Isabella nearly spoke of her love for Damien, yet managed to hold back at the last moment. She knew Lord Poole would be displeased, and she did not want to jeopardize the fragile bond she was forging with him.
“Life has treated you unfairly, Isabella.”
“There are many poor souls in this world that have suffered far more than I have,” Isabella said, disliking the edge of pity she heard in Lord Poole’s voice.
“Yes. But those unfortunate creatures are not my sister,” he replied very quietly. “I know I cannot change the past, but I will do everything in my power to guarantee that your future holds the fulfillment of all your dreams.”
Isabella’s violet eyes widened. “That is a bold promise, sir,” she said breathlessly.
Lord Poole laughed. “You will soon learn I follow through on all my promises.” He stood up. “Come along,” he said, extending an arm to her. “I know just where we shall start.”
Isabella rose to her feet. “Where are we going?” she asked as they entered the foyer, her mind whirling.
“To the village. To buy you a new frock,” Lord Poole said.
“Oh, no.” Isabella pulled up short. “I have far too many things to do today. And I must look after Catherine and Ian.”
“They may accompany us.”
Isabella shook her head vehemently. “No.” She offered no further explanation. As much as she would dearly love a fashionable new gown, Isabella felt decidedly uncomfortable at the suggestion. It was far too intimate a gesture. Besides, Damien would be furious.
Lord Poole accepted her refusal, but Isabella could tell by his hardened expression that he was not pleased. To his credit, he did not press the matter and escorted her up the main staircase, his voice and manner extremely polite.
They rounded the second story landing, but instead of proceding up to the third floor, Lord Poole pulled Isabella down a dark hallway. She had never previously ventured into this part of the house, but Lord Poole appeared confident of his destination. Eventually he stopped in the middle of the hall and stood silently before a closed door. Isabella could feel the trembling of his arm through his thick cloth jacket.
“Is something wrong, Thomas?”
“This was Emmeline’s room,” he whispered reverently.
He reached up, and with the tip of his finger gently caressed the intricate wood carving in the center of the door. Isabella placed a hand on his shoulder, offering silent comfort, but Lord Poole ignored her and continued staring at the door, his expression morose.
“The children are waiting,” Isabella finally said.
The sound of her quiet voice appeared to awaken him from his catatonic state and Lord Poole jerked forward suddenly, thrusting open the door.
With a startled cry of surprise, Isabella followed him inside. The room was huge and cold and held a faint, though not unpleasant odor. Lord Poole took slow, even steps as he walked to the center of the room, his demeanor pious and somber.
“Everything appears to be as it was,” he whispered softly.
Strolling about the room with a glazed expression, he touched each piece of furniture, dipping his fingertips into the layers of dust as if it were holy water. Stopping in front of the large mahogany armoire, Lord Poole yanked hard on the delicate knob. Isabella gasped when the door opened, and she caught a glimpse of frothing colors. The wardrobe was literally stuffed with women’s clothing. Lord Poole pulled out a silver ball gown, his hands trembling visibly. Several other dresses fell out of the wardrobe onto the dusty carpet.
Drawn toward the amazing sight, Isabella ventured closer. She had never seen so many beautiful dresses. There were low-necked gowns of silk and satin with puffed sleeves and decorated hems, muslin dresses embroidered with small flowers and frilly flounces, and walking dresses of stiff cotton in vibrant patterns trimmed with buttons, lace, and bows. The colors were as varied as the styles and materials, shades of blue, silver, gold, green, red, and yellow.
Lord Poole continued riffling through the garments and several more dresses fell to the rug. He disregarded them.
“I don’t recognize these gowns,” he said in dismay. His movements grew frenzied as he searched among the clothing. “I cannot recall seeing Emmeline dressed in any of these garments.”
Isabella watched in confusion while Lord Poole picked up the silver ball gown, held it close to his nose, and inhaled deeply. His eyes were sorrowful when he solemnly proclaimed, “Emmeline never wore this dress. I do not smell the sweet floral perfume she favored.”
He quickly retrieved another gown from the pile on the floor and repeated the process.
“I don’t believe she ever wore any of these dresses,” he said, after sniffing several more.
“They are all so beautiful,” Isabella said, fingering the smooth satin of a jade green ball gown. “And very costly.”
“Naturally. Emmeline always had the best, the most expensive of everything. It was no less than she deserved.”
“The earl was very generous,” Isabella said dryly.
