But this was no time for levity. She needed to act and act quickly if there was any hope of avoiding disaster.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” Isabella said. “I must confer with my brother in private.”
She grasped Lord Poole’s arm firmly and led him to the far corner of the room. Isabella saw his eyes become wary, but she pressed on. She firmly believed that somewhere beyond the hurt and anger in Thomas’s mind lay a measure of reason. Somehow she must convince him to abandon his pursuit of vengeance and save them all from unnecessary pain and grief.
She must chose her words carefully. The wrong turn of phrase might further inflame him, and the chance for a peaceful conclusion to this horrible incident would be lost.
“You must stop this, Thomas,” Isabella began without preamble. “I understand that you are hurt and angry, but the course you are pursuing will accomplish nothing. It will only lead to more heartache for all of us, yourself included. If you force yourself to look deeply, honestly, within your heart, I know you will conclude that Damien would never commit such a heinous crime.”
Lord Poole narrowed his eyes. “Pray don’t tell me that monster has stolen your regard, Isabella. I could not tolerate losing both my sisters to him.”
“You are misreading the situation. My relationship with the earl is not at issue. Lord Rathwick is willing to drop the matter; he will only pursue it if you insist.” She reached for his hands and held them tightly in her own. “Don’t make this into a spectacle. Think of the children. Catherine and Ian will suffer greatly. And so will I. Please, I beg you, do not allow that to happen, Thomas.”
The silence stretched for an eternity. “How can I refuse you, Isabella? It would be pure torture for me to see you so unhappy.”
The relief that washed through Isabella was so strong, it left her weak-kneed. She took a deep and audible breath before murmuring a simple, heartfelt, “Thank you.”
Releasing his hands she turned, but Lord Poole pulled her back. “Ah—Isabella, there is one small favor I must ask of you in return.”
“Of course, anything.”
“I refuse to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary in Saunders’s company. I shall make appropriate arrangements for our departure to occur as soon as possible. I hope you will be ready.”
“Ready?”
“To leave,” Lord Poole said. “I am firmly committed to your future happiness, and I am more than willing to indulge you, as I have amply demonstrated this afternoon. But there are limits to my endurance. I cannot possibly allow you to live here any longer.” He gave her a sly smile. “Shall we inform Lord Rathwick of our decision?”
Isabella blinked. The room suddenly felt overbearingly stuffy and hot. Lord Poole’s magnanimous gesture, which had seemed so noble and unselfish moments before, took on an ominous taint. Isabella understood the underlying meaning of his words. He was willing to do what she asked and drop the matter entirely. For a price. Her freedom.
“It will be as you wish, Thomas,” Isabella heard herself saying, closing her eyes to conceal her distress.
Lord Poole spoke contritely when he told the others of his concurrence that Emmeline’s death was an accident. Isabella stood by his side, too stunned to say anything.
Lord Rathwick looked at them strangely and pursed his lips. “Is that truly your final word, Lord Poole? Think hard before you answer, man, for once I rule the death an accident, I’ll not be reopening the case for any reason.”
There was a short pause. “I understand, Lord Rathwick,” Lord Poole replied. “I thank you for your indulgence. Obviously this has been a difficult day for my family.”
The magistrate left. Damien made a move toward Isabella, but Lord Poole pulled her away.
“Isabella and I shall be leaving as soon as the proper arrangements can be made. I must speak to my servants without delay to ensure that all will be ready,” Lord Poole stated coldly. He then whisked Isabella out of the room before the earl or his valet had an opportunity to react.
Isabella went without protest, convincing herself she was doing the right thing. Thomas had left her little choice in the matter. Yet in her mind all she could recall was the confused expression of hurt and betrayal on Damien’s face when he realized she was leaving. It mirrored the pain of her own heart.
The clouds threatened, but no rain fell as the small, solemn procession made its way across the great lawn to the family mausoleum. The earl had hastily arranged for the vicar to perform a brief, late-afternoon funeral service for his wife now that her remains had been properly entombed in the family crypt.
Lord Poole had vehemently protested his sister’s final resting place, insisting that Emmeline should be buried beside her parents, but Isabella had successfully prevailed upon him to reconsider his objections. Catherine and Ian would want to be close to their mother, Isabella explained, and in the end Poole had reluctantly relented.
With the earl leading the way, they all filed quietly into the small vestibule of the mausoleum. Damien took up his position at the front of the room, flanked on either side by his children. Jenkins and Isabella stood directly behind them as the remaining Grange servants crowded and shifted together, maintaining a respectful distance.
Missing from the somber sea of faces was Lord Poole. He had refused to walk with the rest of the mourners and now forced them all to await his presence. The tension grew as the minutes passed, and Isabella felt the marble walls closing in around her. Just when the nerves she had fought to control since the early afternoon threatened to overcome her, Lord Poole arrived.
All eyes turned his way as he entered the small space, clearly taking advantage of the opportunity to make a grand entrance. He swept in like an avenging angel, dressed entirely in black, his arms laden with white roses. His valet and two footmen followed him. Each servant wore a black armband.
Lord Poole’s belligerent feelings about the funeral service were clearly conveyed by his arrogant stance. He acknowledged no one and remained unnaturally rigid, head held high, spine stiff, shoulders back. From the corner of her eye, Isabella stole a quick glance at her half brother. She saw only the deep grief in his eyes and the bitter coldness on his face.
At the earl’s request, it was a mercifully simple service. Isabella was proud the children were able to stand so still and quiet throughout the ceremony. Naturally, they did not completely understand the significance of the event, but they sensitively took their cue from the adults and remained subdued.
Lord Poole’s composure broke at the end of the final prayer. He tossed the white roses dramatically on the ground, sagged forward, and began weeping. His two footman hurried to his side and caught him under the arms before his knees hit the cold stone floor. They held him between them, muscles straining in an effort to keep Lord Poole upright.
