Dawn at Emberwilde (11 page)

He adjusted his coat and cravat, a broad smile flashing against fair skin.

He was attractive—no, handsome. The seaming of his coat accented his broad shoulders and tapered waist. In fact, the cut of his clothing was impeccable, which surprised her. One would not expect a man in his position to possess such fashionable attire. But then again, knowing her aunt's tendency toward elegance and appearances, and knowing that she financially supported the institution, Isabel could only assume that her aunt saw to Mr. Bradford's clothing.

“Mr. Bradford, I do hope you can spare time for some old friends.” Not waiting for an invitation, Aunt Margaret settled her cane on a small chair next to his desk.

An arresting smile curved his lip and he gave a sharp bow. “I always have time for the Ellisons and now both of the Miss Crestons. It is a pleasure to see you again. How do you find Emberwilde, Miss Creston?”

Isabel flushed under the directness of his attention and curtsied in greeting before speaking. “I find it to be lovely indeed.”

He leaned against the desk and hunched over toward Lizzie. “Miss Elizabeth, the young ladies are currently taking fresh air out in the garden. Perhaps you would like to join them while your sister and aunt visit.”

At this, Lizzie gave a little hop and whirled to Isabel, seeking permission.

Isabel hesitated. Her aunt's words from not even ten minutes prior flamed in her memory. In this new world, who knew what her aunt would deem appropriate?

Before she could respond, her aunt said, “Of course, child. We shan't stay long, but a few moments of outdoor air will be beneficial.”

Isabel was shocked by her aunt's change in attitude. It was becoming clear that she understood little about the behaviors expected of the wealthy.

Mr. Bradford opened the door opposite the front windows, which seemed to lead to another corridor. He disappeared through the door, then reappeared with another young woman in a black gown and white apron. She could easily have fit in as a teacher at Fellsworth with her dark attire and tightly bound hair. She gave a curtsy as she entered.

“Miss Trendle, please escort Miss Elizabeth to the side garden where she may take in the air with the young ladies.”

Miss Trendle nodded with a sweet, kind smile. Lizzie cut her eyes toward Isabel one last time, and after Isabel's encouraging nod, Lizzie followed Miss Trendle out.

“Do not worry about your sister, Miss Creston.” Mr. Bradford's voice reverberated with unmasked kindness. “You can see the side garden through this window.”

Isabel assessed the window he indicated and saw he was right. Through the opening, the sunlight beamed down on several girls
clad in gowns of light blue. Giggles and soft voices were carried in on the late-morning breeze. Her shoulders eased when she saw Miss Trendle lead Lizzie out to the girls, who stopped their play in interest of their newcomer.

Aunt Margaret motioned for Isabel and Constance to be seated. When Mr. Bradford noticed there were not enough seats for all of the ladies, he crossed the room and retrieved another wooden chair next to the room's main entrance. The ease with which he lifted it was admirable.

“You are always thoughtful, Mr. Bradford.” Aunt Margaret adjusted the glove on her hand as she watched him. “As I mentioned earlier, our visit will not be a long one. I was singing the praises of our foundling home, under your direction, of course. Since my niece will be living with us, I wanted her to witness the endeavor firsthand.”

He seemed comfortable as the recipient of her aunt's praise and smiled at Isabel. “You are most welcome here, Miss Creston. I only hope that we can live up to your aunt's high esteem.”

Isabel was about to respond, but her aunt cut her short.

“I did not have a chance to thank you personally for your assistance in retrieving the Miss Crestons from Fellsworth. You left in such a hurry yesterday after delivering the ladies that we were unable to thank you properly.”

“Please forgive me on that account. The rain had been strong, and I had no wish to bring it into Emberwilde with me.” He looked at Isabel. “I must say I am quite impressed by Mr. Langsby, and have been since I met him several years back. He runs an extraordinary establishment. I am always inspired by him.”

At the mention of Mr. Langsby, homesickness unexpectedly pinched. Why the reference to the wiry man should have such an effect, she did not know.

Mr. Bradford turned his full attention to Isabel. “And how long were you at Fellsworth, Miss Creston?”

“Recently I have been training to become a teacher while waiting for a governess position or a proper teaching position to become available, but I have attended the school since I was a child—younger even than Lizzie.”

“I hope you know you are always welcome to visit here, should you be so inclined. In fact, I would be grateful for your expertise. I aspire to follow in Mr. Langsby's footsteps. How great would it be to run a school one day.”

Her eyebrows rose with interest. “Are you considering transitioning the home to more of a school?”

Her question seemed to take him off guard, and Isabel immediately regretted her words. It dawned on her that his comment was likely polite rather than earnest.

He exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Aunt Margaret before smiling at her once again. “That is a lofty ambition. We do what we can by way of education, but of course I would be grateful for your views.”

Isabel looked to the children outside. So many young people. And what future did they have? An idea budded within her. Mr. Bradford may or may not relish the idea of transitioning the home into a school, but the idea of spending hour upon hour at Emberwilde seemed a bit overwhelming—and dull. “I am used to spending my days teaching and working with children. Perhaps you would permit Lizzie and me to visit to read to the children. I believe children need other children, and I should enjoy it very much.”

Her aunt's mouth fell open.

Isabel had said too much. Assumed too much. She realized her indiscretion as soon as the words escaped her mouth. She had only been here one day, and already her tendency to act before fully considering the consequences had reared its head.

But whereas her aunt seemed mortified, Mr. Bradley seemed amused. His smile broadened. “If you can help improve the educa
tional status of the children here, I would be most grateful. I've no wish to overtax you, though. Surely your duties at Emberwilde will keep you far too occupied for such actions.”

Her mind raced with the possibilities. As she wrestled with her thoughts, the main entrance behind them creaked.

The heavy wooden door scraped the floor beneath it.

Mr. Bradford straightened and turned his attention to the sounds. “It appears we have another guest.”

All three women followed suit and looked toward the doorway.

Within moments two people appeared there: a tall man with striking blue eyes—her uncle's friend from the forest—and an older woman who had a baby cradled in her arms.

It was Mr. Galloway, the man her uncle spoke to about marrying her. At the very thought, the heat of embarrassment crept up her neck. She stiffened, feeling fresh resentment toward the uncle she knew so little. And did this man share Uncle Charles's opinions?

The amiable atmosphere in the room seemed to chill, and she, along with the rest of those in the room, turned to the intruders for an explanation.

Chapter Ten

C
olin glanced around Bradford's study. It was hardly the first time he had been in the chamber, nor was it the first time he had arrived when Bradford was entertaining guests.

He had not expected to see Mrs. Ellison, but he was not surprised by her presence. It was no secret that the foundling home was the wealthy woman's pet project and that she took great pride in being its main source of financial support. Nor was he surprised to see Miss Constance Ellison with her mother. But the young woman accompanying them made him momentarily forget why he had come and what he needed to say.

Isabel Creston.

When he first met her in the carriage the previous day, she had been attractive, yes, but here, by the bright light of morning, her hair was so blonde it appeared purer than gold, and her eyes were impossibly pale.

In an effort to compose himself, he gave a bow in their direction, surprising himself by remembering that act of etiquette, then focused his attention on Bradford.

The man stepped forward and offered a bow to Colin's aunt before turning his attention on Colin. “Mrs. Galloway. This is a surprise. Mr. Galloway.”

Colin swiped his hat from his head. “Surprise, yes, Mr. Bradford, but scarcely a social call.”

Bradford seemed to ignore his words—and his aunt and the baby. “You remember our new neighbor, Miss Creston?”

Colin took the moment to look fully at the young woman. “I do. Good day, ladies.” He bowed.

Bradford did not give the women a chance to respond. Instead, he stepped closer to Aunt Lydia and looked down at the child, then propped his hands on his hips. “So, I see you have another visitor for me.”

Colin cleared his throat. “This child was left at the Holden farm. She was found this morning.”

Bradford lifted the blanket from the child's face. His tone was matter-of-fact. “Newborn?”

“It would appear so, but I am hardly an expert on such things. She was left in a basket, no note or letter.”

“You were right to bring her here. We will see she is cared for.” Bradford stepped back, ducked his head out of the open window, motioned to someone, then returned.

Colin was surprised when Miss Creston, light eyes wide, stepped forward. Her full lower lip dipped in a frown, and concern creased her brow. She directed her question directly to him.

“Someone abandoned her?”

Colin glanced up, surprised by how she interjected herself into the conversation. This trend of abandoning children was becoming sadly commonplace, and it was refreshing to see that it bothered another in the same manner it bothered him. “Yes. Some are finding it easier to turn their children over than to raise them.”

She stepped forward again. “But surely you will look for her mother? Can it be right for a child to be thus abandoned?”

His eyes met her gaze—a strong gaze. She seemed not the least bit intimidated by speaking to a man she did not know on a matter that did not directly involve her.

“Of course I will be traveling out to the Holden farm this afternoon to ascertain what I can, but I fear we will not find much to go on.”

Bradford stepped between Colin and Miss Creston. “Sadly, times are hard in this part of the country, Miss Creston. The crops were poor last year, and poverty is high. Some women and families believe they have no options. It is not the first child to be brought to my doorstep in such a manner, and I daresay it will not be the last.”

Miss Creston did not seem satisfied with the answer. Her chin lifted as she spoke. “And what will happen to her now?”

Bradford reached out his arms to take the child. “Do not fear, Miss Creston. I shall register her in our ledger, and she will be taken to a wet nurse not far from here until she is old enough to return. That is, unless someone with a valid claim on the child should come to collect her. Although I must say I expect nothing of the like. Do you, Galloway?”

Colin watched the interaction with interest. “I do not.”

Bradford adjusted the baby in his arms. “I doubt riding to the Holdens will do you much good, but I suppose it needs to be done. But of course it matters little now that the child is here. I do not concern myself with the parents in a situation such as this, but with the child.”

Miss Trendle once again appeared, her expression downcast, and bobbed a curtsy. She took the child from Bradford, then left swiftly.

A strange tug jerked at Colin's heart as he watched the child being carried away—a new number to be logged for the foundling home, a new charge who needed care. The tiny child did not even have a name to her person. She had burst into his life but a few hours ago, and yet now he felt hesitant to leave her.

Mrs. Ellison tapped her cane on the floor, as if determined to be included in the conversation. She leaned heavily against the staff and, with the assistance of her daughter, stood, demanding the attention of the room's occupants. She moved toward them.
Her expression was smug as she cut her eyes in Colin's direction before turning them fully to Bradford.

Her voice rang loudly—too loudly—in the small space. “This is why this work here is so important. You must not forget it, Mr. Bradford. But I know you shan't.”

Colin could sense his own aunt stiffening next to him, and he sneaked a glimpse at Miss Creston. She did not appear to be listening, nor did she appear to share in the satisfaction that all was well. Her fair brows were still drawn together, and she looked over her shoulder at the empty doorway that had accepted the baby.

Colin forced himself to avert his gaze and look down at the toes of his boots, dusty from the morning walk over. He had done his duty. It was time to leave. With the baby safely delivered to the proper hands, there was no reason for them to stay.

He was about to bid the party good day when a commotion from the front garden drew his attention.

Within moments, two adolescent boys ran into the room, huffing for air. Their clothes were smeared with mud, and their faces were pale.

Mr. Bradford transformed before Colin's eyes. Gone was his customary easy smile. His countenance darkened, and his eyebrows furrowed.

Bradford thundered, “Gentlemen! What is the meaning of this?”

The youths, their eyes wide, pranced from foot to foot. Unrefined words spewed from their mouths at a frantic pace, each vying to be heard and thereby making it impossible to hear either one.

After pressing his lips into a firm line, Bradford spoke with such severity that even Colin flinched at the sharpness. “Stop this minute! This is quite enough!”