The Gentle Wind's Caress (22 page)

Sucking in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Hamish strode past Ethan and into the room, heading straight for the drinks cabinet.

Ethan followed him. ‘I’ve been watching out for you. I noticed the cart came back still full. Why didn’t Isabelle accept them? Did her father not let you see her? The bastard! I’ll-’

‘I saw her.’ Hamish threw back the whisky shot and plonked the glass down. This was a nightmare he wanted to shake off. What possessed him to get involved? The image of Isabelle’s furious face flashed before him. He groaned and turned to Ethan, who looked at him expectantly. ‘She is well.’

‘Thank God. I was so worried.’ Ethan sagged. ‘But why-’

‘I have changed my plans. I’ll not be staying a few weeks here, but shall return to Edinburgh tonight.’

‘Oh?’ Ethan frowned. ‘Hamish, if it is because of Mama’s lapse in manners and her writing to you, I do apologise. The last thing I wanted was for you to be caught up in this business. She should never have written to you.’

‘It is none of that.’ He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. ‘I have other matters to attend before my return to Australia.’

Striding to the drinks cabinet, Ethan slapped his arm in good humour. ‘Of course you have, my friend, but I’d really like your presence here for a day or two until Mama and I can look at each other without either of us losing our tempers.’

‘I’m not certain…’ Hamish faltered. Until meeting Isabelle, he’d been looking forward to spending a couple of weeks or more at Bracken Hall. To go shooting, play billiards in the evenings, go drinking in town. He and Ethan enjoyed each other’s company, behaved like brothers and he wanted to take some more memories back to Australia.

‘Say you’ll stay, old friend.’ Ethan smiled with that boyish charm he’d always had and Hamish knew he would give in. Besides, he’d not meet with Isabelle again. He would pretend she didn’t exist. It was highly unlikely she’d be calling in for tea.

Chapter Thirteen

Isabelle tested the heat of the iron and wiped her hair from her eyes. Her back ached from standing for the last hour. Pressing the iron over her father’s shirt, she winkled her nose in distaste as cold winds blew outside causing the kitchen fire to smoke. A cool draught from under the hallway door circle around her ankles. The miserable weather had wrecked havoc for the last three days. Gales shattered roof tiles, blew down trees and simply became a nuisance. Any attempt at outside work ended in frustration and abandonment.

She glanced at her father and the boys as they sat around the table playing cards. After days of being cooped up inside she had run out of jobs for them to do. Still, she couldn’t complain. They had accomplished much. The bedrooms received a coat of whitewash, the loose banister on the stairs was fixed, all the needlework was attended to and new knitted garments begun.

Her father dropped his cards on the floor and Bertie, laughing, bent down and scooped them up for him. Isabelle frowned, noting the blueness of her father’s tight lips.

In the last week she had noticed his pallor gain a yellowy tinge. His appetite had fallen, too. A trickle of fear crept up her spine at the thought of him becoming really ill. Until now, he’d shown no signs of the sickness that plagued him on the inside, but then her own recent illness had kept her from watching over them.

Aaron slowly looked up at her, as though the movement had cost him a great deal, his eyes wary as always of her rebuff. ‘Don’t be over doing it, lass. You’ve only been on your feet a few days.’

‘Yes, I know and just look at this pile waiting for me.’

He glanced down at the table.

She sighed and silently berated herself for her artless snipe. When would she ever stop cementing the walls between them? Each time her father tried to knock a brick down she was quick to replace it.

‘Me and the boys can wear wrinkled shirts about the farm,’ he murmured. ‘No one can see them underneath our vests and coats.’

‘Come sit and have a game, Belle.’ Hughie coaxed, grinning. ‘Those clothes won’t mind.’

‘You mind your manners, my-’ Isabelle broke off as her father gradually tilted sideways and fell to the floor. ‘Father!’

In a heartbeat all three were fussing over him. Hughie lifted him up and cradled his head. ‘Da! Da!’

‘Help me get him into the front room, Hughie.’ Isabelle lifted his legs by the ankles while Hughie strained under the weight of Aaron’s top half.

Shuffling, they carried him in the front room and laid him on the sofa.

A summer shawl lay at the end of the sofa and Isabelle threw it over her father’s chest. ‘Make up a fire, Bertie, quickly now!’ As Bertie ran from the room, she turned to Hughie, who was chaffing Aaron’s hands between his own. ‘You must go fetch the doctor, Hughie.’

He straightened immediately. ‘Yes, I’m on my way!’ He collided in the doorway with Bertie, who carried an armload of kindling.

Isabelle placed the fire screen to one side. ‘Here, Bertie, give those to me and fetch pillows and blankets.’ She set about making the fire. Fumbling and cursing, she managed a small blaze and was about to rush out for more kindling when her father moaned from the sofa.

Hurrying to his side, she picked up one of his hands and patted it. ‘It’s all right. You’re all right.’

Aaron eyes flickered open and focused on her. ‘B…Belle?’

‘Yes, I’m here. Right here.’

He closed his eyes and his tongue poked out to wet his lips. His grip on her hand was feeble at best.

Bertie, hidden beneath a tumble of pillows and blankets, burst into the room.

‘Lord, Bertie, did you strip every bed?’ Isabelle snapped, taking them from him. ‘Tis a wonder you didn’t fall down the stairs!’

‘Is Da awake?’

‘Not completely.’ She squeezed his shoulder as he stood staring at their father. ‘Listen, do you think you could make up a tray of tea without burning yourself?’

He straightened up and raised his chin. ‘Aye, course I can.’

‘Good, do that for me then, will you?’

When he had once more left the room she turned back to add the last bit of kindling to the fire and then crouched down beside her father.

As if sensing her there, Aaron opened his eyes. ‘Not…too…good.’

‘No you’re not at the minute.’ She placed a pillow gently under his head and then covered him with the thickest blanket they had. ‘But you soon will be again.’

‘You know the truth.’

Bustling about folding blankets, she nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Don’t waste good money…on doctor…’

‘I’ll waste my money in any way I see fit.’ She gave the fire a serious poke with the fire iron.

‘Belle.’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you help…me up to bed?’

‘I don’t think that is such a good idea.’ She studied him and although his face was grey, there seemed more life in his eyes now than before. ‘Let us wait until the doctor has been, yes?’

He nodded and closed his eyes, obviously too worn-out to argue further.

Sighing, Isabelle knelt on the hearth and stared into the blaze. If this was the start to her father’s end then she’d better prepare herself to nurse him. And to see less of Ethan...

***

Ethan plumped up his pillows and settled back against them. He checked over the end of his bed to make certain that the fireguard was secure and took a sip of whisky from the small glass on his bedside table. Lastly, he reached for his book, W.M. Thackeray’s
The Virginians.

He wasn’t one for fiction all the time, and liked to inject his reading habits with works on husbandry and, since Rachel’s departure, books on England’s colonies. Most nights he did his reading in the study or drawing room, but since the incident with his mother and the ensuring coolness between them, he had taken to his room of an evening and found a hidden pleasure in reading in bed.

A discreet knock interrupted him. He looked towards the door. ‘Come in.’

Clarice sidled into the room and closed the door with a soft click. She nervously glanced around the room, as a blush crept up her face.

Ethan stared in amazement. His wife had never been in his room before. He swallowed and hoped to God she didn’t want to share his bed. ‘Is…is there something you wanted, Clarice?’

She nodded, clearly agitated that she had ventured into his domain. Her fingers twisted the material of her nightgown and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘I…I need to talk to you.’

‘And it cannot wait until morning?’

She shook her head.

Frowning, Ethan sat a little straighter and wondered if he should escort her downstairs, but abruptly she rushed forward and gripped the timber foot rail of his bed.

‘You want to divorce me?’

He groaned. ‘Clarice, please don’t-’

‘Your mother tells me I must not allow it to happen.’

Under his breath, Ethan swore violently. ‘I understand-’

‘I know we aren’t as…most couples are,’ she paused to pull at her hair that hung loose about her rounded shoulders, ‘only, I never wanted a husband.’

‘I know.’

Her chin trembled. ‘If you divorce me where will I live?’

Pity filled him for this childlike-woman. ‘Please do not worry yourself, Clarice. I will always provide for you.’

‘You will?’

‘Naturally.’ He forced a smile. ‘You will have a house of your own to do with as you please, plus servants and an income.’

‘Could…could I have a house in London?’

‘London?’ His eyes widened. ‘Why London?’

‘Because there are many shops there that will deliver and…and wonderful libraries. I wouldn’t want to go about town much at all and in London everything can come to me.’

He was completely astonished. She had obviously been thinking this through. He nodded. ‘I see. Well, I shouldn’t think that would be a problem, you having a house in London.’

She seemed to sag, and gave him a tenuous smile. ‘Thank you, Ethan. You are a good man.’

‘No, I am not.’

‘Yes, you are. I am not the wife worthy of Bracken Hall. I…I know this will upset your Mama, but…but I never really wanted to be here. I’d rather be divorced and in London than here and
married
.’ She hurried from his room and closed the door.

Ethan slumped back against his pillows. It was the most he’d heard her speak in all the time they were married. Wiping a hand over his eyes, shame washed over him. She had called him a good man. It was laughable really. He was divorcing her and she called him a good man. He cringed at the situation he found himself in. Yet, despite his unfavourable position, he could no longer change it even if he wanted to. A life without Isabelle was no life at all.

His groin tightened at the thought of her. He needed to hold her, kiss and caress her, to fill her body with his. Smothering a moan of want, he threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed. It had been so long since he’d been able to see her that his mind was alive with her image and his body was on fire with yearning.

On impulsive, he dressed, and then, carrying his boots, he swiftly descended the staircase and headed along the corridor to the back entrance of the house.

***

A tinkering noise woke Isabelle from her fitful slumber. She lay quiet, listening for sounds from her father’s bedroom. Her room was fully dark and she guessed the time to be around three o’clock. The cockerel always started crowing around four, before dawn had even broken.

The noise came again; a ping against the window. Frowning, she left the bed and moved the threadbare curtain aside. She leapt back as something hit the window right before her face. Heart thumping, she stepped closer and looked down. A dark shape, a figure, moved below, it straightened and raised its arm again. A rain of pebbles tapped against the windowpane.

Sliding the window up, Isabelle leaned out, her stomach clenching with excitement. ‘Ethan?’

‘Let me in.’

Biting her lip to stop a grin from spreading, she closed the window and ran from the room.

Downstairs, she hastily lit the candle on the kitchen table and then unbolted the back door. Before she could speak Ethan had her in his arms and was kissing her thoroughly.

She pulled back. ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’

He gathered her back into his arms. ‘I’ve missed you more than I can bear,’ he whispered and nuzzled her neck.

She ran her fingers through his hair to cradle his head and bring his lips back to hers. ‘Oh, my love.’

He raised his head. ‘Are you well, my sweet? I’ve been so worried.’

‘I am well now, yes.’ She kissed him.

‘Hamish said you-’

Isabelle stilled. ‘Hamish? What did he say?’

He kissed her eyelids. ‘He said you had recovered. I’ve been so worried. Your father wouldn’t let me see you.’

‘No.’ She hung her head back and he seared a fire hot trail of kisses down her throat.

‘I love you so much, darling girl.’

She gently pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth and then traced its outline with her tongue. ‘And I you, my love.’