Chapter 14
Fourteen
The flowers were absolutely lovely. Isabel beckoned her maid to bring them closer.
It wasn’t the first time Isabel had received flowers from Mr. Dalrymple.
They had to be from him, she knew without reading the card.
They were much lovelier than the ones he had sent after the first ball of the season over two years ago.
He had sent every woman he danced with the selfsame bouquet.
Jane’s flowers had been nearly identical.
It had been the talk of the ton for days.
Isabel supposed one of Mr. Dalrymple’s friends had played a joke on him and told him it was the new fashion, as her sources said that he had not been to the two previous seasons because of his father’s death and the time it took to set the family affairs in order.
She may have caught David during an unguarded moment and inquired.
There had been many rumors about the late Mr. Dalrymple’s death.
David said nothing on the matter. But she remembered Pappa had passed them off as talk from those who wished to do harm to a man whose accumulated wealth had brought him into a society he had not been born into.
The facts were fuzzy. The fire from which the older Mr. Dalrymple saved several people was at the center of it.
He had died in the street coughing or under a pile of rubble when the building collapsed.
Stories varied greatly. Either was gruesome, Isabel shuddered.
She turned her thoughts back to the son.
The only mark against the man was his friendship with Lord Barlow, a known rake.
Mr. Dalrymple was of that class that had money and a certain degree of respectability, where their grandfathers had none.
Honestly, she had never held his merchant upbringing against him as others had.
Her father admired the drive it took men to raise themselves up, while so many born to the gentry, such as their neighbor Sir Lightwood, squandered the riches they were born to.
Father’s opinion wasn’t one held by many, but it was one he tried to instill in his children.
Isabel took the card from her maid.
Miss Godderidge,
I wish I could do more than offer these flowers to aid in your recovery.
I knew that a few of the floor stones were loose ,but had thought little of it.
I am seeing to their repair this very morning.
While I know that the spirit of the fair is I do the work myself, I feel that hiring laborers who have little to do other than watch the fields produce no yield is a better solution for all.
I hope you do not think that this action is against the spirit of the fair.
Actually, it is quite brilliant. Perhaps they should hire as many as possible with the set-up of the fair, the extra wages will surely mean extra food on their tables. She would have to tell him the next time she saw him. The letter continued.
Mr. Conroy informs me that an old pillow was delivered last night and that Sir Galahad slept better than he has since he arrived.
I must caution you about being too optimistic as the dog’s injuries are yet grave.
I could lie to you, but it would do little good for either you or Miss Jane if our optimism is not rewarded.
Many hopes for a swift recovery.
Mr. V. Dalrymple
Isabel traced the V with her finger. She knew, of course, that his forename was Victor. One minute around his mother had proved that. It was an uncommon name. She wondered how he came by it.
Should she write to Jane? Her friend would like news of her dog.
Isabel had only finished the first lines when Mamma entered the sitting room where Isabel sat.
“I gathered your sketchbook and your watercolors. I thought you might like them to counter the tedium of the day.”
“Thank you, Mamma.”
“What lovely flowers. Mr. Dalrymple, I presume. His taste has much improved.” Mamma examined the arrangement.
“Yes, he sent a lovely note. He is having the barn floor repaired, and he sent word of Jane’s little dog.”
“Are you writing him back?”
Isabel shook her head. “Of course not. I was passing on word to Jane of Sir Galahad. Though there is not much to tell. Mr. Dalrymple is worried about us becoming too optimistic.”
Mamma sat and took up her stitching. “I have some very uncharitable things to say about a certain neighbor. I am glad Jane’s grandfather sent for her and Rose, but—”
The rest of the words were left unsaid. There was little that could be done.
At least Rose was safe, spending most of the year at school.
Jane, however, had two years to reach her maturity, and then she would be free to move to Bath with Alex.
As long as her grandfather lived, she was relatively safe.
The new Lord Ryland would not take over the full running of Kellmore or The Willows until he took the Earl’s place.
Then, only heaven knew what would happen to her friends.
If only Jane could find a husband like her twin had.
At least America was far enough from Sir Lightwood’s ill temper.
Mamma sighed as if she too had been thinking the same thing. “Should I bring your nephew in later? He has developed the most entertaining laugh.”
“I would like to see him. Is Susanna able to see him yet?”
“David spoke to her yesterday about Oliver, and she started screaming. I am not sure what to do. I have never seen a new mother so overwrought.”
“Is being overwrought,” it was too mild of a word, “common among mothers?”
“Not like this. I felt sadness for a few days. My mother told me it was normal, as did my midwife. They said most women are sad for a time as their bodies shrink. Or try to. When Nigel was born, I cried for weeks. My mother encouraged me to work in my garden and pretend everything was normal. And soon enough it was. I suppose the house in mourning, and Susanna’s additional duties as Lady Godderidge…
I should have noticed. Given her more advice.
With a doctor instead of a midwife, she missed some of the wisdom I learned. ”
“You prefer a midwife?”
Mamma looked up from her stitching. “This is hardly the conversation we should be having.”
“But I want to know. Someday I will be married, and I want to assure the best outcome for myself and my children.” Isabel knew many women died after childbirth, both those in the ton and those who relied on the fields for their livelihood.
“I am old-fashioned, I prefer a midwife. I don’t see how a man, even if he has had schooling, can possibly know more about birth than a woman.
But the generalization is only that. I have heard of poor midwives and excellent doctors.
It seems you should worry about suitors before you are concerned about children. ”
Isabel made a face. “I would say I would simply like someone to choose my husband for me, but I look at our Queen and wonder if she is happy.”
“Sadly, most women have little choice. Luckily, your father was my father’s choice, and I didn’t mind his handsome face. I dare say I knew very little of him other than he could dance well enough and his conversation wasn’t entirely self-centered. I learned everything else about him after we wed.”
“I thought you were a love match.”
“Far from it. We fell in love in time. I knew so little of life. I was only seventeen and your father more than ten years my senior. He had seen so much of the world. Including war. As the second son, he planned to make his fortune in the army until his older brother passed of smallpox.”
“Why was he not bitter against the Americans like Susanna is? He was there, wasn’t he?”
“Her pain is still somewhat new. Your father never fought. And he had time and distance. Secretly, I believe he thought that some of what the colonists wanted was entirely reasonable. Although he lost friends, he did not lose family to the war.” Mamma sighed the particular sigh she did when thinking of Pappa.
“Let us turn to happier subjects. Did you think that Mr. Dalrymple’s estate will work to host the fair? ”
“Oh, Mamma, he has such excellent ideas. They can cover the patio outside of the ballroom, and the old barn we were in will serve for games if the weather is uncooperative. In his letter, he apologized for not doing the work on the barn himself in the spirit of the fair, but is hiring men for their labor as it will give them extra funds this year.”
“That is an excellent idea. We have always done the work ourselves—mostly as not to be a burden—but if we can fill a few more pockets, it will help everyone. I worry this winter will be hard on us all.”
Mamma eyed the flowers again and smiled one of those knowing smiles. “Or not for all of us.”
Isabel pretended she had no idea what Mamma alluded to.
Mr. Conroy’s bowed head said it all. “Sir Galahad has developed an infection of the lungs. With broken ribs, he cannot cough as he must. I fear he will not live through the night.”
“What do you recommend?” Victor looked at the whimpering animal. Beloved pet or not, he knew the only humane answer.
“I can help him go peacefully without pain.”
The dog whimpered as if to tell both of them of his pain.
“Do what you must. I will write to Miss Jane and Miss Godderidge saying only that the dog succumbed to his injuries.”
“True words. He may live a day or two more, but in agony....” Mr. Conroy ran his hand over the poor animal.
“I will have a box made. Though Miss Jane is not in residence. I think a kind burial will ease her pain somewhat.” He would need to consult with Miss Godderidge on the best location for a burial.
However, at the break of dawn on a Saturday morning, there was little chance of that anytime soon, especially with Leadon Hill closed to visitors.
Perhaps Miss Godderidge’s foot had recovered enough to go for a ride.
“You are kindness itself to care for the poor dog.” Mr. Conroy reached for a bottle of laudanum.