Dawn at Emberwilde (29 page)

But what tugged at her heart the most was the manner in which Lizzie looked at him. Her smile was genuine, her expression trusting. Mr. Galloway held the horse's head low so Lizzie could brush the soft muzzle with her hand, then he straightened.

Without prompting or reminder, Lizzie offered an unbalanced curtsy to her rescuer and in her most grown-up voice said, “Thank you, Mr. Galloway.”

Mr. Galloway returned Lizzie's address with a slight bow, but did not move.

Lizzie ran toward Isabel.

Isabel's heart flipped when she did. For how could she stay angry or upset? She was only happy that Lizzie was home. Safe.

Isabel knelt in the grass as her sister drew near and put her arm around Isabel's shoulder. Lizzie's pinafore was covered with mud. It marred her stockings. It was even in her hair.

Isabel brushed her sister's dirty cheek and softened her voice. “Lizzie, what were you thinking? What were you doing in the forest?”

Lizzie lowered her voice and whispered. “There were men, and I got scared.”

Isabel forced a swallow. Her throat felt dry. Too narrow. She exchanged a somber glance with Mr. Galloway before returning her attention to the child. The thought of her small sister, alone and tiny in the presence of such men, unsettled her to her very core. “Tell me the truth, Lizzie, did they hurt you?”

The child shook her head, her damaged ribbon floating in the spring breeze, her tousled hair tangled and catching in the mud on her cheek. “No. They didn't see me at all. I hid, but they found my doll's blanket and took it. I want it back.”

“Well, a blanket is a small price to pay. You could have been hurt very badly, do you understand?”

The child bit her lip and nodded.

“We need to get you cleaned up, and preferably before Aunt sees you.” Isabel lifted her gaze to Mr. Galloway. He, too, was smeared with dirt. But at the sight, she felt relieved.

When no one else at Emberwilde would take her concerns seriously, he came to her aid.

“Run on in now and go to your chamber,” she said to Lizzie. “Take the back stairs and ring for Burns. She will help you. Whatever you do, try to avoid Aunt, all right? I will be up in a few minutes.”

She stood and watched as the child walked back to Emberwilde with very fast, very controlled steps.

She did not turn back to Mr. Galloway until she saw Constance escort her sister inside. “I can't thank you enough, Mr. Galloway. I don't know how long she would have stayed hidden if not for you. It seems you are developing quite a habit of assisting those who meet trouble in the forest.”

She was about to turn and follow Lizzie when Mr. Galloway's words stopped her. “I do not wish to take much of your time, Miss Creston, but I was hoping for a moment.”

Her instinct was to follow her sister, but the gratitude she felt toward him fixed her to the spot. “Of course, Mr. Galloway.”

“That day when I encountered you leaving the forest. You were upset. Are you sure that nothing happened? That you encountered no one? I do not wish to pry, but in light of some recent discoveries, it is important that I know.”

Isabel swallowed the lump of concern forming in her throat. It had been easy to pretend that the man who confronted her all those days ago was not real or a viable threat, but someone frightening her sister was another matter entirely.

It was time to share what she knew.

She looked up to meet Mr. Galloway's eyes. His gaze was gentle and patient, and something within her stirred under the directness of his attention. His quiet nature made her confident. Such a sharp contrast, she noted, to Mr. Bradford. Whereas Mr. Bradford always seemed to talk over her, or her aunt always seemed to be telling her how to act, Mr. Galloway genuinely wanted to know what she had to say. It was refreshing.

She drew a deep breath. “I did encounter a man in the forest that day.”

Mr. Galloway's jaw tightened. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, but we spoke, and he did threaten that if I told anyone I saw him, he might harm Lizzie. And so I did as he bid and told no one.”

Mr. Galloway adjusted his stance. “Did you by chance recognize the man?”

Isabel shook her head and bit her lower lip. “I'm not yet familiar with all the faces of Northrop, of course. The only thing I remember with accuracy about him is that he was missing one of his hands. His left one.”

She studied his reaction to see if the description meant anything to him, but his expression remained stoic. He cast a glance toward the upper windows of Emberwilde, then fixed his gaze on her. “Thank you for letting me know, but please, do not worry.”

They stood for several moments in silence in the late-afternoon sun. Somewhere a bird's call rang out, and a pleasant breeze swept through.

Now that Lizzie was safe, Isabel found that she did not want to leave Mr. Galloway's presence. He exuded quiet strength. Still patience. He probably wondered a dozen things, such as why she did not inform her uncle of such an event. “I hope this news is helpful and not a burden.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a kind, subtle smile. “You
could never burden me, Miss Creston.” He hesitated, then took another step toward her. “I do not think your aunt and cousin know about this investigation, and your uncle has asked to keep it that way. It is perhaps for the best to keep these events to yourself.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He bowed and then mounted his horse. He nodded in her direction before looking to his left, and his profile cut a handsome line against the brilliant sky. Her pulse, which had been beating at am impossible rate, seemed to slow.

She had expected everything to change upon coming to Emberwilde, but she had not anticipated such alterations to her heart.

Chapter Thirty

I
sabel walked back to Emberwilde, flooded with relief. She let her thoughts linger on Mr. Galloway. And she smiled.

She knew how she must look. Her hair was loose, dirt was on the hem of her new dress, and she did not know if it was smeared on her face or not. She needed to make sure that Lizzie had changed, but she needed to change as well.

She went through one of the servants' entrances and climbed the back stairwell. Before she went to her own chamber, she stopped at Lizzie's. She opened the door, fully expecting to see her sister inside, but as she stepped into the room, no sound met her ears.

Her sister was not here.

Isabel frowned and assessed the room. It looked as if the girl had not come upstairs at all. Isabel returned to her own chamber and rang for Burns.

But it was Constance, not Burns, who appeared in her doorway.

“Constance!” breathed Isabel. “Do you know where Lizzie is? I cannot keep up with that child today.”

“She is down in the parlor with my mother.”

Dread snipped at Isabel.

Constance looked a bit pale as she continued. “Mother has asked that you join them.”

“Are you all right?” Isabel asked, brushing dirt from the side of her gown, noting the change in her cousin's complexion.

Constance offered a little laugh. “Of course. Speaking of spoiled gowns, you should change as well. Here, I will help you.”

Isabel accepted Constance's assistance, and before long she was in a fresh cream-colored gown.

“Much better,” exclaimed Constance, stepping back to assess Isabel.

Something still seemed amiss about her cousin's breathlessness. “Are you sure there is nothing wrong?”

“Absolutely positive.”

Growing more concerned, Isabel followed Constance to the parlor.

Her aunt appeared in the doorway. “There you are, at last! I was beginning to fear you'd gotten lost, and I was about to send Beasley out in search of you. But here you are, so no harm done. Come in here. I've a surprise for you.”

Isabel did not much care for surprises, so she wiped her cheek again with the back of her hand and stepped into the chamber, bracing herself for what might await.

Bright afternoon light filtered through the tall west windows, the leaded glass casting its skewed geometrical shadow on the carpets and furniture. The sound of Lizzie's laughter drew Isabel's attention to the back corner of the room. Her sister, still clad in the gown that displayed the forest's muck and mire, was seated next to a woman in gray.

Once they noticed her, the new woman stood, and Lizzie jumped up and ran to Isabel. “Isabel, look!”

But whereas Lizzie showed great enthusiasm, the woman, whom Isabel judged to be about ten years her senior, remained stone faced, her expression pinched and her eyes fixed.

“Isabel, this is Miss Smith. I've engaged Miss Smith to be Elizabeth's governess.”

Isabel snapped her attention to Aunt Margaret. A wave of indignant energy rushed through her. Her words left her lips before
she had the opportunity to check her tone or volume. “Governess? No, no. Lizzie does not need a governess.”

Her aunt raised her hand. “If Elizabeth is to become a proper young lady, then we must see to her education. We've already lost much time.”

“Lost much time?” she shot back. “I am not sure I follow your meaning.”

Desperation washed over Isabel, inciting anger and frustration simultaneously. But it would never do to lose her composure. Her aunt seemed to feed on such lapses in control. Calm. Isabel knew she had to stay calm.

“I have been seeing to my sister's education, and we are quite content with that arrangement.”

“But consider, your circumstances are different now.”

“The circumstance has not changed. I am as capable of teaching her as anyone.”

Her aunt stood and crossed the room. Isabel froze as the woman touched her back and whispered to her. “There is no need to cause a scene, Isabel. For can you see to Elizabeth's French and Italian? Her dancing and etiquette? You might be fine to teach the children from where you came. Indeed, you are well suited to educate the children of our foundling home, and I imagine the demands on your time will only increase. But as long as Elizabeth is under my roof, every care will be taken to ensure she becomes a lady, despite her past. All of these things I mentioned are necessary, but you, admittedly, cannot teach them to her. Elizabeth has a brilliant future ahead of her. And I've no doubt she will be a beauty, to be sure, but we must start preparing for her future now. Your efforts up until this point have been valiant, but Lizzie is already behind other young ladies of her same age. Time is of the essence.”

The words stung far more than Isabel cared to admit. But
the source of the pain was deeper. Her aunt did not consider her enough of a lady to see to her sister's upbringing.

“I must protest, Aunt. You have been very generous to us, and we are grateful. But I never agreed to this. I never—”

Lizzie drew closer and tugged at Isabel's skirt. “Look at what Miss Smith gave me!”

Isabel looked at her sister. The pert nose, the inquisitive chocolate eyes. The smattering of freckles, a result of too much time in the sun without a bonnet. Her governess would surely remedy that habit.

As she looked at the child, Isabel saw glimpses of herself.

Once young and wild.

And it hurt her heart.

“Are you looking?” Lizzie demanded, dragging Isabel back to the present, waving the book close to her.

Isabel took the leather-bound volume in her hand and touched the embossed word.
Verses.

Her aunt clicked her tongue. “This is my case in point. Speaking so demandingly to adults. The very idea! It is not to be borne. Miss Smith will break that horrid habit, mark my words.”

Isabel's response rang strong and defensive, even to her own ears. “She only spoke in such a manner because she is excited.”

“That is no excuse. In fact, it's exactly why she needs someone outside of the family to teach her the proper way. You are too lenient with her. Oh, I am not faulting you. She has a strong will, and she needs a firm governess with even a firmer stance to shape and mold that will.”

Isabel decided to try another tactic, especially as she recalled her uncle's earlier words on economizing. “You have already done so much for us, Aunt Margaret. And we are so very grateful. But please, we cannot impose and ask you to incur an additional cost.”

Aunt Margaret threw her head back as if amused. “Oh, my
dear, money is hardly an issue. I will not have a child in my house without a proper education, and you have other activities that require your attention.”

Other things? The only thing that mattered to her was caring for her sister. It was all she had left. “What could be more important than Lizzie?”

“A dozen Lizzies! Or have you already forgotten that Mr. Bradford and I are relying on you for all those children at the foundling home?”

Isabel felt as if she had been struck. Yes, the children were important to her, and she did enjoy her time there. But her aunt had seemed to discourage such interaction before now, and nothing could be more important than her sister. She had tried to be useful, to bring some good to the children at the home, and now her aunt was using it against her in a demeaning fashion.

She looked toward Constance, hoping to find support. But Constance's eyes were fixed firmly on the floor.

She glanced at Miss Smith. The unadorned woman looked like the sort of person Isabel had worked all her life to be.

A tight chignon at the base of her neck.

A severely cut gray dress.

Isabel had, at one time, considered that life suitable, but now she was not sure.

Everything was changing, and control of her fate, which had always been so important to her, seemed to be slipping away.

Chapter Thirty-One

I
sabel stomped from the parlor, caring little that her carriage was unladylike and her cheeks were flaming.

Normally, she could control her reactions, but this had gone far enough. Thoughts tumbled and rumbled in her head, each one battling for dominance.