Isabella shivered. His sobs were too loud for the closeness of the stone vault, his pain too raw. Tears fell unchecked down his cheeks until he appeared to be too exhausted to produce any more.
“Why is Uncle Thomas crying?” Ian asked in a frightened voice.
“He is very sad,” Isabella explained, wishing she could summon some deeply hidden sisterly emotion and do something, anything, to bring Thomas some measure of comfort in his grief. But his sorrow appeared so great, it was clear there were no words of sympathy that would adequately soothe his pain.
Isabella went limp with relief when Damien wordlessly turned away and led his children from the scene, knowing if she had to listen to any more of Thomas’s anguish, she would surely go mad. Gratefully, Isabella followed them, as did the rest of the mourners. Not surprisingly, Lord Poole stayed behind, seeking privacy for his final good-bye.
Ian skipped ahead of the crowd and Catherine also left her father’s side, but instead of running along with her brother, the little girl waited for Isabella. They walked silently together, Catherine matching her stride to Isabella’s. After a few moments, Catherine reached for her hand.
Isabella’s hand trembled slightly as it closed over Catherine’s. They had come a long way together. It pained her to be leaving when there was so much more she could have accomplished, but she knew she had to content herself with the knowledge that she had done her very best by Catherine and Ian. Still, she would miss them more than she even dared to consider.
Although the earl walked behind Isabella, he kept pace with her slower step, their feet crunching in unison on the flagstone and gravel paths. She could feel Damien studying her intently, and she glanced back at him, trying to gauge his mood. His eyes were dark with emotion, but his expression was unreadable. She knew he was hurt by her decision to leave The Grange with Thomas, but she firmly believed her sacrifice was saving the earl from real danger.
In his current state of anger and grief, Thomas was capable of doing almost anything. And his main target for revenge would most certainly be Damien.
Once back at the house, everyone went their separate ways. There had been no need to prepare a traditional repast of food and drink following the ceremony of internment, since it was, by design, such a sparsely attended service.
“Tonight we will dine upstairs in the schoolroom, children,” Isabella announced in what she hoped would pass as a cheerful tone. “We shall go down to the kitchen and select whatever strikes our fancy. I’m sure the chef has prepared many lovely dishes to tempt us.”
Intrigued, as always, by the promise of a new adventure, Catherine and Ian enthusiastically invaded the kitchen. Isabella raised no objections to their outrageous selections, for once not really caring that the majority of their food choices would probably end up on the trash heap.
Isabella and the children met Jenkins on the staircase. They paused only momentarily, since Isabella carried a heavy tray laden with their dinner.
“Please ask the earl to join us in the schoolroom,” Isabella requested in a slightly breathless voice.
“The earl has left The Grange,” Jenkins said stiffly. “I’m not certain when, or if, he will return.”
Isabella nearly dropped the tray. Gone! Her brain reeled while her heart twisted, but there was nothing she could do. She could only feel robbed, cheated somehow. Knowing she was to leave in the morning made each moment she stayed at The Grange more crucial, more precious. She had never once considered that Damien would prefer to maintain a distant silence between them.
“Please tell Damien that I must speak with him.” Isabella chewed on her lower lip and looked away. “Ask him to find me, Jenkins. No matter what the hour,” she added softly, throwing all pretense of pride out the window.
The valet gave her a sharp glance, but Isabella was too distraught to notice. Her footsteps made a hollow echo as she slowly climbed the staircase.
It was going to be far more unbearable than she imagined, Isabella realized. She felt wounded inside. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. It was useless, foolish really, to lament what could never be. Yet all she could think about was being separated from Damien and knowing that over time, her heart would most likely wither and die.
Chapter Twenty-five
“It’s not fair,” Catherine protested. “Why must we go to bed when we aren’t a bit sleepy?”
“Can’t we stay up until Father comes home?” Ian pleaded. “We want to say good night to him.”
Isabella averted her eyes, fearing that her distress over the earl’s absence would be too obvious and further upset the children.
“I am not certain when your father will return home, so I think it is best if you prepare for bed,” Isabella explained. “He will come and see you as soon as he is able.”
After a few expected grumbles of protest, Catherine and Ian obeyed Isabella’s orders. Once the children were settled in their beds, they shared a conspiratorial look, then turned towards her.
“A story will probably make us very, very sleepy,” Ian declared innocently.
“Oh, yes, a story,” Catherine repeated, shifting her legs restlessly beneath the bedcovers. “One about a princess, please.”
Ian made a face. “No princess. I want to hear about the huntsman and his wishing cloak.”
“Huntsman are nasty.” Catherine shook her head vehemently. “It must be a princess.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
