Chapter Twenty-four #3
There was a short pause. “I understand, Lord Rathwick,” Lord Poole replied. “I thank you for your indulgence. Obviously this has been a difficult day for my family.”
The magistrate left. Damien made a move toward Isabella, but Lord Poole pulled her away.
“Isabella and I shall be leaving as soon as the proper arrangements can be made. I must speak to my servants without delay to ensure that all will be ready,” Lord Poole stated coldly. He then whisked Isabella out of the room before the earl or his valet had an opportunity to react.
Isabella went without protest, convincing herself she was doing the right thing.
Thomas had left her little choice in the matter.
Yet in her mind all she could recall was the confused expression of hurt and betrayal on Damien’s face when he realized she was leaving. It mirrored the pain of her own heart.
The clouds threatened, but no rain fell as the small, solemn procession made its way across the great lawn to the family mausoleum.
The earl had hastily arranged for the vicar to perform a brief, late-afternoon funeral service for his wife now that her remains had been properly entombed in the family crypt.
Lord Poole had vehemently protested his sister’s final resting place, insisting that Emmeline should be buried beside her parents, but Isabella had successfully prevailed upon him to reconsider his objections.
Catherine and Ian would want to be close to their mother, Isabella explained, and in the end Poole had reluctantly relented.
With the earl leading the way, they all filed quietly into the small vestibule of the mausoleum.
Damien took up his position at the front of the room, flanked on either side by his children.
Jenkins and Isabella stood directly behind them as the remaining Grange servants crowded and shifted together, maintaining a respectful distance.
Missing from the somber sea of faces was Lord Poole.
He had refused to walk with the rest of the mourners and now forced them all to await his presence.
The tension grew as the minutes passed, and Isabella felt the marble walls closing in around her.
Just when the nerves she had fought to control since the early afternoon threatened to overcome her, Lord Poole arrived.
All eyes turned his way as he entered the small space, clearly taking advantage of the opportunity to make a grand entrance. He swept in like an avenging angel, dressed entirely in black, his arms laden with white roses. His valet and two footmen followed him. Each servant wore a black armband.
Lord Poole’s belligerent feelings about the funeral service were clearly conveyed by his arrogant stance.
He acknowledged no one and remained unnaturally rigid, head held high, spine stiff, shoulders back.
From the corner of her eye, Isabella stole a quick glance at her half brother.
She saw only the deep grief in his eyes and the bitter coldness on his face.
At the earl’s request, it was a mercifully simple service.
Isabella was proud the children were able to stand so still and quiet throughout the ceremony.
Naturally, they did not completely understand the significance of the event, but they sensitively took their cue from the adults and remained subdued.
Lord Poole’s composure broke at the end of the final prayer.
He tossed the white roses dramatically on the ground, sagged forward, and began weeping.
His two footman hurried to his side and caught him under the arms before his knees hit the cold stone floor.
They held him between them, muscles straining in an effort to keep Lord Poole upright.
Isabella shivered. His sobs were too loud for the closeness of the stone vault, his pain too raw. Tears fell unchecked down his cheeks until he appeared to be too exhausted to produce any more.
“Why is Uncle Thomas crying?” Ian asked in a frightened voice.
“He is very sad,” Isabella explained, wishing she could summon some deeply hidden sisterly emotion and do something, anything, to bring Thomas some measure of comfort in his grief. But his sorrow appeared so great, it was clear there were no words of sympathy that would adequately soothe his pain.
Isabella went limp with relief when Damien wordlessly turned away and led his children from the scene, knowing if she had to listen to any more of Thomas’s anguish, she would surely go mad.
Gratefully, Isabella followed them, as did the rest of the mourners.
Not surprisingly, Lord Poole stayed behind, seeking privacy for his final good-bye.
Ian skipped ahead of the crowd and Catherine also left her father’s side, but instead of running along with her brother, the little girl waited for Isabella. They walked silently together, Catherine matching her stride to Isabella’s. After a few moments, Catherine reached for her hand.
Isabella’s hand trembled slightly as it closed over Catherine’s.
They had come a long way together. It pained her to be leaving when there was so much more she could have accomplished, but she knew she had to content herself with the knowledge that she had done her very best by Catherine and Ian.
Still, she would miss them more than she even dared to consider.
Although the earl walked behind Isabella, he kept pace with her slower step, their feet crunching in unison on the flagstone and gravel paths.
She could feel Damien studying her intently, and she glanced back at him, trying to gauge his mood.
His eyes were dark with emotion, but his expression was unreadable.
She knew he was hurt by her decision to leave The Grange with Thomas, but she firmly believed her sacrifice was saving the earl from real danger.
In his current state of anger and grief, Thomas was capable of doing almost anything. And his main target for revenge would most certainly be Damien.
Once back at the house, everyone went their separate ways. There had been no need to prepare a traditional repast of food and drink following the ceremony of internment, since it was, by design, such a sparsely attended service.
“Tonight we will dine upstairs in the schoolroom, children,” Isabella announced in what she hoped would pass as a cheerful tone. “We shall go down to the kitchen and select whatever strikes our fancy. I’m sure the chef has prepared many lovely dishes to tempt us.”
Intrigued, as always, by the promise of a new adventure, Catherine and Ian enthusiastically invaded the kitchen. Isabella raised no objections to their outrageous selections, for once not really caring that the majority of their food choices would probably end up on the trash heap.
Isabella and the children met Jenkins on the staircase. They paused only momentarily, since Isabella carried a heavy tray laden with their dinner.
“Please ask the earl to join us in the schoolroom,” Isabella requested in a slightly breathless voice.
“The earl has left The Grange,” Jenkins said stiffly. “I’m not certain when, or if, he will return.”
Isabella nearly dropped the tray. Gone! Her brain reeled while her heart twisted, but there was nothing she could do.
She could only feel robbed, cheated somehow.
Knowing she was to leave in the morning made each moment she stayed at The Grange more crucial, more precious.
She had never once considered that Damien would prefer to maintain a distant silence between them.
“Please tell Damien that I must speak with him.” Isabella chewed on her lower lip and looked away. “Ask him to find me, Jenkins. No matter what the hour,” she added softly, throwing all pretense of pride out the window.
The valet gave her a sharp glance, but Isabella was too distraught to notice. Her footsteps made a hollow echo as she slowly climbed the staircase.
It was going to be far more unbearable than she imagined, Isabella realized.
She felt wounded inside. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall.
It was useless, foolish really, to lament what could never be.
Yet all she could think about was being separated from Damien and knowing that over time, her heart would most likely wither and die.