By the dayof the picnic and assembly, Isaiah was absorbed and edgy. Isolde had told him the previous day that she would be arriving earlier than usual at the churchyard, in order to finish her work and get to the picnic at the Redmond’s house on time. It was the last day she would be cleaning headstones.
They both knew he would be there, too.
They didn’t see Reverend Holroyd, or anyone else for that matter, when they both arrived at the churchyard at eleven o’clock that morning. And surely this was serendipity?
A peculiar breathless tension beset both of them. Neither spoke as they cleared a marker, the final one, for a Thomas Miles Pryne who had departed the earthly plane in 1683.
Finally, Isolde cleared her throat. “I’m looking forward to the picnic today. I like your sister. She's very nice.”
“Is she?” he replied absently.
He looked up to find Isolde’s eyes dancing with laughter. In honor of the picnic, she was wearing a dress in Indian cotton printed in little blue flowers, the precise shade of her eyes. Over this was her apron.
“Don'tyouthink she’s nice, Mr. Redmond?”
“Mmm. One generally uses more specific words for our relations, don't we? Do you go about thinking of your brother as 'nice'?”
“Ah, I see what you mean. I suppose not. He's beastly and heroic in the right proportions. Tolerable company if one is desperate.”
All of those words thrummed with affection.
The only trouble Isaiah had with George Sylvaine was that he was Jacob Eversea’s bosom friend.
“I wonder if my sister would similarly describe me. Neither one of us was allowed to be beastly for very long, however tempted we were. Beastliness often involves a rumpus of some sort, and my father could not ever tolerate that.”
“It toughens you up, having a beastly sibling,” she remarked complacently. “Even a pleasantly beastly one. And I imagine a father who won't tolerate a rumpus toughens one up, too.”
He went still. She’d said it so lightly that it somewhat defanged one of the central truths of his existence: He’d indeed required toughening in order not to incur the scorn of his father. In order tobearthe scorn.
Perhaps therein lay its blessing? Its purpose?
“I do worry about Diana sometimes.” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
But Isolde’s eyes were sympathetic. “What do you worry about?”
He hesitated. “She is clever and…she thinks about everything a good deal. And women who think too much often suffer for it, I fear.”
“You’re likely right. But perhaps everyone who thinks too much suffers.”
He gave a short, rueful laugh. “Yes. Forgive me. It’s just that I’m all too aware that…”
“Men dictate the paths that women are allowed to tread. Men are free to do what they please, for the most part. And women simply are not.”
This emerged a little heatedly.
An issue close to the bone for her, of a certainty. He thought about Jacob Eversea merrily sailing on a ship somewhere. Was Isolde Sylvaine’s regard such a superfluous blessing in Eversea’s life that he’d simply taken it, and her, for granted?
“Not without consequence,” he agreed shortly. “And Miss Sylvaine, not all men are free to do what they please. And even when they are, some consider everyone else before they do it.”
It was merely truth, another one that might hurt her or diminish Eversea in her eyes. And to what end?
What did he hope to gain? Or to win?
The sudden silence hummed with tense undercurrents.
“It’s very good of you to be concerned about your sister, Mr. Redmond,” she finally said quietly.
“I’m not good.” He said it gruffly. “But I am loyal. I’m not certain it’s the same.”
