Once an Heiress (39 page)

Lily’s family came from their home in Brighton only a couple times a year to visit Mrs. Bachman’s parents, who were neighbors to Fairfax Hall.

Alexander had gone to Oxford, and Isabelle’s Papa spent his time in solitude — in the library, in his study, or wandering the estate. Several times, she and Justin had found him lying on the ground, sleeping beside the white marble tomb he’d built for his wife and child. There was room inside for him, too. It seemed to Isabelle as though he wanted to crawl inside and join her.

Isabelle sometimes wondered how her life would have been different if he had been dead in truth, rather than absent only in mind and spirit. She would have been properly provided for, she supposed, not allowed to develop such hoydenish tendencies. It had been painful, too. As a child, she tried and tried to cheer her father. She danced and sang silly songs. He smiled wanly with eyes devoid of humor and patted her head. Isabelle wondered why she and Alexander weren’t good enough. She missed Mama, too, but there were still people she loved around her. Didn’t Papa love her? She was certain there was something — some one thing — that would make him better. Isabelle spent countless hours trying to find it.

In time, when she was twelve, Papa did the only thing that would end his suffering. Isabelle heard the shot and got to his study first. He’d fallen sideways on the leather sofa, and what she noticed most was not the blood, but the peaceful expression on his face.

Isabelle returned to herself. She blinked a few times and said in a low voice, “I’ve never
had
a family, Lily. Is it too selfish of me to want one of my own?”

“Of course not,” Lily cooed. “We’ll get you there, Isa, never you fear.” She straightened to a businesslike posture. “As much as I dislike the idea, I agree you must do something to generate income. I’ll save up my pin money, too, and maybe in a few months — ”

“No,” Isabelle interjected vehemently. She clutched her skirt in her fists. “I’ll take your tea, but I cannot accept your money.” Lily started to protest, but Isabelle raised a hand to stop her. “Please. I have endured this situation for several years. This is just a new obstacle, and I
shall
overcome it. But not with your allowance.”

Lily sighed. “All right, then. Do say you’ll come to the wedding, though. I should dearly love your company.”

The allure of polite society warred with Isabelle’s practical concerns. At last, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t, Lily. Not with things so tight here. The days I’d spend away are days I could be earning money to keep this place heated.”

Worry lines bracketed Lily’s mouth. “I wish you would let me do something for you, dear. Your bleak circumstances cannot persist.”

A half-smile tugged Isabelle’s mouth. “Things will improve. And I’ll tell you something,” she said, pulling her shoulders back. “It will be nice to have reliable income, rather than depend on a man’s whim.”

“Hmm.” A thoughtful expression crossed Lily’s pretty features. “I didn’t think of that, but you’re right. What a novel idea. Since you won’t come to the wedding with me, I’ll do what I can to help you find a position.”

“Maybe it will even be fun,” Isabelle said, her mood brightening. “This is a chance to make a new start. I’ve been living a kind of half-life ever since the divorce. Now I can start over.”

Lily raised her chipped teacup. “To new beginnings.”

Isabelle lifted hers to join the toast. “To new beginnings.
And
, to the devil with men.”

• • •

Lily’s brows shot to her hairline. “A cook? Really, Isabelle, what are you thinking?”

A week after her arrival, the maids bustled to prepare for Miss Bachman’s departure to her cousin’s wedding. In that time, Isabelle had approached every business in the area at which she might be at all useful.

Isabelle playfully swatted her friend’s arm. “Yes, a cook. I’ll have you know, I’m a reasonable hand in the kitchen. At home, Cook taught me out of Mother’s French recipe books.”

The taller woman cast her a dubious look. “Be that as it may, inns are frequently rather seedy.”

“Oh, no, The George is a very clean establishment. Mr. Davies was so impressed with the stew I made, I was even able to negotiate a higher wage.”

“Wage negotiations?” Lily’s shoulders rose and fell with her sigh. “All right, Isabelle, you’ve impressed me. Go ahead and tumble into the working class. I suppose you’re ready as you’ll ever be.”

Isabelle grasped her friend in a tight hug. “Thank you for everything.”

Lily held her back at arm’s length. “You can do anything you put your mind to, Isabelle. Your dreams of a husband and children — you
can
have those, you know. Go and cook for your villagers if you must, but you’re still hiding. Come back to the world and take your proper place.”

Isabelle’s lips curved in a wistful smile. “This
is
my proper place now, Lily. This is the life I must live.”

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