Whispers of Light

by Monroe, Jennifer

  “Lady Eleanor, to produce that much cash in a short amount of time will be difficult, but I may be able to procure it through various avenues. But, as to marrying your daughter…”

  “She is a good woman,” Lady Lambert insisted.

  Laurence raised a hand and the women went quiet. “All your daughters are women of integrity, and I would never speak an ill word against them. However, it is not Mrs. Barnet who is the problem, but rather it is me.” He pursed his lips. How much should he share with this woman? She was only an acquaintance, and he had no obligation to her or to her daughters. What she was asking was a great step; one he was certain he did not wish to take. “Not even two hours ago, I contemplated my life and how lonely I am.”

  This made her brighten. “Isabel is lonely, as well. Not only would a marriage to her save our home, but it would also bring about happiness to you both.”

  He shook his head at the woman’s words. “I have no desire to wed.” He cocked his head. “And Mrs. Barnet? What does she think of this arrangement?” Lady Lambert stood and walked to the window, confirming his suspicions. “I see,” he said, stifling a sigh. “She is a widow and far too old to offer her hand in the traditional sense. I have a feeling that if she were asked, she would not wish to marry me.”

  “I believe that she would,” the baroness replied. “Her spirit has been crushed, and I know you are the man she needs to break the curse that has fallen upon her.”

  “Curse?” Laurence asked in astonishment. “What curse?”

  “The curse of this home,” she replied. Then she motioned him to the window.

  He stood beside her and peered through the glass. There he recognized Miss Hannah and Miss Juliet speaking to one another near a large tree.

  “Hannah has yet to find a suitor, and Juliet is not yet of age. Isabel has already completed the customary mourning period and is already well-acquainted with the expectations of running a household. Granted, she did not marry a titled man, but he was the younger son of an earl, so she also understands what it takes to manage servants and to host parties. Nathanial will eventually finish his schooling and therefore be able to take over the running of Scarlett Hall. Yet, until then? To lose our home, our wealth, I fear for his future as well as the future of my daughters.” She turned toward him, and he had to stop himself from taking a step back. “I know this is sudden, and I do not expect you to make a decision today. However, I would make one request before you decide.”

  “Very well.”

  “In two nights’ time, be our honored guest for dinner. After we have eaten, spend time with Isabel in the drawing room. If at that time you still do not wish to marry her, I shall never speak of it again.” Although her words were clipped, they reeked of her desperation.

  Laurence turned his gaze back out to the garden, and he found he could not stop the smile that formed on his lips as Mrs. Barnet walked toward them up the path. Although she was some distance away, he could not help but wish to be at her side, for her smile and composure were things for which he longed in himself.

  “You say she is sad,” he said. “However, I see a woman who stands with her head held high and a smile upon her face. I would say she has a strength about her.”

  “She is much like this house,” Lady Lambert replied with a small smile. “By all appearances, it is magnificent; however, inside it is falling apart.”

  “Then I shall come to dinner in two nights,” he said. Something inside him was drawn to the young widow with the secretive smile and the power to carry the world on her shoulders.

  Chapter Three

  Something was amiss at Scarlett Hall, although Isabel had not yet figured out what that something was. It had begun with the arrival of Laurence Redbrook two days earlier, and he had been sequestered with her mother for more than two hours. When the man left, her mother informed her that the duke would be joining them for dinner this night, yet when Isabel had pressed for the reason why, her mother had said it was of no importance.

  Now, Isabel sat before her dressing mirror as her mother restyled her hair. She had styled it earlier in the day; however, Isabel’s mother had insisted on changing it despite the fact the duke would be arriving at any moment.

  “I remember doing this many times when you were a child,” her mother said in that same thoughtful tone she had used on Isabel’s wedding day. “You were not like the others, who complained and yelped like urchins whenever I pulled the brush through their hair.” Then she sniffed amusedly. “Well, not too much.”

  Isabel laughed. “Well, I am an adult; far past the age to complain.”

  Her mother smiled as she placed the brush on the stand and rested her hands on Isabel’s shoulders. “That you are,” she said to Isabel’s reflection. “You have grown into a strong and understanding woman.”

  Isabel gave her mother a look of suspicion. She could always tell when her mother had ulterior motives, and this was one of those times. For one thing, her mother had insisted Isabel wear one of her gowns typically reserved for attending balls—a satin garment overlapped in lace trimmed with tiny intricate flowers and short puffed sleeves—rather than a less formal, although still appropriate, dress meant for dinner.

  However, Isabel had never been one to challenge her mother in any way, and she would not begin now. Her mother would tell her what was going on when she was ready and not a moment sooner.

  “Tonight shall be entertaining,” her mother said as she picked up the white gloves. “We have not spoken to the duke in some time.”

  Isabel nodded. “It has been at least a year.” She remembered the friendly man coming to their home when first her father and then later her husband had died. Although Isabel remembered very little of either time, her grief was so great, she had not forgotten the kind words he had shared with her.

  “And he is very handsome.”

  Isabel turned to her mother. What was her mother up to? Despite her rule of not questioning her mother, she could not keep her curiosity under wraps any longer. “Why did he come the other day?” she demanded.

  “It is simple. The duke is a man of business, and he has helped me in matters of the estate.” Although Isabel knew her mother would never tell an outright lie, she felt an underlying current of untruth to her words. “Now, stand and allow me to look at you.”

  Isabel did as her mother bade, and her mother smiled her approval. It was wonderful to see her mother smile again, for she had not done so for a long time.

  “You are such a beautiful woman,” her mother said as she ran a finger down her cheek. “We must be careful lest the duke whisk you away from here.”

  Isabel laughed. “That will not happen, I assure you. He is a kind man, yes, but I have no interest in him in any romantic sense. Or any man for that matter.”

  “Is it because of his leg?”

  “His leg?” Isabel asked, taken aback that her mother would think so little of her. “Of course not. I would not care if his leg was missing, or even an arm.”

  “Then why?”

  Isabel sighed. “I was once married, and I do not wish to travel down that path again.”

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but her mother seemed troubled by her words. Of course, it was understandable; a mother wished her daughter to be happy. “Do not worry about me, Mother. I am content to be here at Scarlett Hall. Let us enjoy our evening rather than wasting time talking about a duke who rarely leaves his home.”

  “You are right,” her mother said and then took both of Isabel’s hands in hers. “I do have one favor to ask of you before the duke arrives.”

  “Yes, of course,” Isabel replied. “Anything.”

  “The duke, as you said, hides himself away. Whatever he speaks of tonight, please feign a great interest. I believe it may help the man. Can you do that?”

  “And why would I do that?” Isabel asked.

  “The duke accepts few invitations, from what I understand,” her mother explained. “I do not see why he should feel unwelcome in
our home. And because he rarely is in the company of anyone other than his sister or his servants, I thought it would be a nice gesture on our part to make him feel comfortable here at Scarlett Hall.”

  Although the request seemed odd, Isabel agreed. “Yes, Mother. I believe I can do that.” It was not that she was prone to being rude to callers. She wondered if the woman had already had this same discussion with Juliet.

  “Good,” her mother said with finality. “Come. We should be in the foyer when the duke arrives.”

  Isabel followed her mother downstairs, but she could not help but feel a bit of resentment. Her mother’s wish was yet another burden placed on her shoulders, and although Isabel was not one to complain, she wished the woman would take back the responsibility of her sisters and other matters that should have been her mother’s in the first place.

  However, as they walked down the first flight of steps, Isabel glanced at her mother. Sorrow filled her heart. The woman had aged as of late—silver streaked her hair, and tiny wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes. Her smile and the sparkle in her eyes had become a rarity, and if engaging with the duke or minding after her sisters aided in their return, then Isabel would do as her mother requested.

  The duke was just entering the foyer when Isabel and her mother came down the last flight of stairs, and she gave him a warm smile. He was a handsome man in his impeccable dark coat and carefully tied cravat, and Isabel recalled Hannah and Juliet whispering about him with low giggles. A curious dark wave of hair fell over his forehead, and he brushed it back as he returned her smile. A warm sensation in the pit of her stomach almost made her stop short. No, she had no inclination of allowing this man to induce those feelings that had once left her breathless. Not just this man but any man, for she had not lied when she told her mother she had no interest in marrying again.

  She stifled a laugh. She had yet to speak to the duke and she had thoughts about him asking for her hand? Being kind did not lead to such actions.

  She and her mother dropped to a deep curtsy when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Your Grace,” her mother said. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

  “No apology is needed,” the duke said as he returned the greeting with a nod of his head. “In my excitement to dine again in Scarlett Hall, I believe I may have arrived too soon.”

  Her mother gave a strange loud laugh, and Isabel scrunched her brow at the woman. Why was she acting so strangely?

  “You could never arrive too soon,” her mother replied.

  The man smiled and then his gaze turned to Isabel. “Mrs. Barnet, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Remembering what her mother had asked of her, Isabel returned the smile. “And it is a pleasure to see you, as well, Your Grace,” she said. “I have been looking forward to this evening and dining with you once again. It has been much too long since you have come calling.”

  The man gave her a surprised look. “Indeed, it has.”

  “Please,” her mother interrupted, “let us go to the dining room. It has been redecorated since you were last here.” She took the duke’s offered arm, and Isabel followed behind them, her mind spinning as she wondered if the duke was there for dinner or business, or was it something else altogether? Something to do with her mother and the duke perhaps?

  ***

  Dinner had been pleasant enough, with polite conversation as they dined on roast partridge and yams. The duke had been patient with Juliet and her barrage of questions, which was typical of her when they had the rare occasion to entertain a guest. Hannah ate in silence, also very common for the middle sister, for she had more interest in reading about people and their lives than speaking to them.

  Once dinner was finished, Hannah and Juliet were sent off to bed, much to their chagrin, and now, Isabel sat with her mother and the duke in the drawing room partaking in after-dinner drinks.

  Isabel took a sip of her sherry, and as her mother and the duke conversed, her mind traveled back to a time when Arthur had reclined in the very chair the duke now sat. They had returned from their honeymoon in Scotland and shared in stories with family until late into the night. Her mother and sisters had been thoroughly entertained, for Arthur had a marvelous sense of humor back then; so much so, he could have made a stone laugh. Suddenly, Isabel missed that man dearly.

  “Isabel,” her mother whispered, interrupting her thoughts, “His Grace asked you a question.”

  With heated cheeks, Isabel placed her glass on the table and turned her attention to the man. “My Apologies. Would you please repeat the question?”

  The duke smiled. “I was curious about your current horsemanship. I recall when we were younger, you once mentioned that you often took your horses out. Do you still ride?”

  Isabel shook her head. “No, I am afraid I do not.” Riding, like many pastimes she had once enjoyed, had long been forgotten. Her mother gave her an encouraging nod, and Isabel remembered the promise she had made. “And you, Your Grace? Do you ride?”

  “Much like you, not as often as when I was younger. Although, I do find myself riding from time to time despite my injury.” He placed his glass on his knee.

  Isabel had completely forgotten about the man’s leg, although she had followed him into the drawing room. It was strange what a person noticed. She took notice of how his eyes crinkled when he laughed or how his grin was slightly crooked, but not once did she note his limp. If she did, it was of little consequence to her.

  “When we were young, do you recall when you demonstrated how you were able to jump the hedge near Blandton Pond?”

  Isabel smiled. It had been many years since she thought about Blandton Pond, but the memory was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday, for it had been a rare occasion when the former duke and his family had come to Scarlett Hall for an early dinner. “I do, admittedly. I had never received such applause before.” She was surprised he had remembered, for that single incident was the only exchange that she could recall the two of them ever truly having. His sister had refused to accompany them to the pond, and Juliet had outshone them all with her horsewoman skills—even though she was only ten years of age at the time and had shockingly rode astride, something about which Isabel had never told her mother.

  “Now I find myself buried in ledgers,” he said with a sigh. “Managing business, numbers…all those joys one has when they become of age and must become responsible.”

  “Well, your lands are certainly large enough,” Isabel offered. “You should spend some time away from your work and take pleasure in them.” Her father had been notorious for shutting himself away in his study, and she suspected the duke did the same.

  “I realize this is sudden,” he said, “but would you like to go riding on Saturday? I believe it would be nice to leave my work behind for even a short time, and there is little joy in riding alone.”

  Isabel was unsure how to respond. The invitation was kind, but she had no interest in spending time with anyone. However, one glance at the stern countenance of her mother told her how she would reply. “That would be lovely. I look forward to it.”

  “Childhood friends,” her mother said with what Isabel suspiciously thought sounded like wistfulness. It was not as if she and the duke had spent any significant amount of time together as children to have even the tiniest amount of nostalgia! “It has been an honor watching you grow into the adults you have become.”

  The duke finished off the remainder of his brandy and rose from his chair. Isabel and her mother followed suit.

  “This evening of speaking of old friends has been pleasant,” he said.

  Isabel had to fight herself from shying away as his gaze remained on her. And to keep herself from laughing at the absurdity of speaking of them as ‘old friends’. Yet that steady gaze was more than a bit unnerving.

  “However, I must be on my way,” he continued. “Mrs. Barnet, I look forward to our outing.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.
<
br />   “As do I,” Isabel replied, wondering if she was lying or telling the truth. In all honesty, she was unsure.

  “Allow me to walk you to the door,” her mother said. “Isabel, will you refill our glasses?”

  Isabel nodded, although she found the request odd. She did not want more sherry, and her mother never had more than one after dinner. Regardless, she gathered their glasses and walked over to the liquor cart, the events of the evening playing in her mind.

  Her mother had seemed excited at the prospect of Isabel and the duke spending the afternoon together. The reason for his presence this evening had never been clarified, but surely dinner had not been planned simply to arrange an outing? No, that made no sense, for the invitation came only because of their talk of a single incident that the duke found reminiscent of his youth. She could not blame him for that; everyone had special memories others might be less likely to recall, for that same event might not have been as impressive to them.

  Returning to the sofa, Isabel placed the glasses on the table, her frustration over this evening growing. Something was amiss, but she struggled to see it, so she considered what she did know. For one, the duke was a kind man. Perhaps he was lonely and in need of a friend.

  She closed her eyes and recalled a time not long after the passing of her father. The duke had arrived, and despite the fact she had said little, he had offered her words of comfort.

  “Never feel alone,” he had said, “for if you are in need of a friend, Camellia Estates is but three miles from Scarlett Hall. If you need anything, and if I am able to give aid, simply ask.”