Page 81 of The Lover's Eye
Her knocks were left unanswered, and she only found Smooch inside, chewing on a bit of repurposed rope tied with different sailing knots.The chocolate and white spaniel raised her pretty face at Isobel’s entrance, licking her mouth nervously.
“It’s all right, sweet Smooch,” Isobel said, crouching to let the dog sniff her hand.Smooch declined, turning her head away and looking toward the nearest door.
Isobel sighed.She had made little progress in befriending the dog, but at least Smooch did not run at the sight of her now.She gave her a few light strokes on the top of her head, but seeing Smooch look unnerved by each of them, she gave up and stood.
“Why aren’t you in the library with your papa?”she asked, realizing the oddity of it.Smooch rarely left Giles’s side when he was working.
She returned to her own room, putting on a warm dressing robe and slippers, and started down the corridor.She still didn’t want to risk Finch’s censure, but even seeing Giles reclined in his favorite chair would set her mind at ease.
After spending a few days away, Isobel was reminded anew how expansive and quiet Cambo House was.It was still enough to seem uninhabited altogether, until a servant happened to pass by or Smooch dropped one of her playthings down the stairs.
As she made her way down the corridor toward the library, the only sounds were those of her own slippers against the tile and the occasional settling creak or pop of the old building.The library doors were cracked open, and Isobel hesitated, catching the tenor of male voices from within.
“I would much rather you keep it,” Giles said.There was an unmistakable strain in his tone.
“No, I cannot.I understand if you do not wish to have it any longer, but perhaps it could be repurposed.It is of great value, to be sure.”
Isobel’s brain was itching to place the voice.It was a suave baritone, marked by a slight tremble.She heard the clink of metal as something changed hands.A key, perhaps?
She edged closer to the sliver of opening, adjusting her eye until she could see a pearl-rimmed pendant dangling from a gold chain.Giles held it, his visitor somewhere out of view.
“If you insist,” Giles said.His face contorted with something akin to agony.
“There is one other thing.I feel poorly even thinking of it, and I fear I will only feel worse for speaking it, but I must.You are the only one I can ask.”
Reverend Gouldsmith.Isobel recognized his voice now.She edged away from the door’s opening, her hand raising to her throat.
“You know Abigail,” said the vicar.“She has been with us since we moved here; she has been all but a mother to Aurelia.Well she … she has suspicions, Trevelyan.”
There it was again, the informal use of his name.It harkened back to an old intimacy between the two families that unsettled Isobel and stimulated that now familiar bud of jealousy in her breast.
“Reverend, I feel certain I cannot be of assistance to you, whatever the matter is.”
“Please.Please listen,” the vicar said, the turbulence in his voice growing more pronounced.“Abigail said there were … well,signs.”
“I do not understand,” Giles said coldly.She heard his footsteps and flattened against the wall, but it seemed he was walking farther into the room.His keys rattled, and the reverend talked on.
“I know I should not ask.I know it cannot change anything.But Trevelyan, was I going to be a grandfather?Did I not know it?”
Pain tore through his voice, and Isobel felt her knees gelatinize.She gripped the doorframe with enough strength in her little fingers to support her weight.She hadn’t given much credence to those rumors, but hearing the question come so honestly from Reverend Gouldsmith’s mouth, his evidence based upon fact …
Giles still had not answered, and the vicar continued, his voice growing desperate.“I won’t be angry with you.Do not think that is my purpose.I-I know my daughter was a passionate girl, and I know you loved each other very much—she took pains to tell me all the time.So you see, I understand.It would not be unnatural—”
“Reverend,” Giles broke in.“I am terribly sorry for what happened to your daughter.She deserved far better.But I’m afraid this is all I can offer you.We mustn’t speak of this again.”
The hair on Isobel’s arms rose, a rushing chill like waking up in that cold bath.She itched to take another peek through the opening, but the vicar’s next words satisfied her curiosity.
“Oh.Oh, my.Her hair.You’ve kept it.”
If someone had levelled a punch to Isobel’s stomach, she could not have felt any more stunned, any more winded.A sob began climbing up her windpipe, constricting every muscle.She slipped away from the door, hoping her steps were quiet as she stumbled up the stairs and into her bedchamber.
The visions followed her.The look of anguish etched onto Giles’s features.The necklace being returned.And though she had not seen it, her mind provided an image of crystalline blonde hair.
There was no way she could continue fooling herself.The keepsakes, the evident grief, the remembered profession of great love.Gilesdidstill feel something.Isobel had nearly convinced herself he was keeping secrets for her own benefit, to prevent things like this from poisoning her mind and giving root to doubt.Now, she thought it must be because some of the rumors were true.
He had lovedherfirst.He grievedherstill.She had been in his bed, expecting his child.
Isobel was a woman of seconds.
