Dawn at Emberwilde (33 page)

Isabel sighed and looked to the space where a fire normally glowed. There was no fire in her grate, no lit candle lamp.

How she wished for brightness and lightness. Everything felt heavy, shrouded in dismal melancholy. The dawn was still hours away.

At some point Isabel drifted off to sleep, but a sharp rapping at her chamber door jerked her awake.

Isabel straightened, still in her new gown, as Aunt Margaret burst into her chamber.

“What have you done?” Her aunt's shrill voice echoed off the chamber ceiling. “Of all the disrespect!”

Constance followed her mother into the chamber, a sympathetic expression on her tired face.

Isabel stood. She could pretend not to know what her aunt was angry about, but it would be a lie.

“After all we have done for you and your sister. You ungrateful, selfish child.”

Isabel froze. Never had she been spoken to in such a manner.

“Mr. Bradford told me what has happened. How dare you run away like a spoiled child. Your future, Isabel! Your future! We cannot be responsible for you forever. He deserves the decency of an answer, and you will give one to him.”

Isabel knew he deserved an answer, but she did not like her aunt's forceful tone. “I never asked you to be responsible for me forever.”

Her aunt huffed. “And what are you going to do? A lady needs to be married and settled. You will be of age in just a few weeks, and what then? The world is a scary, uncertain place. Do not be so foolish to think that your training will be enough to protect you. Consider Miss Smith! Is that the life you would have for yourself?”

Isabel jutted her chin out. She felt like a reprimanded child. Well, she was not a child. She was a woman of sound mind and judgment. “Why yes, I think it far preferable to marrying a man I do not love.”

“Do not fool yourself. You have no fortune, no dowry. Consider, Isabel!”

The words were hard to hear. Isabel shook her head, as if to dislodge them from her memory. “I am not afraid of work, Aunt.”

And it was the truth. She was prepared, more prepared than
she thought she had imagined. It was this new life and these new expectations that she was not prepared for. “I do not understand this rush to marry.”

Her aunt threw her hand in the air. “Are you daft? It is crucial because nothing is certain. Money is not certain. Futures are not certain. Engagements are not a guarantee.”

Her aunt fixed a narrow gaze on Isabel. The whites of her eyes shone in the darkness. “Mr. Bradford is coming in the morning. And you will accept him. If you do not, you will no longer be welcome at Emberwilde.”

The next morning at the appointed time, Isabel descended the stairs and walked into the music room. She felt as if she were en route to an inquisition—one in which the outcome was already fixed.

Isabel wondered if this was how her mother had felt when her family rejected her decision to marry.

Under the weight of injustice, she now felt an empowering bond with the mother she had never really known. Her mother had married her father for true love, and Isabel would not marry until she also had a true love of her own.

Mr. Bradford had not yet arrived. She had not seen her uncle yet, and the only word from her aunt was a message indicating which gown she should wear. Even Constance, whom she saw every morning, did not pay a visit to her chamber.

Nerves tightening, she sat alone on a settee in the music room, the very same seat she had taken on her first night at Emberwilde months ago. From where she sat she could see the Black Wood Forest. Its beauty was both alluring and dangerous. Despite her fear of what lingered within it, Isabel found herself wishing she were under that green canopy, far from this room.

Her empty stomach churned as she waited. She had not even been able to drink a cup of tea or hot chocolate. She jumped as the small mantel clock chimed the eleventh hour in a sharp tone. Did her aunt not say Mr. Bradford would be here at that time?

She rose and stepped to the picture of her mother, which still intrigued her. She now knew the piece by heart. She had memorized every wisp of hair, every shade of blue used in her eyes. She tried to draw courage from the woman who had already overcome her predetermined fate.

“If I did not know better, I would think that a portrait of you.”

Mr. Bradford's voice scratched her ears.

Isabel turned slowly. He stood before her.

She winced as he pulled the door closed behind him. It was improper to be alone with a man anywhere, but behind a closed door was most distressing and reawakened her fears of the previous evening.

“Mr. Bradford.” She remembered to curtsy.

Her heart pounded harder with every step he took toward her. His expression was far too intimate, as if he could read her thoughts.

The scent of sandalwood surrounded him. His shadow eclipsed her.

“Such a beautiful woman. And like I said, you are her very likeness.”

She swallowed, but it did little to combat the ringing of her ears or the lightness of her head. “Thank you, Mr. Bradford.”

“How I wish you would not call me that.”

She looked back to the painting. “What would you like me to call you?”

“My name is Edmund.”

She could think of no man whom she had called by his Christian name. But now that he had asked, could she refuse him? “Very well, Edmund.”

The room grew warmer, and she felt him draw closer. His very presence suffocated her. She stepped away from the painting, drawing a deep breath.

He spoke at length. “I am sorry if I upset you last night.”

“It is I who should apologize.” This was what she was supposed to say. “It was impolite of me to run off as I did.”

“On the contrary. It was a sensitive topic, and foolish me, I should have made sure we were alone. But we are alone now.”

Isabel looked at him. She had not expected an apology. It was clear to her now that their engagement was a plan between him and her aunt, an agreement of sorts that had already been arranged. In all likelihood, this was what he had been discussing with her aunt so heatedly. Otherwise he never would have been so bold as to shut the door.

Again, panic began to bubble. “Let me call my aunt, Mr. Bradford. She will be sorry to have missed you.”

“It is not your aunt I am here to see. I am here to see you.”

The sinking feeling started again, but this time it was worse. He reached out and took her hand in his own. The warmth spread through her like a fire of dread.

She did not resist as he tugged her hand, silently imploring her to sit beside him.

Not knowing what else to do, she complied.

He did not let go of her hand. “I want to take care of you. I want my home to be your home.”

There could be no mistaking his meaning.

“When you quitted the room last night, I cannot even describe my despair. You left, and I had no idea where you went. I feared my action caused you pain. I can no longer pretend that my feelings for you are not in earnest. I love you, Isabel.”

“But, Mr. Brad—Edmund, there is much to consider. I—”

He ignored her protest and stroked the top of her hand with a
long finger. “Oh, my dear Isabel, I know what I need to know. I know you are caring. Loving. And oh, my dear, so incredibly beautiful.”

He reached out to touch her hair, and she instinctively shrank back. “Please, wait. I pray I have not given you the wrong impression or led you to believe that I return your feelings. While I am flattered, of course, I . . .” She paused.

He was smiling.

Why was he smiling?

“Isabel, I have sought your aunt's counsel on this. And she warned me you would say such things. You have done nothing wrong. I can assign no fault to you. But my heart is willing to wait.”

“Wait? For what?”

“Poets oft speak of love at first sight, but I know precious few experience it as I have. I am one of those ill-fated souls. I also know that you do not return my regard. But I can only pray that you will learn to return my affection. For if you could return even a small percentage of the vast emotion I feel for you, then my heart will be full.”

He leaned toward her, his handsome face beaming with unguarded emotion that appeared to be genuine.

She suddenly realized he meant to kiss her.

Panic pushed her to her feet. This was not at all how it was supposed to happen. This was not part of her agreement in coming to live here. She glimpsed the portrait of her mother.

Strong.

Headstrong.

Determined.

She had all those qualities flowing through her own veins.

Her decision was formed in that very second, as the noonday sun fell through the music room windows.

“I am sorry, Mr. Bradford. But I cannot marry you.”

His eyebrows drew together, and his eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

He deserved the truth, at the very least. Whatever his reason for proposing, he deserved at least that.

“Because I don't trust you.”

“Give me the opportunity to earn your trust.”

“I am sorry. But my answer is no.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

W
ith one refusal, Isabel thrust herself and her sister into a life of uncertainty.

Moment by moment she questioned her decision. Not only had she turned her back on a secure future, she had wrested a lady's life away from Lizzie.

Had that been fair? Selfish?

On the same day, a fair day in July, Aunt Margaret made good on her promise. Despite Constance's pleading, the Creston sisters were no longer welcome at Emberwilde.

Isabel had thought returning to Fellsworth would be a natural transition, but that was far from the truth. Her teaching position was no longer available and her bed had been reassigned. Mr. Langsby did take pity on them and allowed Isabel to stay in an unused chamber at the school, and Lizzie rejoined her classmates. Otherwise, nothing was as she remembered.

During her months at Emberwilde, her life had been more relaxed. Less structured. She'd become used to the luxuries, and returning to life at Fellsworth was proving difficult. Even Lizzie struggled, for now she had a fancy for riding. Of French and Italian. Her experiences already stretched beyond what many of the other girls would experience in their lifetimes.

One moment Isabel felt confident in her decision.

The next moment she regretted it.

But then she recalled the awkward, sickening feeling as Mr.
Bradford leaned to kiss her, and she found peace with her decision once more.

Once again she rose at dawn. It would not be long before the mornings held autumn's crisp chill, but for now, the early hours were warm. Since she and Mary no longer shared a room, they went for walks in the garden before the rest of the school would awaken. During their time together, Isabel shared the details of her time at Emberwilde, but more specifically, the reason for her departure.

“I wish I could have seen Emberwilde,” Mary mused, a far-off expression in her light eyes. “It sounds absolutely lovely. I do wish, for your sake, it could have ended differently.”

“I must say that I am surprised to be back,” Isabel said as she walked down the wooded path. “It is definitely not how I imagined it to end, that is certain, but I could not have wed him, Mary. I just couldn't have.”

Mary spoke softly. “Why is that?”

It was an innocent enough question, one for which Isabel should have had a good answer. After all, by marrying Mr. Bradford she would have security. He was handsome. Doting. She would have remained close to family. Most importantly, Lizzie would have had the future she deserved. Isabel considered her words carefully. “It was a feeling that prevented it, Mary—a sense that something about him was not as it seemed. I cannot put it into words, exactly.”

“Then maybe you do not need to try.” They walked in silence for several moments before Mary asked, “Was it because maybe there was someone else? You did mention another young man you met while at Emberwilde.”

At the question, Isabel's steps slowed. She'd be lying if she said that Mr. Galloway had not been on her mind and that she hadn't thought about their encounters several times since she left Emberwilde. The thought that she would not see him again haunted her. She had not even had the opportunity to bid him farewell.

A sigh escaped her lips. There was nothing to be done about it. Besides, it was unlikely that she meant anything to him or that her failure to bid him farewell saddened him in some way. Her attraction to him was a silly infatuation, surely.

Mary waited for an answer, so she drew a deep breath. There could be no point in lying to her friend—not someone who knew her as well as Mary did.

“Yes,” Isabel said slowly. “I don't even know how it happened, how I allowed my feelings for him to change. It was a silly inclination on my part to leave my heart unguarded in such a fashion. But how could I accept Mr. Bradford when I had feelings for someone else? That is something I did not want to do.”