Page 7 of The Lover's Eye
There had been no trace of her, no tangible indicators as to what might have become of her.According to popular opinion, she was dead.That was the one and only point on which Giles agreed with them.The speculative theories that spun out from that original thread drove him near to madness.
Holing himself up at home for half a year was proof enough of that.
He watched as the faint ochre glow of coach lanterns crawled up the drive below.He didn’t want guests; he wasn’t even ready to walk down High Street in the tiny village, for God’s sake.So why was the approach of those wavering lamps prickling his long-quieted curiosity?
♦
With several manservants coming to aid, Lord Ridgeway’s mud-bespattered coach was dislodged from its filthy bed and made able to deliver its passengers to the doors of Cambo House.
Isobel strained to see the structure amidst the night and the falling snow.It was a looming shadow; a tall, flat sandstone face, filled with windows that betrayed not a hint of light.She stepped down from the coach, and it crawled away, Betsey and the others proceeding to the back of the house for their own rest and sustenance.
The wind whistled somewhere high in the hills.There was nothing for sound but the insistentthump, thumpof Isobel’s hem thrashing around her legs.Exhaustion consumed her, and now she faced relief—right?
She couldn’t seem to move toward the door, until finally, it opened to her.A footman waited on the other side, unsmiling, and the light from the vestibule graced the threshold, revealing two yawning gargoyles guarding the door.
“Good evening,” Isobel said quietly, relinquishing her outer garments into his waiting hands.If he replied, she didn’t hear it.
The draft of indoors seemed to affect her more than the harshness of the storm, and gooseflesh swept over her body as the footman led her down a corridor.Aside from their footsteps echoing against the tiles, the house was still.Perfect in its quiet, an undisrupted illusion of abandonment.
The interior was aged, defying fashionable standards, but every room had been maintained to perfection—especially the earl’s library.
Isobel felt a morsel of true comfort at last.It was the first room to seem lived in, populated by recently disturbed books and slouching furniture.A fire burned bright and clean in the hearth, its glowing flames illuminating a carved marble mantelpiece.She was compelled to its warmth like a famished moth.
“I will return with some dinner for you, miss,” the footman said.
Isobel turned to thank him, but he had already vanished.She sat in one of the chairs positioned before the hearth.Her hand fell to the well-worn arm, its leather supple and faded from years of use.It was warm beneath her touch.
The heat could well be owed to the proximity of the fire, but she had a distinctly different impression.As if her host had just vacated this very spot.
My unwilling host, she thought bitterly.
It had been disappointing enough to learn that the lodge gates were those of Cambo House, and to resign herself to passing another night apart from her sister.But shame rippled through her now.She had unintentionally thrown herself at Lord Trevelyan’s doorstep.
The fact she had been shown into his library, and not some well-kept drawing room, was the first evidence he did not want guests.The impression only grew stronger as she worked over a tray of tea and refreshments brought in by a servant, and the earl had yet to come and greet her.
Isobel’s mind began to race as she thawed by the fire.The circumstances of her visit were strange, and she had not expected an immediate introduction from Lord Trevelyan, but a good deal of time had passed now.
She looked at the oak cased grandfather clock, and then at her plate of crumbs.No, it did not appear he was going to acknowledge her presence at all.
“Miss Ridgeway?”
A petite maid appeared at the door.She spoke Isobel’s name with hesitance, treating the words like a curiosity.Isobel was beginning to believe an outsider entering Cambo Housewasa curiosity.Was the earl’s grief so vast that he wished to cast himself off from society forever?
“Yes?”
“A room has been prepared for you, miss, if you are ready to retire?”
Isobel’s eyes caught on the empty chair adjacent.With an unsteady breath, she rose and followed the young woman into the long corridor, their footsteps amplified by the stillness.
A grand staircase split in opposite directions, and the pair went left into the shadows.Isobel was hardly able to see as they walked a dark corridor, the occasional window affording better light than the maid’s candle.Dim moonlight reflected off the snowy parkland below, spilling some of its pearlescent brilliance inside.
The housemaid paused before a door and pushed it open.“Your lady’s maid is waiting for you, miss.”
Isobel smiled and thanked her, but her gaze was drawn into the unfamiliar space, the sight of Betsey and her own nightdress laid upon the bed inducing instant comfort.
“Have you been helping all this time?”she asked, as Betsey helped her out of her gown.
“Oh, no, miss, they’ve fed us well, and carried up all your trunks.I’ve only just come up to lay out your things.”
