Page 27 of The Austen Escape
“Clara,” Sylvia scolded from across the table. “Don’t push your food. We eat what we are served.”
“I won’t,” Clara whispered and scowled at the dessert.
“Children.” Isabel’s voice lifted with her eye roll. “You’d think she’d love this. When I was young I used to believe there were two separate compartments in the stomach, one for dessert alone and nothing else could fill it. In fact, Daddy used to tell me that...”
Isabel’s words drifted away from me as I watched Clara. She was losing the fight against tears.
“Youth does not excuse my daughter’s behavior.”
Isabel and Sylvia squared off. They knew it; I knew it. I looked around and suspected everyone caught the tremor of battle. Aaron watched his daughter.
“As I said... Children.” Isabel dismissed the conversation and returned to her own dessert.
Sylvia focused on hers as well. Clara was the only victim. She had struggled for Isabel’s attention all night and now she had it—and her mother’s. Her lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth.
I stretched my leg out under the table and kicked her foot. She looked up. “Hi.” It was all I could think to whisper, but it seemed to work.
“Hi.” The single word released the poor lip. She wiped her hand across her nose and slid the plate back in front of her. Sylvia sent her a brusque nod.
“Gertrude, whom do I see about reserving horses for tomorrow? Clara started riding lessons last year, and I think she’d enjoy riding here.” Sylvia’s chipper voice sent a clear message: Clara was forgiven. Horses were her reward.
Gertrude, now standing, gestured for us to adjourn to the parlor. “The path is marked to the west of the house, and you’ll find the staff ready to assist with riding, fishing, lawn games, and walks throughout the property. Or you may tell me the time you’d like to ride and I’ll notify the stables.”
“We could go for a ride together.” I met my new eight-year-old friend at the end of the table. “You could teach me. I’ve never been on a horse.”
“If you can do that, I’ll think you have magic in your little finger.” Isabel walked behind us and spoke in the high-pitched tone she hated.
Clara and I both halted: Clara at the comment, me at the tone. Isabel bent to face her. “Mary is afraid of horses. She doesn’t like animals whose heads are at the level of her own. Isn’t she silly?”
“I am not afraid of them. I’ve just never had any interest in riding.”
Isabel continued. “When I was your age I won local events. I had trophies all over my room. I’m not sure Mary knows what a pommel is.” She offered a trilling laugh and led Clara into the hallway. Her heels clicked a steady tap across the marble.
I watched them go.
“Are you coming?” Aaron paused. As his eyes shifted from me to his daughter and Isabel, I plastered on a quick smile and fell into step beside him. “Thank you for being kind to Clara. This trip might be hard on her. I am afraid we misunderstood the formality when we booked our reservation.”
I, too, watched Clara trail Isabel across the room. “Please don’t let us make it that way. Ignore us if you need to.”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed at Isabel, then he directed his gaze back to me. We agreed—there was no ignoring Isabel.
We took the final step into the parlor. It had been transformed. The furniture was now situated into one large cluster centered on the fireplace. It was a wonderful subtle signal that we constituted one party now. Family members. Beloved guests.
The side tables were fully laden with coffee and teas and a variety of small desserts. Sonia picked up a cup to pour coffee for Isabel.
Isabel flicked her finger to me. “She’ll drink that. Could you pour me a cup of tea? Preferably mint?”
“Certainly.” Sonia handed me the cup and prepared Isabel’s tea.
“Thank you.” Isabel looked around the room. “I expected more guests to be here. There must be more rooms. It’s such a large house.”
“There are eight more guest rooms, but this isn’t our busy time. The house is full most weeks in summer, from June into September, and then the Stanleys either come for Christmas or rent the house for a private party in December.”
“Are they all costumed parties?”
Sonia shook her head. “We book out several of these in the high season, but parties that book the entire house may chooseanything they wish. We had a two-week costumed party last fall that required us to shut off all amenities invented post 1820. We did everything by candlelight and had to spread druggets under the dining room table.”
Isabel understood. I did not.
