“You are beautiful, as was your mother. But instead of using her assets as a means to secure a future for herself and her children, she allowed herself to be swayed by selfish pursuits. I humble myself to think that perhaps I can help guide you as you continue down your life’s path.”
Defenses bubbled within Isabel.
It was true—she had not understood her father. She could not remember her mother. But Aunt Margaret seemed intent upon pointing out their flaws.
“But they loved each other, did they not?” reasoned Isabel. “Surely that was enough?”
Her aunt laughed, a dry, condescending burst that only served to agitate Isabel further.
“My dear, love is a fickle fancy. How enticing it is to read stories and fables of romance that stands the test of time and situation, but it is not always so. I have the benefit of time on this earth. It is my hope that you will take the advice of those who have much more experience than you, unlike your mother, who turned her back on those who loved her.”
Isabel bit back a sharp retort and a defense of the parents she barely knew. She turned her attention to the painting.
“I love my daughters,” continued her aunt, stepping next to Isabel so they stood shoulder to shoulder as they looked at the painting. “I desire nothing more than for each of them to be happy as they mature into adulthood. But in order to show my love, I had to make decisions for them. Now they are secure, each one in a certain future. This, my dear, is love. You love Elizabeth. I recognize it in your interactions with the child. But with love comes responsibility. You will do what is necessary to see her well taken care of, and now she is part of our family. It is time for you to accept assistance and guidance from those who care for you.”
Isabel did not mean to be wary. Her aunt’s words were kind, but Isabel heard the veiled warning in the somber tones. She cast a glance back at her cousin, who was now standing behind them. A pleasant, if not contemplative, expression colored her face. She remained silent. Isabel could not help but wonder why.
Her aunt’s countenance brightened. “Speaking of guidance and responsibility, I have a fun outing planned for the morrow. Oh, I know you’ve just arrived, but tomorrow I should like to take you to visit the local foundling home.”
Isabel was not sure she had heard her aunt correctly. “A foundling home?”
“Why, yes. As one of the most affluent families in the area, it is our duty to see to the less fortunate, is it not?”
Isabel did not disagree. It only seemed a strange shift in topics. “Yes, Aunt.”
“Then it is settled. Constance and I spend a great deal of time and effort on the foundling home, and I think you will find it quite interesting. You, Constance, Elizabeth, and I will call there in the morning.” An expression akin to a grin crossed her aunt’s face. “I think you will find Mr. Bradford, the superintendent, to be a very agreeable young man.”
Isabel straightened at the recognition of the name, her interest piqued. “Mr. Bradford?”
“Yes, Mr. Bradford. The very one who retrieved you and your sister from Fellsworth. Knowing I was eager to find you, he was most helpful in making the connection with your Mr. Langsby. As a show of our appreciation, it is only fitting that we should pay him a visit to show our gratitude.”
After the heavy conversation concerning her parents, this news was a welcome relief. In all of the day’s taxing events, her introduction to Mr. Bradford did seem to be the one bright moment. The memory of his kind smile and easy manner warmed her.
Perhaps there was something to anticipate after all.
Chapter Six
Colin followed Ellison in through Emberwilde’s main door.
Normally, his business at the great house would take him to the tradesmen’s entrance, which was closer to the steward’s office and Mr. Ellison’s private chambers, but the falling darkness and relentless rain made the long walk seem excessive.
Within moments of entering, Beasley, the butler, was at the door to take their things.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting, sir.” The butler’s gruff tone was barely audible above the storm raging outside.
“Don’t give it a thought, Beasley,” responded Ellison in his customary good nature, turning to allow the butler space to help him out of his greatcoat. “No doubt you were expecting us to come round to the back.”
After seeing to his master, Beasley turned to Colin, ready to take his coat.
It always felt odd to Colin to have another grown man tend his coat, a task that he was capable of himself. Despite the fact that he owned an estate, he had not grown up with corresponding luxuries. His parents died when he was a young child, and his aunt and uncle had taught him to care for himself from a very early age. When he was a boy and would come to spend the days with Freddie, the Ellisons’ deceased son, he would try to follow the rules of behavior, but to this day it felt contrived.
Ellison turned to Beasley. “Are the ladies awake?”
“They are in the music room.”
Colin listened with interest as he removed his hat from his head, careful to keep the rain clinging to him from splattering on the floor. He had only glimpsed the new arrivals when they had encountered the carriage arriving earlier that day. He had to admit, he was curious about Isabel Creston. Typically, Colin would not concern himself with a visiting niece, but his curiosity had been piqued when he glimpsed her through the carriage window. He’d noticed blonde hair. A black cloak. An elegant profile. The sight, fleeting as it was, had latched onto his mind and would not release it.
It was not every day an attractive young woman arrived in Northrop.
“If the ladies are still awake, there is no need for me to stay,” Colin said. “We can discuss this another time. You’ve family matters to tend to.”
“Nonsense, Galloway. We’ve business at hand that cannot wait, and you’ll need to meet her sometime anyway. My wife has declared that she is to live here with us. Goodness knows how she thought that to be a good idea with Emberwilde in its present state, but you know my wife.”
Colin nodded. Yes, he did know Mrs. Ellison’s tendencies. Whereas Mr. Ellison was practical and open about his financial situation, Mrs. Ellison was determined to continue to project an image of wealth.
Ellison continued. “Besides, the best outcome would be for her to marry, and marry quickly.” He slapped Colin on the shoulder and a grin cracked his usually austere expression. “You are one of the most eligible young men I know.”
Colin shook his head and handed his hat to Beasley.
Outside, thunder roared and a fresh wave of icy rain slammed the ancient walls of Emberwilde. The wind whistled through the uneven crevices and window spaces. Beyond his present curiosity about the new visitor, Colin had no wish to walk home in the rain.
So he complied with Ellison’s request and did as he was bid. He handed his things to Beasley and followed Ellison through the foyer.
“Mind your steps, Galloway,” Ellison instructed. “This floor can get mighty slippery if your boots are still wet.”
Colin glanced down. Even the floors in the massive house were elegant. Not a single item was out of place. Even though spring had just begun, blooms from the hothouse adorned tables and mantels, filling the painted Chinese vases and crystal bowls.
Strains of soft, delicate music met his ears and grew louder with every step he took. No doubt it was Miss Constance Ellison playing, for her musical talents were praised throughout Northrop. He waited for Ellison to open the door.
“Father! You are home at last!” The melody came to a sudden stop, and Miss Ellison stood from the pianoforte, a vision of perfection and elegance, and hurried to her father. She reached out, placed a hand on his arm, and kissed his cheek. “We have been worried about you, out in that rain. You must be freezing. Just look at you. You are all wet.”
Ellison chuckled and patted her hand. “And aren’t you just like my pet, always concerned for me? I shall miss it immensely when you marry your yo
ung man and move away from your old papa. For who shall care for me then?”
“Oh, Father, you know that is months away.” She waved a hand dismissively, her eyes brightening under her father’s praise. “And of course, Mother will care for you.”
It was then that Miss Ellison noticed Colin. She turned her eyes toward him. “Good evening, Mr. Galloway. I trust you are not too wet from being out on a night like this. Honestly, I don’t know what you have been about!”
He returned the greeting with a bow. He exchanged glances with Ellison, interpreting his silent stare as a reminder to say nothing of the events in the Emberwilde Forest. He turned his attention back to Miss Ellison. “I am quite well, thank you for your concern. It’s only a bit of a spring rain, nothing to worry over.”
“Only a bit of spring rain!” she exclaimed. “Just listen to that thunder. Why, it hasn’t stormed like this in ever so long.”
Colin had always been fond of the young Miss Ellison. Of all of the ladies to grace the halls of Emberwilde, she had always been the most agreeable.
He lifted his gaze toward the blazing fire. Her mother, Mrs. Ellison, an older, stouter version of her daughter, had moved from the far edge of the room and was approaching her husband. Her countenance lacked her daughter’s warmth and hospitable nature, but he had expected nothing else. She did not look at him, nor did she offer a greeting. Her attention was fixed firmly on Ellison. After all these years of living in such close proximity, Colin found her obvious snub somewhat amusing.
He looked past Mrs. Ellison’s plump form, and then he saw her. Miss Creston.
The newcomer with impossibly bright blonde hair stood next to a painting. A severely cut black gown clung to her slight frame.
Was she in mourning?
Miss Ellison’s bright tone drew his attention. “But look, Papa, I hear you have met my cousin.”
A fatherly smile spread across Ellison’s round face. “Yes, I met Isabel earlier this day.”
Miss Creston stepped forward as her name was spoken. Colin had never considered himself prone to romantics or apt to have his head turned by a pretty face, but something about her made all noise dissipate and sharpened his focus.
There could be no mistaking the family resemblance. His eyes mapped the distinct features that linked Miss Creston to the Ellisons. Fair hair and skin. A straight nose that tipped up ever so slightly. Light—almost white—eyelashes and brows that framed a narrow face. If he didn’t know otherwise, he would declare Miss Creston and Miss Ellison sisters, so similar was their likeness. But Miss Ellison’s coloring was slightly deeper, her eyes more hazel than blue, and her hair more the color of honey than summer wheat.
The young woman finally stepped forward and spoke. “It is a pleasure to see you, Uncle.”
“So formal! So polite,” exclaimed Ellison as he stepped toward her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “And where is the little one? I was quite surprised to see her. No doubt she will keep us on our toes.”
Miss Creston smiled. “She is asleep. She is not used to travel and was quite tired.”
“Well now!” Ellison beamed. “Can’t say as I blame her. Traveling is exhausting business. We shall see her in the morning.”
Miss Creston remained controlled. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, Isabel, we are family,” Ellison said. “I insist you drop this sir business at once.”
At this Miss Creston smiled—a beautiful smile that both pricked and unsettled Colin in its natural delicacy and allurement.
He was lost in his own silent musings until he heard his name mentioned.
“I know you were introduced to Galloway earlier, but it was hardly a proper introduction.” Ellison pivoted toward him. “Isabel, this is Mr. Colin Galloway. He is the local magistrate, a local solicitor, owner of Darbenton Court, and a very great friend of the Ellisons.”
It was then she turned and let her full gaze rest on him. An eerie sense of understanding rushed him, as if some underlying thread invisibly connected her to him. Despite her likeness to her cousin, one quick glance displayed the differences with equal clarity. For she was controlled and demure. He sensed her to be the sort of woman whose eyes spoke louder than her words, her expressions more descriptive than any phrase she could utter.
In turn, he gave a bow and found his voice. “A pleasure, Miss Creston.”
She returned his greeting with a curtsy. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Galloway.”
He liked the sound of his name on her lips, soft and sweet. And familiar.
“I am sure that Mr. Galloway has somewhere he needs to be.” Mrs. Ellison’s interruption rang sharp and cool, slicing through their gentle conversation. “We’ve no desire to keep you from your important duties.”
Colin finally locked eyes, firm and unwavering, with Mrs. Ellison, the woman who at one time had been almost like a second mother to him. But circumstances and events had severed him from her motherly tendencies. He adjusted his stance, the floorboards creaking as he did so.
“Quite the contrary.” Ever the middle ground, Ellison stepped forward. “Galloway and I have business of our own to tend to.”
Ellison looked to his daughter and niece. “Such a pleasure to have you at Emberwilde, Isabel. I look forward to catching up with you all over breakfast. But for now, I cannot waste Mr. Galloway’s time, and no doubt he is eager to return home. So we will leave you now.”
Colin followed Ellison from the comfortable music room to the hall. As he did, he could feel the stares burning holes in the back of his coat.
Things were changing at Emberwilde. Changing, indeed.
Colin was glad to be free of the confines of the music room. He shook his fingers through his hair and pushed it off his face. It had been a long day, and something told him it was about to get longer.
The men made their way to Ellison’s office, a large room toward the back of the great house. Ellison was adamant about tending to his business personally. He employed a steward and a bailiff, but he was integrally involved in Emberwilde’s everyday details. Even with his busy day-to-day commitments, he had always taken time to teach Colin what he knew, especially after his own son died and Colin returned from war. A trust existed between the two men, and Colin trusted very few.
It was comfortable in Ellison’s study. Dusty books lined the room’s south wall from floor to ceiling, and ancient maps and landscape paintings cluttered every other inch of wall space. The room’s furnishings were sparse, save for a desk, a table, and four chairs scattered about. In anticipation of the master’s arrival, a cheery fire had been brought to life in the grate, and several candles were positioned around the room, lighting the space with their soft, flickering light.
Without waiting for an invitation, Colin sank into one of the padded chairs by the fire and extended his booted leg. The fire’s warmth was welcome after a day spent in the dampness.
“She is a lovely thing, isn’t she?” Ellison exclaimed as he dropped into the chair opposite Colin, glass of port in hand.
Colin knew exactly whom he was talking about. There could be no denying it, but the less said on such matters, the better. “Indeed.”
“She’ll make a fine wife for someone someday.” Ellison gave a sharp nod before tossing the amber liquid down his throat. “No doubt that is Mrs. Ellison’s intention. Now that Constance is spoken for, my wife will need something of the sort to occupy her mind, and seeking and selecting Isabel’s future husband should do just that.”
Colin chuckled. Mrs. Ellison had made quite a production of finding the most suitable husbands for her four daughters. But whereas Mrs. Ellison was often perceived as light and carefree by the townsfolk, Colin was well acquainted enough with the family’s situation to know that a more selfish reason fueled her motives. Emberwilde Hall was entailed, and as such should have passed to Freddie upon Ellison’s death. But with Freddie dead, the property would pass to Mr. Ellison’s nephew, leaving the ladies adrift. Now that all her d
aughters were married or betrothed, Mrs. Ellison should have been able to rest, but it was not her nature.
“I was only partly joking about your taking a wife, Colin. It’s high time, a man like you in the prime of life.”
Colin shook his head and gave a little chuckle. He was no stranger to the pressure to marry. He was just not accustomed to it from Ellison. “I am in no position to marry. Not now.”
“Oh, I disagree. You have an estate that needs tending. You can’t continue to live in that boardinghouse forever. Unless, that is, you’ve taken a liking to old Mrs. Daugherty.”
At the thought of his miserly landlady, Colin huffed. “Not likely, sir.”
But Colin could not argue Ellison’s point. He did own land, and quite a bit of it.
When he was young, a fire not only claimed his parents’ lives, but destroyed the estate’s family house and immediate outbuildings. His aunt and uncle became his guardians, and because Colin was too young to inherit, his uncle served as the estate’s agent. His uncle’s own business had taken priority, however, and during Colin’s boyhood the main house and properties were never rebuilt. The estate continued to reap an income from its tenants, but the great house and its fields were never leased or repaired. Since returning from the war, Colin had made steps to provide for and establish relationships with his tenants, but he had not amassed the funds to rebuild the great house and reclaim the damaged land. Between managing his tenants and his work at his cousin’s solicitor’s firm, he had scarcely a free moment to entertain such a notion.
“There is great opportunity there, indeed. But a great deal of work to be done as well.”
“Never known you to shy away from work, Galloway.”
It wasn’t the work that intimidated him. In fact, far from it.
“Houses can be built,” Ellison continued. “You’ve a great deal to your name, and you are well respected. It is time you put your land to work for you in a more effective manner.”
Colin adjusted the cuff of his coat. “Capital is required for such a venture. Capital I do not have at the moment. And if I am to look to the rents I receive and my wages in my cousin’s office, I am in a sore state.”
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