11. Isla
Isla
Pris opened the door to her elegant, three-story townhome located in the fashionable Manheim Historical District, where considerable effort had been made to preserve the architectural integrity and character of the area.
A welcoming smile greeted Isla, something that had been sorely lacking over the past week or so.
She held her arms out for her friend to step into.
“Isla. It’s so wonderful to have you here for dinner. It’s been too long since you’ve come.”
While it was true that Isla hadn’t visited her friends in their home, as she stepped into Pris’s outstretched arms and exchanged air kisses, she couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s abundant enthusiasm.
Hadn’t they met for lunch a mere three days prior?
“It’s lovely to be here again, Pris.” She glanced around.
“Have you done something different with your entrance hall?” There was a subtle difference from the last time she’d paid a visit, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was.
By the pleased look on Pris’s face, Isla had asked the exact right question.
Her friend clasped her hands, and her face lit with the delight of someone dying to show off a shiny new possession of which she was incredibly proud.
“Robert was in Taernsby a few months ago and noticed they were razing an old mansion. He went inside and discovered this original crown molding, which he immediately purchased from the owner and had it shipped here.” She indicated the molding running the perimeter of the entry hall where the walls met the ceiling.
“Oh, Pris! What a find.” Isla walked from one end of the hall to the other, skirting the elegantly appointed staircase leading to the second and third floors.
The molding had been crafted by a master artisan, a wood sculptor whose attention to detail was uncanny, to say the least. “Look at the birds. It’s as though every feather was lovingly placed just so, and each bird, no,” she hurried halfway up the stairs to get a closer look, “each feather is a work of art in and of itself.” She descended to where her friend waited with a broad and rather foolish grin on her face. “Has Anastasia seen these?”
Placing an affectionate hand on Isla’s cheek, Pris shook her head. “You’re the first. The carpenters only finished installing it two days ago.”
Isla again studied the molding before adding, “Did Robert find any other treasures? I can’t believe they were going to destroy such works of art.
Even if there had only been one, you could have bought another of Anastasia’s watercolors and used it to frame the picture.
” She smiled and hugged her friend. “It’s beautiful, Pris.
You’re so fortunate Robert has a keen eye for such things.
Not many men would take time out of their trip to stop into an old house to look for something he knows would delight his wife. ”
Robert happened to enter the hall the moment Isla finished speaking.
He beamed at his wife’s best friend as he came to stand in front of the two women.
“And you, my dear, are welcome in our home anytime as long as you continue extolling my virtues to my exquisitely beautiful wife.” He bent to kiss Pris on the cheek.
The affection between the couple was uncommon, at least in Isla’s experience. “It’s as though you two were married yesterday and not twelve years ago.”
Pris put her hand on Isla’s arm. “You’ll find the right person one day, Isla. I believe that with all my heart, and so must you. Now come. Cook has dinner prepared. We’ll be dining in the parlor since it’s only the three of us.”
That took Isla back. “Only three? I was sure you’d invite Tillie or even Anastasia and Felix to join us.”
With her hand on Isla’s elbow, Pris led her into a parlor larger than many lesser-appointed living rooms. She’d eaten there on many occasions and had already known the walls were decorated with paintings their friend Anastasia had found for her over the years.
However, a new one caught her eye, and she walked to where it was prominently displayed over the mantle. “This is new.”
“It is. I don’t know how Anastasia finds them, but she always knows precisely what I’d like and isn’t shy about telling me in minute detail where I should hang it.” She smiled ruefully, “And she’s always right.”
“I envy her travels. I always dreamed of sailing to London or Prague or even Paris. But, it’s not seemly for a single woman to travel alone.”
They admired the painting while the servants finished preparing for the meal. Finally, Pris said, “I know Anastasia has invited you to join them….”
“And be the awkward third wherever we go? I think not.” The painting was of a rearing thoroughbred stallion, and Isla pointed to his hindquarters. “The artist perfectly captured the musculature of his flank. It’s as though he’s about to leap off the canvas.”
Pris, who knew horses and bloodlines better than anyone Isla had ever met, agreed. “That’s what caught my eye, too. Do you know what horse that is?”
Isla broadened her regard, studying the horse’s head, neck, and withers along with its barrel and withers. “I’d say he’s from the Darksilver line. What I wouldn’t give to have one of his progeny.”
“That is Darksilver.” At Isla’s appreciative intake of breath, she continued, “Anastasia, at Robert’s urging?—”
Her husband had joined them with two brandies that he handed to each woman.
Pris paused to take a sip. “Thank you, my dear. As I was saying, they commissioned the portrait for my thirty-fifth birthday. Anastasia knew a painter she admires near where Darksilver is stabled, and Robert wrote the owners and obtained permission for the artist to visit on several occasions.”
Isla sipped her brandy. “If only Robert could convince them to sell me one of his foals.” She smiled at her friend, and the three took their seats around the six-person table.
The butler stepped forward and removed the lid from the soup tureen.
He deftly ladled soup into Isla’s bowl, but as he moved to fill it a second time, his fingers slipped, sending the ladle clattering onto the sharp edges of the silver serving bowl and down onto the wooden table.
He hurried to retrieve it and wiped up the smattering of chowder droplets spread beneath the serving spoon with a towel he habitually wore draped across his forearm.
Thankfully, the ladle had been empty and no harm done, but Robert’s rebuke was swift and unforgiving.
“Good God, Percy, you’re worse than that blasted cook who can’t keep from banging the pots and pans while she prepares the meals.
If those decrepit fingers of yours are getting too old to hold the blasted spoon, then perhaps it’s time to put you out to pasture with the other worthless old fools. ”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable and perhaps went on for longer than Robert expected because he waived to Percy with impatient flicks of his fingers. “Well get on with it, man.”
“Yes, My Lord.” With blank features that betrayed no emotion whatsoever, Percy ladled more soup into Isla’s bowl. “I beg your forgiveness, Lady Brighton.”
Isla glared at Robert as she responded to the apology.
“There’s no forgiveness necessary, Percy.
Accidents happen to everyone, and I dare say that after more than thirty years of devoted service, you’re entitled to one now and again.
” She’d known Robert could be an elitist prig at times, more so now that he’d joined the King’s Privy Counsel.
But this biting tendency toward judgement and censure had gotten worse over the last few years.
Attempting to put everyone at ease, Pris set her spoon aside and turned to her friend. “I’ve heard Darksilver covered Fancy’s Delight a few months ago. Can you imagine the remarkable foal that will come out of that combination?”
Isla, who would never treat a servant with such disdain, made an effort to relax her shoulders and went with Pris’s change of topic.
They chatted amiably through the soup course and entrée, and when Percy set plates containing decoratively formed figures of gingerbread in front of each person, Robert glanced at his wife before clearing his throat.
When Isla looked up, he nervously tapped the table, sat back, and ran a finger around the collar of his starched shirt.
Knowing her friend’s discomfort had nothing to do with his abominable treatment of those he considered beneath his station, Isla asked, “Is something wrong, Robert?” She looked from him to Pris, and when the latter wouldn’t meet her eye, she knew there was more to this luncheon than she’d originally thought.
Using her knife and fork to slice off a bite of gingerbread, she scooped the piece onto the tines and slipped it into her mouth, hoping to give them time to decide how best to broach what appeared to be a delicate subject.
It was Pris who finally spoke. “While we always enjoy your company, as you’ve guessed, we have another reason for inviting you here.
You, of course, know that Robert attends the Enigma Club, and while it may not happen during your visits, I gather the men can be rather forthright and, dare I say, boorish when no ladies are present. ”
Robert nodded solemnly, “Quite.”
While he’d reprimand his servants quite openly when they displeased him, Robert’s deportment where members of the aristocracy were concerned was above reproach. Isla suspected he never engaged in ribald or deprecating comments about anyone, male or female, on his visits to the club.
When he didn’t immediately pick up the narrative, Pris continued. “You and I, Isla, have known one another since childhood, and because of our long acquaintance, I convinced him that you would rather know if people are saying unkind things about you behind your back.”
Isla laid the knife and fork across her plate and sat back. “Something is being said about me?”
Robert blushed, but this time, he joined the conversation. “It is. It concerns your—” He paused to find the best way to phrase an indelicate subject. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth several times to speak and then shut it again.
“Robert. May I make a guess?”
One brow rose higher than the other, and he shrugged.
“Is it about my mismanagement of the estates? How I increased my herd, and if my steward and shepherd are to be believed, I’m sure I did so against their advice and overgrazed and destroyed any chance of ever running sheep on my land in the future.”
Without meeting her gaze, Robert nodded dejectedly. “Just so.” He glanced up. “If you were a man, nothing would have been said other than you made a poor decision that could be rectified. With you being a single woman, you can imagine what they’re saying.”
“I can. That I have no place running an estate on my own. That I should have listened to my steward’s advice and decreased rather than increased my herd.”
Robert sighed, “More like perhaps some of the lords should petition the King to take custody of Windsong Hall because its sheep, or rather, your sheep are a major factor in the cultivation and distribution of both mutton and wool, and we can’t allow your mismanagement to affect the Fachan’s Bay economy. ”
No one stirred as the import of his words brought a heavy tightness to Isla’s chest. Her breathing slowed, and she looked down to see she’d crumpled her skirt in a tight-fisted grip.
An unfamiliar roaring filled her head, and when Pris rose to come to her, Isla saw her lips moving but couldn’t hear what was being said.
She raised a hand and finally managed a weak, “I’m fine, Pris, really.
I…I expected something of the kind. I have to admit I didn’t expect that, but—” she looked at Robert, “Tell me, was Lord Montfort among those speaking ill of me?”
“He was the most boisterous of them all.”
“Does anyone realize his land abuts mine on the side opposite Lord Jontoreaux, and he’s been trying to obtain my land for several years now?”
Robert’s rapid blinking said he hadn’t put those two facts together in quite those terms.
Pris’s lips drew into a thin line. “That bastard. And who better to take over the proper running of the estates than the man who owns the adjoining property?” She turned to her husband. “Robert, you have to do something. Even if Isla made some mistakes?—”
“My only mistake was listening to the advice of my steward and shepherd, who neglected the land and suggested I put my sheep on Count Deverell’s land.”
The skeptical look Robert turned on her was an unwelcome portent of things to come. “You’ve had the same steward for the past five years. Why would he suddenly….” His voice trailed off when he realized the answer. “Montfort.”
“That’s my assumption.” Isla folded her napkin and placed it next to her plate.
“I’m sorry, Pris, but I need to return home and consider how I should proceed.
” She rose and waited for Robert to stand next to his wife.
When he did, she nodded, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Forewarned is forearmed.”
“I’ll do what I can within my circles.”
Pris added to his offer, “And I intend to speak with several of My Lady friends who have influential husbands. No one should be allowed to manipulate the King into taking your land, Isla. No one.”
They walked her to the door, and Isla nodded to Robert as he held it open. “Thank you,” she glanced at Pris. “Thank you both for caring enough to invite me for dinner, even if the information you needed to impart was distasteful and difficult to hear.”
Pris pulled her into an embrace, and while Isla wanted to crumple into a ball and cry out her frustration and anger at how she’d been manipulated into doing something so stupid, she squared her shoulders and returned her friend’s embrace.
“I’m not beaten yet, Pris. You’ll see. I’ll come up with something.
I always do, don’t I?” With a forced smile, she nodded to Robert, who stepped into the street and hailed a cab.
There was no doubt there was pity on the faces of her two friends as they watched the cab carry her off into the night.