Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
I sabella couldn’t show fear. The admiral’s wife would smell it. And she’d pounce. So, she followed Mrs. Garrison out of Hestia and into her carriage with her chin held high.
Inside, she shook. Rowan at her leaving was a different beast than Rowan at her arrival, a distant beast retreating silently, deep into a cave of his own construction.
Hadn’t he said they were partners? Hadn’t he said they’d find a way to help Samuel together? Yes, he had!
She should have known better than to let him close when she knew so little, when he knew so little. The unknown was a powder keg eager to explode. And she’d put her heart down in the powder. He’d lit the match.
“Drain that rising ire right now, Lady Isabella.” Mrs. Garrison had returned to admiral mode, and she expected capitulation. “Rowan is not chasing the carriage down, is he?”
Isabella looked out the window. “No, of course not.” He’d sent her on her way with nothing but doubts.
“He knows better than to defy me, but I saw the set of his chin. It means he’s considering defying me. Hmph . To think, after all these years of attempting to persuade him to meet my friends. He went and found you himself!”
“Why wouldn’t he meet us?”
“Any time I mention it, he tells me what I already know. His father was a sailor and his mother a seamstress. Attempting to fit into society is like trying to sew a burlap patch onto a silk gown.”
“Exactly what he told me.”
Mrs. Garrison shook her head. “We only attempted to force him into our world once. A year or so after his father’s death. We sent him to Rugby. He was bright. Clever. He deserved an education.”
“He told me what happened there. And after. How you protected him.”
Mrs. Garrison startled. “He told you that? Well. How interesting.” After a pause, she said, “I should have pushed him after some time had passed, should have fired the tutors. He would have wandered off to find more learning. I know him well enough. He was my only child, though. I”—she swallowed—“wanted to protect him, not push him. I suggested once that he befriend your brother. There are some years between them. It might not have worked, but Rowan never gave it a chance. He found a duke much too high above him. Burlap and silk, you know.”
Isabella's stomach sank. She was a duke’s sister. What would Rowan think about the distance between them now? He had told her that he did not care about the parts of her he did not know, but perhaps that had been a lie. Now that he truly knew her, he would not feel the same. A duke’s sister was a black mark indeed.
“He’s not burlap,” was all she managed to say. She felt a bit like burlap herself. Rough and scratchy and unaccountably not good enough.
“Lady Isabella Merriweather.” Mrs. Garrison’s voice echoed off the close coach walls. “You insult me. I cannot help what the boy thinks of himself despite years of the admiral and I telling him otherwise. I could not be prouder of that boy. He came to me standing tall with sad eyes, and I have loved him from that day forward. I have, perhaps, been too flexible with him, allowing him to hide himself away, not because I thought he should be hidden away, but because he seemed to like it better, seemed to… thrive in the shadows. I have only ever wanted to see him happy, and I think… I think I saw it today.” She slumped, covered her face with her hands. “Such a short flash of it before my revelation quite killed it. I should not have let my shock guide my actions. But”—she exhaled heavily—“I have never been more shocked in my life. You. On Rowan’s lap. Him grinning ear to ear as if he… as if he…”
Isabella waited for Mrs. Garrison to finish the sentence.
It never happened. Shock apparently still shook her, stealing not only speech, but thought as well. Isabella wanted to reach out and soothe her mother’s friend, her friend, but a growing dread made her hands like stones in her lap. The consensus some years ago had been that the Merriweather sisters were not fit wives for the library ladies’ sons. They seemed to have softened since, but Isabella couldn't deny that a connection with her or any of her sisters was a risky one, potentially notorious. No difficulty understanding why a respectable man and his respectable mama might not wish to nurture such a connection.
“I understand…” Isabella tried not to sound hesitant, but it would creep into each word, the sly beast. “I am not the type of woman you’d wish Rowan to form a connection with. But we rub along rather well, and I will try to be as useful to him as I try to be for my family. I have failed Samuel, I know, but—”
“Young lady.” Mrs. Garrison snapped up straight. “You are remarkable. Do you think me ashamed he might choose you to give his heart to? I have grown in the last years. Have we not faced controversy together and survived stronger than before? If he chose you, I would not be able to contain my joy. Knowing the man I consider a son loves my best friend’s daughter. That is more important than any potential scandal. And if it comes, it comes, and we will battle it side by side.”
A breeze, airy and sweet, blew through Isabella’s heart, and tears—more cursed tears—pinched at her eyes. “Thank you.” She sounded as small as that little mouse Rowan used to call her.
Mrs. Garrison tilted her chin up. “Rowan will consider himself a hindrance, my dear, weighing you down. Nonsense, of course. He’s handsome, determined, and hard working. ”
“Yes, he is.” And passionate. But Isabella couldn't say that part out loud.
“He will make an excellent husband if he lets himself. I’ve been telling him that for months. Imagine my surprise when he sends a note round saying he’s found a wife himself. Hmph .”
Oh… yes… Isabella had been gathering information for Mrs. Garrison before she’d met Rowan. Information, though she’d not known it, intended to help Rowan become a married man.
“Perhaps,” Isabella ventured, “you had someone else in mind. To be his wife.”
Mrs. Garrison's scowl could have sunk a thousand ships on its own. No cannons needed. “I had what I considered an excellent list of potential brides. I’ll have to burn it now. He’ll have none of them. Now, tell me everything. About your familiarity with Rowan. No pretending to be missish. You and your sisters are privileged… perhaps burdened… with the type of knowledge that other ladies of your station do not have. And while it can, in many situations, keep you safe, it could also lead you astray. A girl without knowledge of the body's desires may not search for them. But you…” Mrs. Garrison raised a brow.
Isabella rolled her lips between her teeth. She’d given almost everything to Rowan. And that meant everything. What had she been thinking?
Mrs. Garrison’s hand snapped out and covered one of Isabella’s. With soft efficiency, she rubbed warmth into it. With the pad of her other thumb, she wiped something off Isabella's cheek.
A tear.
“I apologize.” She shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t have to be. Rowan had said so many pretty words, and even though she’d never expected to hope for anything between them, anything lasting and real, she now did. And now Rowan seemed to have gone cold. The birth of hope and of its twin despair in the same morning. Too much. “I am a fool.” The tears came more quickly.
“Not foolish.” Mrs. Garrison was rarely soft, and the feathers in her voice hit Isabella like a deluge. “Not foolish at all. Quite natural, I would argue. You’ve read the books, girl. You know. ”
“It is foolish. Terribly horrible. If it were just a night of… of cavorting”—she hiccupped—“that would not be so terrible. We did nothing that could cause a quick trip to the chapel.”
“Heavens, that’s good news.”
“It is only that…” Difficult to speak through the tears. Where did they even come from? She’d already cried once this morning in Rowan’s arms. She’d never felt comfort like that. Not, at least, since her parents’ death. “I’m horribly afraid that… I might love him.”
“Oh.”
“And while you might not be upset if he married me, I worry he no longer thinks me a good fit, and—” She could no longer speak. Her chest, her throat, her mouth, hollow, empty, aching.
Mrs. Garrison rubbed her curved back, gave her hand a firm pat. “I am not so shocked. I find him quite lovable. As his mother, I'm delighted such a strong, clever, feisty woman has given her heart to him. As your friend, as one of your mother's closest confidants before her death, my feelings are more confused. How many times have I used the word stubborn to describe that man? I could not bear to see him break your heart. And”—she tilted Isabella’s chin up and rubbed the streaks off her cheeks—“look at me. If he refuses to accept your love, it is not because you are unworthy, nor is it because he is unworthy. It is because the loveable, thick-skulled nodcock thinks he’s unworthy.”
“That does not make me wish to cry any less.”
Mrs. Garrison gave her hand one more pat, then sat up poker straight, and smoothed her skirts. “I understand. Hm. This is good. Dry your tears now. We will not allow him to break your heart. You will not allow it.” For a moment, her face clicked into hard lines. “He is not wrong. He occupies a gray space in society. And there are those who will not even allow him… gray. They’d shove him from the edges where he finds his home. It will be difficult, and you will have to be clear about what you want. A husband on your arm at every social event, a man who fits perfectly at your side and into your social sphere? He may never be comfortable there. And what about you? Can you be comfortable in gray? In shadows and on the edges?”
“Yes.” She did not need to think to answer. She’d been courting those shadows for quite some time. They offered more than light did. “As long as I have my family.”
“Then I see no reason you should not at least try doing the difficult thing. I cannot speak for Rowan, what he is willing to do for a woman, but I can speak to his ability. And he is capable of anything he sets his mind to. As are you.” Something ominous in her voice. “Tell me, do you think Rowan returns your deep affection?”
“He has not said the words.” She sniffled and pillaged her pocket for a handkerchief. “But I think he might.” Why else all that softness this morning? Why else last night?
“I am of the same mind.”
“You kept demanding that it, we, be over. In Rowan’s sitting room.”
Mrs. Garrison blinked, her eyebrows inching together before popping apart. “Oh yes. The pretend part is questionable. That must be forgotten and replaced with real .”
“I understand.” A renewed vigor and energy coursed through Isabella now that Mrs. Garrison's voice was no longer soft but had that marching tone it got when she gave orders. “I’m rather shocked as well. I thought I was the one hiding my identity. I had no idea he’d be other than what he is.”
“And what do you think that is?” Mrs. Garrison asked, her voice quiet, harboring a sliver of sharpness.
“A stubborn, capable, intelligent, compassionate man. He’s ambitious and too hard on himself… knowing you helped raise him does not change any of that, does it. It is no surprise you would produce such a man, after all.”
Mrs. Garrison sniffed. “You will not make an old lady cry. You’ve used up all the tears between us. If you can see all that, then surely he can see you are the same as he knows you to be, duke’s sister or no.” Mrs. Garrison kissed Isabella's cheek. “I will be overjoyed to have you as a daughter.”
“I do not think Rowan is overjoyed. I have begun to read his moods well, and he seemed… cold?” Quite disappointing since warm Rowan, hot Rowan, burn-her-at-a-glance Rowan, had quite begun to entice her. “Perhaps if he’d discovered my identity from me and not from you. ”
“You should have told him earlier.”
“I was trying to keep Samuel safe. Too much is already at risk.”
“Hmm. Yes, Lady Templeton told me about the letter. The late Mrs. Haws used to be Miss Leigh, a poor viscount’s daughter without much beauty to her credit. To the unkind eye, at least. Many do not know how to look hard or long enough at a woman to find true beauty. She debuted with us. Kept to the fringes of the ton , and when she could not marry a rich, titled man, her father married her to a rich mill owner. She remained in touch with us for some years after her marriage. But we no longer ran in the same circles, and the association came to a natural end. But before that… yes, she was one of your mother’s original borrowers. I am not surprised at the existence of the letter, though I am surprised she allowed such a damning letter to outlive her. I had no idea Mr. Haws was renting rooms at the Hestia. Can’t Rowan dig up the letter for you?”
“How can he? Rummage through his guest’s possessions? Demand it outright?”
“Yes, yes. Mr. Haws will yell loud and long about it to everyone within earshot. No one wants to stay where their things might be stolen, or where the owner might demand their possessions without clear explanation.”
“He promised to help me find another way to get it, though. Do you think he can?”
“I have no doubt. My worry is that once it’s done, he’ll use it as an excuse to send you packing.
“Yes.” Isabella could certainly see that happening.
“You must not give up. No surrender for a Merriweather lady! Sit tall and lead the attack.”
Isabella sat tall. “I will.”
“That’s the spirit. You have proven that my son’s heart can be reached. And so, we must do everything we can to keep him from building a wall against you. If”—her eyes softened—“it is truly what you desire.”
“It is.”
“Then it will work out. Rowan will listen to his heart, and perhaps Miss Haws is a delightful woman whom your brother will fall madly in love with.”
Isabella wrinkled her nose. “She’s… perfectly nice, but she is not for Samuel. He needs a woman with a backbone who will tell him he’s being silly when he decides to write guides to courtship.”
“Heavens.” Mrs. Garrison laughed. “A truth there, my dear, bullseye of a truth. Everything will work itself out. Never doubt. Not when you have me and the other library ladies at your disposal.”
Isabella smiled and let herself be pulled into a hug, and even though the sun slanted bright and hot through the carriage windows, glowing in a cloudless, blue sky, her heart fell, silent and aching.