Dawn at Emberwilde (30 page)

She replayed the argument over and over in her mind. She knew she should be grateful for this opportunity to live at Emberwilde, for without it, Isabel at some point would be forced to accept a governess position. She might end up like the austere Miss Smith, and ultimately she and Lizzie would be separated. That she could not bear. Why then was this so difficult to accept?

Her ability to manage her temper had always been a source of pride for Isabel. She was rarely riled by anyone or anything. But now, heat radiated from her.

From the odd encounter in the woods to her sister's disappearance to the strict rules imposed by her aunt, even the air around her felt too heavy to bear.

She traced her way through the labyrinth of old walls and narrow corridors that whispered of centuries past.

She stepped into her chamber, its colored walls and gilded furniture welcoming her, and let the door close behind her. She wanted to be alone and to shut out the scary and unfamiliar things of the world.

She tossed her shawl onto the chair and folded her arms across
her chest. Life here was to be easier—carefree and effortless—was that not what Mr. Langsby had said? And she supposed it was. She was not expected to do any work. Helping Mr. Bradford establish a school at the foundling home was considered an act of charity. And it seemed that her one responsibility, her sister, was being taken away from her only so she could learn the idle ways of this new world.

Deep down, Isabel understood that a lady's governess would be a positive change for Lizzie.

The girl would become a lady.

She would learn skills that Isabel never had the chance to learn, and therefore could never teach her.

She moved to her bed and sank onto the soft coverlet, then let herself fall backward. She stared at the silk canopy of pale blue above her, almost like a sky. Life was changing whether she wanted it to or not.

A tear slipped from her eye. Then another. She could not remember the last time she had lain in bed, crying. She'd never had the need. Her life had been simple but predictable, calm and stable. Now, nothing was as it seemed.

She shivered when she thought of the man in the forest, whose beady eyes and wicked scowl seemed to grow more villainous with each thought.

And then her aunt, whose actions were no doubt intended to be helpful but hurt and stung.

Of Constance, who took everything in stride, accepting and not questioning.

Of Mr. Bradford, who, if it were up to her aunt, would be her husband.

And ironically, of Mr. Galloway, whose kindness and gentleness were more attractive than money or prestige.

It was all too much.

The tiny sampler Mary had made her was just within her grasp
on her side table. She reached for it, then held it in her hands and mouthed the words. How she missed Mary. And how she wished she had strength and faith like Mary to believe that everything would work out for good.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I
sabel and Lizzie struggled to adjust to life with a governess. It was not easy. From the strict schedule to the difficult new subjects, Lizzie was frustrated and angry.

Isabel went so far as to wonder if the child would be better off back at Fellsworth. She had blossomed there, and here she seemed to flounder. But common sense always seemed to prevail. For they were preparing Lizzie for a life of advantage and security. Isabel could not deny her that. Lizzie would adjust. After all, she was still so very young.

If Aunt Margaret and Constance were aware of the child's struggles, they gave no indication. They forged ahead with their social schedules and dress fittings, and spent a week planning a dinner to welcome Constance's fiancé to Emberwilde for a few days.

As if that were not difficult enough, her aunt informed her that Mr. Bradford was on the guest list.

She was less bothered by the prospect of his attendance than by the manner in which her aunt spoke of him.

“Is it not wonderful? Mr. Bradford is such an agreeable person. And so handsome!” Aunt Margaret said as they sat in the music room one afternoon with their sewing, taking advantage of the room's wealth of light. “He is a pleasant addition to any gathering, large or small.”

Isabel fixed her eyes on her needlework. She tried to focus on the fact that each day her needlework was improving. Her stitches straighter, her patterns daintier.

But her aunt was not about to allow her out of the conversation so easily.

“Do you not agree, Isabel?”

Isabel swallowed the discomfort rising within her but could not manage to make her eyes meet her aunt's. “Yes, Aunt.”

“I should think so!” Her aunt's voice held more enthusiasm than judgment, and that put Isabel further on edge. “And it warms my heart to think of the real reason he so eagerly accepted the invitation.”

At this, Isabel could no longer make her needle pierce the linen fabric on her hoop. She knew the not-so-subtle implication behind the seemingly innocent words.

Constance must have sensed Isabel's frustration at her mother's insinuation, for her response came quickly. “Come now, Mama. They have not known each other very long, in truth. I think it is too early to make such an assumption.”

“These matters of the heart do not take long.” Her aunt's words were colored with shock. “He is not nearly as wealthy as some, to be sure, but his breeding is sound. He may not have much of an inheritance, but he is clever, hardworking, and would no doubt set it to right.”

Her aunt's response was clearly directed to Constance, as if Isabel were not in the room, and as if her opinion were not an integral component of this arrangement. Isabel had tried to ignore the increasing frequency with which her aunt incorporated Mr. Bradford into their daily conversations, and how she had found excuses to happen past the school frequently to “check on her investment.”

Day by day her aunt's hopes and intentions regarding Isabel and Mr. Bradford had become more obvious, to the point that Isabel could not hear his name without her heart racing, not in anticipation of a future, but with anxiety.

The older woman hurried across the room, her lily-of-the-valley scent reaching Isabel before she did. She sat very close to
Isabel, so close that Isabel had to resist the urge to recoil. “You shall wear that green gown tonight. You've not worn it yet, if I am not mistaken. Mr. Bradford will not be able to take his gaze off you.” Her aunt reached out and touched Isabel's cheek. “You've a gift, Isabel. Does she not have a gift, Constance? You are blessed with your mother's beauty.”

“I do not think it is prudent to assume Mr. Bradford cares for me in such a manner,” Isabel said. “He does not know me, not really.”

“Oh, child. Will you not get that notion out of your head?”

“But do you not think this all very sudden? Too sudden?” Isabel lowered her needlework. “I've not even been at Emberwilde an entire summer, and I—”

“Listen to me.” Her aunt's words clipped her own, and she looked Isabel square in the eyes. “Believe me when I say that this is the very best opportunity for you at the moment. You've no dowry, need I remind you. We just have to wait for him to make a move on the matter. Now this conversation is over.”

Her aunt bustled from the room with more energy and enthusiasm than Isabel thought possible.

Once her aunt was gone, Isabel dropped back in the settee, pushing her forgotten needlework to the side.

Constance, who had been a quiet bystander to the interaction, leaned forward. “Do not be upset, Isabel. Please.”

“I am not upset,” lied Isabel. “It is just that I do not wish to disappoint her, and yet I do not know how it will be possible for me to make her happy.”

“And what makes you think you will disappoint her? You are putting far too much pressure on yourself. Mr. Bradford will be fond of you. He
is
fond of you. How could he not be?”

“You misunderstand me.” Isabel attempted to clarify. “I've no desire to marry right now, or anytime soon.”

A little expression of amusement crossed Constance's face,
then when she realized her cousin was not joining in the joke, she sobered. “You cannot mean that.”

Isabel fixed her eyes on her cousin. “No, I am in earnest.”

“But why?”

“I do not even know Mr. Bradford. I only know what has been told to me.”

“And is that not enough?” Constance rose to her feet. “It is true. If you do not have romantic feelings for Mr. Bradford, do not fret. They shall come. At times like this we must trust those who love us and have more experience than we do. Consider me. Left to my own devices, I would have accepted the first suitor who came along. But Mother had a much better perspective than I. I turned down the first suitor and now enjoy a much more advantageous match.”

Isabel picked up her sewing again. She did not expect Constance to understand, for this was the very situation that Constance had been preparing for her entire life. To make a match. To marry. To grasp security.

When Isabel did not respond, her cousin spoke again. “At least promise this: do not close your heart to the idea of it. I do not mean to be cruel or inconsiderate, but it is the future we must think of, and the sooner we settle the details of our future, the better it will be.”

“How can that be better?”

“Life is uncertain, Isabel. Our circumstances today may not be our circumstances tomorrow.”

Isabel nodded. Did she not know that to be true? For just several months ago she never would have imagined herself away from the school and living in such luxury. But nor would she have imagined contemplating the idea of marrying a man she barely knew to secure her future.

“I know very little about Mr. Bradford,” Isabel said. “I do not know if he prefers the color blue to the color green. If he takes sugar in his tea. I do not even know his age.”

“None of these things are important.”

“Not important?” Isabel almost choked on the words.

“I do not mean to be callous. But your situation is, well, tempestuous. You are, of course, secure at the moment. My family is your family. As long as they are living, you will never be alone. But that is just it. No one is promised tomorrow. Not a single one. So it is best that we live to protect ourselves. Have I upset you?”

“No, it is only that you must understand: I grew up fully intending to become a governess. That was my purpose, my goal. I would prefer to not be dependent upon anyone.”

“We would all like to think that, I suspect, but the truth is that we are both dependent upon others.” Her smile was kind. “Consider my Mr. Nichols, my own fiancé. He does love me, I think. At least I hope. And it is lovely that we enjoy each other's company. But even if I did not, I would still marry him. Mother worked very hard to secure a match that would provide for me through all my years on this earth. But I am not dull-witted. If something were to happen to my dowry—if the estate were to go bankrupt or if Father would pass away, for example—the relationship would likely be severed. It is the one source of my anxiety. How I wish the wedding date were already here so I could put all such concerns behind me.”

An emotion streaked through Isabel. Was it sadness? Disbelief? She was not sure, but Constance, her confident, prepared cousin, seemed unusually vulnerable as the admission slipped from her lips.

Isabel was not sure what her response should be. Perhaps a lifetime with little had caused her to expect little. Few possessions or resources. Minimal help from those around her. The idea of marrying for survival was not new—it was imbedded in stories and newspapers. But her own cousin?

Constance spoke. “Just promise me that you will not do or say anything that will commit you permanently one way or the other.”

“Very well. But then you must promise me you will not leave me alone with Mr. Bradford tonight.”

Constance sobered. “That I cannot promise.”

“Why?”

“Because I do not agree with you in this instance.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

T
he date of the dinner—along with the long-awaited Mr. Nichols—arrived.

As requested by her aunt, Isabel dressed in the green gown that glittered in the candlelight with her every movement. Even six months ago she would have coveted this dress and the small emerald drop necklace that encircled her neck, matching the emerald tiara that sat atop her hair.

Today she felt a little ridiculous when she considered the cost and extravagance of this dress. For not a mile away stood a modest foundling home where children were in need of books, clothes, and even food. Near her were women in such need that they would be willing to leave their babies on doorsteps, hoping that a stranger could provide for them better than they could themselves.

She frowned when she considered the number of things that could have been acquired with the funds used to purchase this gown.

As her thoughts turned to the needs of the children at the foundling home, she considered Mr. Bradford. It was impossible not to, for the two were bound together. He was always so impeccably dressed, with the finest waistcoats and most fashionable boots. But his wardrobe, stylish as it was, could not be inexpensive. Why would he choose to spend funds on such luxuries when so much was needed?

Lizzie reclined across the bed, watching as Burns finished dressing Isabel's hair.

“You look like a princess.” Lizzie rolled to her belly and rested her chin in her hands.

If Miss Smith had been in the room, she would have reprimanded Lizzie for such unladylike posture. But Isabel enjoyed this rare moment with her sister.

“Can't I go? Please, I will be on my best behavior.”

Isabel moved to the bed and sat next to Lizzie. “You know you can't.”

Lizzie sighed in disgust and flopped to her back. “I know, I know. I will never be grown up enough to do anything fun.”