Dawn at Emberwilde

by Sarah E. Ladd

  She did not respond. Instead, she looked past him to Sampson, then cast one more nervous glance over her shoulder.

  He nodded toward the child. “Is that your sister?”

  “Yes. It is. That is Elizabeth.”

  “I see she has taken to riding.”

  “Taken to riding?” she repeated, her eyes not leaving the girl. “I don’t know for sure. My aunt has decided that my sister should learn to ride a pony, and, well, she seems to enjoy it.”

  “Your aunt has decided? You do not agree?”

  She looked back at him and gave a little shrug. “I don’t know.”

  It was the first time in their brief encounter that she made direct eye contact with him. He had been around beautiful women before, but never could he recall the sensation that overcame him at that moment. It was as if he’d been on the receiving end of a man’s fist, but instead, it was only her, small and demure, and all she had done was to cast her glance in his direction.

  He found his voice. “And why don’t you know?”

  “Horses are dangerous.”

  He laughed at the simple response. “Dangerous? Oh, I don’t know about that. If it is any consolation, your sister is in very safe hands. The pony she is riding is Caesar. He has to be approaching thirty years of age. And I know this because I rode that pony when I was a boy. I do not think you need to worry that he will take off on a wild romp across the field.”

  The pretty smile that ensued pleased him. She cast her eyes downward. “I suppose I am being foolish.”

  He adjusted his stance. “Your sister is in very capable hands with Carter, there. He is the most adept horseman for miles. If anyone can teach her to be safe around horses, it is he.”

  She sighed. “I suppose it is obvious that I have very little knowledge of horses or ponies. I’ve never ridden either.”

  “When it comes to horses, the danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. In not understanding their power.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked at Sampson. Her eyes traveled from the top of his ears to his eyes and then to his muzzle. At length, she spoke. “It is that power that frightens me. Lizzie could fall off, she could—”

  He shook his head, eager to calm her fear. “There is an art to that too.”

  “An art to falling off?” She dipped her head forward, her eyebrows lifting in disbelief, as if she did not believe him.

  “Indeed. You must fall away from the horse so you don’t get trampled. Yes, an art. And Carter will teach your sister these things, do not fear.”

  But she did fear. He could see it in her face. It was written in her wide eyes and the manner in which she chewed her lower lip as she contemplated what he said.

  It was easy to tell someone these things. She needed to experience them. How different she was from the woman he had encountered in the foundling home office, whose words came so freely. “Take Sampson, here. He is a bit fidgety, but all in all, I trust him more than I trust most people.”

  “Really?” She eyed his horse warily. After several seconds, she lifted her ungloved hand. “May I?”

  “By all means.”

  She reached her hand toward Sampson.

  The horse lifted his head to sniff her, and she jumped back.

  She laughed with relief. A pretty, controlled laugh.

  “Try again,” he urged.

  She fixed her pale eyes on the horse, lifted her hand. Colin held the reins taut, giving Sampson no room to pull back.

  Her fingers grazed Sampson’s muzzle.

  “See?” he asked. “Harmless.”

  She smiled as if surprised all of her fingers had remained intact. “Harmless,” she breathed.

  Her transparency was refreshing. She reached out to the horse again, and this time her hand moved from his muzzle to his cheek.

  Colin fixed his eyes on her, on the smoothness of her skin and the gentle curve of her cheek. His eyes lingered on her fair hair, her gold eyelashes, and the slope of her nose as she petted the horse. True, he had been curious about her from the day they met, but now it was as if a gateway had been opened. He found himself wanting to know everything about her. Why did she not have experience around horses? Why was she out alone with her bonnet off her head and her hands ungloved? He knew the Ellison women would never make an etiquette misstep like that. And yet she seemed wholly unaware of such propriety.

  She looked up at him from the horse and caught him staring.

  He immediately looked down at his boots, and she pulled her hand away from the horse.

  “Have you any news of the little girl you dropped off at the foundling home the other day?” she asked.

  He was impressed that she thought to ask. “Unfortunately, I do not.”

  “It is a sad thing,” she exclaimed. “The poor child, abandoned. I spoke with Mr. Bradford early yesterday, and he said that she had been sent to the country already until she gets older. I wonder what will become of her. He said they gave her the name Jane.”

  Colin could only stare for a moment. He had been around the Ellisons a long time, and while they had claimed great interest in the less fortunate, he had always wondered about their sincerity. But Miss Creston seemed different. Vastly different.

  “I should be going, Mr. Galloway.” Her words were hesitant, and she took a couple of steps backward. “Thank you for introducing me to Sampson.”

  “Of course.” He gave a slight bow.

  She curtsied in return, then turned back down the path in the direction from which she had come.

  He captured one last look as she walked away. Then he turned to Sampson, patted the horse’s dappled neck, and continued on his way to Ellison’s office.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After leaving Mr. Galloway, Isabel headed to Emberwilde’s east rose garden. She could still see Lizzie from where she was as she rode the pony. But at least now Isabel felt calmer. The tension that had gathered in her neck and shoulders was dissipating, and the pounding in her heart was starting to subside.

  In fact, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Yes, she was worried about Lizzie, but Mr. Galloway had helped calm her fears.

  She liked Mr. Galloway. He appeared to be a bit older than she, but he seemed less pretentious than her family here at Emberwilde. Even compared to Mr. Bradford, whom she had encountered a handful of times in the past several days, he seemed calm and observant.

  It had been pleasant to speak with someone outside of Emberwilde. Yes, the great house was luxurious. She had more books than she could ever read in a lifetime, gardens to walk in, and every other manner of diversion. But after living in a school full of girls, she missed the busy noise of others.

  Her aunt rested a great deal, and her uncle was rarely home. They did have guests, but Isabel was rarely invited to participate in the visits. Be it intentional or otherwise, her aunt seemed content to keep her hidden away. She could, of course, always count on Constance for conversation, and the previous day’s visit to the foundling home was a step in a positive direction.

  But for the time being, the memory of her short interaction with Mr. Galloway brought a smile to her face.

  She could almost even laugh at the trepidation she felt when she first saw her sister on the pony.

  She tugged her bonnet ribbons free and removed her bonnet completely as she stepped toward the garden gate, but the sound of her name stopped her.

  “Miss Creston.”

  Isabel stopped on the first step and turned. There in the garden stood Burns. “I am sorry to interrupt your walk, but your aunt has requested your company. She and Miss Ellison are in the music room.”

  Isabel frowned. It was unlike her aunt to send for her this time of day, for normally Aunt Margaret retired to her room during the later part of the morning to rest or to write letters.

  “Of course,” Isabel responded.

  She swung her bonnet at her side as she followed Burns. The air was cooler inside Emberwilde’s stone walls, and whereas Burns head
ed down to the kitchen, Isabel made her way to the music room.

  As she approached, hushed yet fervent whispers could be heard coming from the chamber. She did not wish to eavesdrop, but the intensity in the voices piqued her interest. There could be no doubt that the voices belonged to her aunt and uncle. Her uncle’s presence surprised her. Normally he was either gone from dawn until dusk visiting tenants, or he was in his study. It seemed a constant stream of people would come in to see him when he was present, from friends to tenants to tradesmen. Even Mr. Galloway had been on his way to visit her uncle. Isabel once asked her aunt who all the people were and was told that it was not ladylike to show an interest in such happenings.

  She paused to listen.

  Her uncle’s voice met her ears first. “This sort of extravagance needs to stop.”

  “I do think you are overreacting.”

  “Times are changing, Margaret. We need to economize, and we will never right ourselves with these sorts of indulgences.”

  “Indulgences? I hardly consider such things indulgences.”

  The tone of her uncle’s voice sharpened. “I warned you of this before Isabel and Lizzie came to live here. We barely have the funds to continue our lifestyle as it is, let alone—”

  “So you would have us live as paupers?” Aunt Margaret shrieked. “We have an image to uphold. Others count on us to remain stable when everything around us shifts.”

  “Contrary to what you may believe, we do not live as paupers, Margaret, and that image you believe needs to be upheld is of your own making.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” She clipped his sentence short.

  “No, you will stay here until I am finished talking.”

  Isabel’s breath froze in her throat. Could she be hearing her uncle correctly? Were funds a concern at Emberwilde? Everything around her screamed of prosperity and abundance.

  “And what of Isabel?” Uncle Charles continued. “You were so set upon making matches for your daughters. You said before she arrived that your interest was in helping her secure a match, and yet now you refuse to speak of the idea.”

  “She has only just arrived!” her aunt screeched.

  “No, something is different. I am not certain what you are up to, but I expect you to follow through with the arrangement we discussed prior to her arrival. Have you learned whether she has a dowry?”

  Aunt Margaret’s muffled reply was soft. “She does not.”

  “Well then. Her options will be limited, but she is attractive, so all is not lost. I have mentioned the idea to Galloway, and I shall suggest it again. At this point, he is our best option.”

  Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. Mr. Galloway. So she had heard her uncle correctly that first day. Was that why he had been in the garden? Had he been there to see her?

  Her aunt’s reply sounded shocked. “What, not Colin Galloway?”

  “The very one.”

  “That will never do. I could never see a member of my family married to that man.”

  “That man, as you put it, is a respected landowner. She could do much worse.”

  The pitch of her aunt’s voice continued to rise. “He led our only son to death’s door, Charles. And now you would see him united in marriage to your niece? Why, the idea!”

  “You must let that notion go. I loved Freddie, do not doubt it, but he was a headstrong, obstinate sort. I do not believe that he would be swayed by Colin Galloway to do anything he set his mind against. Freddie joined the army of his own accord, of that I am sure.”

  She thought she heard a sob, and then her uncle’s voice seemed to soften. “If not Galloway, who then?”

  “Bradford?” her aunt responded. “Or Johnson from over in Dellton? I am not certain, but these things take time, especially without a dowry.”

  “We do not have time. Something must change. Now.”

  Isabel did not know if she should interrupt or wait until they were done, but within seconds she heard her uncle’s heavy boots coming in her direction. Not wishing to be suspected of eavesdropping, she stepped back into the corridor until her uncle had exited and the sound of his footsteps faded away.

  When she was certain enough time had passed, she stepped into the room as she had been bid.

  She had visited the beautiful space every day since her arrival, not only to listen to her cousin’s music, but to see the painting of her mother. By the light of day she noticed the pale pink wallpaper boasting tiny green vines, the polished wood floor, and the ornate carvings in the chimneypiece. Today the French doors opened onto a veranda, allowing a fragrant breeze to enter.

  She expected news of a gown or instructions for dinner, but her face fell as she assessed her aunt’s pinched expression and narrowed eyes.

  Isabel stepped in slowly. Cautiously.

  Something was wrong.

  It was written in her aunt’s tight lips and on Constance’s sympathetic pout.

  With a sharp rap of her cane on the floor, Aunt Margaret stood. “I assume that you had a perfectly logical reason for that display.”

  Isabel flashed her attention to Constance, whose eyes were wide and mouth was pressed shut. “What display?”

  Her aunt’s face reddened to an unbecoming shade, and her chin shook as she spoke. “You were speaking with a man, Isabel. Mr. Galloway, no less, in view of all. I saw you from this very window.”

  Horror sliced her. Isabel grasped for an excuse. “I . . . I only just happened to encounter him on my walk. I . . . I—”

  “That is no justification. And of all the people with whom to converse!” The sharpness of her voice cut at Isabel. “I certainly did not think that you would require instruction on character, but apparently I was mistaken.”

  Isabel’s head swung slowly from side to side, and she searched her memory, trying to identify what she had done that was so offensive. “I am sorry, Aunt. If I had known anything I did was offensive, I surely would have avoided it.”

  Mortification wound its way around her. She began to feel like a child who had been discovered doing something wrong. Except being reprimanded for a character flaw felt worse.

  “I can see quite unmistakably that I was right about that school of yours.” Aunt Margaret hurled the words. “It obviously taught you nothing about propriety.”

  “It was all quite innocent,” protested Isabel, unblinking. “I was out for a walk and encountered Mr. Galloway on the path. That is all.”

  “To you that might seem like all. Do you not understand? Here, your reputation is unblemished. Perfect. Talking to men freely? Why, I never saw the like. What if someone had seen you two together?”

  Isabel tried to understand. “But we were introduced that first night I was here. I thought that after an introduction it was proper to—”

  “You may have been introduced to him, but that hardly makes him your equal. Mr. Galloway is precisely the sort of man who is nothing as he seems. Do I make myself clear?”

  Isabel could only stare, dumbstruck. Her aunt spoke so harshly of Mr. Galloway, even though her uncle recommended him so highly. In her stubbornness, Isabel wanted to defend herself. But she knew better. It would never do to argue with her aunt.

  At length, Constance rose from her seat by the pianoforte. “Mother, I do not think that Isabel meant any offense. Surely you can see for yourself that you are upsetting her.”

  Aunt Margaret ignored her daughter’s intervention. “Do I have your word, Isabel, that you will use more discretion?”

  Isabel could feel the tears welling up and emotion closing her throat. She wanted so badly to please her aunt. But how could she apologize when she was not exactly sure what she had done wrong?

  She nodded.

  Aunt Margaret stomped into the chamber, the sharp rapping of her cane matching her footsteps.

  After several moments Constance crossed the room and embraced Isabel. After releasing her, Constance stepped back and held Isabel’s hands at arm’s length. “Take heart, Isabel. Mother only scold
s you because she loves you. She has high hopes for you and only wants the best for you. We don’t want to ruin any future opportunity through a simple act of ignorance.”

  Isabel stood still. There could be no doubt that Constance had heard the argument between her parents as well. Did she share her mother’s opinions or her father’s? Unsure of whom to trust, and still not entirely sure what she had done wrong, Isabel remained quiet.

  Her cousin continued. “You will grow accustomed to Mother’s tone, I promise. She is only temporarily upset. She is a smart woman, with a keen sense for what a young lady requires. Do not look so shocked! This is a good thing. She is only trying to ensure that you have the best possible chance at happiness, you and Elizabeth.”

  Isabel did not feel happier, but she smiled at her cousin’s eager effort to console her.

  Energy infused each step as Isabel walked toward the foundling home. She clutched Lizzie’s hand in her own as the pair headed over the dusty, leaf-crusted path that ran along the Emberwilde Forest. Perhaps because of the sharp reprimand that she’d given Isabel, or perhaps because of the argument she’d had with her husband, Aunt Margaret had consented to their reading with the foundling children.

  The enthusiasm in Lizzie’s steps matched her own, for both were eager to be out from under their aunt’s watchful eye.

  “Do you have the books? All of them?” asked Lizzie as she bounced along beside Isabel.

  Isabel tightened her hold on the small satchel in her hand. “I do.”

  “Even the one about the girl and the boat?” Lizzie asked, squinting up at Isabel.

  Isabel smiled. “Yes, even the one about the girl and the boat.”

  Isabel had been pleasantly surprised at the selection of books in Emberwilde’s library. There were two libraries in the large home, in fact—one for family use and one that served as Uncle Charles’s private collection. Her uncle’s library contained mostly books on history and foreign lands, but the family library had been designed for the children and boasted many books for younger readers.

  After a short walk the sisters arrived at the school, and Mr. Bradford was ready to meet them. Isabel could only suppose that her aunt had sent word of their plans.