Isabella lifted her eyes to the ceiling. The tears slipped freely down her temples and wet her hair. Crying would accomplish nothing, she knew, but it made her feel less helpless to acknowledge the depth of her grief and loss.
When her tears had subsided, Isabella rose from the bed. She picked up the lit candle from the table near the bed and brought it to the washstand. She poured fresh water into the pitcher, then bathed her swollen eyes with the wet cloth.
Returning to the bed, Isabella lay back down and fell into a light sleep. Soft knocking on her chamber door woke her an hour later. A chambermaid had been sent to fetch her for dinner. Politely declining the maid’s shy offer of help, Isabella left to join her brother, her emotions still in a tangle.
Lord Poole smiled brightly when Isabella entered the parlor and inclined his head in a brief greeting. “I took the liberty of ordering dinner for us, Bella. I knew, since you ate no lunch, you would be hungry. I hope I have selected items that will tempt you.”
Isabella glanced at the generous platters of food but could summon up little enthusiasm for the fresh pigeon pie, stewed carrots, roasted mutton, meat pasties, buttered potatoes, wedges of cheese, and basket of fresh bread.
“It looks lovely, Thomas,” Isabella remarked. She sat quietly while Lord Poole filled her dinner plate.
“The wine is tolerable,” Lord Poole decided, taking a generous swallow. “Shall I pour you a glass?”
Isabella’s stomach revolted at the innocent offer. “No, thank you. I prefer water.”
Lord Poole attacked his food with enthusiasm while Isabella nibbled on her carrots. After appeasing his initial hunger, Lord Poole relaxed and poured himself another glass of wine. He leaned back in his chair and eyed Isabella critically.
“You have eaten very little,” he said. “Is the meal not to your liking? Shall I instruct the innkeeper to bring you something else?”
“I am not very hungry,” Isabella replied. She forced herself to take a bite of pigeon pie.
“Your appetite will return once we are at home,” Lord Poole said. “I am eager to show you our family estate.”
Isabella smiled faintly. Lord Poole talked for several moments about the grandeur of his properties, then switched to the social activities they would soon be enjoying. He spoke of the balls and parties, the theater, the delightful weekends spent in the country with friends.
As he spoke, Isabella’s depression increased. It would be an empty life, she thought with remorse. A bleak, colorless existence.
Isabella dashed a single tear from her cheek impatiently. Feeling Thomas’s keen gaze upon her, Isabella quickly moved her hand to the side of her head and smoothed an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
“Emmeline was also reluctant to enter society,” Lord Poole said quietly. “Yet with my guidance, she was a smashing success. It will be the same for you, Bella.”
Isabella lifted her eyes. She was startled to hear him speak so calmly about Emmeline. “What was she like?”
Lord Poole’s eyes grew misty. “She was sheer perfection. A paragon of feminine gentility and refinement. She had a sparkling wit and a natural charm that enthralled everyone. She was greatly admired and envied by many in society.”
“I’m sorry I never knew her,” Isabella said truthfully.
“You would have adored her,” Lord Poole replied. “Everyone did.” His expression darkened. “Except Saunders. He never appreciated what a jewel Emmeline was. I blame myself for that. Emmeline had countless offers of marriage, but I insisted she make the match with Saunders.”
Isabella’s eyes widened in surprise. “You chose Damien for your sister?”
“Yes. He had recently returned from the war and was badly in need of funds, but he was different from the swarm of fortune hunters that prey on young women of society. I thought he was a decent man, and I believed he would give Emmeline the freedom she needed to be happy. Alas, my lack of judgment in character proved a fatal error for my darling Emmeline.”
“We agreed Damien did not have anything to do with Emmeline’s death, Thomas.”
Lord Poole gave Isabella a disbelieving look. “I think it should be obvious to an intelligent woman such as yourself. Emmeline was desperately unhappy in her marriage. She was running away from her husband.”
Isabella frowned in confusion. “You believe she was using the hidden passageway as an escape route?”
“No, no. I believe she was searching for Lady Anne’s treasure. Emmeline needed the treasure to be free of him. You can’t get far in this world without money.”
“But you told me that you always saw to Emmeline’s financial needs,” Isabella protested. “Why didn’t she come to you if she needed funds?”
Lord Poole’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted his wine goblet. “That is the very question I have been asking myself ever since we discovered her body. If only she had come to me, all would have been well. I would have protected her. I would have given her anything, done anything to please her. I loved her.”
Isabella shook her head, unable to let it go. Something in Lord Poole’s version of events did not ring true.
“Damien told me he saw Emmeline infrequently in the year preceding her death. Why would she feel the need to run from the earl? She rarely saw him. Their marriage was considered successful by society’s standards.” Isabella sat back in her chair, her arms on the rests. Her eyes grew luminous. “Perhaps Emmeline had a lover.”
