However, she remained stuck to her armchair several feet from his side as if unable to move. She felt sure that her husband would be stunned by such a move and even shrink from her embrace. And if she somehow caught sight of the ruined side of his face, or even touched the skin as she embraced him, Isabella wondered if she might also not shrink from his proximity.
“I cannot thank you enough for such kindness, Elliot. Not in respect of my father, but in my own regard. That you would seek to make me comfortable with a situation that I held back from you humbles me, as it should.” She paused long enough to swallow down the thickness in her throat which was threatening to render her mute. “But I do not ask it of you. If I am to have any say in it, I should like to suggest that you do not pay my father another penny.”
“You are still so very angry with your father for sending you here, are you not?”
“I am not angry to be here, Elliot. I am angry with my father’s treatment of me, and I always shall be. In the end, the result does not justify the means of achieving it, and my father, even now, cares not for my happiness. Do not pay him, Elliot. Do not pay him on my account because I do not require it.”
“Before I make my final decision, I must pry a little further, if you will allow me such an indulgence?”
“Yes, of course.” Isabella felt a little uncomfortable, afraid even, as she worried what he might ask her.
“You said that you chose not to tell me despite the fact that your father had brought pressure to bear and made threats. Was this when he spoke to you in the church?”
“Yes.” Isabella wished she had not been so nervous in the beginning for it had loosened her tongue.
She should have trusted that Elliot would speak to her in a fashion most suited to adults; civilized adults. She should not have suspected him of the same temper and low standards that she had always associated with her father. She should not have been so suddenly and completely afraid of him, for they were two different men.
“What was the threat that he made?” Elliot said in a level tone.
“Elliot, is it necessary for you to know? Forgive me, but I would not change it. I would not tell you something now that would sway your opinion.”
“Please, as your husband, I should like to know.” It was the first time he had ever described himself as her husband, and Isabella felt that curious sense of emotion once again.
“I am ashamed to tell you that my father promised to hurt my mother if I did not carry out his demands. He told me that if I did not come to you and request the extra funds, my mother would pay the price for my belligerence.” Once again, her head dropped.
“I am so sorry that you had to go through such a thing.” His voice was quiet, but there was a quality to it that spoke of danger.
It was something that she had not heard before, and Isabella felt sure that he was biting back the most severe anger; anger which he would have wanted to direct to her father.
“Thank you. And I am sorry to have to tell it to you, for such brutish behaviour is most shameful to report.”
“And so, you believed your father’s threat?”
“Yes, or at least I know him to be capable of such things. Whether or not he would actually carry it out is another thing. If he can see no gain it, if there is no way for him to show me what he has done, then he would not bother to do it.”
“But you cannot be sure that he would not?”
“No, I cannot be sure.”
“Then you have seen him treat your mother cruelly in the past?”
“I have seen him frighten her and belittle her, yes.”
“But not hurt her, not physically?”
“No, but my mother never made a false step in front of him. If I am honest, she never made a false step even when he was not there to witness it. She has managed to keep herself safe all these years by never arguing, never questioning, and never defending.”
“Defending herself?” Elliot sounded a little confused.
“No, defending me.”
“Is that how you know exactly what your father is capable of? Because you have stood against him and suffered the consequences?” Elliot’s voice held that dangerous quality once again.
At that moment, Isabella felt something that she had never felt before in all her life; she felt protected. Whilst she had not enjoyed such feelings of safety within the confines of her own family, Isabella had always garnered a great feeling of care from Esme and so knew what it was to be loved genuinely. But Esme would never have been able to protect her from anything, she could only have done her very best to help her, and that was all.
It had been enough, of course, that Esme had tried to help her plot her own escape from the marriage to the man they had both assumed would be a monster. Isabella had always known that Esme could have done no more than that.
But this feeling of protection, this feeling of great safety, was so sudden and unexpected that she could have cried out with happiness. As fleeting as it was, Isabella knew that she would never forget that moment for as long as she lived.
“Yes, that is how I know what he is capable of. I had always been a little braver than my mother, and it had caused me to object from time to time. And yes, that objection almost always cost me dearly. That is how I know that my father would hurt my mother without a moment’s compunction if it served his purposes. But I cannot protect her from him for she has never done anything to defend herself.”
“And nothing to defend you either?” Elliot’s voice had returned to a gentle and soothing tone.
“No, my mother has seen much misery visited upon me and spoke not a word. Not a word in my defense, not a word for my comfort later on when we were alone. To this day, I do not know if my mother ever loved me enough to try.”
“I am so very sorry, Isabella.” For a moment, she thought that Elliot would rise up from his armchair and make his way across the room to comfort her. He made a curious motion in his seat, and she was convinced of it. But, in the end, he kept to his armchair and continued to speak. “And I am sorry that I have put you through so much and made this evening uncomfortable for you. I shall not ask that you see out the entire two hours with me this evening, for I am sure that you would wish to be in your own room so that you can order your own thoughts in private. Please forgive me for upsetting you.”
“You have not upset me, Elliot. You have been very kind, and I could ask nothing more than that from you. But yes, I should like a little solitude for a while to think, if you would excuse me.”
“Of course.”
The moment that Isabella rose to her feet, Elliot did also. It was not in the common way of things as he ordinarily kept to his chair until he was sure that she was out of the room, and he was out of sight. But, tipping his head awkwardly so that his disfigurement was largely hidden, he took her arm to guide her out of the room and continued to walk through the entrance hall with her until she reached the bottom of the stairs.
It felt so strange to be holding her husband’s arm; to be so close at his side.
“Go up to your chamber and make yourself comfortable, Isabella, and I shall seek out Kitty and ask her to fetch you some warm milk.”
“Thank you, Elliot.” She looked at him, catching the briefest glimpse of the purple skin and the raised, shiny ridges of silver.
“Good night, Isabella,” he said and quickly turned away from her.
“Good night, Elliot,” she replied and watched as he disappeared down the corridor in search of Kitty.
Chapter 14
Things seemed to have evened out a little for Isabella in the days which followed. She had not enjoyed for one moment telling Elliot the details, albeit scant ones, of her old family life. There was, she knew, so much more to tell than she had told, but it had been difficult nonetheless.
However, it had also been strangely cathartic, and she felt a certain sense of peace when she had drunk her milk and put herself to bed after assuring Kitty that she would manage alone that night.
She had slept more soundly than for some time and had even thought it likely she had not slept so well since she had rendered herself unconscious after collapsing to the flagstones of the chapel.
But this was not the sleep of injury; it was the sleep of relief and perhaps a little contentment.
Isabella had gone on to sleep very well for several nights following,and when she had woken not long after retiring some nights later, Isabella found herself surprised.
She had been enjoying her new feeling of comfort and safety and had assumed that her new deep sleeping patterns had been a part of it.
Isabella sat up in bed in the certain knowledge that she would not, not immediately, at any rate, get back to sleep. She knew it was after midnight, and it had been some time since she had eaten dinner. Isabella generally ate dinner before she went into the drawing room to sit with Elliot.
Being awake, she had realized that she was more than a little hungry and thought that if she did not creep down for something to eat; she would find it even harder to return to restful slumber.
With her decision made, Isabella rose from her bed and draped a pale pink shawl around her shoulders. She struck a match and lit the candle to light her way downstairs, even though the moonlight always seemed to stream through into the entrance hall.
When she opened the door and made her way out of the room, she paused for a moment to listen to the silence. Elliot would never hear her, his room being so far away from her own. It was true that she did not know where it was that Crawford Maguire slept when he stayed at Coldwell Hall, but she thought it unlikely that she would happen upon him in the middle of the night on the staircase. After all, she had not happened upon him once, day or night, in all the time she had lived there.
Still, Isabella made a mental note to set about her silent investigations once more and track down Crawford Maguire’s resting chamber. At least then she would have the complete lay of the land in terms of who kept to what part of the house.
She did not know why it was important, or even if it was important at all, but she intended to do it anyway. Perhaps now it was nothing more than simple curiosity, for she did not feel the trepidation and fear that she had felt when first moving there.
The great hallway was lit beautifully by moonlight, just as she had imagined it would be. Nonetheless, there was something comforting about the candle’s flame, and she held it steady as she descended the great staircase. When she was but halfway down, Isabella heard a sound she recognized.
It was the violin, although it was not the melody she had heard once before. It was not as haunting, although it was equally as beautiful. As a moth to a flame, Isabella made her way towards the library without a moment to stop, think, and reason. She simply wanted to hear the music.
She stood outside the door for a few moments and listened. The melody that Elliot was playing contained less sadness than the last. It was by no means jaunty, but there was a certain hope and lightness in it that cheered her.
Although she kept to the corridor for a few moments longer, Isabella decided to push the door gently open a little and see if Elliot would allow her admittance.
He perceived the movement immediately, and she was surprised that there was not a single pause in his playing, not a note was missed. He inclined his head a little in the darkness, and she knew that he was beckoning her into the room. She made her way silently in, glad of the candle in the near darkness.
She went immediately to the chair she had sat in the last time the two of them had spent time together in the library. She did not want to do anything different, nothing that would disturb him in his playing.
Isabella set her candle down on the small table beside her chair and leaned back, closing her eyes to enjoy Elliot’s playing.
The melody really was beautiful, and Isabella felt sure that it was another one that had never been heard outside the walls of Coldwell Hall. She was certain it was another of Elliot’s own compositions, so beautiful was it. What a shame that such a talent was so rarely heard.
As far as she was aware, Isabella was as large an audience as Elliot ever played to. With her eyes still closed, she imagined him night after night sitting in the library playing endless melodies alone. Night after night, year after year.
“Is that another one of your own compositions?” she said after several moments of silence at the end of the piece.
“Yes, it is a new piece. I am not entirely happy with it yet, but I am getting close.”
“It is something that you have lately begun to work on?” she asked with interest.
“Yes, I have been working on it these last weeks.”
Elliot was sitting face onto her, although it was true that the fire had died down to embers, and she could barely see him. The only light in the room was the pale glow from her own candle, and it was certainly not enough to see him in any detail. But still, as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the two very distinct sides of Elliot Covington’s face.
Isabella thought him not so difficult to look at after all. However, she knew that things were so much different in the dim glow of a candle, and she was still not sure how she would manage to look upon him in the cold light of day.
“It is very different from the last piece I heard you play, but equally beautiful. I know I have said so already, but your talent is extraordinary,” Isabella spoke softly.
“I hope I did not wake you,” he said, and she could see his head tipped to one side in question.
“No, I could not hear you playing, I just awoke suddenly. I must admit that I was a little hungry, and I had crept down to see if I could steal away a piece of bread and butter from the kitchen. But then I heard the violin, and I knew you would be here.”
“Do you know where to find it all in the kitchen?”
“No, that is why I brought a candle with me. I thought I might need to have a thorough look. I have only ever been in the kitchen to speak to the cook, and I have never dared help myself to anything. I should not like to incur her wrath.” Isabella laughed, and she could hear him laughing too.
“Well, you wait here by the fire, and I shall sneak down into the kitchen,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper as he rose to his feet and leaned down to throw another log on the dying embers of the fire.
“I would not put you to any trouble,” Isabella said hastily although she was amused by the idea of a Peer of the Realm sneaking down into the kitchen to find some bread and butter for her.
Elliot hurried past her, not bothering to take the candle with him. No doubt he knew exactly where to find everything he needed in the kitchen.
He seemed to move away so noiselessly that it was as if he had never been there at all; as if she had been talking to a ghost. As the embers caught, and the log began to burn a little more brightly, Isabella was aware that the darkness had been lifted a little. Undoubtedly, the prospect had not occurred to Elliot, or he would not have thrown the log on in the first place.
He returned in no time at all carrying a small tray. He set it down on the table beside her next to her little candle holder.
“There, I hope bread-and-butter will do,” he said, and she looked up at him.
Between the candle and the fire, Isabella could see his face quite clearly. It seemed so very strange to look at him face on once again, and she was sharply reminded of her wedding day. That moment when he had turned to face her seemed to have happened slowly as if the world and everything on it had lost its vital speed that day.
However, to look upon him at that moment was a very different thing. His disfigurement was still shocking, that had not changed. But she was no longer made afraid by it. She felt almost upended by what a great shame it was that so beautiful a face had been destroyed. But not destroyed entirely, only in part.
Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 12
