Page 94 of The Lover's Eye
“That must be understandable,” Isobel said softly.“You were acting from a place of grief.”
The vicar’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.“No.It was a lapse in faith, but I am at peace now.I shall never have answers, nor do I need them.”His gaze was misty as it tilted toward the ceiling.“Seeing her in eternity will be enough.”
“Amen.”
Isobel jumped, not realizing Abigail had entered the room to replenish the tray.She reached for the silver cross hanging low on her bosom and clutched it in wrinkly hands.
“‘For what is your life?It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away,’” Reverend Gouldsmith quoted, giving a deep, unburdening sigh.
Isobel downed the remainder of her tea so hastily, the liquid bulged in her stomach.
♦
Giles startled himself awake.His head had lolled until his chin rested upon his chest, and his neck ached righteously.In front of him, he saw an illegible word at the end of the document he had been working on, a stripe of ink trailing down the page, and …
A splatter of ink on his breeches.
He groaned, bending to retrieve the fallen pen before massaging the back of his neck roughly.This is my penance to pay for sleeping so poorly,he thought.The quieter part of his brain had more to say: it was also the cost of his guilty conscience.
Giles had regretted speaking to Isobel so harshly since the day they had fought.As soon as his temper cooled, he had been tempted to go to her.But what would he say?How could he lay rest to her fears?
He couldn’t tell her the whole truth.That much was for damn sure.
He had contemplated it deeply, fear and the possible outcomes haunting him in the small hours, but there was no way he could give her every answer without devastating her.And if he revealed only pieces of it, her existing curiosity would turn unquenchable.
The clock hands indicated midafternoon.Dr.Dunn had given Isobel a clean bill of health that morning, and Giles had heard her come downstairs, lingering outside of the library door.He ached to see her.Had prayed she would come to him, even.But she hadn’t.
They had been living like strangers for the last two days, and the strain was fast growing intolerable.He longed to restore the happiness they had found so effortlessly together.Laughter, and long walks.The nights, even longer.
Giles’s chest gave an aching twinge.
“Just go to her, you daft idiot,” he mumbled to himself, plunging up from his chair quickly enough to wake Smooch from her slumber.
He stalked up the stairs in long strides, taking two and three steps at a time until he reached her door.His soft knocks went unanswered.When he tried the handle, the door unlatched easily, revealing a vacant room.
“Oh, pardon me, my lord.”
Giles turned to see Betsey standing in the hall, holding a folded stack of linens.“I was just bringin’ these up for her ladyship,” she said, timidity drawing her eyes down.“I’ll return later.”
“Wait,” Giles called after her when she turned her back.“Where is she?”
Betsey’s lips thinned out, and she fidgeted in place.“I’m not sure, my lord.She said she was goin’ for a walk this mornin’, but I’ve not seen her since.”
He was walking past the maid before she finished speaking.He knew Finch had been ill tempered toward Isobel that morning.Why hadn’t he scolded him more fiercely?More importantly, why hadn’t he checked on her sooner?
He had been taking the coward’s way in keeping his distance from her, and guilt sliced through him now.He made a quick search of the house and gardens, but there was not a sign of her anywhere.Not so much as a rumpled pillow, unfinished book, or empty teacup.
Giles felt the first edge of panic coming on.It had been hours since she had left.She hadn’t taken anything to eat or arranged any means of returning home.And if her lady’s maid was upstairs, Isobel was utterly alone.Shit.Shit, shit, shit.
Had he truly made the same mistake twice?Were the nightmares and rumors and looks of total distrust from strangers not enough to reform him?Isobel left, and he had not gone after her.She didn’t trust him, and he hadn’t fixed it.
Terrible, dark, swirling thoughts overwhelmed Giles’s mind.If something had happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
He collected his hat and riding crop, tripping down the steps to go to the stables, when he caught sight of a horse trotting up the drive.He stilled, the muscles of his jaw clamping tight, but the white-hot panic burning in his chest eased.The dusty gig held two familiar faces he never hoped to see together: his wife, and Aurelia’s father.
“Good day, Trevelyan,” Reverend Gouldsmith called, drawing the horse to a halt.
Giles drew himself to full height.It was the only way he could mask the clenched fists behind his back and still his tapping foot.“Good day, Reverend.”
