Page 8 of Revisit the Past (Society of Swans #3)

E xhilaration and blazing lamplight flooded every corner of Isabel’s mind as she disembarked from the boat on the bank outside Vauxhall Gardens, her hand secure in Papa’s. No matter how many times she visited this place, its wonder never diminished.

“There we are, careful now,” said Papa as he guided Isabel over the small, slippery pebbles of the bank and up onto the walkway.

She was grateful for his stability, and Lewis’s presence at her back. Isabel could not help craning her neck to admire the colorful lanterns that lined the path toward the gate and the playfully twinkling stars above. Without her family to direct her, Isabel might have wandered all the way to the Dark Walk in her haze of astonishment.

“I do not see them,” Papa grumbled quietly as a group of recent arrivals surging toward Vauxhall absorbed them into their ranks.

The misgivings in his tone finally tore Isabel’s attention away from the lights that promised even more fantastical sights within. She glanced up at Papa from her peripheral vision and then cast her gaze about the growing gathering.

“He will be here,” Isabel answered. “I asked him to join us, so he will be here. I am certain of it.”

It was Papa’s turn to look at her curiously. Isabel did not flinch. For the first time, she was certain. She did not know how or why precisely, only that every recent meeting with Lord Murfield had revealed the thoughtfulness and sweetness that had captured her heart the first time.

As if in answer to a prayer Isabel did not realize she’d made, their steadily moving crowd slowed just before the gate. There along the wall stood Lord Murfield and Lord Wrighthall with a small group of gentlemen huddled around them.

The earl seemed to notice her in the same moment. No wave of relief came, only a feeling of rightness that had eluded her since they’d last met at the night of the musical performances. Isabel had missed him.

The light from the colored lamp hanging above them bathed Lord Murfield’s smile in a soft, lavender shadow. The earl and the baron made their farewells to their other companions.

“Good evening Messrs. Abbott, Miss Abbott,” the two gentlemen said as they wove their way into the eager throng at the gate.

“Lord Murfield. Lord Wrighthall,” said Papa. “My, what a handsome, little party we make! Shall we enjoy our mystical evening?” No trace of his earlier hesitance remained.

Lord Wrighthall valiantly stepped forward between Papa and Lewis and effortlessly engaged them both in conversation. Instinctively, the earl offered his arm to Isabel and she accepted just as naturally.

“Do my eyes deceive me or does your popularity increase every time I see you these days?” Isabel asked. She smiled up at Lord Murfield, only to find him already smiling down at her, radiant in the bold, golden glow of the lanterns surrounding them.

“I suppose so, though I still cannot fathom why,” Lord Murfield replied with a chuckle. “Eventually, they will realize that I truly have not done anything so extraordinary. Not as extraordinary as the time we went to Astley’s and that trick rider was thrown from his horse and flew into our seats—”

“And you caught the poor fellow before he could rush our entire section!” Isabel’s giggle, quickly covered by a gloved hand, was drowned out by sighs of awe and whispers of wonder.

They passed through the gates of the proprietor’s house into Vauxhall Gardens. Isabel and Lord Murfield added their own exclamations, their heads turning this way and that, eyes bulging in an effort to absorb the magnificent beauty surrounding them.

What seemed like thousands upon thousands of lamps of all colors, hung from posts and upon carved arches, blazed with an intensity that rivaled all the stars in the black, velvet sky above. They stretched on and spread out as far as the eye could see, lighting every path, pavilion, and grove, enticing stunned visitors with promises of even grander spectacles than they had yet seen. Music from the centrally located orchestra filled the cool, night air with an effervescent spirit.

Yet none of it affected Isabel quite so much as the look of enchantment that illuminated Lord Murfield from within. She had yet to see him look quite so peaceful and untroubled since his return. The skin around his eyes and between his brows was smooth. His firm cheeks and jaw held no tension. Perfect lips parted in silent wonder and then began forming shapes, words.

“Miss Abbott?”

The real world, as unreal as it seemed in a place such as Vauxhall, rushed back to Isabel. She cleared her throat. “Pardon me, I must have been caught up in the spectacle. Though I am sure they have made many improvements in the years since your last visit.”

“I only asked if you might like to promenade nearer the orchestra. Your family and my friend appear eager to see and hear more.”

“Of course, certainly,” Isabel answered, praying that her heart would soon return to a normal rhythm.

Lord Murfield had not seemed to read anything in Isabel’s unintentional stare, perhaps too overcome by the general splendor, but what if he had? She might have given herself away entirely in just that look.

Signaling Isabel’s acquiescence to the others, they moved deeper into Vauxhall down the main walk, lined with trees, trimmed shrubs, and more lamps than any one person could ever hope to see in a single lifetime. In the distance rose the orchestra box, designed to resemble a towering temple of extravagance, from which spilled the most rousing music from the best performers in all of London.

“Lord Murfield,” Isabel said after a few moments of walking and gazing and greeting other patrons in the wake of Papa, Lewis, and Lord Wrighthall.

She disappeared into her reticule. With one hand, Isabel brandished her small notebook. The earl paused, a smile of recognition spreading across his face. How many hours had they spent discussing her carefully curated quotes and formulating insightful additions of their own in pages just like these?

“Here you are. I have copied the passages that struck my particular interest—and my accompanying thoughts on them, naturally—from that collection of sermons by Sedgewick I mentioned recently. I think you shall find that I am correct in my assessment that this author, though sadly unknown by most, is far better than that odious Fordyce. This will offer an introduction to his ideas, and mine, but I hope you will secure your own volume so we might discuss them at greater length.”

As she set the small book in Lord Murfield’s hand, he glowed not with lamplight and starlight, but with pride…in Isabel. His fingers wrapped around the smooth leather, a soft smile on his lips.

“I recall you were quite fond of my old green one, so I had another made in its likeness just for this purpose,” Isabel added, her enthusiasm tempered by delightful, intoxicating anticipation. Leaning closer, she bumped his upper arm with her shoulder, both playful and comfortable.

“Might we discuss it now?”

Isabel tilted her head back to peer up at Lord Murfield. They passed under a lamp of blue glass that revealed the curious blaze in his eyes.

“How do you propose we do that? You have not read the sermons themselves, let alone my little scribblings.”

The earl chuckled and, almost absentmindedly, settled his other hand atop hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow. Their relaxed footsteps crunched softly against the fine, gravel path as it wound around a corner. Surely, to any of these passersby—if any of them cared to notice with so much else to captivate them—Isabel and Lord Murfield must have looked like any smitten couple with the altar in mind.

“That hardly matters, not to me. I would listen to you speak on subjects innumerable, no matter how unknown to me, for however long you had breath. And, as always, I would do my best to keep pace with you. Besides, I am most interested to hear your opinions.”

Isabel’s smile grew wider, almost a grin. At times like this, she wished that she need not be compelled to restrain her happy expressions or laughter, but that was the way of this outer world. In their old inner world, whatever moments of relative privacy they’d been able to snatch, Lord Murfield had made it clear that Isabel was never to dull herself in thought or action in his presence.

Yet, despite the dozens of people wandering about, including Isabel’s father and brother and Lord Murfield’s companion, the mystical atmosphere of the gardens—and perhaps their own immersion in their growing closeness—created a strange sense of insulation, enclosing them in a bubble of their own making.

“Well, firstly,” Isabel said with her usual deep, purposeful inhale that made Lord Murfield smile with a familiar adoration, “I think it is a terrible shame that Sedgewick is not more widely circulated than Fordyce.”

The delightful music resounding from the orchestra faded into the background of Isabel’s words. Lord Murfield hummed thoughtfully, pinching his chin with the fingers of his free hand. Delicate wings fluttered in her stomach at that look she had loved so very much.

“And why is that? I daresay this Sedgewick fellow must possess quite a wise mind if you believe him to be superior to the much-admired Fordyce.”

Isabel nodded, unable to suppress her grin any longer, unconcerned by negative reactions from onlookers. No one she had met before or since Lord Murfield knew precisely what to ask and say to ignite the excitement of her intellect.

“I will concede that Fordyce has his merits and expresses some sensible ideas that are worth sharing and possibly applying in some degree to one’s own life.”

“But?” Lord Murfield’s curious smile radiated brighter than the dozens of lights overhanging the walkway.

“But I favor Sedgewick’s sermons for their emphasis on the necessity for greater allowances between differences in individuals, especially for women,” Isabel replied in a rush, her passion building under his encouraging gaze.

“For example,” she continued, “you recall that Fordyce champions ideals such as humility, meekness, and obedience as commendable, indeed necessary, feminine traits in every woman.

“According to him, they not only provide her with the means of recommending herself to potential suitors—thus bringing her closer to fulfilling the essential duty for which she was created—but they protect her from bringing irreparable shame to her family. He himself admits that the world is quick to forgive innumerable sins of the son while casting out the daughter at the first mistake.”

“I do recall. And I recall that you have never thought that particularly fair. Nor have I. Does Sedgewick agree with us?”

Isabel could feel her eyes shining with the joy in her heart. She had not realized until now just how terribly she’d missed this…missed him.

“You have an excellent memory, my lord.”

“I could never forget anything involving you.”

The air fled from Isabel’s lungs in a sharp exhale, a muscle in her neck tightening. Lord Murfield’s gaze went straight to it. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and secure all at once.

This felt like before, during their first Season…the timidity and excitement of being seen by another in a way no one else had quite done before. If this truly was a repetition of that time, that meant they were only one step away from falling… Could she truly allow herself to take that step with this man?

“Sedgewick falls closer in line with my own views on the subject, yes,” Isabel said under her breath.

Their group had come all the way around to approach the front of the orchestra now, forcing Lord Murfield to lower his head closer to hers to hear properly. The tip of his nose nearly brushed the soft skin of her temple. Isabel made no attempt to pull away.

“Of course, I do not claim that such qualities are without their place in the characters of every person, man or woman. In fact, it is my belief—and Sedgewick’s—that we could all benefit from them, but not to such a degree that they completely eradicate one’s natural disposition and inclinations—and foster this unjust divide between the sexes that indulges one while punishing the other.”

The music crescendoed as they stopped at the outskirts of the lawn that stretched before the orchestra, populated with a crowd in raptures. A shadow touched the earl’s features.

“It would be a terrible shame indeed if you had not been allowed to flourish as your truest self. I agree with you both that the ton could do with far less judgment overall. A happier, easier world it would be if there existed a greater harmony between the unyielding ideals of conduct books and the reality of the varied and fallible human nature we all possess.”

As the larger group next to theirs pushed toward the front, Isabel had no choice but to tuck herself deeper into Lord Murfield’s side. Yet even after they had passed, she remained so close, he felt almost a part of Isabel herself.

The rest of the world continued to spin and dance and make music around the pair while they remained blissfully oblivious.

“I quite missed your eloquence in these engaging conversations,” she whispered without looking at him. “No one is quite so willing to delve into a problem as you are, and delve into the new ones we find—or make—along the way.”

Lord Murfield did not respond right away. He did not shrink away from Isabel’s gaze when she finally looked up at him, as he’d sometimes done at odd moments here and there, as if embarrassed or uncertain. For some reason, Isabel sensed that the earl wanted her eyes on him when he spoke again.

“I am of the same mind about you, Miss Abbott. No other soul on this Earth, of whom I have met more than enough, has had any real hope of comparing. I…I wish I had not stayed away so long.”

“Why did you?”

There came the question Isabel knew must one day be answered. Her spirit would never truly be at rest without it. She swallowed the sudden burning sensation in her throat. Was she finally ready to understand why he’d delayed his promise to return to her by four years?

For the first time that evening, Lord Murfield’s focus left Isabel and darted to the trio standing several paces ahead of them, just visible between other members of the entranced audience. They all seemed distracted enough with admiration of the music and lights to not mind whatever revelation was about to illuminate the darkest times of Isabel’s life.

Lord Murfield did not continue right away, his eyes falling to the grass beneath their feet, shoulders dropping slightly. He took a long, deep inhale. Whether steeling himself or planning what he would say next, Isabel could not tell.

Sympathy for things she did not yet understand tugged hard at her heart. Isabel brought her free hand up to join the other on Lord Murfield’s arm and squeezed them both.

“When you are ready.”

He looked at her with the saddest smile Isabel had ever seen. It nearly cracked her heart in two.

“I am ready now. Firstly, I must apologize once again for my disappearance and the grief it caused. I know that I behaved despicably toward you, regardless of my own situation…”

A large cloud passed overhead, plunging the crowd into even darker shadows and timing well with the dramatic swell of the strings. The crack in Isabel’s heart deepened. It was the same one that had been put there by this very man.

She did not like to revisit those days, not even all these years later. Yet it had become clearer to her as more time had passed and as their friendship had deepened that they would never be able to move forward without finally facing it. Isabel tightened her fingers around Lord Murfield’s arm once more, this time to brace herself.

“Your situation?” she prodded gently.

Lord Murfield’s sharp jaw tightened. “Of course you remember that I claimed to be called away on some minor business and would rejoin you in London in a few days, but I failed to do so or send word as to why. Then, several months later, you heard about my brother’s unexpected death. But what I believe no one knows, what I have kept from almost everyone, is that my disappearance and Daniel’s passing were, in fact, quite related.”

Confusion temporarily replaced Isabel’s melancholy, her heart stopping. How had she never considered that these two terrible events may have been linked despite the conflicting chronology?

“At the time, I thought it would be easiest to allow everyone—including you—to think that I had simply lost interest and gone to live a life of travel, and had only stopped to bury my brother and manage the most necessary of my duties as the new earl before departing again. I did travel, of course, but only after…”

Isabel’s stomach hollowed, her eyes widening as she struggled to comprehend Lord Murfield’s words. Suddenly, the fanciful melodies from the orchestra sounded discordant and full of dread.

“Do you mean…good heavens, do you mean…?”

He lowered his head and nodded slowly. Locks that fell in gentle waves swept across his forehead and temples.

“Yes, toward the end of that Season, I’d decided to seek Daniel’s advice and encouragement on a particular matter. As my elder brother and only remaining family, I looked to him for everything. It was my greatest desire not only to receive his enthusiastic support, but to share this moment of joy with him. I’d planned to return to surprise you with his blessing and my proposal.

“When I arrived, I discovered that my joys were not to be. My brother had remained home to begin plans for renovations to many of Osborne Park’s rooms, you see, or so I had thought. But in truth, he’d hoped that remaining in the comfort of our estate in Berkshire would cure him of his strange illness…an illness I’d known nothing about until it was too late.”

Lord Murfield paused and swallowed. Tears filled Isabel’s eyes and weighed heavy in her chest.

“Daniel had not wanted to worry me, especially because I had only been properly introduced to the excitement of London Society the year before…and because I had been writing to him about the fantastically intelligent and beautiful young lady, who, for reasons I still cannot fathom, had deigned to lower herself from the skies and grace me with her presence.”

Despite the terrible pain gripping Isabel’s chest as she listened to her friend’s heartrending story and recalled her own experience with grief, she could not help the small smile that flitted across her lips. She hadn’t known that Lord Murfield had written to his brother about her. She hadn’t known any of this, which contributed to her misery in no small part. No one should have suffered such a shock alone.

“How absolutely dreadful,” she whispered through the emotion lodged in her throat, just barely audible over the orchestra.

“It was,” Lord Murfield answered, his voice hoarse. “It was the most dreadful thing I have ever experienced, watching the brother who had been my idol, the very definition of vitality, waste away before my eyes in a matter of days. Of course, by the time I’d learned the worst of it, most of him was already gone. Skin and bones, kept alive only by the strength of his spirit…”

Isabel squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her cheek. She had no doubt that she would be haunted in much the same way if she had been subjected to witnessing her beloved mother’s painful last breaths, watching the life leave her eyes.

“Caleb, I am so, so sorry. All this time, I made a villain of you in my mind to soothe my own pain while you endured an agony I cannot begin to imagine, with no one to care for you as you cared for your brother.”

The earl’s eyes widened. Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. He held both Isabel’s hands in his in a grip that was both desperate yet loose at the same time, as if he never wished to release her again but would do so without hesitation at the earliest signal. His lovely eyes, such a mesmerizing, rich brown, fixed her to her spot. Not that Isabel had much of an inclination to go anywhere again unless he was by her side.

“Sister! Hurry along or you shall miss the fireworks!”

“Yes, Murfield, were you not telling me on our way how eager you were to see the fireworks at Vauxhall again?”

The calls from Lewis and Lord Wrighthall dragged the pair out of their reverie and away from each other. Whether intentionally or not, the two younger gentlemen, standing shoulder to shoulder, blocked Papa from a view Isabel knew would bring him some discomfort.

“Yes, yes, the fireworks,” the earl agreed, looping Isabel’s arm around his once more.

Did she imagine the heat simmering between them everywhere their figures made contact or brushed against each other? Or did she merely feel the heat of embarrassment at having used a gentleman’s Christian name, even if she’d done the same in the past?

As their group and many other guests shifted their spots on the lawn for more advantageous views of the spectacle, Isabel pondered the strange sensations within. She knew she should have been embarrassed by such a blunder, yet for some reason, she could not bring herself to regret it.

With one hand on Papa’s shoulder and the other on Lewis’s, Lord Wrighthall situated them in the upper corner of the lawn, facing the Grand South Walk. Many already looked to the skies in anticipation. Not the Earl of Murfield.

“You called me…”

A boom erupted overhead. The ground shook. Fiery, golden sparkles crackled in an impossible burst of light before fading back into the velvet, black sky. Gasps of awe surrounded them.

A rush of boldness and another stunning spray of red fireworks swept Isabel up in the moment. Though she had not intentionally used his Christian name, at present, she could see no harm in taking advantage of the opportunity.

“Perhaps it is time I was Isabel to you once more.”

He responded with something that was not quite a smile but still conveyed a depth of contentment that Isabel felt mirrored within. “Nothing would bring me greater happiness, Isabel.”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly as swirls of green danced amongst the stars and her name danced on his gravelly voice. It sounded natural, like it had always been and would always be his to use.

“I am glad I can offer some measure of happiness, after all you have endured.” Isabel prayed he could feel the earnestness in her words.

“You have brought me some of the only happiness I have known since Daniel left this world.”

“I wish I could have been with you all those years ago. I would not have been so cold to you if you had explained.”

Caleb tightened his grip.

“You did not know any better, and that is entirely my fault. You had every right to vilify me and I do not blame you in the least. It is I who must beg forgiveness, continually, until I can be sure to have driven out all the pain I caused and replaced it with the happiness you deserve. I would beg with gladness, daily if need be.”

Isabel slowly shook her head and squeezed back. “Thank you for saying so, and thank you for sharing this with me.”

“Thank you for waiting so patiently, too patiently, to hear it.”

Another magical explosion of fireworks inspired shrieks of delight from the audience. For all Isabel and Caleb knew, the world may have been falling to pieces around them.

Or maybe it was finally falling back into place.