Chapter 15
Fifteen
Even with her maid lacing her flat-soled half boot as loosely as possible, it still pinched her foot. Isabel thought it a good sign as two days ago they would not have gotten the boot on at all.
Mamma sat on Isabel’s bed, her arms folded. “Are you absolutely sure you must go?”
“I am sure that Mr. Dalrymple would not have invited me on a ride unless it was something that could not wait until we see each other at church tomorrow.” She hoped it was not the piece of news she dreaded.
Only that morning, she had received a letter from Jane full of hope for Sir Galahad’s return to health and her gratitude for Mr. Dalrymple’s kindness in allowing Mr. Conroy to care for the dog.
Her grandfather, the Earl, was to send a letter of gratitude directly to Mr. Dalrymple.
Perhaps she should not have been so hopeful in the letter she wrote three days ago.
“I must go, even if I must with the aid of a cane. There are already too many rumors about the doctor’s visits and our house being closed to visitors.”
The maid finished tying the boot. “There you go, miss. As long as ye stay on the horse, it will be well enough.”
David entered the room. “Your groom has brought Mamma’s mare around, and Mr. Dalrymple is coming down the lane. Best I help you out.”
“You are not carrying me.” As tired as her brother looked, she would hardly allow it anyway. Two footmen had carried her from room to room since Wednesday, and she was tired of it. There was very little pain when she walked with assistance.
“I would not dream of it. But I will offer you my arm and greet our neighbor. This sudden outing gives an elder brother reason for concern.”
Isabel stuck out her tongue as she took her brother’s arm. “We are taking a groomsman with us. I am sure it is nothing to be so concerned about.”
David tapped her nose. “Izz, I will be concerned about what I wish to be. Besides, he needs to know that I will be displeased if he sends you home with a new injury.”
“Unlikely. Mamma’s mare is ever so much more sedate than my horse. It will take us twice as long to reach whatever destination Mr. Dalrymple has in mind. Remember that when you are fretting that I have not returned in what you consider to be a reasonable time.”
Mr. Dalrymple stood next to his horse, speaking with the groom.
Isabel attempted to make her steps seem as natural as possible by placing more of her weight on her injured foot, earning her a questioning look from David.
Botheration. Her brother was smart enough to realize that she didn’t want to appear more injured than she was.
David stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Dalrymple.”
“Godderidge.”
Odd how men could exchange greetings with one word. Mr. Dalrymple turned his attention to her with a small bow. “Miss Godderidge. I am pleased you are recovered enough to take a short ride with me. I am afraid we have a rather arduous task, and I could think of no one else who could help me.”
She felt her brow furrow.
“Miss Jane’s little dog is no longer with us. In her absence, I was hoping to choose a last resting place fitting for Sir Galahad. I have already ordered a box to be made.” Mr. Dalrymple delivered the information in a calm voice. His eyes were soft and full of concern.
The few words answered all her questions about his coming here, and the necessity of going on horseback. If she had not been holding on to her brother’s arm, she might have faltered. Though she expected the bad news, it was still a shock.
“I would ask when you intend to return with my sister, but I see it could be some time,” said David.
“I think not too long.” Isabel adjusted her grip on her brother’s arm. “I know just where Jane would wish, we need only to find Kellmore’s steward or huntsman, who can give permission. I assume you will take care of the burial after I am home.”
“I believe that would be most appropriate.” Mr. Dalrymple looked to David for confirmation.
Women rarely attended burials, so she wasn’t sure why the men had to confirm that it would be different for a dog, even a beloved pet that was not hers.
Isabel had no attachment to Sir Galahad.
He had always been well-behaved around her, but other than a pat on the head a few times a year, she had little to do with him. Jane, however, would be devastated.
David helped Isabel onto their mother’s old mare. Isabel adjusted her skirt and her reins. “I may have been too optimistic in our return time brother, I forgot Mamma’s mare can hardly outrun a snail.
Her brother laughed good naturedly. Mr. Dalrymple mounted his horse. Isabel almost felt sorry for the beast. He would not like the pace the mare set.
Mr. Dalrymple brought his horse to her side. “Miss Godderidge, we will follow your lead.”
“I will show you the place first, I think. If you find a reason that it is not suitable, then there is no reason to bother anyone at Kellmore.”
The pace set by the mare could only be called plodding. Even with her injury, Isabel was sure she could walk faster.
“This is not the horse you normally ride.”
“Mamma was insistent I ride the most docile beast we own. This fine-looker wins. Father said the only thing she was good for was standing around and looking pretty.”
Mr. Dalrymple chuckled. “She is a beautiful horse.”
“And last in a race.” Isabel turned onto a well-used path.
“May I ask where we are going?” He rode beside her.
“There is a spot overlooking the river where Jane read occasionally. Sir Galahad was always with her there.”
“I have been wondering how best to tell Miss Jane of the death. I understand The Willows is only a day’s ride. Should I go myself?”
“I don’t know if I can advise you on that.
I was going to write a letter. I have wondered what to do for her.
I have some sketches I made of Sir Galahad.
I thought of making her a miniature. Though small paintings are not my forte.
” She let the sentence fade off. It was a silly notion she toyed with for the last couple of days, as she had been on the couch.
The watercolor she’d completed yesterday was far from perfect.
Why she was telling him of it perplexed her.
She never spoke about the paintings she wished to make. One of a dog.
“I am sure she would appreciate the gift. You could have a miniature completed in a day or so, correct?”
Isabel bit her lip. “I have a piece of vellum I could use. I don’t have any ivory. I have only attempted small portraiture a few times. Not that a dog is exactly a portrait.”
“My mother was pestering me to have a miniature made. I have yet to commission it, but I have picked up several ivories in anticipation. I would be happy to donate one to the cause.”
“You have? You will?” Would this man ever cease to surprise her? Two years ago she was sure he was another newly wealthy man using his money to further enter society.
“Of course, if you think she would like it.”
“I cannot speak for Jane, but if I were in her situation, I would be happy to have a remembrance of my loyal dog. Something small enough to hide…” Isabel covered her mouth. Insinuating out loud that Sir Lightwood would destroy a larger piece was far from polite.
The trail narrowed to a footpath. Isabel ducked to avoid a branch.
She knew from experience that it was possible to ride the entire way to the clearing, so being unseated by a low branch was not a worry.
She glanced behind to see Mr. Dalrymple almost flattened to his horse’s back.
She held back a giggle that bubbled up at the sight.
Twenty yards later, the trail opened back up to the clearing that overlooked the river. Isabel stopped her horse. “We are here.”
If there were a more idyllic spot in the area, Victor was unaware of it.
The rise they were on, too low to be a hill, gradually descended to the river.
Trees protected the area from the south and west, keeping the area shaded in the summer.
A stone bench, which was used often enough to be free of moss, sat at an angle under the largest of the trees, perfectly set to enjoy the view.
Victor dismounted, as did the groomsman who followed them.
“I can see why Miss Jane loved this location. Is it on Kellmore land?” He had lost track of the number of fences and hedges they had passed.
“Yes, it is.” She pointed up the river to where a stone fence met the water. “That is the division line to ours.”
“It is a lovely resting sight. Do you think anyone would object?”
“The earl will not, and that is the only one that matters.” Miss Godderidge shifted as if trying to dismount.
Victor hurried to her side. “Would you like a hand down?”
“In order to keep my word to my brother, I may need more than a hand. I promised not to jump down at all.”
“If you don’t mind, I can help.”
“You have already carried me in your arms. I trust you not to drop me.” She unhooked her leg from the sidesaddle pommel and placed her hands on his shoulders.
Victor lifted her easily by the waist to the ground. Trying to do so slowly required him to pull her closer than he would have otherwise. He left his hands on her waist until he was sure she had her footing before stepping back and offering his arm.
She took it and smiled up at him. Up? Yes, up.
Had she shrunk? The distance wasn’t great, but where they had been nearly eye-to-eye in other encounters, his height advantage was now almost three inches.
More than the heel of his boot. “That did not hurt a bit. My brother will have no reason to be annoyed with me. I want to sit on the bench for a moment. I have an idea for the miniature.”
Victor escorted her to the bench. Miss Godderidge pulled a small sketchbook and a pencil out of a hidden pocket of her habit. She opened to a blank page and lifted her pencil. She looked at him before setting the lead on the page.
He cleared his throat. “Do you mind my watching?”
Her brow creased. “You already know that I draw and paint. So I don’t mind.”
She had the outline of the river and the field beyond in mere seconds.
Then she worked on the foreground. She paused and tapped her chin.
“Sir Galahad used to sit about there,” she pointed.
With the end of the pencil to a spot on the ground, “and look at the landscape while Jane read. I thought if I could paint him into this view as she must have seen him every time she glanced up…”
When Miss Godderidge did not complete her thought, Victor spoke. “That would be a lovely remembrance.”
Miss Godderidge continued to tap her chin and look at the spot where she said the dog had sat.
“Is something wrong?” He asked.
“I’m having a problem deciding how much space he should take up. I want the dog to be the focus of the picture, but from this angle—” She shook her head.
Victor looked over her shoulder. “Would it help if you had something sitting there about the size of the dog?”
“It might.” Miss Godderidge looked around.
Victor doffed his hat. He held it in front of her. “Will this do?”
“It is smaller, but it will stand in nicely. If you can set it down without it being ruined.”
“It is not very muddy here, it should be all right. Will this spot do?” Victor moved the hat twice before Miss Godderidge was satisfied.
After she finished her sketch, she completed two more from different angles.
Victor had to bite his cheek so as not to laugh during the last. She leaned so far over that she propped herself with her elbow on the end of the bench.
As she concentrated, her tongue slipped between her lips and stuck out ever so slightly.
Likely, she was not aware of the trait, as if sticking out her tongue had been a habit of long standing, her brothers would have teased her mercilessly.
Victor found the glimpse into her unguarded side quite endearing.
She closed her sketchbook and dusted off her elbow. “I suppose most artists do not sprawl on benches. I would appreciate if you never describe that less-than-ladylike moment to anyone. I wanted to see it from a different angle, and other than sitting on the ground…”
“Your secret is safe.”
“Thank you for your patience. I hope I did not bore you.”
“Not at all. It was a privilege to watch you draw. Shall I return you home?”
Miss Godderidge stood and took his arm. “It is best. I would not want David to come searching.”
“Who should I ask for permission to dig here?” Victor scooped up his hat and dusted a blade of grass from it. He checked twice for ants or other little crawlers before putting it back on.
“We can ride past Kellmore and ask the steward. If he is not available, I know where to find the huntsman’s cottage. As I said before, the earl will allow almost anything for his granddaughters, so other than making sure the spot is marked as not to be disturbed, there is little problem.”
The groom came forward with the mare. “Will the bench do as a mounting block?”
Victor took her hand and helped her onto the stone bench. Which served the purpose well, smashing the vision he’d had of helping her up. It was for the best. After looking at her lips for so long, the idea of examining them closer was much too tempting.
They ran into the steward returning to his residence and he quickly took care of the burial plans.
Sooner than Victor wished, they arrived back at Miss Godderidge’s door.
Victor was not ready for the conversation to end.
As for content, there was nothing particularly notable.
Even the bits of local history Miss Godderidge shared he had heard before, but not from her lips.
He dismounted quickly and hurried to her side, hoping she would give him the privilege of assisting her before David appeared.
His plan worked perfectly. He was rewarded with a soft smile and the faintest of blushes. He held her as long as he dared before stepping back. She didn’t let go of his arm.
“Thank you for your careful planning on Miss Jane’s behalf, and for not rushing me.”
“It was the least I could do.”
David met them at the door, and Victor handed over Miss Godderidge. On the way home, Victor thought of ten witty things he should have said and didn’t. Perhaps in another conversation, at another time, he would show himself to a better advantage.