Chapter 19
Nineteen
Unlike the last visit, the footman allowed Victor into the entry hall while Isabel was sent for. She appeared almost instantly in a deep blue riding habit. The color brought out the warmth in her eyes, making them seem less gray and more the color of a summer sky before rain.
“I meant to be out with my horse, I must have dawdled.”
“No, I am early. I don’t possess the talent of being precisely punctual.”
“Better early than late.” Isabel tied her bonnet and secured the knot. “Shall we go?”
By the time they arrived at Kellmore, heavy clouds rolled across the sky. Isabel paused at the stables. “We had best leave our horses here. The gardener will not appreciate if we ride through his roses.”
The Kellmore groomsmen took their horses, greeting Isabel’s horse as if he were familiar with it. Which of course he must have been. Victor dismounted. “I’m afraid my horse can be temperamental.”
“I remember from your last visit. We will treat him well. Will you be long? The family is not in residence.”
Isabel answered. “Jane requested that I fetch Sir Galahad’s favorite ball. I am sure it won’t take long.”
“No, miss, it should be behind the urn next to the pavilion.” The groomsman nodded in the direction of the garden.
Isabel took Victor’s arm. The simple gesture, her gloved hand resting lightly on his sleeve sent an unexpected warmth through him as she showed him to the back garden.
Feeling he should start a conversation, Victor spoke the first thing that came to mind. “I’m surprised the groom knew where the ball would be.”
“I am sure that most of Kellmore’s staff would. They are very loyal to the girls, and they all tried to keep Sir Galahad from Sir Lightwood’s notice.”
“I find it odd that the household staff is so disloyal to the head of the household.”
“The year after Lady Lightwood passed, Phil, I mean Lady Philippa Endelton, stepped into her mother’s role of taking care of everything.
The sisters were economizing at every turn.
I don’t think the Earl of Whitstone knew how bad things were until Phil’s marriage settlement papers were drawn up and he saw that his son-in-law had taken liberties with the dowries. I worry so about Jane.”
“I am surprised you know such details.” What was more surprising was she didn’t share them with an air of gossip.
“Mamma and I are almost the only friends they have in the neighborhood. Most avoid the sisters on account of Sir Lightwood. Fortunately, he spends most of his time away. Even more now than before. I hope the earl finds some way to keep Jane with him this fall. She has been very lonely since George left.”
“Why does Miss Jane stay here then?”
“It is one of the few controls Sir Lightwood has left. He is still the father, and she has not yet reached her maturity, which means he may dictate her comings and goings. I am only grateful he has not sent her to Yorkshire.”
They reached the pavilion, and the blue billiard ball was easily located. Teeth marks marred the wooden surface. The blue billiard ball would make it very easy to bury with only a garden trowel. If only he had thought to bring one.
He’d worried he might need a spade. “Shall we return to our horses?”
Isabel pointed to the rise at the end of the garden. “The bench is through there. It is closer than the stables.”
Victor looked around the garden. The groom, who had accompanied them from Leadon Hill, had stayed at the stables.
Until this point, he had not worried about propriety as they were in full view of the house and they passed a gardener as they entered.
The bench was secluded and surrounded by trees.
Closer or not, they would be alone. Not that he would act in any way untoward, neither would she, he was quite sure of it, but what would her mother believe or her brother?
Isabel was several steps ahead of him.
“Do you not think we should wait for the groom?”
She put a hand on the top of her bonnet and tipped her head up to the sky. “We want to finish before those clouds break.”
Victor caught up with her, surprised at her pace. She did not mince steps nor pretend she was less capable around him for attention. In only two or three minutes, they reached the bench. Her estimation of the nearness of the area proved correct.
“Oh,” Isabel stopped near the bench. “We don’t have anything to dig with. I completely forgot that part.”
“The ground is still soft and the ball not big. I think I can use the heel of my boot.” Victor dug a quick hole with a few strikes of his boot heel. He held up the ball. “Do we say anything?”
“I think not.” Isabel bowed her head as if in prayer. She cared so deeply for Jane, for that poor dog. How had he ever thought of her as merely a privileged young lady concerned only with society?
Victor dropped the ball into the hole and kicked the dirt over it. He tamped it down. His valet would have words with him over the condition of his Hessians. A drop of water hit the toe of his boot at the same time Isabel gasped. Rain.
“Hurry.” Victor reached for her gloved hand.
While he hoped the rain would fall in a gentle consistency, it was more likely that another deluge would fall from the sky.
As they scurried down the path through the trees, a clap of thunder announced that this was to be a full-on storm.
Victor watched for roots and rocks, cognizant of the danger they could be to Isabel’s recently healed ankle.
The thought of her being injured again made his grip on her hand tighten protectively.
When they reached the garden clearing, Isabel pulled her hand from his grip and sprinted for the pavilion, both hands holding the skirt of her riding habit as she ran. He felt the loss of her hand, his palm suddenly cold and empty.
Victor reached the pavilion only a step behind her, without his hat. Which had been snatched by the wind.
Isabel sat on a bench, her hand on her chest to calm her breathing.
Her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Wisps of hair escaping her bonnet curled damply against her temples, appearing much darker than the normal deep blond.
She never looked more beautiful than she did in the disarray caused by wind and rain; her cheeks rosy, her smile wide, and her eyes sparkling.
Victor placed a hand on a supporting column and bent forward slightly, willing his breathing to return to normal.
A pool of water collected at his feet. Awareness of how alone they were now—truly alone—not just beyond the groom’s sight, but trapped here together by the storm, made it more difficult to calm his heart.
The rain drummed on the pavilion roof, creating a cocoon of sound that made the rest of the world feel very far away.
Another clap of thunder sounded in the distance. Not as loud as the first. The storm was moving away. Victor crossed the pavilion. “Are you well?”
“Well enough. I am imagining what my maid will say to the mud on my habit.”
“Likely, the same way my valet will mutter about my boots.”
Isabel laughed, a clear, joyful sound. The laugh transformed her face completely, lighting it from within.
His chest tightened with something he couldn’t quite name—didn’t want to name—not yet.
He liked her laugh almost as much as her blushes.
Standing there soaked and muddy in a storm-battered pavilion, Victor realized with startling clarity that he wanted to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.
The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Isabel turned her head to stare out at the rain. “I didn’t expect so much rain to fall so fast.”
“Nor I. If I had, I would have postponed the outing.” Something in his relaxed smile suggested he wasn’t entirely sorry.
“I hope the ball did not wash away.” She took off her bonnet and shook it out. Being trimmed only with ribbon, it would dry soon enough. “It seems my hat fared better than yours.”
Victor ran a hand through his damp hair.
Natural curls sprang to life. His valet did him a great disservice by flattening his hair.
He pushed off the post on which he had been leaning and came over to her bench.
“I am sure it is full of water by now, or perhaps some squirrel or field mouse has taken it for shelter.”
A picture flashed through her mind, a squirrel living in a man’s hat.
The absurdity of it made her want to capture the image before it faded.
Her fingers itched to draw it. Isabel took off her wet glove before reaching into her pocket.
The small sketchbook she carried was not damp at all.
Her charcoal pencil, however, had broken off, leaving a dull stump.
She squinted at it, willing it to change form.
Victor plucked the pencil from her hand and examined it. He produced a silver-handled penknife.
“You will dull the blade.”
“Then I will sharpen it. I am much too curious to see what you must draw at this moment when the heavens are pouring buckets down.” The warmth in his voice made her chest flutter.
Isabel lowered her chin to hide the blush she knew was forming while he made quick work of her pencil.
He risked dulling his knife for her. A small thing, yet it brought back the comfortable warmth she felt the day he had helped her from Mamma’s mare.
He returned the pencil with a very fine point.
She scooted over so he could sit next to her and watch.
Having drawn before him only a week before, she found her nerves to be quite steady.
Or perhaps it wasn’t steadiness at all, but rather that being near him had begun to feel like a place she belonged.
She sketched a man’s hat with its wide brim slightly smashed, lying on its side next to a bush of no distinct species. A squirrel sheltered inside, hiding from the raindrops she represented with slashes.