Chapter 17 #2
Barlow dragged Victor off to the parlor, where his mother sat, reading a book.
While his mother looked a picture of calm, Victor could tell by the way her finger tapped she was neither reading nor perfectly prepared to receive their visitors.
Only Barlow was perfectly at ease, not a snuffbox in sight.
Then again, no one was attempting to foist a match upon Barlow.
Fortunately, their guests all arrived within minutes of each other, so there was no long awkward wait.
Neither was there a need for introductions as Mother had met the magistrate and Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew at services.
The meal was announced. Mother moved to the magistrate’s side.
Since Lady Katherine and Barlow were the only titled peers in the room, Barlow escorted her. Leaving Victor and Miss Godderidge.
He held out his arm. “I do not detect a limp. Is your injury improved?”
Her hand rested lightly on his. “I am declaring myself healed, even if Mamma believes I need another day’s rest.”
“I am glad.”
Despite the party being small, Mother arranged the seating with Victor at the head of the table and her at the foot.
Miss Godderidge sat on Victor’s left and Barlow on his right.
The magistrate ended up between Lady Katherine and his mother.
Not the way he would have arranged things, as he didn’t wish Barlow to scrutinize his every word to Miss Godderidge.
The vicar, whose talent lay in speaking, wasted no time in engaging the table in a story. Which rendered other discussions unnecessary.
When the meat course was served, Victor found his first chance to engage Miss Godderidge in conversation.
“How fares your painting efforts?”
“I am finished. I brought it with me as I did not know how soon you were to travel to The Willows or send it by courier.”
“I will leave in the morning. If I am quick, I will return by tomorrow night.”
“You underestimate the earl’s insistence that you stay to dine.” Her smile carried both mirth and kindness.
“I thought if Barlow were to accompany me, that no such invitation would be extended.”
Barlow made a sound somewhat like that of a growling dog. Proving he listened in. Miss Godderidge’s eyes flitted to his friend sitting across from her. “The Earl of Whitstone might not turn Lord Barlow away, I am sure there is room in the stable with the grooms.”
Barlow placed a hand on his heart. “Miss Godderidge, you wound me. Nevertheless, I have no intention of accompanying my friend on his errand. There will be tears, and I cannot abide them.”
A frown marred Miss Godderidge’s face. “Yes, there will be those. Mr. Dalrymple may accomplish his errand in a day after all.”
Victor could only nod. The earl or his granddaughters would not receive his news of the beloved dog’s passing well.
Barlow changed the subject to the harvest fair by asking about the traditions. Lady Katherine picked up the conversation, allowing Victor to let his thoughts wander since he already knew the history.
He glanced at Miss Godderidge. She seemed not to be paying attention to the conversation either. Victor leaned in her direction so he could keep his voice low. “Can you meet on Friday to review what is to be done next?”
Miss Godderidge nodded. “Yes. We didn’t get very far last week, did we?”
“Perhaps not, but the old barn floor has been packed with sand, so no other boot suffers as yours.”
A blush bloomed on her cheeks. “If I had not been trying to—I mean if I had—it was more my fault than yours or the barn. I thank you for correcting the problem.”
“I should have seen to the floor already. If I had been keeping my horses in there, I would not have allowed the floor to reach such a state.”
“The fault is—”
At the other end of the table, his mother stood, unaware she had interrupted anyone. “We will leave you men to talk. Do not keep us waiting too long. We have enough people for two tables of cards.”
Miss Godderidge set her fork aside and gave him a nod before following the other women out of the room.
Barlow leaned close. “Tell me again how you have no interest in her.”
Victor cast a glare at his friend before signaling for the port to be served. Though he did not enjoy card games very much, he looked forward to being Miss Godderidge’s partner, for who else would Mother put him with?
Predictably, Mrs. Dalrymple insisted Isabel partner with her son for the cards.
However, Mrs. Pettigrew suggested they mix the couples as she preferred not to play with her husband and wished him at the other table.
Lord Barlow agreed. Thus instead of sitting opposite of Mr. Dalrymple, she once again sat at his side as she was paired with the magistrate and he with the vicar’s wife.
Like her husband at the other table, Mrs. Pettigrew took control of the conversation before Mr. Dalrymple finished dealing the cards. “I missed you at church yesterday, Miss Isabel. I hope you have not taken ill with whatever keeps Kellmore under quarantine.”
“I am quite well.” Isabel played her card.
“I do hope your young nephew survives.” Mrs. Pettigrew searched for the answer to fuel her basket full of gossip.
“Mamma thought it best that I keep off my foot for another day. So we did not attend.” Isabel sorted her cards.
“You were injured? I had not heard.”
That is because Mamma inspires loyalty among her servants. “I twisted my ankle last week. As you can see I am much better.”
“However did you do that? You were not walking the ruins alone in the rain were you?”
“A bit of vanity, and a simple misstep is all.” Isabel willed Mr. Dalrymple not to say anything. If the vicar’s wife learned they had been together, she would have her husband reading the banns this very Sunday.
“Vanity? Does this mean you will give up those ridiculous tall-heeled shoes? I always told you no good would come from trying to be as tall as all the men. Especially when you are so tall to begin with.” Mrs. Pettigrew lowered her voice to what might have been meant to be a whisper.
“Men wish for wives who are small and delicate so that they may feel they are the protector. I have told you this a hundred times.”
More like five, but still it was five too many. Isabel played her card.
Mrs. Pettigrew ignored the play. “I don’t know which was worse, running around with your brothers, or those Lightwood girls with all those boys’ names. Wanting to be tall. Not ladylike at all Miss Isabel.”
“It is your turn, Mrs. Pettigrew.” Mr. Dalrymple cleared his throat.
“As far as men wishing for small women, I find it is not those attributes that God has given men and women that distinguish us such as hair color or size that impresses me as much as it is those traits which one cultivates, such as kindness and integrity, that tell me the true worth of another.”
The magistrate played a disappointing card.
Victor paused as he laid down his own card and won the hand. “There are many desirable traits that are not seen in the physical, such as the propensity to keep one’s own counsel rather than to give unsolicited advice at every turn.”
A warmth spread through Isabel. Though Mrs. Pettigrew might not understand, Isabel’s heart did. That man had just defended her to the biggest gossip in the village.
Mrs. Pettigrew dealt the next round of cards.
“I agree calm and quiet women are well desired. Like my daughter. She has the best disposition. Why, she was barely out before finding herself a husband. Now I have a lovely grandchild to show for it. She is about the same age as your nephew, Miss Isabel.”
“Yes, I believe she was christened only two weeks before Oliver. How is she doing?” asked Isabel.
Isabel’s question had the desired effect and Mrs. Pettigrew spent the rest of the game detailing every smile that her granddaughter had ever made.
The clock struck the hour, and the magistrate declared it was time for him to leave, as he had early-morning duties.
Isabel took her time gathering the cards and putting them away.
She didn’t wish the Pettigrew’s or the magistrate to see her hand Mr. Dalrymple the miniature as the gesture could be misconstrued.
She slipped the wrapped ivory disk from her reticule and set it on the table next to the cards.
Mr. Dalrymple picked up the cloth wrapped package. “I was hoping to see it.”
“There is nothing preventing you from unwrapping it.”
“Other than I am afraid I might damage it.”
Isabel put the last card into the case. “As long as it remains dry it should be safe enough. It will be better once it is in a proper glass frame. I am sure the Earl of Whitstone will see to it.”
“Will you open it for me?”
Isabel looked around the room. Everyone else was near the door preparing for departure. She untied the bow holding the soft muslin cloth in place, and unwrapped the piece.
Mr. Dalrymple sucked in a quick breath. “This is beautiful. I wish I had a magnifying glass. The detail in the trees. Excellent job.”
“You must promise not to let it get wet. I am not sure it has cured long enough.”
“I will protect it. Miss Jane will receive it just as it is now.”
Isabel rewrapped the miniature. “Thank you for the kindness you are doing. I have a letter for her as well. Will you deliver it?”
“I am your servant.”
Heat warmed her cheeks again. What was it about this man that he could bring a blush to her cheeks so often? Oh Jane, Isabel thought, please realize that he is so much more than he looks.
Mr. Dalrymple tucked the miniature and the letter into his coat pocket and offered Isabel his arm.
She stood, her eyes almost even with his. “Mrs. Pettigrew was not wrong. Much of my twisted ankle was my fault. I was not being kind. I often wore my highest boots around you for reasons other than my own vanity. I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused. It was not kind.”
Her cheeks burned with shame.
Mr. Dalrymple covered her hand with his own until she looked up and met his gaze. “Thank you for your confession. I know we had a difficult introduction two years ago. Perhaps we start again as friends?”
“After this past fortnight, I believe we are friends, and I am glad of it.”
He returned her smile. “I am glad of it too. I have not always been kind to you either, and I am sorry for that.”
He didn’t elaborate, and although curious, Isabel decided she would rather not know the exact ways in which he thought he had not been kind.
“Do be safe in your travels to The Willows, especially if it is raining.”
“I heard the accident happened in the rain. I will be careful. I must return so that I can host a harvest fair. I fear if I do not, you will find a way to haunt me.”
“I believe you have that backward. I would not be the ghost.” Isabel giggled. She never giggled. What was wrong with her?
Mr. Dalrymple led her to the door of the parlor where Mamma and Mrs. Dalrymple conversed alone in the entry hall.
Isabel curtsied to Mrs. Dalrymple and thanked her for the invitation.
Mr. Dalrymple escorted Mamma and her to their carriage.
The footman handed Mamma up, but Mr. Dalrymple helped Isabel himself.
He didn’t release her hand. “I look forward to meeting this Friday. I’ll send a note around when I return with the specifics.”
With the warmth spreading through her hand from his touch, Isabel found she could not answer, so she nodded. Only after he released her hand was she able to whisper a good night.