Page 13

It occurred to him that it had never felt like his loss.

His invisible brother had been a rival and an enemy and after a fashion the weapon wielded by his father to mold Isaiah and his sister.

He’d been someone to resent. An unsettling invisible presence, like a ghost. He had seemed to belong to his parents, but never to him.

But his brother would have been the heir, with all the responsibility that entailed. He could have been a dear friend, a rival, a confidant, anything.

A surprisingly powerful, bittersweet sorrow swept through him for the first time, as though it had simply been waiting for a safe place and a safe moment to make itself known. Which was apparently in this quiet, homely churchyard, in the presence of this particular girl.

He sat down on his brother’s bench, and exhaled in a gust.

He was embarrassed and angry with himself for being momentarily too overwhelmed to speak. He willed his face to remain impassive.

Presently Isolde settled down next to him, at a discreet distance.

When he felt the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm, he looked down at it, astonished.

He lifted his head to find her expression soft as a featherbed.

His brother would never know what it was like to look into the sweet face of a girl who saw what Isaiah was trying to hide, and didn’t judge him. His throat felt tight.

“Please forgive me, Mr. Redmond. I didn’t mean to distress you,” she said gently.

He shook his head. “I was just thinking what a shame it is he will never be able to meet you, Miss Sylvaine.”

He didn’t mean to mutely gaze like a sap into her eyes, but he didn’t ever want to forget how she looked during this moment. Regardless, neither of them turned away. Time itself seemed suspended.

The gate squeaked.

Isolde snatched her hand back from his arm just as the tall Mrs. Sneath strode swiftly into view.

They both shot to their feet at once.

Mrs. Sneath halted. Her intelligent gaze ricocheted between Isolde, Isaiah, and the angel bench, along the way evolving from shock into suspicion into concern into curiosity into sympathy.

At last, it settled into careful blandness.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sylvaine and Mr. Redmond. Is the vicar about?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sneath,” Isaiah said smoothly.

He bowed, his heart pounding absurdly, as Isolde curtsied.

“He stepped into the church with a parishioner who had need of counsel. Miss Sylvaine just happened to notice that this bench is dedicated to my late brother and was moved by the tribute.”

“As anyone would be, Mr. Redmond,” Mrs. Sneath replied diplomatically and kindly.

Miss Maria Sylvaine appeared at the churchyard gate then, too. She stopped abruptly. Much like Mrs. Sneath, her eyes darted between the people standing there.

Then widened and remained fixed inquiringly upon her sister.

“Oh, lovely! There you are, Maria. My sister is here to walk me home. Good afternoon, Mrs. Sneath, Mr. Redmond.”

Isolde dipped a curtsy and slipped out through the gate, looping her arm through Maria’s.

And almost hungrily, Isaiah watched until they were out of view.

Isolde didn’t think she’d soon forget the sight of Mrs. Sneath’s eyes bulging white as eggs. Everyone knew well-bred young ladies simply didn’t cozily sit next to heirs they’d only just met, let alone touch them.

She felt like the worst sort of Jezebel.

And almost unbearably exhilarated.

It took all of her fortitude not to turn around to ascertain whether Isaiah was watching her leave, but she was certain he was.

“We finished the decoration planning today, so we won’t be back at the hall until the evening before the assembly to arrange all the furbelows,” Maria told Isolde cheerfully.

“I promised Mrs. Hatchett I would look after her children in the afternoons this week while she visits with her sister, who is going to have her second baby. And we’re going to have a picnic at the Redmond house on the day of the assembly!

Miss Redmond invited all of us! It will be in their rose garden.

I should probably meet you in front of the Redmond House on that day, since I’ll be coming from the Hatchett’s house on the other side of town and you’ll be coming from the churchyard. ”

Isolde found she couldn’t yet say a word.

“And how was the churchyard today?” Maria prompted.

As her silence continued, she could feel Maria’s comprehension, and her next question, forming like incoming weather. And she gasped when realization hit.

“Hold one moment…. Isolde… was Mr. Redmond there to visit the vicar?”

Isolde shook her head.

“Did he actually help today with the work in the churchyard?” Maria’s delivery was half an octave higher now. “With you ?”

Isolde nodded slowly. She didn’t dare meet Maria’s eyes.

“Oh my good heavens. Do you like him?” This was dramatically whispered.

Eventually Isolde nodded again.

Maria scurried ahead of her, then walked backward so she could look at Isolde’s face. Her own face was a picture of astonishment.

“Isolde, did Mr. Redmond know you would be there?” Her sister sounded deadly serious now.

Isolde bit her lip. “I mentioned it under the oaks the other evening,” she admitted.

“ Isolde ….” Maria breathed a universe of awe, trepidation, glee, worry, and warning into that one word.

“I know ,” Isolde replied in precisely the same tone.