my assurance, as a gentleman, of discretion. In return, I suggest in the strongest terms that you take every measure at your disposal to rectify the problem.
The matter to which I refer concerns your sister …
Chapter Four
In the middle of March, a letter arrived from Fairfax Hall with a summons from Alexander for Isabelle to return home. Her brother included with his letter a bank draft with more than enough money for her to hire a post-chaise for the trip. He also said she should plan on an extended absence from her cottage, and should therefore make arrangements for its care while she was away.
When she went to the George to deliver her resignation, Mr. Davies met the news with dismay. “What do you mean you’re leaving us, Mrs. Smith?” He ran a rag over his sweat-sheened pate. “Is it a higher wage you’re after?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that blighter at the Fox and Glen trying to steal you away?”
Isabelle shook her hand. “No, sir, nothing like that. My brother has offered me a place to live, so I’m going home.” Her stomach flipped at the fib. She could dream of such a positive reception, but had little hope of it actually happening.
That business concluded, she returned home to deal with Bessie. It pained Isabelle to leave her behind to fend for herself, but she couldn’t very well bring her to Fairfax Hall and insist Alexander give her a place.
Instead, Isabelle offered Bessie the position of stewardess of the cottage. She gave Bessie most of Alexander’s bank draft, keeping out just enough for the post-chaise. The money she left with the woman was more than they had seen in the last six months, and Isabelle promised to send more in a month, provided Alexander was reconciling with her, and not bringing her home just to inform her she was cut from the family for good.
Finally, Isabelle packed her meager belongings into a single trunk and set out. As the countryside rolled by, Isabelle felt a mounting sense of nervous anticipation. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long journey. She was met at the posting house nearest her brother’s estate by Alexander’s own coach.
The sun was setting as the coach carried her down the drive, through the home woods, past a lake full of noisy ducks set in a modest park, to the manor house. Though the rambling Grecian style structure was young by most standards — only a hundred years — Isabelle thought the stuccoed construction was perfect. She loved every inch of it, though she knew most of the ton would have scoffed at its insignificant twenty-seven rooms.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip as the coach drew to a stop in front of the broad steps leading down from the door. The footman hopped down and assisted her.
The door swung wide open. “Miss Isabelle!” the butler cried joyously. “Here you are at last. Come in.”
“Hello, Iverson,” Isabelle said, nearly weak with relief at not having the door slammed in her face by the aged retainer. One of the butler’s eyes was clear blue, the other cloudy and blind, yet his face had a stately quality unimpeded by his handicap.
“Welcome home,” he said, smiling warmly.
She stepped into the front hall. The parquet floor gleamed from a fresh waxing. Two footmen passed Isabelle, carrying her trunk to her room. “Where’s Alexander?”
“Mr. Fairfax is going over some business affairs with the bailiff,” the butler answered. “He asks not to be disturbed.”
“Oh,” Isabelle said, deflated. Perhaps this was not the warm homecoming she had hoped for, after all.
“He bade me tell you he would see you at supper tonight, and asks that you join him in the parlor to dine en famille .”
“Seven o’clock?” Isabelle asked, recalling the time her brother usually ate.
“Yes, miss. Mr. Fairfax is becoming quite set in his ways,” Iverson noted with a touch of disapproval. Having been at the Hall since well before Isabelle’s birth, the butler felt no compunction in offering his opinion. And
The matter to which I refer concerns your sister …
Chapter Four
In the middle of March, a letter arrived from Fairfax Hall with a summons from Alexander for Isabelle to return home. Her brother included with his letter a bank draft with more than enough money for her to hire a post-chaise for the trip. He also said she should plan on an extended absence from her cottage, and should therefore make arrangements for its care while she was away.
When she went to the George to deliver her resignation, Mr. Davies met the news with dismay. “What do you mean you’re leaving us, Mrs. Smith?” He ran a rag over his sweat-sheened pate. “Is it a higher wage you’re after?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that blighter at the Fox and Glen trying to steal you away?”
Isabelle shook her hand. “No, sir, nothing like that. My brother has offered me a place to live, so I’m going home.” Her stomach flipped at the fib. She could dream of such a positive reception, but had little hope of it actually happening.
That business concluded, she returned home to deal with Bessie. It pained Isabelle to leave her behind to fend for herself, but she couldn’t very well bring her to Fairfax Hall and insist Alexander give her a place.
Instead, Isabelle offered Bessie the position of stewardess of the cottage. She gave Bessie most of Alexander’s bank draft, keeping out just enough for the post-chaise. The money she left with the woman was more than they had seen in the last six months, and Isabelle promised to send more in a month, provided Alexander was reconciling with her, and not bringing her home just to inform her she was cut from the family for good.
Finally, Isabelle packed her meager belongings into a single trunk and set out. As the countryside rolled by, Isabelle felt a mounting sense of nervous anticipation. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long journey. She was met at the posting house nearest her brother’s estate by Alexander’s own coach.
The sun was setting as the coach carried her down the drive, through the home woods, past a lake full of noisy ducks set in a modest park, to the manor house. Though the rambling Grecian style structure was young by most standards — only a hundred years — Isabelle thought the stuccoed construction was perfect. She loved every inch of it, though she knew most of the ton would have scoffed at its insignificant twenty-seven rooms.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip as the coach drew to a stop in front of the broad steps leading down from the door. The footman hopped down and assisted her.
The door swung wide open. “Miss Isabelle!” the butler cried joyously. “Here you are at last. Come in.”
“Hello, Iverson,” Isabelle said, nearly weak with relief at not having the door slammed in her face by the aged retainer. One of the butler’s eyes was clear blue, the other cloudy and blind, yet his face had a stately quality unimpeded by his handicap.
“Welcome home,” he said, smiling warmly.
She stepped into the front hall. The parquet floor gleamed from a fresh waxing. Two footmen passed Isabelle, carrying her trunk to her room. “Where’s Alexander?”
“Mr. Fairfax is going over some business affairs with the bailiff,” the butler answered. “He asks not to be disturbed.”
“Oh,” Isabelle said, deflated. Perhaps this was not the warm homecoming she had hoped for, after all.
“He bade me tell you he would see you at supper tonight, and asks that you join him in the parlor to dine en famille .”
“Seven o’clock?” Isabelle asked, recalling the time her brother usually ate.
“Yes, miss. Mr. Fairfax is becoming quite set in his ways,” Iverson noted with a touch of disapproval. Having been at the Hall since well before Isabelle’s birth, the butler felt no compunction in offering his opinion. And
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