Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Although Scarlett Hall offered Isabel warmth and the love of her sisters, the pain she had brought with her when she had returned four days prior had not eased. The walls contained laughter, yet they did not echo in her heart as they once did. In fact, the home now seemed to push her away, as if she were some sort of thorn it wished extracted from its surroundings.

Soon, Isabel would be forced to return to Camellia Estates and fulfill the promise she had made to Laurence, to complete a painting from her heart, and she vowed to keep it. She had given the subject much consideration, but still she had no idea what the subject of her works would be. Her other paintings had been complete disasters, and every time she thought about it, she grew more and more frustrated. However, in order to obtain permission from Laurence for her to live wherever she chose, she had no choice but to complete this task, as ridiculous of a request as it was.

The thought of living in another home added to her remorse. She could not fathom hurting the man further, but she knew she would regardless. How could she not when she was unable to return his affections?

Shivering, she drew her wrap around her. The sun had not yet set, but the breeze was cool as the summer drew to a close and autumn woke from its slumber. She had slipped out of the drawing room earlier with a glass of wine and now stood overlooking the garden in which she had spent so many hours of her childhood.

“No matter how much wine you drink,” her mother said from behind her, “the pain will not ease.”

“I have no pain,” Isabel stated before drinking the remainder of her wine in one go. “I have come to enjoy a glass of wine in the evening, which is common for many people.” She placed the glass on the stone railing as her mother stepped up beside her.

“And yet you enjoy a glass in the morning and after lunch, as well,” her mother stated. “You are my daughter, and I recognize when you are hurting.”

Isabel stared at her mother in astonishment. “You know when I am hurting?” she asked flatly. How dare this woman, who had mismanaged the finances to such a point that Isabel was forced to marry a man she did not love, say that she understood anything that Isabel was feeling at any given moment. “You know nothing of me! You know nothing of the chains that bind me into this life to which you have sold me.”

“I know far more than you suspect,” her mother replied. How did she remain so calm? It was as if Isabel’s ire did not affect her in any way whatsoever, which only fueled Isabel’s hurt that much more. “I know that the woman who stands before me was once a girl full of love. Many times, I ask myself where that girl has gone.”

As a dam bursting from the stress of too much water pressing against its walls, words tumbled from Isabel’s lips, and she cared nothing for what damage they would cause. “She was forced to marry and live at Camellia Estates,” she said with indignation. “Her laughter, her love, remained behind.” She motioned to the house behind them. “That is where that girl is now. Hidden away in some dark corner of the house she loves.”

“I do not believe that,” her mother said. She placed a finger to Isabel’s breast. “She is still inside you. Despite the hurt you have endured, she is there, buried beneath a mountain of pain and anguish. That is where that girl is.”

“Then why did you bring about that pain?” Isabel demanded. “You asked me to do the impossible and marry a man I did not love.” She clenched her fist as she looked at her mother with scorn. “I had planned to live at Scarlett Hall forever, for I do not wish to love ever again! Now, not only am I destroyed, but Laurence is, as well. That poor man,” Isabel tried to catch her breath between sobs, “The poor man tries every day to love me, to care for me as a husband should.” Oh, how she wished she had another glass of wine! It would help ease this torment that wracked her body and soul.

“Why do you reject it, then?” her mother asked.

“Because I am afraid to love again,” Isabel replied, tears now streaming down her cheeks unabated. “Do you not understand? I once loved and I do not wish to experience it again, for it ends in heartache.”

“Your heart will not be healed by Scarlett Hall. Not even if Laurence gave you his blessing to return. You would soon come to realize that the pain you carry cannot be contained within walls, for it is attached to you and will go wherever you go.”

Isabel gave a derisive sniff. “I will never know,” she replied tartly, “for I will never be able to live here again.” She narrowed her eyes at her mother. “And it is all because of you!” She shook her head in frustration. “All my life, I saw you as a strong woman; however, you hid away these last years as I looked after my sisters. Then I learn that what you were truly doing was bringing this house to near ruin.” A sliver of guilt entered her when her mother sniffled, but she straightened her back and pushed it away. These words were long in coming; she could no longer keep back the truth of her anger.

Her mother sighed. “What you say is correct. I hid away too long. Like you, I have carried pain and guilt over many things.” She turned toward the house, staring at it as a mother stares at her newborn babe. When she returned her gaze to Isabel, she had a sense of certainty behind her eyes. “You are no longer a child, Isabel, so I will speak to you as an equal.” She pointed back at the house. “What do you see?”

Isabel looked up at the home she loved. “Our home,” she replied after some contemplation. No, it was more than their home. “The house that had been in our family for over one hundred and fifty years. A house built with pride and held together with love.”

Her mother nodded her agreement. “Some of that is true. However, that is not all it holds.”

Isabel frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Scarlett Hall holds secrets so deep that they are embedded within the very layers that hold it together. It was because of one of those secrets that I asked you to marry the duke.”

“Secrets?” Isabel asked in astonishment. “What secrets?” She had always thought her family open and honest with one another. Had she been deceived all her life?

Her mother sighed. “Come, let us sit. This may take a while.”

Isabel followed her to a nearby bench.

“When I first married your father, I was happy, for I married a man of honor and dignity.” She laughed lightly. “I can still recall the first day I came to Scarlett Hall as his wife. The house was magnificent, and I vowed to make it the finest home in all the county of Wiltshire for my husband and the children we would have. For the first year, it was truly magi can, and soon thereafter I became pregnant with you. Your father, of course, worked long hours, often leaving me alone here for days, and at times, weeks.”

“I remember him leaving often,” Isabel replied, her anger retreating. She laughed. “And when he returned, he typically came bearing gifts.”

“Indeed. It was due to the love he had for his children. However, there is something he loved more, and no matter how much I begged, he would not stop.”

Isabel’s eyes widened. “I do not understand. Father, he did not…?” The mere thought nearly crushed her, and Isabel could not stop herself from holding her breath as she awaited her mother’s response.

“Have another woman?” her mother asked. “No, he did not have a mistress, not in that sense. He had a love of cards.”

Isabel gasped. “He gambled?” she asked in astonishment.

“Yes. He was invited to gatherings with other men of the ton, and he was soon attending once a fortnight or so. Then it became more frequent. Sometimes he won, and he would return with deeds to houses and land, or other rewards.” She fingered her necklace, and Isabel wondered if that had been one of those prizes, but she did not ask. “Yet, as time went on, he began losing more than he won.”

“I did not know,” Isabel said as she tried to make sense of what her mother was telling her.

“As the instances of losing increased,” her mother continued, “he began to take out loans. Soon, the banks refused to extend him further credit, and he had to reach out to men of questionable character.”

“The two men who came just after his passing?” Isabel said as the realization hit her. She recalled how fearful she felt in their presence, but her mother had assured her they were simply friends of her father. And she had believed her without thought.

“Yes,” her mother replied. “So, I found myself a widow. I made every attempt to maintain my strength to keep our family from falling apart, paying off as much of his debt so you and your sisters could have the lives I had always wanted for you. Then your Arthur died, leaving you a widow, as well. Juliet got into more mischief. Hannah retreated into herself. Everything began to collapse around me. But not you, not my Isabel. For she is strong in heart and mind, and she took over when I was incapable of doing what needed to be done. All of my energy was spent on trying to figure out how I could save our home, and therefore, I neglected my duties to my children.” She turned a tear-stained face toward Isabel. “That, my sweet child, is why I asked you to take this burden that was not yours to bear; one I could no longer carry on my own. Please, I just ask that you do not hate me, for I could not live another day if you did.”

“I do not hate you,” Isabel sobbed. “I am so sorry. I love you, and I am glad now that I have married Laurence.”

The two held each other, and Isabel allowed the tears of anger and hurt to fall unchecked. When the embrace ended, her mother took Isabel’s hands in hers.

“I know I have asked much of you,” she said. “And now I ask again. Where is that girl who was filled with laughter and love? I miss her terribly.”

Isabel nodded. “I miss her, as well,” she whispered. “And I know when it was that I last saw her, but I must admit that I do not know how to find her.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

Isabel stared at her mother’s hands, hands that had brushed her hair. Hands that had held her when she scraped her knee. Then she looked up at that house, and then she knew where to begin her search.

“I have my secrets, as well,” Isabel said. “And that girl who was full of love? She disappeared soon after I was married.”

***

Laurence stared into the empty fireplace, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingertips as he slumped down in the chair. Isabel was gone, and he doubted the woman would ever return. She would return to collect her belongings, to be sure, but then she would leave him as alone as he was now. Harriet had returned to her husband, and, for the first time in many years, she had left on good terms with Laurence. It was a good feeling, and he looked forward to seeing where this new bond they had reconstructed would lead them.

Even today, he wondered at the change that had come over the woman. When he had expressed his concern over Isabel and the possibility—the great possibility—that she would leave him, Harriet had comforted him and even gave him advice. She did not berate him, nor did she place all the blame on him as she would have in the past. No, this time, she was the sister he had not seen in all too long.

Sighing, he sipped at the brandy. Time moved without care for those around her, and soon winter would be upon them. Yet, would he have a companion with whom he would share a fire? In his heart, he hoped Isabel would be with him, but he feared that would never happen, for she did not love him as he had grown to love her. How strange life was. When Lady Lambert had approached him about marrying her daughter, he had thought it barbaric. Granted, even his parents had married for convenience, but times were changing, and more people married for love than they had in the past. He had thought he had taken a step back in time when he decided to agree, but he could not imagine Scarlett Hall in the hands of anyone but a Lambert.

It had to be due to the loss of her husband that Isabel could not love him. She had loved Arthur, and Laurence knew it was impossible for a heart to have love for more than one. If she did decide she did not wish to reside with him, he would allow her to leave, just as he had said during their argument. If he forced her to remain, the agony he failed to remove would only worsen. And he could not bear to see his wife suffer more than she had already.

Footsteps stopped outside the closed door, and Laurence glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was just after midnight, and Weber had retired for the night. Perhaps the old butler had decided to check on him. Or maybe Mrs. Atkins was doing some late-night work. It could be any number of servants who fell behind in his or her duties.

However, Laurence had not expected the person who stood in the hallway when the door opened.

Isabel’s blue dress matched her eyes and her face was bright. As handsome as he had seen her in the past, at this moment, she was beautiful.

“Isabel,” he said and went to stand. “I did not expect you. Not tonight, at least.”

“Please, sit,” she said. “I would like to speak with you.

“Yes, of course,” he said, and he joined her on the sofa. “Speak whatever you must.” Although he gave her permission, he wished he did not have to know what she wanted, for this was it. This was the moment she would inform him she was leaving. Forever.

“My anger during our argument,” she said, “it is imperative you know that you are not the cause of it, despite the fact you were the recipient. For that, I am sorry.”

“You are forgiven,” he said readily. “And for my actions and words, I apologize, as well.”

Then she surprised him by taking his hand in hers. “That is kind, but you owe me no apology. You have done more for me than any could ask, or even wish.” Her smile was much different than any he had seen from her, and he was curious to what decision she had come concerning her place of residence. “I would like to begin the painting tomorrow, if you do not mind.”

The painting? He had expected her to return with an excuse as to why she was unable, or unwilling, to keep that promise. “Yes. I would like that.” However, that did not change the fact she would leave once it was completed. Yet, he did not speak that thought aloud, for what difference would it make in her decision? “Do you know what you wish to paint?”

“I do,” she replied with a firmness that surprised him. When she rose from the seat, he followed suit. “You have asked me to paint from the heart, and that is what I shall do.”

“Then I look forward to seeing your completed work,” he said. He could see the exhaustion in her features. “You should retire for the night. Will you remain here or return to Scarlett Hall?”

“Yes, I am tired,” she replied. “I will remain here. But know this. I will finish this painting. It may not be a masterpiece worthy of a fine gallery, but it will be mine.”

“Good. I cannot wait to see it.”

She smiled and then leaned in to kiss his cheek, and his hand remained where her lips had touched his skin long after she left the room. What had come over her? Whatever had happened, tomorrow, Isabel would not be the only one creating a new work of art, for, in the morning, he would begin his most magnificent piece as he sat by her side.