Treasured (34 page)

Isobel was late going down to supper that evening. She dreaded the thought of facing Jack after the scene that afternoon. But when she stepped into the anteroom where the others had gathered, she saw that Jack was not there. The atmosphere was convivial, with Gregory holding forth and Mrs. Kensington tittering and blushing at his overblown compliments while Elizabeth and Andrew looked on, smiling. Isobel joined in as best she could, though she could not keep her mind on their frivolities.

“Jack, love!” Millicent cried. “There you are. I feared you were hurt too badly to join us.”

Isobel turned, her heart racing, doing her best to keep her face from showing any of the turbulent emotions inside her.

“I am fine.” Jack shrugged. He did not look at Isobel as he entered. “It was a trifling wound . . . nothing more. I hope I did not worry you overmuch.”

“Of course, I was worried sick. That’s how it is with mothers.” Millicent patted the seat beside her. “Come, sit down, love. Mr. Rose has been telling us the most amusing stories.”

“Gregory, ma’am,” Isobel’s cousin said. “You must call me Gregory. After all, we are related now, aren’t we?” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Though to save me, I could not tell you exactly what that relation is called. Cousin-in-law, perhaps? But to what degree?”

“Don’t ask me, young man. I have never had a head for figures. No doubt Jack could tell us. He was always so sharp with numbers. His father used to say he was the cleverest of anyone when it came to numbers. He could remember every card—”

“Mother, please, you will make me blush,” Jack interrupted coolly.

“Mrs. Kensington, I see your glass is empty. Shall I get you another sherry?” Andrew said politely, starting to rise from his chair.

“Such a thoughtful young man.” Mrs. Kensington beamed at him. “You know, perhaps a spot more would be nice. I have become quite parched, I’ve talked so much.”

Jack swooped up the glass before Andrew reached his feet. “No need, Sir Andrew. I’ll take care of it.”

“Of course.” Andrew settled back in his chair with an easy smile.

Isobel could not help but notice the interplay between the two men—nor how Jack, though he picked up the sherry glass, made no move to refill it. She stole a peek at her brother. She had been glad the past few days that Andrew and Gregory’s quest had kept Andrew out of the house, else he might have let his tongue get away from him.

He was upset, she knew, about their father’s watch. Isobel could not blame him; she had at the time been surprised that Elizabeth had chosen a stranger to receive it rather than her nephew. Andrew’s resentment was not reasonable—he himself had, after all, gambled away his inheritance, and Elizabeth was free to give her possessions as she chose—but Isobel could not help but feel for her brother. But she dreaded being caught between her husband and her brother if their uneasy relationship exploded into an argument. She wished that Andrew would return to London, which made her feel guilty, as well.

“Jack.” Millicent turned to her son, frowning. “My throat is quite parched.” Her querulous tone surprised Isobel, for however talkative and even silly Mrs. Kensington might be, she had never before seemed anything but adoring of Jack.

Jack hesitated, looking down at her. “We will be repairing to the dining room in just a moment, I’m sure.”

“That will scarcely help me now.”

“Of course. Pardon me.” He acquiesced, bowing to her and crossing the room to pour a small amount of sherry in her glass. He had barely returned when Hamish entered the room to announce dinner. “Ah, there we are.” Jack set the glass down on the table beside Millicent and offered her his hand to rise.

His mother picked up the glass and knocked back the drink in one quick gulp. “Ah, that is much better.” She rose and took Jack’s arm, smiling at him. “Such a dear boy. So like your father.”

Millicent clung tightly to Jack’s arm as they took the brief trip down the corridor to the dining room. Jack’s mother,
Isobel realized, was a trifle tipsy. Isobel looked down to hide a tiny smile. Millicent must be unused to alcohol, indeed, if those two little glasses of sherry had made her wobbly.

Her amusement soon faded, however, as Millicent drank down the glass of wine beside her plate before the first course was even done. Isobel saw that Hamish was starting toward Mrs. Kensington, no doubt to refill her glass. A trifle alarmed that the woman, in her inexperience with alcohol, might embarrass herself or even make herself ill, Isobel stopped the butler with a look. However, after a few minutes, Millicent began to look around impatiently, finally twisting in her seat and motioning to Hamish, then tapping the top of her wineglass. He glanced at Isobel, but she could do little without embarrassing Millicent, so Isobel merely smiled at him, and he poured the wine.

As the supper progressed, Millicent continued to drink. She laughed too loudly and too long at Gregory’s witticisms, and she talked at length, now and then losing the thread of what she was saying. Sneaking a glance at Jack’s rigid face, Isobel realized that the problem was not that Millicent was a novice at drinking alcohol, but exactly the opposite.

A murmured direction to Hamish kept the meal moving at a faster pace than normal, so much so that Andrew protested, “Wait, man, I have not finished. Are we in a race?”

“Don’t be absurd, Andrew.” Isobel laughed. “You were ever the slowest at the dinner table.”

Andrew began to deny it, but Gregory joined Isobel, saying, “It’s the truth, Andy. You cannot convince anyone otherwise.”

“Jack never was.” Millicent spoke up, slurring her words a little. “Always in a hurry, that was my Jack. Just like his
father, rush, rush, rush, all the time.” She lifted her glass, then set it down again as tears welled in her eyes. “I do miss him. Don’t you miss him, Jackie?” she appealed to her son.

Jack’s face was like stone. “I think often of his absence, yes.”

“There. I knew it. You cannot fool your mother, no matter what you say.” She turned to Isobel. “He was a wonderful man, you know. I wish, I just wish you could have met him. You would have liked him, too.”

“I am sure I would have.”

“A brave man, too. He died too young, but I knew . . .” Millicent’s breath hitched, and the tears swimming in her eyes spilled over. “I knew he died just as he would have wished. If it had not been for him, she would have died in the fire.”

“Fire?” Elizabeth repeated, and Isobel saw the same confusion she felt reflected on her aunt’s face.

“My life has been filled with far too much sorrow.” Millicent dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “First Sutton was taken from me, and then my lamb.”

“Mother.” Jack’s voice was short. “You are upsetting yourself. Let us talk of something else.”

“He doesn’t like for me to talk about her, you see,” Millicent told Isobel. “My Dolly.” She turned to Jack, her eyes accusing. “You always try to hush me. I cannot bear it. I simply cannot bear it.”

“Mrs. Kensington . . .” Impulsively Isobel reached out and laid her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Please, don’t be distressed. I am sure Jack just hates to see you unhappy; that is all.”

“Him.” The older woman shot Jack a look so venomous it made Isobel’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s not it. He thinks I’m to blame.” Millicent’s eyes flashed, and she whipped back to Isobel. “He hates me; you ask him. He thinks I’m to blame.” Millicent’s face crumpled, and she began to cry. “And he’s right. I am. I am.”

For an instant, Isobel simply froze. Down the table she could see her aunt staring, horrified, and Gregory, looking as if he wished he were anywhere but here. Jack, of course, looked as cold and distant as a marble statue, and Andrew . . . disdain was on his face but Isobel saw a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, as well.

Anger surged through Isobel, releasing her from her inaction, and she jumped to her feet, going around the corner of the table to Jack’s mother. “Please, you will make yourself unwell,” she told Millicent gently, putting her hand under the woman’s arm and tugging her up. “Let me help you to your bed. You should lie down and rest a bit.”

“I don’t want to rest!” Millicent snapped, then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh! I am so sorry, dear. I didn’t say that—I mean, I mean I should not have. You are a dear, dear girl.” She reached out and folded Isobel into her boozy embrace. “I’m so sorry. I’m so glad he found you. So glad. I was terrible to say”—Millicent stepped back, scrubbing her tears from her cheeks like a child—“whatever I said.”

“Let me help you.”

“No, no.” Mrs. Kensington reeled away from Isobel. “I’ll go. I’ll go myself.” She bumped into the high back of her chair, and Isobel reached to steady her.

“Here. I have her.” Jack had reached them, and he put an arm firmly around his mother’s waist. “Come, Mother. I’ll take you upstairs.”

“Dear boy.” Millicent looked up at him with a watery smile. “I’m sorry.” Her tears began to flow again, and she leaned her head against his chest, crying into it. “I am a terrible mother. I know. Please forgive me. I’ve ruined it. Ruined it. I didn’t mean to.”

“No, of course you didn’t.” His voice was weary, but not unkind.

“You don’t hate me, do you? Please say you don’t hate me.”

“No, I don’t hate you.” He steered her out the door, bracing himself to steady her. Isobel could hear his voice, low and indistinct, as they moved down the hall.

I
sobel turned back to the
table, stunned and empty.

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Poor woman.”

“I’m sorry, Iz,” Gregory said. “I wish we had not brought her back that blackberry cordial from Meg’s. She must have had a tipple before she came to supper. I didn’t know . . .”

“Oh, I think Andrew did.” Isobel stared levelly at her brother. “Didn’t you, Andrew? You brought her that cordial on purpose.”

Andrew lifted a shoulder negligently. “Can I help it if the old girl cannot hold her liquor?”

“Andrew, how could you! Is that why you came here? Why you brought her? To retaliate against Jack? To embarrass him?”

“I came here because I had no place else to go!” Andrew lashed out, rising to face her. “Am I to blame that Kensington hides away his raddled, old sot of a mum? That he hires a
keeper for her? What did I do that was so horrid? It isn’t as if I killed someone. I gave her a bottle of cordial. I brought you your new mother-in-law so you could see just what you’d married into.”

“Then it was me you wanted to pay back for marrying Jack?” Isobel raised her brows.

“Don’t be nonsensical.” He dropped back into his chair and crossed his arms, muttering, “I didn’t pour it down her throat.”

“You knew what would happen. Oh, Andrew.” Isobel sighed and sat down, too. The heat had gone from her voice. “I understand that you are angry with Jack and even that you feel I’ve betrayed you by marrying him.”

“No, Isobel,” Gregory put in. “Andy knows you did it to save Baillannan. We all do. No one blames you. And Kensington doesn’t seem too bad a sort, really.”

“She did not have to
like
him,” Andrew shot back. Gregory snorted, and Isobel rolled her eyes.

“You are being childish, Andrew, and you know it. I realize that you love to play pranks, and I know that men have some very peculiar ideas about what is funny. But this is not merely a trick on Jack. You have humiliated that poor woman in front of her new family.”

“I’d say she humiliated herself. Why are you flying up in the boughs about it? Everyone has a few relatives that are drunk as a wheelbarrow half the time.”

“That’s true,” Gregory said encouragingly. “Just think of my uncle Murdoch.”

“It’s different. They aren’t ladies.”

“Well, neither is Mill—”

“Andrew!” Isobel’s eyes flashed. “Have a care what you say.”

Her brother subsided. Elizabeth glanced worriedly from Andrew to Isobel in the uncomfortable silence that followed. Finally she said, “I fear I got a trifle lost. Didn’t Millicent say the other day that her husband was killed in a carriage accident?”

“Yes. Apparently the manner of his death changes from time to time.” Andrew shot his sister a challenging look.

“I don’t know how he died, Aunt Elizabeth. I would not put much faith in anything Jack’s mother said tonight.”

“Perhaps I should go look in on her.” Elizabeth’s brows knitted worriedly.

“That’s very kind of you. But I am going up there now, so I will check on her. Perhaps you might look in on her before you retire.”

“Of course, dear.”

Isobel rose and left the table, not looking back at her brother. She went first to Jack’s room, but it was empty. A peek into his mother’s room showed he was not there, either, just Mrs. Kensington, fast asleep on the bed.

Isobel went back to her room and prowled about restlessly. She longed to go to Jack and hold him, to do what she could to ease his pain. She understood now why his mother’s arrival had upset him, even why he had been reluctant to talk about the matter, though it made her heart hurt that he would not entrust her with his innermost feelings. Obviously he was engaged on his usual solitary path, unwilling, perhaps unable, to seek any comfort from her. That hurt most of all.