Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Barlow shifted in the pew. “Is it my imagination, or is the vicar’s wife glaring at you?”
Victor answered with a shrug, not wanting to start a conversation that might draw the attention of others.
Mrs. Pettigrew glanced his way far too often, as did the innkeeper’s wife.
No imagination—Barlow’s nor his—needed to determine the cause.
Sir Lightwood was making good on his threat to spoil his good name and Isabel’s reputation.
That the vicar’s wife would believe such a tale was beyond disheartening.
He had hoped the woman who had dined so often at his table would have defended him rather than rush to condemn him on the words of one so ill-trusted as Sir Lightwood.
On his other side, Mother lifted her fan. “Is there a reason we are attracting more glances than usual?”
Victor patted her on the knee. A gesture that likely didn’t reassure her. The text of the day had nothing to do with gossip, reputation, nor fornication, so at least the vicar was not ensnared in the gossip.
The services ended, and Victor hurried to Isabel’s side, offering his arm. While a ride in Hyde Park wasn’t an option, claiming her after services was almost as good of a declaration as having the bans read.
Before they exited the building, Mrs. Pettigrew cornered them, laying a hand on Isabel’s arm. “A word?”
Isabel cocked her head as if confused. Victor was positive she could not be. “Why, of course. How can I assist you?”
“Alone?”
Several women, including the innkeeper’s wife, hovered nearby. Isabel glanced around and took them in.
“That hardly seems possible with so many standing within earshot. You may as well say whatever it is you wish.”
Mrs. Pettigrew looked about nervously before leaning close. “I heard you were found in the most compromising position yesterday.”
“And where and when was I supposed to have been found thus?” Remarkably, the good-humored smile didn’t leave Isabel’s face.
“At the pavilion at Kellmore just before noon.” Mrs. Pettigrew didn’t bother whispering.
“And by whom was I found?”
“Sir Lightwood.” The vicar’s wife spoke with less certainty.
“You say that Sir Lightwood, whom I have heard you abuse for his lack of honesty, saw me in a pavilion on his property during a deluge, and because of this I am ruined? I am as surprised at the source as I am at your belief of it.” Isabel’s laugh was not as carefree as her words.
Isabel leaned close to the vicar’s wife.
“If you would like something with an element of truth to pass along, Mr. Dalrymple asked if I would court him, and I have agreed. As you can see, our watching mothers both approve.”
Mrs. Pettigrew dropped her grip on Isabel’s arm. “I beg your pardon. I should have considered the source.”
Isabel nodded and turned to Victor. “Shall we continue?”
Victor offered Lady Katherine his other arm as she had no one to assist her. Barlow was already at Mrs. Dalrymple’s side.
Isabel was brilliant. Utterly brilliant.
He wanted to pull her close and express his admiration.
No, he wanted to shout it to the sky. The most brilliant woman in all of England walked by his side.
In one move, she had successfully shut down any rumors and let everyone know that she was courting him.
Thus ending any speculation on that front as well.
They exited the church to a cloudless sky and temperatures reminiscent of Augusts past.
Behind him on Barlow’s arm, his mother commented on the exceptional weather. “What a lovely day. Puts me in mind of my youth when my mother would take us out to the country for a picnic.”
“I have missed those this year. It seems every time I am in the mood to plan a walk in the garden, it rains,” said Lady Katherine.
“I say, Dalrymple, a picnic would be quite the thing if it could be arranged,” said Barlow.
Victor preferred a cold meal on Sunday to give his staff a part-day off, as most of them wished to spend time with their families. “As long as we prepare the basket ourselves. I believe a cold meal was prepared for today.” Victor turned to Lady Katherine. “Would you and Isabel care to join us?”
“I can only answer for myself. I would love to spend some time outdoors.”
“We shall need a large oilcloth, the ground is still damp,” said his mother.
Victor looked at Isabel. “And you?”
“How could I not after announcing to the entire congregation we are courting?” She actually batted her eyelashes as she teased him.
“I suppose you could not.” His smile grew as he escorted Lady Katherine and Isabel to their carriage.
An hour later, having switched to his open barouche to better enjoy the weather, they gathered Lady Katherine and Isabel. Victor’s driver crested the hill to the ruins.
His mother gasped at the sight. “What glorious ruins!”
Lady Katherine stopped talking to his mother, and Isabel’s brow knitted as she took in the view. Both Godderidge women frowned.
Victor searched the ruins. Nothing was amiss.
Isabel turned to him. “Are you fencing them in?”
The neat rows of fence posts should have been answer enough. It would take some time for a proper hedge to grow as he planned. “As you see?”
“Why? I thought you said everyone could enjoy the place.”
“There was another accident. The monastery is crumbling down. After the earthquake in Inverness, I do not dare leave it open for anyone to be injured. In a few more years, there will be nothing left of them.”
“Thus the reason it is called ruins.” A bite he had not heard in weeks infused Isabel’s tone.
The coachman stopped the barouche in the clearing, where several pony carts already sat. Despite the obvious intention of a boundary, people still sat in groups and explored the ruins.
“They are trespassing.” Not precisely. The land was not fenced in nor was it generally known the property was private.
Isabel grabbed Victor’s arm. “Leave them be. There have not been that many enjoyable days.”
Victor pressed his lips together to bite back his reply. If Isabel didn’t mind the people, then he shouldn’t.
With Barlow’s help, he spread out their picnic under a tree. More families arrived. The butcher, the miller, and several farmers. Didn’t they have another place to go?
Children ran about playing some sort of game. This was not the type of quiet afternoon Victor had imagined. He was supposed to be courting Isabel. The whole village turned out to chaperone. Soon the fence would be complete, and then they could enjoy the ruins—
A scream interrupted Victor’s thoughts. He hurried to stand, but Barlow and Isabel were faster, running toward the ruins.
Isabel lifted her skirts to run faster, as did several other adults.
She reached the ruins and followed the continuing screams. A boy, no older than seven, held his bleeding knee and rocked back and forth.
Near him stood a little girl covered in dirt—but otherwise looking quite healthy—keening as if her brother were dead.
It took Isabel a moment to place the children as belonging to the potter.
An exasperated mother tried to calm both children at the same time. “Danny, what happened? Dora hush.”
The doctor joined the growing group and made his way to the boy’s side. “A bit of blood, isn’t it? Let me see now.”
The doctor pressed a cloth to the scraped knee and palpitated the leg. Danny didn’t utter a cry, though he winced once. “How did you do this?”
Danny ducked his head. “I tripped over a rock. Dora hav’ no cause to scream her head off.”
The doctor turned to the boy’s mother, who tried to calm her daughter. “Nothing broken. Why don’t you take her away from the crowd, and I’ll get Danny all fixed up?”
Dora hiccupped her way out of the dispersing group while clutching her mother’s hand.
Seeing there was nothing for her to do, Isabel turned to leave. Victor stood near the tallest crumbling wall, his face red, but he wasn’t breathing heavily. She laid a hand on his arm. “Are you well?”
“No.”
“Do you need something to drink?” Though she tugged his arm, Victor stayed rooted to the spot.
“I need…I need to close the ruins.”
If she had not been standing so close she might not have heard his words. “Why?”
“Someone was injured there today, and it’s my fault.” Victor kicked a pebble then followed Isabel’s urging to leave.
“Your fault? The children were playing tag through the ruins. Danny only scraped his knee. I’ve had worse playing here with my brothers.”
“The former owners were negligent of their duties.”
“Negligent? How were they negligent?”
“They didn’t keep you from harm.”
“Keep me from harm? I scraped an elbow in the ruins running from Nigel. I could have been cut in any orchard or garden. You cannot possibly get rid of everything that might hurt anybody.”
“What of your ankle?” Victor’s eyes held a heaviness she had not noted before.
“That was entirely different. One, I was wearing shoes I ought not to have. Two, as you have expressed, the barn floor wasn’t in complete repair. Something which you remedied.” Isabel sighed, hoping Victor would look in her direction. “Accidents happen.”
“The ruins cannot be repaired. I’ve consulted the best architects in England.”
“The ones who make the faux ruins like the ones in the Duke of Aylton’s garden?” A silly waste of money, in her opinion. What could modern ruins have on real ones?
“Have you seen them?”
“No. Phil told us about them during her last visit and she thought them quite ridiculous. But the Duchess gets what she wants.”
“They at least are safe. No random bricks will fall.”