Storm at Marshbay (4 page)

I shook my head, unable to look any longer into his questioning eyes. “If it is to be done I think we should decide on everything as soon as possible. We need to make plans.”

“Tomorrow then. I’ll have the carriage come for you at say…eleven? Afterwards we can have lunch at Marshbay if you like.”

“I would like that,” I said, surprised that I meant it.

“Good. Again, Miss Brady, we offer our deepest condolences.” He bowed slightly, took his mother’s arm and led her to the door.

When they were gone, I sat back down on the chair and stared into the flames of the fireplace. I felt strangely calm and steady even though I had no idea how I was going to handle this impossible thing that was being asked of me. How could Father do this to me? And to know my mother was complicit in the matter pained me deeply. Would there ever be anyone I could trust? One person I could rely on?

Chapter Three

The Fitzgerald carriage arrived the next morning promptly at eleven to take me to meet Ian. How excited I’d been the last time I went to Marshbay. But this was a new reality.

I felt unsure of myself and anxious, wondering if I was making the worst mistake of my life. Mother had been sick for years, but I could always go to her bedroom to talk. Now there was no one to share this moment with, good or bad. How I missed her.

I sighed and sat back against the leather seat, watching the marsh as we passed. Normally that would have cheered me. But today my mind was in such a whirl I could think of little else than Ian Fitzgerald and those stormy gray, questioning eyes.

We stopped at the same double doors as the last time and a young uniformed man came to help me from the carriage. I stepped out, and brushed out the wrinkles of my decidedly unfashionable black gown while I waited for the trembling in my legs to stop.

Taking a deep breath to prepare myself for what was to come, I looked up straight into the eyes of Ian Fitzgerald.

“Welcome, Isabella,” he said. “How are you this morning? You look tired.”

I shook my head for a moment. He always managed to put me a little off kilter, to look at me or say something to me that shook me and left me speechless and disconcerted.

He held out his hand and I took it without thinking, feeling the warmth of his skin through my glove.

“Let’s go in. I’ve had lunch set up in the courtyard where it’s quiet and we can catch the sunshine. No one will disturb us there.”

The house seemed different from the night of the ball. It was open and bright and I realized you could catch a glimpse of the inner courtyard from almost every part of the house. I felt more welcome. Or so I told myself.

The courtyard was empty of all the tables used the night of the party. Now only one table sat beneath a group of palm trees. A fragrant breeze blew across the yard, rattling the palms and sending splashes of sunlight moving about. It was so beautiful that for a moment I quite forgot why I was there.

As we moved down the steps toward the table I sighed, feeling relaxed and warm and welcomed. I was glad to be here. Who wouldn’t want to spend more time at this beautiful house so perfectly blended with nature?

Ian must have heard my sigh. When he pulled out my chair and seated me at the table, he stood with his hands on the back of the chair for a long moment.

“It’s good to see you relaxed and smiling,” he said.

I had no idea what to say to him.

He continued to make the day pleasant for me. While we ate a delicious lunch of sea bass and fresh vegetables, we spoke only of trivial things. Light, happy things.

“My father loved Spanish history,” he told me. “The house is a reflection of architecture from the Spanish Mediterranean Coast.”

“I love it. It’s unique.” I looked around us. “I love this inner open court. I think I could spend hours relaxing here.”

“It pleases me very much to hear you say that.” he said.

I smiled, but did not reply. It was too soon to speak of the arrangement I’d come here to discuss. I still wanted to enjoy the food and the wind, always touched with the scent of sand and sea. The whisper of the swaying palms around us relaxed and soothed me.

“Tell me more about the house,” I said. “I find it fascinating.”

“Well, it was originally built as a summer home, but we all loved it so much we always hated to leave. So gradually we began spending more and more time here. Now we’re here much more than we are in New York.”

“I can understand why.” I laughed, a touch self-consciously. “Of course I am partial to the ocean and the marsh. I’ve spent my entire life here and I’m afraid I don’t know much about life in the city.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “My father was an outgoing man.  He made friends everywhere he went. When the house was being built he insisted that only local labor be used in the construction. He was very pleased with the results and it made him popular with local residents.”

“The workers undoubtedly respected and liked him and wanted to do a good job because of that.”

Ian nodded and smiled.

“Your father sounds like a nice man.”

“We all miss him.” He cleared his throat as if he were suddenly self-conscious or perhaps emotional. I stared across at him, wondering about his reaction. But he didn’t look up or make any explanation.

After a light dessert I felt lazy and relaxed. I could have spread the tablecloth beneath the trees and taken a nap.

Coffee was served and then the servants disappeared discreetly leaving us completely alone.

Somehow, though, I had a feeling we were not alone. There were so many windows facing the courtyard that anyone could be watching us.

I felt a shiver cross my shoulders as I glanced around.

“Are you cold?” he asked. He stood up and took a soft white shawl from one of the chairs. Without waiting for a reply he placed it around my shoulders. His hands lingered for a moment.

When he sat down he looked straight at me, his eyes unwavering.

He shook his head and then an odd little smile played across his lips.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just that you’re a very beautiful woman and I don’t think you are even aware of that, are you?”

He looked at my mouth and I knew he wanted to kiss me. For a moment the world around us melted away as if no one existed except us.

He swallowed and made a gruff noise in his throat.

“There are things I need to tell you,” he began. “About me, about my life.”

“You seem to assume my answer to your question is yes,” I said.

“Would you have come if that were not a distinct possibility?”

His confidence always shook me a little, but I let it go. I didn’t want to argue; I wanted the matter settled.

“All right,” I said. “I will admit that. I came today to hear what you have to say.”

 “The most important thing I have to say, Isabella, is this. You are a beautiful, interesting woman. You are intelligent; it fairly radiates from your face when you speak. You seem kind, a loving and devoted daughter. You seem to like Marshbay and the surrounding land and ocean. Any man would be lucky and proud to have you for a wife. If we go forward with this, I want you to know I consider this a real and honest marriage proposal in every way.”

I felt my cheeks flush, still I kept my gaze on his.

“I would like you to consider it as if there had been no wager between our fathers.”

My mouth opened, but I could not speak. I saw him smile and he leaned back in his chair, his lips quirking.

“What are you saying?”

“I won’t speak of love,” he said, with a lift of his brows. “It’s too soon for you, I’m sure and I would never lead any young lady to believe something is there when it isn’t.”

 “I don’t require love.” I heard myself say and was appalled. What was I saying? Of course I required love. It was what I had argued with my mother about. I would, though, never grovel for the lack of it. I would never let him think I wanted his love if he wasn’t willing to give it. But deep down inside I wondered if I could be falling in love with this enigmatic man after knowing him only a few days. Was that even possible?

His smile widened. “Despite the circumstances of our meeting, I think there was something between us from the very beginning. Even you have to admit that. Besides I’ve been a bachelor too long. It becomes tiring being alone after awhile. Who knows? Perhaps our friendship might one day develop into love. What man doesn’t want to love his wife? And a woman wants her husband to love her too— yes?”

“Yes.” I was surprised by his frankness. “But I— I know nothing of love.” I couldn’t go on, and the awkwardness of our conversation made me blush.

“Love is inside us all,” he said.  “It’s a natural thing; it isn’t something you learn. You can’t make it happen. And you can’t make someone love you.” His face changed then and his voice contained a hint of bitterness.

“You must have loved your wife.” I hoped mentioning her would not inflame his bitterness into full-blown anger, but I desperately needed to know more about her.

“Let me tell you about my wife.” He gazed at me with shuttered eyes, closing me out. “She was a beautiful woman. Intelligent. From a wealthy old Spanish family, the daughter of one of my father’s oldest friends. Marguerite and I knew each other for years. She treasured her independence above anything and she often let me know when I overstepped my bounds in that part of her life. I will freely admit to you that it was not the life I wanted.”

For the first time, I saw past his confidence and I felt some sympathy for him.

“I don’t intend to let that happen again,” he said, staring straight into my eyes.

I was stunned speechless by the change in him. So quick, so lethal.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be a prisoner here. You will have anything you want. You may go anywhere you wish. But I expect to know where you go, what your activities are and who your friends are.”

“Marguerite never wanted children.  But I do want a family some day. That’s something you need to consider. But I am willing to wait until you feel comfortable enough to come to me of your own freewill.”

“And what if I don’t? What if I never come to you, as you say, of my own freewill?”

“You will,” he said.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I knew he was an arrogant, supremely self-assured man. He reveled in it.

“You are confident, I’ll give you that,” I said.

“Does that offend you?” he asked, smiling at me.

“No,” I said.  “Oddly, it doesn’t.”

He laughed and I knew he was pleased.

“You will no doubt hear rumors about me,” he went on. “And about Marguerite and how she died.”

“How she died?”

“It was an accident with one of the horses. But the authorities weren’t so sure. They questioned me for months. There are some people who believe to this day that I murdered my wife because she was having an affair.” 

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say.

“I believe there are people in this very house who still believe I was responsible for my wife’s death. They might even tell you that sooner or later.”

He leaned his elbow on the table, his thumb under his chin, forefinger across his lips. His look challenged me.

“And were you?” I whispered, unable to look away from his defiant gaze.

“No,” he said. “But our relationship was not a good one. It was tumultuous to say the least. I accept my part in that. I often drank too much. We argued— loudly sometimes. I would ride across the marsh in the middle of the night, venting my frustration. We finally reached a point where we barely spoke. She had her life and I had mine.”

I had never heard about his wife, though I had heard about his wild rides across the marsh. And about his drinking.

“I no longer drink,” he said. “Except an occasional glass of wine.”

“Do you still ride through the marsh at night?”

“Sometimes.” His smile was wistful.

“Perhaps I could ride with you,” I ventured.

“The marsh is a dangerous place at night.”

“I love the marsh at night. I love the sound of the animals and birds. I love the exotic smells and the quietness.” Despite my reply I wasn’t fooled by his remark. I knew exactly what he meant about the danger of the marsh— and being with him.

“I feel the same way about the marsh. Perhaps we have something in common after all.”

“You would let me go with you?”

“Maybe,” he said. “One day.”

“You mentioned wanting children some day.” I felt emboldened by his honesty with me. “When?”

“Sometime before I’m in my dotage?”

I laughed aloud and shook my head. “You are impossible.”

He smiled, but said nothing.

Suddenly he stood, his chair scraping loudly against the tile floor.

“You must be tired,” he said. “I’ll send for the carriage. I won’t pressure you for an answer today. Whenever you’ve made up your mind, send word to me.”

I leaned back against the chair and stared up at him, making no attempt to stand. 

“The answer is yes,” I said. “I will marry you. I made a promise to my mother and I will keep it.”

 He stared at me as if he couldn’t believe what he heard. “You’re not afraid?”

“I didn’t say that.” 

He sat back down, placed his forearms on the table and leaned toward me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Miss Brady.”

“Nor I you. Sometimes you’re like two different men.”

“Ha! You, my dear, have struck the proverbial nail on the head.”

“You think you are two different men?”

“Not exactly. But since we’re having this open and honest conversation, I will confess I’ve always felt a warring inside of me. Sometimes doing the right thing only results in making me feel like a fool. That’s when I say to hell with it all. Then maybe I go too far in the opposite direction.”

“I think I understand that.” And I did, surprised that I could.  It was not so different from the way I’d felt as a child.

“Perhaps we will be friends,” he said, turning his head to one side to study me.

Odd, but I knew in that moment that I wanted more than that from this man.  It didn’t make sense, even to me. But I realized I definitely wanted to be more to him than a friend.