Page 45 of The Lover’s Eye

Isobel slipped past the study, where she could hear Finch and Giles talking, and made it to the carriage without attracting notice. She hoped by the time she returned, she would be somewhat recovered and have a suitable explanation prepared for her dashing off.

The road to the coast had been made unpleasant by recent rains, and Isobel was obliged to listen to the squelch and splatter of mud as the carriage rocked over holes in the road.

She was relieved when the vehicle stopped outside of Shoremoss Hall, easing the sway of her stomach and the vicious onslaught of her thoughts. Any more time to herself and she might ravish the boundaries of her own sanity.

“I’m here to see my sister,” she said to the footman in the entry hall. “She’s not expecting me, but I hoped we might breakfast together.”

As the servant disappeared to deliver her message, Isobel felt a little self-conscious for the first time since beginning her harebrained journey.

How must she appear, sneaking out of her own home without leaving notice to Giles, and showing up at her sister’s unannounced before the dew had even burned off the lawn?

But Marriane had her shown straight into the drawing room. “Has something happened?”

She still wore a dressing robe, and her hair was wound up in little knots all over her head, pieces of white ribbon flapping as she walked. If Isobel had been in better spirits, she might have joked about her sister’s wild appearance.

“I’m fine,” Isobel hastened to say, taking up her sister’s hands. “Or, perhaps I should say everyone is safe and well, but I must talk to you. I am going mad keeping things to myself.”

“You have captured my interest, dearest. Let me ring for an early breakfast; Martin can join us later.” Marriane rang the bell pull, but when the servant answered her call, she discovered Pemberton would not be joining them for breakfast at all.

“He’s out fishing, milady. He gave me leave to tell you he’ll be returned by luncheon.”

Marriane’s pretty face seemed to drain of color, a swallow disrupting the smooth line of her neck. “How long has he been out?”

“Since half five, ma’am. Said the conditions were perfect for a good catch, and for Cook to expect fish to dress for supper.”

Marriane walked to the settee uneasily and sank onto it.

“Are you all right?” Isobel asked, joining her.

“I may be ill.”

Isobel rubbed her sister’s back soothingly for a few minutes and fanned her face until she recovered herself.

“Oh dear, thank you,” Marriane said, some of the color returned to her face. “Between this baby and Martin’s carelessness, I fear every day has become a challenge.”

“So you are, then? With child?”

A pretty smile curved Marriane’s mouth. “Yes. Dr. Dunn said all looks well. It is still early, of course, but I’ve already made it farther than some of the times past. I feel like I could succumb to this sofa every day, and most everything smells positively rotten, but I am thankful all the same.

Every discomfort means my baby is here, growing. ”

She touched a hand to her still tiny midsection. Isobel marveled that her sister could sustain new life while in such uncertain health herself. She opened her mouth to offer congratulations, but Marriane continued talking.

“I was so looking forward to telling you things have improved between Martin and me—for I know you despise him—but the last week has been trying. I believe the discovery of Miss Gouldsmith has thrown us all out of sorts.” She gave Isobel a meaningful look.

“How do you know I despise him?”

Marriane’s mouth quirked into a smile. “You have a look about you when you loathe something. Your nose wrinkles, and you pinch your lips like an old dowager. Not very subtle, I’m afraid.”

Isobel’s eyes widened, and her brain began to catalogue all the moments she might have spent glowering at her sister’s husband. A simple breakfast was delivered on two trays, and Isobel found her voice. “I want to know everything you know. About what they found, and how Giles was with her.”

“Can you not put these questions to your husband?”

A familiar stinging started deep beneath Isobel’s skin, and she focused on buttering her toast. “No. He had me promise not to.”

Marriane made a sound that was half-cluck and half-curse. “Men,” she grumbled. “Infuriating creatures, always.”

Isobel tried not to watch and marvel as her sister sat up and began eating with enthusiasm. “You said Martin seems affected, too? Whatever for? I did notice he and the reverend seemed quite close.”

Marriane swallowed. “I do not think it’s the reverend that has him vexed, but the amount of people coming and going from the cliffs. They want to see where she was found, and ask him what condition she and that necklace were in. He can’t find a moment’s peace at the fishing cottage.”

“Necklace?” Isobel squeezed her eyes shut. She should have realized why Reverend Gouldsmith had waited so long to return the blasted thing—it had only just been found.

“Yes, it was one of those lover’s eyes, or so they say. I loathe them. Find them scary looking.” Marriane reached for a second piece of toast and slathered it with marmalade.

“Yes,” Isobel said vacantly, suddenly imagining Giles’s eye around Miss Gouldsmith’s neck. A beacon of protection, even after death. “I am not fond of them either.”

“I think Papa made us that way. Lording around Mother’s necklace like some prize, when really, the painting looked nothing like her eye. Say—did he ever make you wear it?”

The squeamish feeling from the carriage revived in Isobel’s stomach. “To the Everly Ball, but pray do not remind—”

“Did you know, that was one of the first pieces of jewelry Martin tried to commission for me after we wed. He thought it would be so romantic, and I told him, ‘Dear, do not waste your coin, for I shall never wear it.’”

Marriane grinned, seeming satisfied with herself, and added a heap of sugar to her tea. She did not have the appearance of health back yet, but she was acting like herself again. It was a wonderful sight; Isobel only wished she could be in better spirits to receive it.

“Enough moping,” she said, bumping Isobel with her elbow. “Tell me what’s brought you here.”

Isobel divulged every prickly event that pressed into her mind: the interruption of her wedding night, the mystery of the blue room, the promise she had made to Giles, Lady Sempill’s scathing tongue. By the time she recited what she’d heard outside the library door, she was short of breath.

“And worst of all, I afforded him a chance to confide in me last night. He said nothing! Pretended all was perfectly normal.”

Marriane had been listening carefully and now leveled a hard gaze at Isobel. “Let me begin by saying you should not have run away from him,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I did not.”

Marriane’s brow arched. “Did you speak with him before you left this morning, or sneak past his door with all due haste?”

Isobel stiffened.

“Right,” Marriane said, “now on to the rest of it. Has he taken you to bed yet?”

Isobel colored up. “What does it matter?”

“Oh, it matters.”

“Yes,” Isobel said quietly, picking at the decorative fringe on her skirt. “He was very gentle with me. It was all very … different from what I expected. Enjoyable, even.”

Marriane gave a small smile and lifted her hands in question. “What matter is all the rest, then?”

“What?” Isobel’s mouth gaped. Her sister’s coolness further provoked her outrage. “You cannot expect me to be unaffected; to be perfectly fine living with all his secrets, and yet none of his trust.”

“Stop, Isobel. No amount of wondering will alter your situation. There is nothing to do but accept what is now—Aurelia is gone, and along with her, any child that might have been. It is a terrible thing, yes, but Trevelyan himself seems to have moved past it. He married you, and more than that, it sounds like he cares for you.” She laid her hand over Isobel’s and gave it a little shake. “Trust me, you mustn’t waste that.”

Isobel nodded weakly, but a rising wave of tears left her throat dry and chalky. “But he loved her, he—think, Marriane, you once told me you had never seen a more enamored couple in all your life. How can I ever hope to mean as much to him?”

She started to say more, to give voice to the cracking feeling opening her chest— I’m afraid I’ll never be enough— but she was on the brink of tears.

Marriane sighed and pursed her lips together. “I did say that, yes, but that could have been a display of many things: attraction, lust, excitement for their wedding. Again, it has no bearing—”

“He does not act that way with me, Marriane.” She was unable to hold back a sob.

Marriane gave her a soft look and squeezed her hand. “Of course he does not, dearest. You are not at all the same type of woman as Aurelia.”

The words, even though they had been intended as some variety of reassurance, twisted the knife in Isobel’s gut. She’d had enough comparisons to grant her a lifetime supply of resentment.

Seeing her sister’s wounded expression, Marriane elaborated.

“I mean to say that Aurelia was bold and a bit wild. She could never have acted so if it weren’t for her beauty and low birth.

It would have been inappropriate had Trevelyan shown you such open affection, and really, who has seen the two of you together besides us and Papa?

You didn’t even have a courtship with the man; who knows how enamored he might have been. ”

Isobel shook her head and dried her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I just feel horrid. I care so much, and to think I may always be second in his heart—”

“Do you realize he missed her funeral to go with you to Cumberland?”

Isobel stilled. “What?”

“He told Martin he had no business there. That his business was with his wife,” Marriane said with a playful smile. “Whatever passed between him and Aurelia, it is finished. You must let it alone.”

“So,” Isobel sniffled, “you think I should pretend as though I never heard anything? As though I-I’m fine?”

“Sometimes, sister, we all must pretend. Even if only for a little while. Why don’t you make some friends with the ladies in town?

Show him and everyone else how peaceful it is to be Lady Trevelyan.

” Marriane pressed a cup of chocolate into Isobel’s hands, and she could not refuse it.

“Believe it for long enough, and it will be true.”