by Lucy Langton
He was not overstating his fears, no not at all. And that was why he understood Aunt Mariam’s fears. He was concerned that Isabel would return, broken, battered.
He could not help considering how things might have ended up horribly if Isabel had insisted that he bore the consequences of his recklessness alone; if she had made sure that he got back the documents of their property, himself. How would he have achieved that feat?
Impossible. It was simply impossible! He was a man, lesser than his sister was. It had always been common knowledge in their household, even while their parents lived, that Isabel had been the man child his father had desperately sought.
It was the reason why his old man had required so much time with George and all but neglected his wife and daughter. Desperately wanting to shape George into the man they had wanted, hoped for him to be.
Yet, at the first chance he had gotten to be that man, he had fulfilled his father’s fears. Even now, thinking of it sent a chill down his spine. Face the Baron? Oh… he had not the courage Isabel had. Not even half of it! He would have failed, no doubt. And woefully too!
Then he would have brought shame upon their family, and upon his father’s grave. He would never have been able to forgive himself. Never. He wondered if his parents were aware of all that had happened; if they were turning in their graves.
Nevertheless, the deed had been done. All that was left to do was make sure that he righted his wrong. He was going to be a better man. By the Virgin, he swore he was.
Tears dropped, falling to the bed on which he sat. Staining the fine silk, rich with excellent embroidery. It had been one of his mother’s best works because she had done it with love and passion. She had often said so, herself.
He would honour their memory, by God, he would. Quickly remembering himself, he dried his tears.
The irony of the situation did not elude him. Just now, he had vowed to honour their memory. Yet, here he was, crying as a babe. His father had never favoured seeing him cry. No, late Mr. Montgomery had believed that a man who shed tears was no man at all.
The first day he had seen George cry, he had made certain to give his son a scolding. It had been after dinner when George had thought all was well, nothing amiss. His father had called him to the privacy of his chambers and had sounded his warning.
“The men are meant to protect the women and not cry like them,” he had said. “A man seen crying is considered a weakling and incapable of caring for and protecting his household. He would not be granted the honour of going to war to fight for his country and the people he loves. You would not want to be that man now, would you, son?”
His meaning had been clear, and George had understood. From that day hence, he had kept his tears private. Just like now. To never cry again… that was as impossible as a man flying.
Looking out the window, he took a feel of the weather. The sun seemed to have gone behind the clouds, and the air had grown a wee bit chilly. Evening tide would fall soon, and he would need to be on his way to the Baron’s abode.
In the meanwhile, there was time yet to put to good use. Rising from his bed to go to the study, he decided to do just that.
It was not long until the sun fell.
George tarried not. He dropped all that there was to be done, changed into attire more appropriate for his visit, saddled his horse, and was on his way to his dearest sister. He took one last look at Aunt Mariam, whom he knew would have loved more than anything to accompany him on this journey.
Fortunately, she had understood the importance of remaining in the estate to see to affairs. That was Aunt Mariam. While he could be unreasonable, and Isabel, hot-headed, Aunt Mari was often the voice of calm and reason. He patted the scarf she had knitted for Isabel, and with a kick to his horse’s side, began to gallop wildly down the village path.
He must have ridden for an hour or more, not that he took mind to the time. He enjoyed the ride tremendously, enjoying the feel of the cool evening air as it caressed his skin. This was one of the reasons why he had chosen to go with a horse, rather than a carriage.
The other reason was that he wanted to appear to the judge, a simple man.
The sky had darkened considerably when the magnificent estate finally came into view. From afar, he admired its beauty. Isabel had spoken of it in the letters they have exchanged since her departure. Now, he could see that her words did not do it justice.
He slowed his horse down to a trot as he neared the gates, easily passing through when they opened for him. They closed the moment he was inside. He turned to nod at the men who manned the manor, then he picked up pace and rode the rest of the way to the house.
Surely, the Lord had informed his staff of his coming. Oddly, this calmed his nerves.
The moment he reached the main house, he dropped from his horse. There was a servant by his side the next minute, ready to take the stallion from him. George retrieved the scarf Aunt Mariam had sent Isabel, gave his horse a solid pat, and sent him off. As he turned, he found an elderly man waiting for him, impeccably dressed, for the matter.
He ought to be the butler, George thought. This thought was confirmed when the man bowed.
“Mr. Montgomery, it is my most delight to welcome you to Gregory Manor. The entire household has been anticipating your visit. I’m Luke Crawford, at your service, my good gentleman.”
Impressed by the butler’s manners, George smiled warmly and acknowledged his presence with a nod. Isabel had not mentioned any butler in her letters. He wondered if Crawford was a new staff.
“If you would, allow me to lead you to the dining hall where my master and his house members await.”
“Thank you, Crawford. I very much appreciate that.”
With another bow, Crawford began leading the way. It happened that neither Gregory nor Isabel was waiting in the dining hall.
No, he met them just at the end of the hallway, standing side by side, like a man would welcome a guest into his home, with his wife. The Baron, surprisingly had a warm countenance, unlike the sternness George had anticipated. Hmmm…
His appraisal of the Baron was cut short as his sister abruptly shot out from her master’s side and began to run towards him. He opened his arms just in time to catch her and thanks to her small frame, managed to keep his footing solid on the ground.
They began to laugh, together, as if on cue, for absolutely no reason at all. Or perhaps, there was a reason. Perhaps, holding his sister in his arms once again was the cause of this joy. To see her healthy, whole, and like the Isabel he had always known.
His fears had been banished. She was fine. And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 12
Isabel had returned to her room after a very busy day. She had spent most of the day with Beatrice, knitting. They had also been able to embroider a very beautiful tablecloth, different hues of red, and blue. She had thought of what to do with the excellent piece, and a brilliant idea had come to mind.
The tablecloth that graced the table in her bedchamber had always seemed out of place. At least, now, she had something fitting.
Afterwards, she had left Beatrice’s room, giving her time to rest. Upon returning to her own chambers, she had taken her sweet time to relax in the steaming bathwater. Then, she had begun to prepare for her brother’s arrival.
She had been at the window, done dressing, when she had seen him coming afar off, his white stallion glistening in the rising moonlight. Of course, she had sent word to William, and William had promptly sent word to the men at the gates, to grant George easy entrance.
As soon as he had passed through those gates, she had gone down the steps to wait for him. To her surprise, William had already been there, impeccably dressed and seeming agreeable enough to welcome her brother.
The moment she had seen him, all else had fallen away. She had told herself to keep still, to behave, but oh… her legs had acted on their own. Completely!
Now, standing in his arms, she knew no regrets, only gladne
ss. As soon as they recovered from their bout of laughter, they pulled away.
She took one good look at her brother, thanks to the gas lamps they had recently begun to use, in favour of the candlesticks. The colour had fully returned to his face. His eyes swirled with alertness. And she knew that he had not taken to drinking again, in her absence.
Good.
“You look well, George. It is a delight to see you again, I swear it. I did not imagine I would be so glad. I suppose I have missed you even more dearly than I reckoned.”
His lips settled into a charming smile. Taking her hands, he stepped back and caused her to spin.
“And you look well, Isabel. Like you have been treated right.”
She observed as his gaze fluttered to William, and back to her. Of course, her brother would have feared for her well-being. Oh, she loved him so. He must have imagined the worst.
“Of course, I have been, Greg. It’s not terrible here, not at all. This manor seems to agree with me.” She turned around then and hooked her arm in his. She started to walk, leading him to William.
“It would appear that the people do too.” Her gaze met William’s for a fraction of a second before she looked away. Finally, they covered the distance that lay between them and came to stand in front of the Baron.
“My Lord, you have met my brother, George Montgomery. George, His Lordship, Lord William Gregory, Lord of Landcastle.”
She observed quietly as both men greeted each other. While William appeared relaxed, comfortable, a man in control, her brother seemed nervous.
Nevertheless, they managed to shake each other’s hands and exchange pleasantries, civilly. She said a prayer up above for that.
“You have a very lovely home, Lord Gregory,” George said.
“Thank you. It is all of my mother’s work. All I have done is keep it and tend to it.”
“Even that is great work that must be commended. You have done it wonderfully so.”
Isabel’s watched as an amused glint flickered across William’s eyes. His lips curved up at the corners, but he simply said, “Thank you, Montgomery. You are welcome to my abode. Dinner awaits; I rather would have my food while the steam comes off, and I find myself famished and in urgent need of nourishment. Come, I shall lead the way.”
They soon arrived at the dining hall to find the table set for four. The meal looked plentiful enough to feed a feast. There were assorted choices; mashed rice with curry, fish, roast, and vegetables The aroma filled the air, causing everyone to salivate.
As they settled down into the seats, they were all aware of one seat that lay empty. Beatrice’s. Isabel had begged her to come, and she had said she would give it a thought.
Not wanting to push, Isabel had left it at that. Apparently, Beatrice had decided otherwise. Just then, the doors of the dining hall opened, and when she turned to see who it was, she knew she should not have concluded so soon.
There was Beatrice, as fair as an angel in her blue evening dress. She looked so lovely and not half as pale as she had been when Isabel had first met her. She made for such a wholesome sight, and it thrilled Isabel, that she had thought to honour her.
The gentlemen arose, and as they did, Beatrice walked further into the dining hall, until she came to a stop at the table. It was William who spoke first.
Clearing his throat, he observed formalities. “Montgomery, you must not have met my younger sister. This is Beatrice, the reason for all of this.”
Beatrice smiled shyly at her brother’s words and dropped a shallow curtsy as George bowed.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, My Lady. I have heard such good things about you. Isabel writes of you, so fondly. I can see why. You are as beautiful and delicate as the daisy.”
Impressed by her own brother, Isabel turned to look at George. Pride swelled in her. Perhaps, they might make a man of him, yet.
“Thank you, My Lord. You are so kind.”
George was quick to correct. “Oh, I am no Lord. I am only a gentleman, bereft of titles.”
“A gentleman is all that matters.”
With that, Beatrice was helped into her seat by William, and the men settled once more.
Isabel said grace, and the dining began.
Lord William opted for rice and curry. Coincidentally, Isabel did likewise. George went for roasted lamb and veggies with hot brown gravy made from the juice of the roasted lamb. Beatrice looked at everyone, looked into the dishes, and relaxed back on her chair.
“Pray, my lady, what could be the issue?” her brother who was first to notice, asked her.
She smiled to him for the first time in years and said, “Go ahead everyone, I will join you.”
“If you say so,” William replied.
Then, Beatrice reached for the porcelain plate and took a bit of food from all the dishes. Everyone glanced at her and her weird attitude but said nothing. There was an uncommon silence between them, which lasted for a while.
It was William who broke it, and with a light jest at that.
“Whoever said that British cuisine cannot compare to Europe’s finest must have never had a taste of the former. I cannot imagine anyone not falling in love with such fine meals!”
When everyone nodded, he continued, “In all honesty, aside the jesting, England is an incredible country with plenty of good food choices. I wonder indeed, what could have stirred up such an untrue statement.”
“I shall have to agree, My Lord,” George began, joining the conversation. “I have been overseas and have tasted a good number of delicacies. As delicious as they may be, I often find myself pining for home, for a good traditional meal to fill my belly.”
The men chuckled at this, but the women simply smiled. Deciding to follow the camaraderie that had settled in the air, Isabel joined in too.
“No one has ever said his mother’s food tastes bland,” she teased, reaching for a glass of lemon juice. As she brought the cup to her mouth, her eyes met with William’s and lingered for a moment.
She quickly looked away, downing the content of the glass in one long swig. Terribly improper, but she cared little. The hairs on the back of her nape had stood, and even as she went back to her meal, intent on not looking his way, she felt his eyes boring holes into her. It made her uneasy.
“Indeed, dear sister. But there is the place for truth and the place for delusion. I have simply spoken the former.”
Much to the surprise of everyone, Beatrice added in support, “I agree. Excellence births superiority,” Beatrice said to herself.
“It would appear the lady is as bright as she is beautiful. Truer words were never spoken. You favour the English cuisine, then?” It was George, and ever so smug from her agreement.
Beatrice lifted her shoulder in a small, almost dismissive shrug. “I cannot say that I do not. It is, indeed, of great quality. Nevertheless, I also enjoy the French cuisine the cook makes, every once in a while.”
There was a small agreeable silence, and they all appeared to be on the same page. Then, Beatrice spoke again, “Are you satisfied, My Lord? Seeing that your sister is in good health?”
They were all taken aback by the question. Seeing Beatrice so outspoken, it was quite a surprise.
George looked at Isabel, and they shared a moment. “Aye, I am. In all honesty, I had feared the worse. Now, my heart can rest easy, knowing that she fares well.”
