Dawn at Emberwilde (5 page)

“It looks just like a castle.” Lizzie's breathless words of awe pulled Isabel from her thoughts. For the first time all day, the little girl's cheeks boasted a rosy hue, and her brown eyes were wide with wonder. “Do you think it has a ghost?”

“A ghost?” Isabel repeated with a quick laugh. “Now what would give you that idea?”

“Jane said that all castles have ghosts.”

“Well, it isn't a castle,” Isabel corrected, but even as she leaned forward to assess the building rising over the treetops, the beauty of it caught in her throat. “And there are no such things as ghosts.”

Isabel rested her head back on the cushion and closed her eyes. In a few minutes, all would be different. There would be no going back—ever.

Chapter Five

Y
ou've arrived at last!”

A woman clad in lavender satin met Lizzie and Isabel when they arrived in Emberwilde's front hall. She had rushed from an adjoining room, the suddenness of her appearance almost taking Isabel by surprise.

The woman was the epitome of elegance, or perhaps frivolity. Black lace trimmed every inch of the gown's hems and patterned the ample bodice. Her light gray strands of hair were piled high on her head and covered with an intricately woven black cap. Isabel knew little of fashion, but her sense of propriety suggested that the ensemble was far too ornate for an evening at home. The stranger's face flushed pink as she rushed toward Isabel, arms outstretched.

“Oh, my dear, my dear! I am so pleased you've arrived!”

She crushed Isabel in a tight embrace.

Unprepared for the display of affection, not to mention the woman's overwhelming scent of lily of the valley, Isabel stiffened and resisted the urge to step backward. Lizzie's hand slid from her own as the woman squeezed her tighter.

The woman had to be her aunt. Who else could she be?

After several uncomfortable moments, Margaret Ellison held her niece at arm's length, her eyes wide as she made little effort to hide her assessment of Isabel's person.

“Beautiful,” her aunt exclaimed with a sharp shake of her head, her eyes bright. She cast a glance over her shoulder at a younger woman. “Did I not tell you that she would be beautiful?”

Aunt Margaret turned back to Isabel, surprising her by reaching out to touch a piece of hair that had escaped Isabel's modest pins. “The exact same hue. So very blonde. I would have known you anywhere. You look exactly like your mother did at your age.”

She embraced Isabel again, and when she released her this time, tears brimmed in her eyes. She hastily wiped at them with the back of her hand. “I must say, I never thought I would see this day.”

Several awkward moments ensued. The older woman studied her as if she were a statue on display.

Isabel took the time to assess her aunt as well.

There was no denying the relation. Ice-blue eyes so like her own studied her with unmasked approval, but the long, straw-blonde eyelashes served as the true likeness that bound them together.

And then her aunt's gaze landed on Lizzie. She appeared almost alarmed, and her hand flew to her bosom. “And who is this?”

Isabel put her arm around Lizzie's shoulders, noting the resistance as she tried to urge the child forward. “This is Lizzie, my sister.”

“Your sister? No, no. You do not have a sister.” The authority in the older woman's voice was jarring. She shook her head in emphatic disagreement, her eyes fixed on the child.

“Lizzie is my father's daughter,” Isabel hurried to clarify, fearing that her aunt's reaction would echo her uncle's parting comment. “He remarried several years back, and Lizzie's mother died. It was then Lizzie joined me at Fellsworth, and now that our father is dead I am her guardian.”

Isabel pulled Lizzie to her side. She feared her aunt's response, for even though she had only just met her aunt, the older woman certainly had no qualms about sharing her opinions.

Isabel felt the need to fill the empty silence. “I do hope it is all right that she accompanied me. The letter said I was welcome whatever the situation.”

The tension in the air increased by the moment, but then her aunt relented. “So it did.”

The young woman waiting in the hall stepped forward. She was a vision of femininity in pink printed muslin and a gauzy cream chemisette. She stooped in front of Lizzie and gathered the child's hands in her own.

“Oh, how delightful. It has been so long since we had a child in the house, hasn't it, Mother?” She knelt down to be eye level with Lizzie. “Hello, Elizabeth. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Constance. You and I are cousins.”

Lizzie's tense shoulders slackened, and she gave an awkward curtsy. “How do you do?”

“Oh, you are delightful!” Constance giggled. “Mother, isn't she? I know for a fact that Cook has made fresh tarts just this morning. Would you care for one? I bet you are hungry after your journey.”

Lizzie cast a shy glance up toward Isabel before nodding.

With an elegant wave of her hand, Constance motioned toward the silent footman at the room's entrance. Within seconds he bowed and disappeared through the door.

She then straightened and looked to Isabel. “Such a pleasure to see you, Cousin.” The pretty girl with honey-gold hair and hazel eyes gave a practiced curtsy.

Isabel returned the greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Constance's eyes grew wide. “Oh, but we have met before, do you not remember?”

Isabel searched her memory, but no recollection of her cousin glimmered. “I am sorry, I do not.”

Her aunt raised a hand impatiently. “Well, never mind that now. It was very long ago. There will be plenty of time to get reacquainted after we have gotten you both settled. Sadly, you will have
to wait until another time to meet your three other cousins. They are all married and live quite a distance away, I am afraid. And you shall never meet Freddie, your only male cousin, my dear, for he died in battle several years ago. Oh, I do wish your uncle was here to greet you, but estate business keeps him very busy this time of year, and I fear it may be quite late before he returns from his duties.”

“Actually, we met him on the road as we approached,” Isabel offered. “He stopped the carriage to introduce himself.”

“Well, that is fortunate. You will find that Mr. Ellison's responsibilities keep him very engaged.”

Isabel looked over her shoulder to the corridor as men carried in their meager belongings. “I am very grateful for the invitation. Lizzie and I are pleased to be here.”

“I am only sorry the invitation came so late. I received word of your father's death from one of my distant cousins, who lives in London, just a month ago. After your mother died, I offered to let you live here. After all, your father's occupation consumed all of his time. How could a man without a wife care for a child and properly see to his occupation? He would hear nothing of it, though, and much to my dismay we soon lost all contact with him.”

Her aunt's light eyebrow arched as she assessed the front of Isabel's gown. “But now, all that is in the past. I see you are still in mourning for him.”

Isabel ran a hand down the rough fabric. It would be an easy mistake to assume by her attire that she was in mourning, for the black, unadorned linen would certainly suit such an occasion, but she only had two dresses, and they were both exactly the same. “No, ma'am, I am not. This gown is the teacher's uniform. All the teachers at Fellsworth wear them.”

“A teacher?” Aunt Margaret's expression pinched in obvious disapproval, and she nodded toward the charcoal-gray pinafore that Lizzie wore. “And your sister's gown?”

“All the students her age wear a similar gown.”

“Well, at least that is something we shall be able to remedy quickly. Those gowns will never do here. We shall have a suitable seamstress come right away. All that can wait until later, though. First, you must eat.” She glanced at Lizzie and waved her hand in front of herself, as if to shoo the matter away. “We always have plenty.”

Isabel took Lizzie's hand in her own once more and allowed her aunt to lead them into the drawing room. As her boots tapped on the stone floor, she only half listened to her aunt's descriptions of the home and the opulent furnishings. There would be time for all of that later, for she could barely hear the words above the doubts and fears swirling about in her head. She never considered herself to be shy or overcome by timidity. In fact, her manner was often so outspoken that she was frequently reprimanded. But this home and these people—her relatives—were unlike any she had interacted with before. She drew a deep breath to calm her taut nerves. She was grateful to her aunt and uncle, but a small voice in her head whispered words of caution. She and Lizzie were definitely far from Fellsworth, and very far from home indeed.

Night fell quickly over Emberwilde, bringing with it harsh winds and spring rain accompanied by startling lightning strikes and cracks of thunder.

The raindrops pelted the stone walls and crashed against the leaded glass windows, resulting in a racket unlike any that Isabel could recall.

It was a wonder that Lizzie had fallen asleep so quickly. Isabel had expected the evening hours to upset her sister. Her aunt declared they should not share a bedchamber. Lizzie had never slept alone in a room of her own, but the journey had been so tiring, the excitement
so exhausting, that she fell asleep almost the moment her head rested against the pillow. She now slept in a bed as wide as three of Fellsworth's narrow beds pushed together.

Isabel was hesitant to leave Lizzie alone. She lingered in the doorway, watching the child as if she might wake at any moment. Lizzie would be frightened to wake up alone in such a room, but Aunt Margaret had expressly instructed Isabel to join her and Constance in the music room. Isabel longed for sleep, but she did not dare to refuse her aunt's request.

Isabel took up a candle, and upon quitting Lizzie's chamber, she quickly became lost in the maze of small rooms and shadowed, crooked corridors. The halls seemed to lead to nowhere, and because the doors and walls alike were paneled, discerning where to go was difficult. Intricate tapestries and innumerable portraits lined the walls, each one looking very like the last. Even with her candle's aid, darkness shrouded all.

She was able to find her way only with the assistance of one of the housemaids.

Once in the music room, the cool shadows gave way to a warm yellow light. As cold and unwelcoming as the rest of the house was, this room was every bit as inviting. The glow from the vibrant fire chased away the stormy evening's pulsating chill, and the soft strains from the pianoforte covered the sounds of the howling gusts and biting downpour.

“There you are!” exclaimed Aunt Margaret when at length she took notice of Isabel standing in the doorway. A seemingly genuine smile graced her round face. She stood from her perch on the small settee next to the fire, which glimmered in the pearls about her neck and in the silver strands of her hair. “We were beginning to wonder where you had gotten to. I trust your sister is asleep.”

“Yes, Aunt Margaret. She is, thank you.”

Constance, the musician responsible for the instrument's
haunting strains, ceased playing and turned her head. She was seated at the gilded pianoforte, the case of which was intricately painted with cherubs and vines. Constance's long white fingers splayed in easy elegance over the keys. Her light hair and the metallic threads woven into her dress shimmered in the candlelight.

Constance lowered her hands to her lap. “You found us! I was about to search for you, fearing you'd become lost.”

The gentleness of her cousin's tone set Isabel at ease. “I did find my way, but I must confess I had to seek assistance.”

Her aunt leaned forward, an earnest expression tightening her face. “This is a very old home, as I am sure you can tell. So much of it has been built and rebuilt throughout the decades that at times the layout does not make much sense. But you will adjust to it soon enough.”

Constance turned to face her fully. “Tell me, Isabel, how do you like your chamber?”

Isabel considered the question. Never had she had an entire room to herself. “It is lovely.”

“I've always been fond of that room,” Aunt Margaret said. “The Lilac Room, it's called. Apparently, years before my arrival lilacs used to grow beneath the window, and when the windows were open the scent would perfume the entire chamber. It has a lovely view of the Emberwilde Forest. I had planned to give you the Bluebonnet Room that overlooks the gardens, but learning of your desire to stay close to Elizabeth, I thought you would prefer the one that adjoins with hers.”

“That is very thoughtful of you.” Isabel turned to her cousin, who was still seated at the keyboard. “You play beautifully.”

A pretty smile colored her cousin's face and her eyes flicked up from the keys. “You are too kind. But I ought to play much better than I do, considering how earnestly my governess tried to teach me the art.”