Dawn at Emberwilde (25 page)

Isabel straightened and actually found herself quite comfortable. However, the man to her left affected her in a much different way than the man to her right. Mr. Bradford praised her. Flattered her. Spoke eloquently and of lofty ideals. Mr. Galloway, on the other hand, was quiet, and she found his solemn nature intriguing. Whereas there could be no doubt of Mr. Bradford's esteem for her,
she was not certain of Mr. Galloway's opinion. After all, he had seen her running from the forest as if a banshee were at her heels. He had witnessed her fear over her sister riding a horse. He had endured her panic when she thought Lizzie injured.

Whereas Mr. Bradford prattled on about nothing of importance, Mr. Galloway was silent, tall and straight in his chair. He smelled of cedarwood and the outdoors. She cast a nervous glance around the table, for she knew her aunt watched her every move.

She studied the myriad of utensils surrounding her dishes. Normally, when faced with such an overwhelming ritual, she would simply follow her cousin's actions. But at the moment Constance sat on the opposite side of Mr. Galloway, which made it quite difficult to see what she was doing.

Isabel drew a breath and pitched forward slightly, attempting to nonchalantly peer past Mr. Galloway. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself, not with a gentleman at each elbow, nor did she want to appear rude by not partaking.

So focused was she on her dilemma that she had not realized Mr. Galloway had ceased eating and leaned in toward her.

“Do you need something, Miss Creston?”

She froze. So Mr. Galloway had noticed her.

She could not help but laugh in spite of herself. How silly, a grown woman trying to imitate the actions of another. “I fear I am about to expose one of my many faults to you, Mr. Galloway.”

“And why do you say that?”

She lowered her spoon. “You know I came from a very simple school. Dinners there were not nearly so complex. This silverware is lovely, do not misunderstand me, but I fear my education was geared more toward forming my moral convictions, and not so much which utensil to use when.”

He smiled and lifted his napkin to the corner of his mouth. A good-natured chuckle emanated from him. “Is that all? If you
are worried about what I think, then allow me to put your mind at ease. Believe me when I say the last thing I would notice about you is which utensil you are using.”

She warmed under what she presumed was a compliment.

“Is that all?” she repeated, knowing full well that he would understand the playful nature in her voice. “You might not take it so lightly if you lacked such skills and worried what others might say of you.”

“First of all, you are wrong on that account. I truly do not care. But in truth, my aunt made certain that my table manners would rival that of Freddie Ellison's at least. At one time the members of my family were frequent guests at Emberwilde, and my aunt made sure we knew what to do. Of course, we were children then, and took our meals in the nursery upstairs, but still, that's no excuse for poor manners. Or so I'm told.”

The thought of Mr. Galloway as a child was amusing to Isabel, although she could not quite place her finger on why. He was such a controlled man, carefully guarded in his words and actions. How would a person like that act as a child?

Mr. Galloway took a drink and continued. “Of course, I credit my aunt for such knowledge. But my true education on such things did not come from home, as one might expect, but from the officer I served under in the army.”

“The army?” she exclaimed. “How so?”

“My commander held the firm belief that even though we were at war, we were gentlemen, and a gentleman's manners must always be on display.”

His tone suggested that he thought the idea ludicrous, but she sobered. She had heard of war conditions. She had read of them in the papers. The thought of Mr. Galloway in such a situation tugged at her compassion.

She checked to ensure that Mr. Bradford was engaged in another
conversation, and convinced that he was not listening to her conversation with Mr. Galloway, she spoke. “I have heard that you and my cousin Freddie were friends,” she said.

He leaned back from his plate and nodded. “Yes, we were very great friends. His fearless nature and my desire for adventure landed us in many exploits, I can tell you.”

“Yes, Constance has told me that her brother was a bit reckless.”

“That is one word for it, I suppose. But he did not act alone.” Mr. Galloway smiled, as if reliving a memory. “We did have a number of escapades.”

She felt brave. “In the Emberwilde Forest?”

He nodded. “Yes, in the Emberwilde Forest. A perfect place for exploring and hunting. We also spent a great deal of time at Heddeston Park. Have you been there yet?”

“My grandfather's estate? No, I have not.”

“My property is on the far side of your grandfather's estate. It is called Darbenton Court. The main house was destroyed years ago, but the fact remains that your grandfather and I were at one time neighbors. There is a pond on my property, and we spent many afternoons fishing.”

“It sounds lovely. I should like to have met my grandfather. I mean, I am told I met him when I was very little, but I do not remember.”

She was aware of how intently his eyes were on her. “He was a good man. And a kind one. Your grandfather's steward served as steward for my property while I was still a boy, and he still assists with the tenants on my behalf.”

“Do you have no wish to do that yourself? To live on your own property and manage your own estate?”

“Maybe one day. But for now, I work with my tenants, and I am kept quite busy with my work as solicitor and magistrate.”

“How is it that you became magistrate, Mr. Galloway?”

“Well, it actually found me more than the other way around.” He offered a warm smile. “A magistrate must be a landowner. Your uncle, Mr. Atwell, and others forwent the honor, and so that left me. I can hardly complain, though. There is always something new afoot. I rather enjoy the challenge.”

She looked toward Mr. Bradford once again to make sure he was otherwise occupied before speaking. “Speaking of my uncle and my cousin, I understand that Freddie's death altered your family's relationship with my family's.”

The question had crossed a line, she knew. But if she did not ask him, she would only know her aunt's side, a tale in which Mr. Galloway's reckless nature convinced her only son to sign his life away to the army.

At first she thought he was not going to answer, but at length, he lowered his napkin and leaned closer. “Freddie was my best friend, Miss Creston. His death continues to have a profound effect on me. It was not my idea to join the army, at least not initially. We were at university at a time of great patriotism, and Freddie, well, Freddie was insistent. He wanted to break free from archaic expectations, and I know he expressed as much to his father on several occasions. In hindsight, perhaps I should have discouraged his enthusiasm. After all, his family made their hopes very clear. But we both believed in the cause, we were both eager to be free from certain connections here in Northrop, and that idealism of youth is difficult to dampen.”

“And you? Did you not have expectations placed upon you by your family?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Our situations were very different. I had already realized my inheritance. Looking back on it now, I should have stayed at Darbenton and taken my rightful role. I had a disappointment in my life that I did not handle well, and unfortunately, at the time I did not realize how significant a role the war should play in my future.”

Isabel looked down at her napkin. She was unsure how to respond.

But then she lifted her head. He had a small smile and was looking at her. “I know your aunt and your cousin blame me for his death. I swear I would have given my life in a heartbeat to save his. But war doesn't always work out that way. I do not know what your opinion is, but I hope you do not judge as harshly.”

They locked eyes for several moments, moments that seemed to bind her to him in some inexplicable way. In fact, in a moment of honesty she felt as if the rest of the room had somehow faded into the background, and her desire for a genuine conversation flamed within her. She wanted to share something of herself as well—to talk about the sorts of things that would certainly be discouraged.

Isabel felt movement at her elbow.

“You two seem very intent on your conversation,” Mr. Bradford said. Isabel felt herself stiffen. His voice held its typically amused lilt. Normally that lilt was charming, but at the moment it irritated her. She turned to him.

“Do we?” Isabel asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable, as if caught doing something wrong.

A smile creased Mr. Bradford's face. “But then again, can I fault Galloway? You are such a charming partner, Miss Creston. I can see without a doubt why he would try to keep you from speaking with other gentlemen.”

The thinly veiled insinuation made Isabel flush.

“Not at all,” Mr. Galloway said. “I should hope that Miss Creston feels at liberty to speak with whomever she would like.”

She settled uncomfortably between the two men, wishing there was anyone else with whom she could speak.

With every passing moment, questions began to rise concerning Mr. Bradford. He seemed unusually possessive, and not in a manner that made her feel appreciated or valued. Quite the opposite was true.

Chapter Twenty-Five

D
inner passed quickly for Colin—in the best sense.

Miss Creston had completely captured his attention. Their conversation had been enjoyable. Hers was not the polished, practiced conversation of her cousin, but there was sincerity in it, an honesty that was refreshing. He could have spent the entire evening conversing with her and was sorry to see it come to an end.

After dinner she withdrew with the other ladies, leaving the men to their port. He was as far from her as he could physically be at the moment, and yet she remained on his mind.

Later in the evening, the gathering moved to the music room for the entertainment. Chairs had been placed around the elegant room. He was seated between his aunt and Miranda, and he found himself watching the mantel clock, eager for the next portion of the evening. The room was thick with ladies' perfumes—lily of the valley, rose, lavender, and every other floral scent. Several of the young ladies played and sang. Miss Creston did not.

Did she play the pianoforte? Sing? He watched her from the corner of his eye. She seemed to enjoy the performances, but when asked to sing, she politely declined.

Miss Atwell had played the pianoforte, and now Miss Ellison entertained them.

Miss Ellison had long been known throughout the area as the county beauty. It had not surprised him to learn that her mother had arranged for her to marry a wealthy banker. As the youngest Ellison daughter, she had been destined for such a match.

Miss Ellison began to sing. Her voice was strong. Elegant. Expertly trained.

His gaze shifted to Miss Creston. She was situated between Mrs. Ellison and Bradford. Miss Creston's attention was focused on her cousin's performance.

Miss Creston carried herself with a countenance far different from the other Ellison women. She surpassed them in beauty, but something beyond her fair features captured his imagination. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. At different points during their dinner conversation, she had shared with him about the time she had spent with the children at the foundling home, and her distress over the abandoned baby at the Holden farm had been sincere. He could not imagine one of the Ellison ladies, or even Miranda, for that matter, reading with the forgotten children of Northrop. Yes, the conversation stayed with him. Impressed him. He watched her, perhaps a bit too intently, but at an otherwise dull gathering she was as a breath of spring air.

His gaze shifted slightly to the man next to her. Bradford, as always, was dressed impeccably, with a bright white cravat, patterned waistcoat, and knee breeches. His posture was straight, but his chin was tilted toward Miss Creston. His eyes were on her instead of the performer.

When the music ceased, Bradford leaned toward Miss Creston and whispered. He smiled, a bit too familiarly.

Colin watched with interest for her reaction. He had hoped to see her pull away, but she sat still, and when he finished saying whatever it was he had to say, she smiled. A dimple pierced her flawless cheek.

He drew a sharp breath, already annoyed at Bradford's possessive ways. Colin had no right to have an opinion on this matter, he knew. But Miss Creston seemed so innocent, and Bradford was not.

Miranda's voice interrupted his thoughts. “She is a beauty, is she not?”

Colin snapped his head up, feigning distraction. “Hmm?”

The guests applauded Miss Ellison's performance. She stood from the bench and curtsied.

As Miranda clapped, she said, “You were staring. At Miss Creston.”

He knew Miranda had been watching him. She had been displaying a quiet interest in Miss Creston since her arrival at Emberwilde, making only a few comments about the newcomer.

Colin did not respond. He only added his applause to the rest.

Under cover of the noisy applause, she said, “There was a time you looked at me in such a manner.”

Colin stiffened.

She shifted toward him. Perhaps he had been wrong to resist Miranda in the stable the other night. Deep down, he knew that a part of him would always love her. She was entwined with his life, and she always had been. Aunt Lydia was supportive of the idea. Little Charles needed a father. Everything about the arrangement would make sense. He thought they had left things at an understood place in the stable that night, but her behavior was suggesting otherwise.

His hand could still feel the warmth of hers. It had been warm and soft, just as he remembered.