as he cared for her, but that dream came to a sudden end. Their argument the previous day still weighed heavy in the air. He regretted that he had grown angry when she informed him that she no longer wished to remain at Camellia Estates, but her words about Harriet concerned him more. Laurence had requested that his own sister leave, and he had done so for Isabel.
That made him pause, for Isabel’s words returned. What had been his true motivation for asking Harriet to leave? Had he done it for his wife or was there another reason?
Frustrated, he sat on his stool and stared at the empty canvas as images of Harriet came to his mind. The years of belittling he had endured from her. Her propensity to hang the guilt of their parents’ death over him. And he had welcomed that guilt as easily as a lamb suckled its mother’s teat, for he believed it was his burden to bear. However, was that burden truly his?
Releasing a sigh, he stood and then groaned as pain shot through his leg. Would this pain never leave? No, it would not, for it was a more constant reminder of the burden he carried, his reward for the part he played in the death of his parents.
He walked over to the painting of his parents and stood before it. Memories flooded back of that fateful day, and closing his eyes, he hoped to shut them out. However, they returned in his mind’s eye, and his heart turned to lead.
“Have I not suffered enough?” he whispered. When he opened his eyes, his mother’s smile greeted him, as did his that of his father. Their look held no grudge. Instead, their faces held peace. And was that forgiveness?
No, not forgiveness but something else, something he could not name, which only increased his frustration.
“Laurence.”
The whisper made him jump, and he turned hoping that Isabel had decided to return early. However, it was not Isabel who stood at the door but his sister.
“Harriet?” he asked as the woman slowly approached. Something was different about her. Where she always held her nose high so she could look down upon everyone else around her, she now hung her head. “What are you doing here?”
“I realize I am not welcome,” she said, her voice unusually soft. “However, it is imperative I speak with you.”
Then he saw the redness in her eyes, as if she had cried recently. Never had he seen his sister so distressed.
“Please, come in,” he said as he returned his gaze to the portrait.
“I miss them,” Harriet said as she stood beside him. “For so long, their deaths have haunted me.” She turned to face him. “I could not grasp that they had left us.” To add to his confusion, tears rolled down her cheeks. This was not the Harriet he knew, and he could not help but wonder if it was a ruse. “Ambrose and I had an argument.”
So, the perfect marriage is not so perfect after all, he thought, but he found that it did not give him as much pleasure as he would have expected. Instead, he felt pity for his sister. “I am very sorry to hear this.”
She snorted. “There is no need to be. What he said was extremely hurtful, but that is not the worst of it.”
“Oh?” Laurence asked.
“No. We…that is, I discussed having children, and he told me he did not wish to have any.”
Laurence co
uld not stop his jaw from dropping. A man who did not want children? And a marquess to boot? That was unheard of.
“And do you know why?” she asked, that same quiet tone in her voice. What he would have expected was anger and resentment, but he heard no traces of either.
“I cannot imagine why. He is a good man, and I know he loves you as you love him.”
Harriet nodded. “That is true; we do love one another.” She wiped at her eyes before lowering her head once again. “But his reasoning is sound.”
“And what reason is that?”
She sighed. “He fears bringing a child into a world that would be as cruel-hearted as their mother.” With this, she began to sob into her gloved hands. She took the kerchief Laurence offered her and wiped her nose. “At first, I was angry. I collected my things and returned to Margaret’s house. Then I wrote Ambrose a letter much like the one I had written to you. I demanded an apology for him treating me so horribly.”
“I am sorry,” Laurence said.
“No,” Harriet said with an avid shake to her head. “Do you not understand? Ambrose was right! I am cruel. To the servants, to my friends, to my husband, and even…to my own brother.”
The suspicions Laurence had felt upon her sudden arrival now dissipated. Never before had he seen his sister in such a state, and to hear her speak so freely and honestly astounded him.
“When they left us,” she continued as she looked up at their parents’ portrait, “I was shocked and did not understand the gravity of death. What it meant for us and how it would change our lives. I refused to accept they were gone. Therefore, in that hurt and grief, I attempted to place blame for their deaths. I blamed you, my brother, who did no wrong. My brother who wrote to me whenever he was away at school and did his best to encourage me.”
“It was because I have always cared for you,” he said. “I still do.”
“I understand that now,” she said as she turned to him and gave him a weak smile. “I know now what I became over the years, and I do not like that woman. Therefore, I ask…no, I beg your forgiveness. The old Harriet is now gone, and the new one wishes that you accept her apology so we can be the siblings we are meant to be.”
Laurence did not hesitate as he pulled Harriet into his arms. As he embraced her, she sobbed into his shoulder. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “You are not responsible for the death of our parents; you never were.”
Those words left him with such a sense of relief, he thought he would rise from the floor. For years, she had ridiculed him, blamed him, hated him, and for years, he did what he could to appease her, to no avail. At least one of them no longer believed him guilty.
“Thank you,” he replied. “You are my sister, and I love you. You are welcome at Camellia Estates at any time.” He sighed. “I look forward to our new relationship.”
“As do I.” She paused. “I have one more request before I return to settle things with Ambrose.”
“Yes, of course,” he replied. “What do you need?”
“Isabel. My words and actions were so cruel toward her. I must apologize and seek her forgiveness, as well.”
Laurence sighed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Isabel is not here,” he replied. “And I am afraid she will never return.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Although Scarlett Hall offered Isabel warmth and the love of her sisters, the pain she had brought with her when she had returned four days prior had not eased. The walls contained laughter, yet they did not echo in her heart as they once did. In fact, the home now seemed to push her away, as if she were some sort of thorn it wished extracted from its surroundings.
Soon, Isabel would be forced to return to Camellia Estates and fulfill the promise she had made to Laurence, to complete a painting from her heart, and she vowed to keep it. She had given the subject much consideration, but still she had no idea what the subject of her works would be. Her other paintings had been complete disasters, and every time she thought about it, she grew more and more frustrated. However, in order to obtain permission from Laurence for her to live wherever she chose, she had no choice but to complete this task, as ridiculous of a request as it was.
The thought of living in another home added to her remorse. She could not fathom hurting the man further, but she knew she would regardless. How could she not when she was unable to return his affections?
Shivering, she drew her wrap around her. The sun had not yet set, but the breeze was cool as the summer drew to a close and autumn woke from its slumber. She had slipped out of the drawing room earlier with a glass of wine and now stood overlooking the garden in which she had spent so many hours of her childhood.
“No matter how much wine you drink,” her mother said from behind her, “the pain will not ease.”
“I have no pain,” Isabel stated before drinking the remainder of her wine in one go. “I have come to enjoy a glass of wine in the evening, which is common for many people.” She placed the glass on the stone railing as her mother stepped up beside her.
“And yet you enjoy a glass in the morning and after lunch, as well,” her mother stated. “You are my daughter, and I recognize when you are hurting.”
Isabel stared at her mother in astonishment. “You know when I am hurting?” she asked flatly. How dare this woman, who had mismanaged the finances to such a point that Isabel was forced to marry a man she did not love, say that she understood anything that Isabel was feeling at any given moment. “You know nothing of me! You know nothing of the chains that bind me into this life to which you have sold me.”
“I know far more than you suspect,” her mother replied. How did she remain so calm? It was as if Isabel’s ire did not affect her in any way whatsoever, which only fueled Isabel’s hurt that much more. “I know that the woman who stands before me was once a girl full of love. Many times, I ask myself where that girl has gone.”
As a dam bursting from the stress of too much water pressing against its walls, words tumbled from Isabel’s lips, and she cared nothing for what damage they would cause. “She was forced to marry and live at Camellia Estates,” she said with indignation. “Her laughter, her love, remained behind.” She motioned to the house behind them. “That is where that girl is now. Hidden away in some dark corner of the house she loves.”
“I do not believe that,” her mother said. She placed a finger to Isabel’s breast. “She is still inside you. Despite the hurt you have endured, she is there, buried beneath a mountain of pain and anguish. That is where that girl is.”
“Then why did you bring about that pain?” Isabel demanded. “You asked me to do the impossible and marry a man I did not love.” She clenched her fist as she looked at her mother with scorn. “I had planned to live at Scarlett Hall forever, for I do not wish to love ever again! Now, not only am I destroyed, but Laurence is, as well. That poor man,” Isabel tried to catch her breath between sobs, “The poor man tries every day to love me, to care for me as a husband should.” Oh, how she wished she had another glass of wine! It would help ease this torment that wracked her body and soul.
“Why do you reject it, then?” her mother asked.
“Because I am afraid to love again,” Isabel replied, tears now streaming down her cheeks unabated. “Do you not understand? I once loved and I do not wish to experience it again, for it ends in heartache.”
“Your heart will not be healed by Scarlett Hall. Not even if Laurence gave you his blessing to return. You would soon come to realize that the pain you carry cannot be contained within walls, for it is attached to you and will go wherever you go.”
Isabel gave a derisive sniff. “I will never know,” she replied tartly, “for I will never be able to live here again.” She narrowed her eyes at her mother. “And it is all because of you!” She shook her head in frustration. “All my life, I saw you as a strong woman; however, you hid away these last years as I looked after my sisters. Then I learn that what you were truly doing was bringing
this house to near ruin.” A sliver of guilt entered her when her mother sniffled, but she straightened her back and pushed it away. These words were long in coming; she could no longer keep back the truth of her anger.
Her mother sighed. “What you say is correct. I hid away too long. Like you, I have carried pain and guilt over many things.” She turned toward the house, staring at it as a mother stares at her newborn babe. When she returned her gaze to Isabel, she had a sense of certainty behind her eyes. “You are no longer a child, Isabel, so I will speak to you as an equal.” She pointed back at the house. “What do you see?”
Isabel looked up at the home she loved. “Our home,” she replied after some contemplation. No, it was more than their home. “The house that had been in our family for over one hundred and fifty years. A house built with pride and held together with love.”
Her mother nodded her agreement. “Some of that is true. However, that is not all it holds.”
Isabel frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Scarlett Hall holds secrets so deep that they are embedded within the very layers that hold it together. It was because of one of those secrets that I asked you to marry the duke.”
“Secrets?” Isabel asked in astonishment. “What secrets?” She had always thought her family open and honest with one another. Had she been deceived all her life?
Her mother sighed. “Come, let us sit. This may take a while.”
Isabel followed her to a nearby bench.
“When I first married your father, I was happy, for I married a man of honor and dignity.” She laughed lightly. “I can still recall the first day I came to Scarlett Hall as his wife. The house was magnificent, and I vowed to make it the finest home in all the county of Wiltshire for my husband and the children we would have. For the first year, it was truly magi can, and soon thereafter I became pregnant with you. Your father, of course, worked long hours, often leaving me alone here for days, and at times, weeks.”
“I remember him leaving often,” Isabel replied, her anger retreating. She laughed. “And when he returned, he typically came bearing gifts.”
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