Chapter Two #2
“I know I’m no one and nothing,” he said, his words tumbling over each other in their haste.
“All I have is my skills with words and rhythms and rhymes. But you have always seen the beauty in poetry and music, milady. And I would ne’er forgive myself if I watched you walk away without telling you what is in my heart. ”
Isabella sank down into her chair. She opened her mouth to speak but he held up an anxious hand.
“I have been dreaming of and dreading this moment for days, months. Years, even.” He squared his shoulders, unaware how the winter sunlight, shining through the windows, framed his fair-colored hair like a halo.
“Lady Isabella.” He bit down on his lip until she worried it might start to bleed.
“Isabella, if I may?” He waited for her nod.
“You are about to leave your home. If you wish, you might find a new home with me.”
Isabella’s eyes flew to his, but her quick retort died on her lips when she saw the sincerity shining from his narrow face.
“’Tis a kind offer, Will,” she said instead, as gently as she could manage.
“’Tis a bold one,” he countered, making her lips curl into a surprised smile. “But I dare to believe I could make you happy.” He paused, awkwardly, scuffing his feet into the deep pile of the rug. “We have been happy, together. Have we not?”
“Aye, we have.” Isabella could not deny it. She smiled again, recalling both the lively dances and soothing melodies he had played—and all for her pleasure. “You are a fine man and a wonderful musician. You shall make some woman very happy, of that I have no doubt. But my future lies elsewhere.”
With Lord Gaunt.
No sooner had the voice spoken in her mind, than Isabella was moved to reconsider. Will was kind, honest and caring. He loved her. Or at least he thought he loved her. The truth of that was radiating from every muscle in his trembling body.
Her eyes flickered to the fireplace as her thoughts struck out on a novel new path.
Mayhap I could find contentment as the wife of a travelling bard.
Why not? Others married beneath them and seemed happy enough with the consequences. Her own sister had wedded a mere warrior. Was it not better to be married to a decent man who valued her happiness, than a man whose eyes had raked over her with cold disinterest?
But when Isabella looked back at Will’s anxious face, she found her answer.
Esme had fallen in love with her warrior, whilst Isabella could only ever see this young musician as a friend.
Love was the crux of it. That important, elusive elixir which had never yet beaten a path to her heart.
All Isabella knew was the value of a title, lands, and a grand home. And she was not ready to give any of that up.
“I’m sorry,” she added with sincerity.
Will smiled ruefully, a familiar light returning to his blue eyes. “You have naught to apologize for, milady. ’Twas impertinent of me to e’en imagine you might care for a man like me.”
“Do not say that.” She resisted the urge to reach out to him. “Your presence at Westchester Hall has been a great comfort to me.” She nodded for emphasis. “I will miss you.” Her voice wobbled as she found this was true.
Will I ever find such a friend in Greenock?
Will looked more comfortable now that he had said his piece and bowed again. “I will take my leave.”
He had grown into a handsome man, she realized, and a little kernel of regret formed in her breast at the knowledge that she could not simply take his hand and walk into the future by his side.
But she had to make her family proud.
More than that, she had to make herself proud.
“Here, take this.” She fished for her coin purse and brought out a silver coin that shone brightly against the dark silk of her glove.
“I cannot.” Will flushed.
“You must,” Isabella insisted. “’Tis less than you deserve, but in truth I have naught else to offer.” She laughed, half with hated self-pity and half with genuine amusement. “Unless you would like a trimmed gown or a fine piece of jewelry. I have plenty of those.”
For now, she added silently. Until Lady Catherine saw fit to search her trunks and reclaim aught she decreed should belong to the Westchester estate.
But Lady Catherine would have a fight on her plump hands if she tried to lay claim to Isabella’s rings or emerald necklace, for she cherished these jewels above all else.
“Isabella. I will not take your last coin.”
“But there are coins aplenty where I am headed.” She stood up, took a firm hold of his hand and pressed the coin into it, closing his fingers into a fist and giving him one final squeeze.
“I wish you well, Will.”
“And I you.” He smiled down at her in a way no one had for many a year.
Once again, Isabella felt the sharp pull of temptation.
Shaking her head, she stepped back to put some distance between them. “Mayhap our paths will cross again.”
“I would like that very much.”
Walking briskly toward the window, as if she had some business there, Isabella threw a final smile over her shoulder. It was a gesture of dismissal and Will, to his credit, took the hint and bowed his way out of the chamber.
Leaving her alone. Again.
Loneliness was a state she had grown well used to.
Over the years, she’d developed a hard facade which shielded her from the pain of it.
’Twas not unlike her brother, Tristan, donning a suit of armor before a battle.
Though Isabella’s armor was comprised of her straight shoulders and the practiced lines of her smile, which deflected both pity and gossip from the visitors she continued to graciously entertain, even as her status of countess became more precarious with every passing year.
Precarious or not, her title had provided her with gravitas and grandeur. And soon she would have a new title. The Lady of Greenock.
Isabella closed her eyes at a sudden wave of nausea. When she opened them again, she cursed aloud in a most unladylike manner as she spied a familiar figure walking with brisk determination through the rose garden to the tower doorway.
Her sister, Frida.
Frida had travelled down to Westchester as soon as she heard of Charles’s passing. Being of a kind and practical disposition, Frida’s help in arranging the funeral and packing her belongings had been invaluable. Isabella knew she owed a debt of gratitude to her eldest sibling.
But ’twas not a debt she wanted to repay just yet.
Ye Gods. If only someone could enact a spell to take them all back in time. To when Isabella shone the brightest of all the de Neville daughters, and a glittering future was predicted for her.
Instead, she was the only one with naught to show for her time on this earth. Seven and twenty years of time, to be exact.
As a child, Isabella recalled a lot of chatter around Frida having some kind of second sight.
If only she had deployed that to some good.
She could have saved Isabella the embarrassment of a barren marriage and instead pointed her toward some more vigorous husband.
Plenty of men had once lined up for her hand.
Unlike now.
Frida’s regular footsteps sounded up the spiral staircase. By the time her silver-blonde head appeared, Isabella had donned her armor and was able to welcome her with a bright smile.
“You have found me, sister.”
Four summers Isabella’s senior, with four children safely birthed and raised, Frida’s natural grace and energy were undimmed.
She stood tall and slim, dressed in a well-cut gown which was trimmed with fur at the neck and cuffs.
The only discernible difference between the woman of today and the girl who had once hunted for healing herbs in the woods behind Wolvesley Castle was her long silvery hair.
Frida’s golden crown had lost almost all of its color, following a near-fatal fall from her horse many years earlier. Remembering how close they had come to losing her, Isabella shifted uncomfortably at her cavalier thoughts around Frida’s second sight.
“Aye, well, I recall you always had a fondness for heights.” Frida put her hands on her hips as she caught her breath.
“Unlike Lady Catherine, who tells me she intends to close up this tower.” Catching Isabella’s stricken expression, Frida added, “I told her that would be a mighty loss to Westchester.”
Isabella grasped for her dignity, hiding her distress by examining her sapphire ring. “What did she say to that?”
“I do not believe she was fully listening.”
The sisters shared a small smile.
“She has already told my chief musician that she does not require his services.” Isabella fixed her gaze on the distant trees, pretending that this news had not cut her to the core.
Frida came to stand beside her at the window, bringing a scent of fresh air and lavender. “You are no longer mistress here, Bella. Whatever mistakes are made, you must accept them and move on.”
Anger sliced through her. “You can spare me your lecture, Frida. ’Tis clear enough that I am indeed moving on. Not that I had a choice in the matter.” The spiky branches waved in the wind. “Edward and Catherine made no pretense of wanting me to remain at Westchester.”
“You could not tolerate remaining here and watching Catherine take charge of what had once been yours,” Frida replied, her voice calm and reasonable.
I cannot deny it.
Frida touched her arm. “Don’t fight with me, Bella. I am on your side.”
Of all things, Isabella could not countenance sympathy. “There are no sides.” She smoothed her silken skirts, taking familiar pleasure in the feel of the supple material beneath her slender fingers. “Only tasks. And I am so grateful for your assistance.”
She had an urge to link arms with her sister, as she might once have done. But her armor was too unyielding for such a gesture.
Frida stood quietly and gazed at the view, but Isabella could tell her sister’s attention was far from the neat lawns. There was something she wanted to say.
And Isabella didn’t want to hear it.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.”
There it is.