Read His Wicked Embrace Online
Authors: Adrienne Basso
His Wicked Embrace (31 page)
Isabella nearly dropped the tray. Gone! Her brain reeled while her heart twisted, but there was nothing she could do. She could only feel robbed, cheated somehow. Knowing she was to leave in the morning made each moment she stayed at The Grange more crucial, more precious. She had never once considered that Damien would prefer to maintain a distant silence between them.
“Please tell Damien that I must speak with him.” Isabella chewed on her lower lip and looked away. “Ask him to find me, Jenkins. No matter what the hour,” she added softly, throwing all pretense of pride out the window.
The valet gave her a sharp glance, but Isabella was too distraught to notice. Her footsteps made a hollow echo as she slowly climbed the staircase.
It was going to be far more unbearable than she imagined, Isabella realized. She felt wounded inside. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. It was useless, foolish really, to lament what could never be. Yet all she could think about was being separated from Damien and knowing that over time, her heart would most likely wither and die.
Chapter Twenty-five
“It's not fair,” Catherine protested. “Why must we go to bed when we aren't a bit sleepy?”
“Can't we stay up until Father comes home?” Ian pleaded. “We want to say good night to him.”
Isabella averted her eyes, fearing that her distress over the earl's absence would be too obvious and further upset the children.
“I am not certain when your father will return home, so I think it is best if you prepare for bed,” Isabella explained. “He will come and see you as soon as he is able.”
After a few expected grumbles of protest, Catherine and Ian obeyed Isabella's orders. Once the children were settled in their beds, they shared a conspiratorial look, then turned towards her.
“A story will probably make us very, very sleepy,” Ian declared innocently.
“Oh, yes, a story,” Catherine repeated, shifting her legs restlessly beneath the bedcovers. “One about a princess, please.”
Ian made a face. “No princess. I want to hear about the huntsman and his wishing cloak.”
“Huntsman are nasty.” Catherine shook her head vehemently. “It must be a princess.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No, no, no! No princess!”
“No huntsman!”
“Children, please stop it!” Isabella interjected.
“I don't want to hear a story about a princess,” Ian complained.
“Then don't listen,” Catherine countered.
“There will be no stories at all if you don't cease shouting at each other. Immediately.”
The bickering stopped. But the quiet didn't last.
“Maybe we should have two stories tonight?” Catherine ventured, rustling her bedcovers again.
“Yes, two stories,” Ian shouted, bouncing excitedly on his knees. “Tell the princess story first.”
Isabella smiled in spite of the calamity. Catherine and Ian's two story compromise reeked of conspiracy, but she didn't mind, especially considering this was the last time she would share this favorite bedtime ritual with them.
“All right. If you promise to be very quiet and go straight to sleep after we are finished, we shall have two stories tonight.” Isabella dragged a comfortable chair to a spot an equal distance between the two beds and sat down.
The children obediently lay back in their beds, heads resting against their pillows, eyes open and alert.
“I want to hear the story about the young maid with the pretty hair as fine as spun gold, who was locked in the tower by the evil witch,” Catherine declared.
“Rapunzel?” Isabella asked.
“Yes, Rapunzel.” Catherine hugged herself with delight. “She lowered her long, braided hair out the tower window so the prince could climb up to see her, and then he married her and she became a princess!”
Isabella sighed. How ironic that Catherine should choose a story about a young woman shut away in a lonely tower, separated from the world. It bore too uncomfortable a resemblance to the bleakness of Isabella's own future.
Shaking off those strange thoughts, Isabella threw herself into the telling of Rapunzel's tale, changing the pitch of her voice for each character and the volume of her delivery to add mystery and suspense. The children lay wide-eyed at the edge of their beds, eagerly listening to every word. But when she reached the part in the story where the evil witch casts Rapunzel from the tower prison and then waits to catch and harm the prince, Isabella had difficulty keeping her voice steady.
She felt an odd kinship and understanding of the suffering endured by the mythical Rapunzel, a woman banished from the man she loved and forced to live in the greatest grief and misery. With a true feeling of joy, Isabella related the triumphant ending of the tale, when the lovers are once again united and Rapunzel's tears of happiness cure her prince's blindness.
Isabella sighed. Of course, in the world of legend and fairy tales, there was always a happy ending. If only she possessed the power to write a happier conclusion to her own story, Isabella thought, but alas, in life one was rarely given the chance to live long and happily with a loved one.
Following Rapunzel, she launched immediately into the account of the huntsman whose kindness to an ugly old crone brought him a gold coin under his pillow each night and a magical cloak that would grant all his wishes.
At the end of Ian's huntsman tale, Isabella noticed the children's eyes beginning to droop, but they struggled valiantly to fight off sleep. Quietly she rose from the chair and extinguished all but one candle before walking over to Ian's bedside. Still and silent, Isabella stared down at him for several long minutes.
The little boy's eyes were shut, and his steady breathing indicated he was drifting off to sleep. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she tenderly smoothed the soft curls off his brow, then secured the covers tightly around his chest. Finally she bent low and kissed his cheek. She did the same for Catherine, all the while fighting hard against the tears shining in her eyes.
Returning to the chair, she swallowed determinedly past the lump of regret and sorrow lodged in her throat.
“Since you have behaved exceptionally well, I shall treat you to one last story, a tale that I have never before shared with you,” Isabella whispered. She filled her lungs with air, then slowly exhaled. “There was once a man who had to take a long journey, and when he was saying good-bye to his daughters ...”
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It was nearly dawn when Isabella awoke. The heaviness in her heart made movement impossible at first, so she lay in her bed staring out the window. She made an effort to disregard, at least for the moment, the burdens on her mind and concentrate instead on nature's beauty. The first faint rays of pink and yellow light burst upon the horizon, bringing the magnificent fields of green to life. It was a glorious sight. Truly, there was no place in the world like Whatley Grange.
Isabella realized she was biting her lower lip when she tasted the blood on her tongue. Defeated, she succumbed to her emotions and turned her head away from the outdoor splendor. Burying her face in the pillow, she wept loudly, but her many tears brought her heart little relief.
After a while, Isabella forced herself to sit up on the side of the bed and dangled her bare feet over the edge. A headache was beginning to form behind her eyes, but she willed away the discomfort. The earl had not returned to The Grange last night, and thoughts of him flooded her mind.
She had waited for Damien in Catherine and Ian's room until the wee hours of the morning, lightly dozing in a chair. Dimly hearing the clock strike three, in the early morning hours she had brazenly gone to the earl's bedchamber, but he was not there. His bedding was undisturbed, and she could not help but be curious about where he had spent the night.
Isabella's thoughts remained on Damien as she removed her nightgown and put on her clothes. Her traveling clothes. Since she had refused to pack her belongings last night, Isabella next faced that unpleasant duty.
She arranged her clothing methodically upon the bed, then pulled her worn satchel from the wardrobe. She began packing her bag and belatedly realized that Lord Poole had given her so many gowns, she would not have enough room in her case to take everything.
Leaving a generous space for her undergarments and personal effects, Isabella haphazardly stuffed whatever old and new gowns would fit inside the case. She stacked the remaining dresses in four neat piles, knowing that Fran, Maggie, Penny, and Molly would be speechless at the thought of owning such expensive, fashionable clothes. It seemed fitting somehow that the four young maids should wear these lovely garments. She would receive great satisfaction presenting the gowns herself to each girl before she left.
Before she left! Isabella's heart turned to stone as the words echoed in her mind. Whatley Grange was the home she had always longed for, and she loathed having to leave. Here she had found peace and contentment. Here she had lovedâthe children who were so fiercely independent, and their father who defied ordinary convention.
Yet it was because of that very love that she was leaving. At all costs, she must prevent her brother from creating a horrible scandal or, far worse, have Damien prosecuted for a crime Isabella knew he could never have committed. She feared for more than Damien's reputation if Lord Poole succeeded in exacting his revenge. She felt certain he would contrive to have a charge of murder brought against the earl. In a community that already believed an outrageous assortment of lies about Damien's behavior, Isabella doubted he would be treated to impartial justice.
Lord Poole's mercurial moods yesterday afternoon also troubled Isabella. He had gone from rage to grief to manipulation all in the space of a few short hours. It would be necessary to tread delicately over the next few days so as not to set him off again.
Isabella chafed at the notion of being under Lord Poole's control, especially now that she had seen his darker side. Yet his grief for Emmeline had been so genuine, his love and loyalty for his sister so extreme, Isabella held out some hope for the future. He was acting in what he believed was her best interest. Perhaps in time his possessive attitude would lessen.
It was an impossible dream to hope that she could one day return to Damien and The Grange, but perhaps Thomas might eventually be persuaded to give her a small allowance that would enable her to live independently.
As she faced her uncertain future, Isabella knew that by far the most difficult adjustment would be losing Damien. The earl had not renewed his offer of marriage since his return from visiting her grandfather in the north. Perhaps it was a blessing that Damien had not spoken again of his intentions.
In light of the current circumstances, an alliance between them was a total impossibility. Lord Poole would never allow it. And surely her heart would break if she were forced to decline his offer yet again. For this time, given the freedom of choice, she would follow where love lead her. She would marry Damien. Gladly.
Jenkins arrived to take her baggage.
“The rest of the household has finished breakfast. Mrs. Amberly wants to know if she should continue holding the morning meal for you.”
“I couldn't possible swallow a morsel.” Isabella's already queasy stomach revolted at the thought of food. She grinned timidly at Jenkins. “Especially one of Mrs. Amberly's dishes. I remembered that the new cook is taking this morning off, which means she is once again preparing the household meals.”
“Very well.” Jenkins didn't even crack at smile. “Lord Poole's coachman is awaiting your luggage, Miss Browning. Is it ready?”
The censure and disappointment in the valet's tone caught Isabella by surprise. From the beginning, he had been Isabella's friend and supporter, her staunchest ally. It hurt deeply to hear his blatant disapproval.
“I would stay at Whatley Grange if it were possible, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Your actions speak otherwise,” Jenkins replied coldly, his mouth curled in disgust.
“You judge me unfairly,” Isabella said quietly. She looked at him with wide, remorseful eyes. “I leave only because Lord Poole demands it. He is a wealthy, influential man, and his current thirst for vengeance makes him very dangerous indeed.”
“Have you so little faith in Damien?”
“I have every faith in the earl. 'Tis the neighboring nobility who lack judgment and honor. I could not stand idly by and allow my brother to place Damien in such an untenable position. In my heart I have wavered constantly over this decision, yet I sincerely believe that this course of action, while painful, is the only way to ensure Damien's safety.”
“I still think you are making a grave mistake,” Jenkins said, but his voice was less harsh.
“I have no choice,” Isabella insisted with true remorse. Yet she was relieved the valet's hostility had lessened. Her departure was going to be difficult enough without adding a heavy dose of guilt.
Isabella swallowed back her emotions, knowing she would never be able to make any coherent farewells if she did not gain some measure of control over her regrets.
“My luggage is ready. You may bring it downstairs at your convenience,” Isabella said. She gathered the large assortment of gowns she had left on the bed in her arms. “I'm going to take these gowns upstairs. Maggie should be there with the baby. I ... I need to say good-bye.”
“The othersâFran, Molly, and Pennyâare waiting outside to speak with you. Will you see them first?”
“Of course.”
Isabella placed the gowns for Maggie in a chair and brought out the dresses she had saved for the other maids. The girls were clearly grateful for the extravagant gift but markedly upset over Isabella's departure. Teary-eyed, they left her bedchamber just as Jenkins reappeared to carry the luggage down to the traveling coach.
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