Now Isoline was thoroughly confused and scared. Why would her aunt want the painting of her locked up?
“I…I don’t understand, auntie,” Isoline cried. “Have I offended you in some way?”
“Your very presence offends me at this moment,” Bellamira said as she followed Talbot out of the room with the painting. “I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense between you and Auberon, do you hear me?”
Isoline nodded as she followed Bellamira out of the room. “Of course. Whatever you say.”
Isoline wasn’t really going to give Auberon up so easily, but she would say anything at this moment to calm her aunt down. Later, she could decide what to do about Auberon. But for right now, she needed to placate her aunt enough to keep from ending up out on her own rear end. Auberon at least had his cottage to go to. If Bellamira dismissed, Isoline, she would have nowhere to go and no hope for the future.
“Just go to your room,” Bellamira ordered Isoline. “I don’t wish to be bothered any further tonight.”
“Yes, auntie,” Isoline said as she flew up the stairs to her room. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
She went to her room and shut the door. She waited a moment, and then peeked out to watch as Bellamira made sure that Talbot put the painting in a room down the hall—the room that had the other painting of Isoline and the one of Bellamira—and lock the door. Isoline then quickly shut her door so that Bellamira would not see her and be irritated by her further.
She sat on her bed and could do nothing but wait.
Isoline…
Her eyes shot open. She must have dozed off. There was nothing else for her to do while she waited for her aunt to decide about her future. But when she sat up, she was surprised that she was still in her room, not the glade she usually woke up in when he called to her.
“…Isoline…”
She realized that it had not been his voice she had heard that woke her, but someone else’s. She crept to the door and opened it slightly. Yes, someone was definitely speaking in the foyer, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. She opened the door enough for her to sneak out and she crawled to the banister that surrounded the gallery.
She could hear two voices now, but they were speaking in low tones, so she couldn’t make out anything more than a word or name here and there. She peeked over the top of the railing to see who it was, and she nearly shrieked when she saw who it was.
Tristan!
She felt sick to her stomach. Why would he be here? In the house? And he had been speaking to Aunt Bellamira. Why would she listen to a single word he had to say?
She knew that she should stay and try to find out what they were talking about, but she also feared that she would throw up any moment. She crept back to her room and shut the door behind her, locking it for good measure. The very idea of Tristan being in the same house as she filled her with dread.
She ran to her chamber pot and retched into the bowl. How could Bellamira trust him? Of course, she had no idea what Tristan wanted, why he was calling. Perhaps he had come to apologize. But even then, Isoline was not ready to forgive him. She did not think she ever could. He had tried to assault her, hurt her, ruin her life. He did not deserve forgiveness.
She looked up and saw a curtain flutter in the breeze. She ran to the window to make sure it was locked tight. She knew it was irrational, but she feared Tristan somehow getting into her room. As she checked and double-checked the latch, she saw something—no, someone—move in the garden out of the corner of her eye. But when she looked again, she saw nothing.
Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. Maybe it was Auberon. Maybe he was keeping an eye on her from a distance, making sure she was safe. She hoped so. She had never felt more afraid than she did right now.
She heard the heavy front door to the house close with a thud. Tristan must have left, but she couldn’t know for sure. She couldn’t see the front of the house from her room. She held her breath, waiting to see if Bellamira would stop by her room to talk about what happened. She hoped they could still work things out. But Bellamira did not come to her room. Neither did Bess. In fact, no one came to her room for the rest of the night. Not to help her undress. Not to bring her a meal tray. Nothing. Thankfully, Isoline did have a glass of water and a biscuit jar in her room, so she didn’t starve, but she would have appreciated something more substantial to eat.
The night grew dark quickly, and there was nothing for Isoline to do except worry. Finally, Isoline undressed herself and pulled on her nightdress. She climbed into bed and laid there for hours, drifting off as the morning birds were already tweeting.
Chapter Sixteen
Isoline woke up to the sound of porcelain clattering outside her door. She rushed over and threw the door open as Bess was trying to slink silently down the hallway after depositing a tea tray.
“Bess!” Isoline whispered harshly. “What is happening?”
Bess hesitated, but then she crept back toward Isoline. “The mistress has ordered us not to attend to you,” she whispered, her eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching them. “But we couldn’t let you starve, so I brought you a little something. Please don’t let Lady Payne know.”
Isoline reached out and squeezed Bess’s hand in thanks. “I won’t. Thank you so much. But why is auntie so angry with me?”
Bess shook her head. “We don’t know exactly. It has to do with Mr. Dracoia, but…” She seemed unsure of how to proceed.
“But…what?” Isoline asked. “She gave us her blessing. Why is she angry now?”
Bess twisted her arm free from Isoline’s grip and backed down the hall. “I don’t know. I can’t say…”
“Well, which is it?” Isoline demanded.
Bess turned and ran down the hallway. Isoline picked up the tea tray and took it into her room. It wasn’t much—toast with butter, a boiled egg, tea quickly growing cold—but it was better than nothing. She devoured the food and hoped Bess would be able to bring her luncheon as well because she knew the bit of breakfast wouldn’t last long. She kept the tray in her room because she didn’t want Bellamira to catch a glimpse of it in the hallway and know the servants were feeding her. How absurd! Had she really ordered them to not even bring her food?
As she paced the room, she replayed the last scene with her aunt over and over in her mind, trying to understand why her aunt had gotten so angry. It clearly had to do with the painting and Auberon. But why? Auberon had done work for Bellamira before. She was his practically his patron. It must have been because the painting was of Isoline. But…what of that? She thought her aunt had grown quite fond of her. She thought that she was Bellamira’s heir. And Bellamira had given Auberon permission to call on her. She also already had a portrait of Isoline. Why was she angry over this new one?
Perhaps something had changed. For some reason, Bellamira no longer cared for Isoline or she no longer wanted Auberon to court her. Or perhaps she had changed her mind on both accounts. But again, Isoline was left with the question of why? Bellamira had said nothing to Isoline to indicate she was in any way displeased with her or Auberon. But something had to have happened. Something perhaps behind the scenes. Something Isoline had not been privy to.
She walked to the window and shivered as she took in the grey sky. She pulled a wrap around her shoulders to block the coolness that was seeping into the room. She walked over and stoked the fire, but she was out of firewood. If the servants were not attending her, the fire would soon go out and the room would get frightfully cold.
No, she could not allow that to happen. Isoline dressed herself as best she could and slipped on her shoes. She still had a key to the other rooms, and all of them had their own fireplace and stock of wood. She would simply sneak into the other rooms and pilfer the logs for her own use. She had no idea how long she would be banished, so she would take as much as she could find.
She opened the door to her room and stuck her head out into the hallway. She was surprised to he
ar complete silence. Usually by this time of day, the servants would be busy on their work throughout the house and could be heard cleaning, going in and out, and chattering from secluded corners. But now, the house was so silent it was as though it was empty. She realized she would have to be extra cautious. It would be too easy for her to make a noise that would alert Bellamira that she had left her room. As she entered the hallway, she pulled her door mostly closed, but not enough to click the latch. She went all the way to the end of one of the hallways, the most secluded door she could find, and carefully, quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside.
The room was like all the others—dark, unused, full of dust, and housing stacks of paintings. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the low light, opting not to open the curtains as she didn’t plan to be there for long. She shook her head at the monumental task that still lay ahead of her in cataloging the paintings if she and Bellamira ever returned to the task. If she was Bellamira’s heir, what would she do with them all when she inherited the estate? It was wrong to leave the paintings locked up where no one could appreciate them. She would have to contact a museum in London to ask for advice about what to do.
She made her way over to the fireplace and found a stack of logs in a basket nearby. She grabbed the logs one at a time and piled them in the crook of her elbow, but she screamed when she felt the legs of a spider on her hand. She dropped the logs and dusted herself off of any residual spiders, webbing, or dust, then cursed herself for making such a racket over just a little spider.
She went over to the window, throwing the curtains back and taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. Light raindrops pelted the window and a gentle thunder rumbled in the distance. From this window, she could see the stables and the vegetable garden. Usually, even on a dreary day, the stable hands should be busy tending the horses and mucking out the stalls. But today, like the house itself, not a soul could be seen.
Where was everyone?
Even if the lady of the house was irritable and her companion shut in her room, the rest of the house should continue to function. It was as though the entire estate had simply been…turned off, for lack of a better phrase.
Isoline’s despondency was changing into irritation and nearing on anger. Why should she be locked up? Even if Bellamira was angry with her, she deserved to know why. And why hadn’t Bellamira told her plainly whether or not she was the heir? Why the secrets? Everyone seemed to know everything about Isoline’s life and future except Isoline. She would almost prefer to being banished, forced to find her own way in the world, than live in such a state of uncertainty at the whims of everyone around her.
Why couldn’t she determine her own life?
She sighed and shook her head. She knew why. It was because she was a daughter. A niece. An unmarried woman. Her life was not her own but belonged to other people. She had no choice but to live by their whims until she married—then she would be subjected to the decisions of her husband. That was the way of the world.
She stomped back over to the firewood, leaving the drapes open, and kicked at the logs and basket to make sure any linger spiders knew to bugger off. She then picked up the logs and quietly made her way back to her own room. She piled the logs on top of her dying fire and worked it until warm flames were once again roaring.
She then went to two other rooms and pilfered the logs there as well, just to make sure she wouldn’t run out of wood anytime soon.
Satisfied with the temperature of her room and the pile of firewood she had accumulated, she pondered what to do next. She decided to go and have a look at Auberon’s painting of her. Something about the painting had infuriated her aunt and lead her to this situation. If she looked at the painting again, more closely or with a more critical eye, perhaps she could find out why her aunt was so angered by it.
Once again, she slipped out of her room and down the hallway to the room she knew the painting had been locked in. It was the same room where she had found the rental contract for Auberon’s ancestor and the paintings of her and a young Bellamira.
She entered the room and carefully closed the door behind her. The room was quite dark, as the curtains were drawn and the storm had grown even more grey. She could not see where her painting was, so she went to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. The muted light fell on the desk. Isoline then remembered that Auberon had told her he didn’t have copies of the rental contract and was unsure of his legal standing with regards to the land. Isoline opened the drawer and pulled out the papers with great care. She didn’t know which ones were relevant, so she decided to take all of them. If Bellamira decided to evict Auberon from the cottage, maybe these papers could help him lay some claim to it. After all, his family had been living there for over a hundred years. That had to give him some right to stay even if the landowner wanted him gone. Isoline was far from an expert on land rights, but perhaps Auberon could consult an attorney. After collecting all the papers in the top drawer, Isoline then checked the side drawers. She didn’t find anything that looked legal, but her eyes fell on a stack of letters that were secured with a ribbon. As she picked them up and turned them over, she saw only two names. On the front, they were addressed to Bellamira. On the back, they were signed from, “Your Beloved.”
Isoline gasped. They must have been love letters. But from who? From what Isoline had gathered, she married young, her husband was cruel, and she was soon after made a widow who never remarried. It seemed unlikely to her that Bellamira would have had a lover anywhere in that timeframe. After all, she had been a widow for more than sixty years. She could have freely remarried decades ago. Unless the lover was a married man.
She looked at the door, as though checking to make sure it was still closed even though she had no reason to think otherwise. She knew she shouldn’t open the letters, but she couldn’t help herself. What if the answer to Bellamira’s loneliness, sadness, and surliness toward Isoline was hidden here in these old letters?
She placed the stack of letters on the desk and carefully untied the ribbon. Her heart raced and her mouth was dry. She wasn’t sure if it was the fear of doing something wrong or the anticipation of reading something salacious. Perhaps it was both. She opened the first envelope and pulled the letter out. It was yellow with age and crinkled when she unfolded it.
Dragă mea,
Even though it broke my heart to see you in your wedding dress, you never looked more lovely. I hope you do not see this as entering into a life of sadness, but hope. You are not my wife, but I will always be by your side. Dream of me tonight, and I will dream of you. One day, we will walk side by side together again.
Your Beloved Auberon
Isoline’s heart froze in her chest as she read the signature. She read it again and again.
Auberon.
Auberon.
No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be her Auberon. This man wrote of seeing her on her wedding day seven decades ago. Her heart began to slowly beat again as she began to make sense of what she was reading. She opened the folder where she had collected the rental contracts and found a signature from the Auberon who had signed them. With a shaking hand, she compared the two. They were the same.
Of course. It wasn’t her Auberon who wrote the letters, but his grandfather or great-grandfather. The first Dracoia who had come from Romania and rented land from the last Earl of Payne.
Isoline had to stifle a laugh. What a cheeky devil! Auberon’s ancestor was carrying on a torrid love affair with the wife of his landlord! It was a delicious story, good enough for a novel! But after the earl died, why did they not marry? It would have been a scandal, yes, but they were clearly in love. Isoline read the next letter.
Dragă mea,
Today I saw the first bloom of spring and thought of the way your cheeks blush when you look at me. To touch your hand, to smell your hair, to kiss your lips, such sensations keep me awake at night even though I long for sleep. When I dream, then I can be with you always.
&nb
sp; Your Beloved Auberon
Dragă mea, Isoline repeated to herself. She wondered what that meant. It was probably a term of endearment in Romanian. She would have to ask Auberon what it meant.
She then noticed the repeated mention of dreams in the letters, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was any meaning behind them. Did Bellamira have dreams the way she did? She had never mentioned her dreams to her aunt. If Bellamira ever spoke to her again, maybe she should mention them to her.
Isoline started to feel guilty about reading the letters. She shouldn’t have pried into something so personal. She placed the letters back in their envelopes and tried to tie them back together, but the ribbon snapped, it was so old and delicate. She left the letters on the desk and decided she would bring a ribbon from her room to tie them with. She could have just put them in the drawer and hoped no one would be the wiser. After all, the letters had been there untouched for years. But it felt wrong to not try and put them back the way she found them.
As she headed toward the door, she then remembered that the reason she had come into the room was to look at her painting. At first, as she looked around, she didn’t see it. But now she saw a painting sitting on the floor, facing the wall. She picked it up and found that it was her painting. She sighed as she looked at it in her outstretched arms. It was incredible. So lifelike! Auberon was a truly gifted painter. He could be famous if he tried. She looked around and tried to decide where to put it. Her eyes fell on the other painting of her, the one from several years ago. The one sitting next to the painting of a young Bellamira. She removed the old painting of her from the stand and replaced it with Auberon’s.
Her breath caught in her chest.
She suddenly realized that not only did she and Bellamira look the same, but the art style was identical! The color palate, the brush strokes, even the dress they were wearing—everything was the same!
Dangerous Passions Page 16
