No amount of time had eased that.
“I understand what it is like to lose someone you…you care for,” she began carefully.
He turned on her with a shake of his head. “You do not. At least your husband wasn’t murdered like my Angelica.”
She flinched. On his worse days, Uncle Fenton did this. Railed about how his daughter, her cousin, had been murdered. Drowned on purpose, rather than in the accident, as the world believed. And he blamed Angelica’s fiancé. He blamed Tyndale.
As for Isabel, she didn’t know what to believe. Men of power certainly had the means to cover up a crime they’d committed. Tyndale had much of that. His presentation to the world that he was a man deep in grieving could all be a cover, meant to thrust attention elsewhere.
She didn’t know the truth. And she didn’t know how to help her uncle when what he believed crippled him in throes of anger and rage like it did this morning.
“No,” she said, hoping to soothe with her tone. “Gregory was taken by illness, something that plagued him during our entire marriage.” Those words tasted bitter, but she ignored her own feelings for the moment. “You are correct that I cannot understand what you—what you believe happened to Angelica.”
He turned his face and stared out the window. “There is no justice. He gets to go on, living his life, adored by his ilk, while she is buried in the ground.”
She dipped her head. “I’m so sorry, uncle.”
“I know you are. I shouldn’t have been sharp with you.” He was silent for a long time, lost in thoughts. “If only I could prove it,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “If only I could destroy him like he destroyed me.”
She sighed. And there was the rest of the ever-repeating cycle in her uncle’s broken heart and mind. His quest for some kind of revenge. That frightened her more than anything.
“I wish I could help you,” she whispered, meaning more that she wished she could help him overcome these demons, rather than find the truth he so believed was out there.
He shrugged, and then the venom left his tone as he said, “I’m just an old man talking,” he muttered. “Talking too much, as always. I know it isn’t fair to you.” He looked at her, and his gaze had cleared a bit. “It would be better for you if you didn’t have to see this, I know. We need to find you a husband, Isabel. A new husband so you can go on with your life.”
She forced a smile as he went back to eating, but inside her anxiety spiked. This was another thing Uncle Fenton was determined about. Increasingly so, it seemed. He perhaps thought it a way to save her.
But she knew what a trap it would be.
“Mrs. Hayes?”
She turned to look at her uncle’s butler, who was now standing at the breakfast room door. “Yes, Hicks, what is it?”
“Miss Carlton has arrived.”
Isabel smiled broadly at the announcement of one of her best friends. “Thank you. Will you show her to the blue parlor?”
Hicks nodded and stepped away. When he was gone, her uncle watched as she stood. “She won’t join us for breakfast, then?”
She leaned down to kiss his temple. “And bore you with our chatter about sewing and gowns and romantic novels? I would not torture you so.”
He smiled, but she could see he doubted the veracity of her statement. And he had reason to, for she and Sarah very rarely talked about such mundane things. Especially recently.
She slipped down the hallway to the parlor and stepped in to see her friend standing at the window, her dark blue eyes focused on the garden behind the house. She looked troubled, and Isabel’s face fell as she closed the door behind her.
Sarah turned and the trouble faded a fraction. “Isabel,” she said, coming forward to take both of her friend’s hands. They exchanged a kiss on the cheek before Isabel led her to the settee.
“Do you want anything? I would not recommend breaking bread with my uncle at present, but I could ask Hicks to bring us something.”
“Oh, no, thank you. I ate at home with Mother.” Sarah’s voice caught, and Isabel leaned forward to take her hand. Sarah gave her a grateful look for the silent support. “I’m sorry. It is just that she is…not improving.”
Isabel shook her head. “Oh dearest, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Sarah whispered. “I swear it is as though the last two years have been a punishment for some unknown crime. My father’s death, our financial fall, and now my mother’s illness? There is nothing anyone can do, I fear.”
“I can listen,” Isabel said. “That is what we do for each other, isn’t it? Listen. And understand.”
Sarah wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes and forced a shaky smile. “Indeed, we do. I am so very lucky to have a friend like you. I do not mistake that fact, I hope you know it.”
