She said nothing more during the entire ride. So as we looped back along the path, I decided to find out all I could about this Grant Chessman, who made Isabel blush at first meeting and left her speechless now.
He was on leave for six months, having just returned from two deployments to places unknown and classified, was staying with his grandfather and helping him through the winter, and appeared very adept at soothing horses and nervous women. I liked him.
When we reached the stables, Grant helped us both down.
“Thank you, Grant.” I patted Lady Grey. “Isabel? I think Gertrude is expecting us for lunch.”
“I wanted to meet . . .” She stepped to Grant. “I thought you might introduce me to your grandfather.”
“I’d be happy to. He’s beyond the terraced gardens. We can go after lunch or . . .” He looked back at the horse. “If you feel comfortable coming with me alone, we can ride there now.”
Isabel raised her arms for assistance. It was a definitive answer. “Mary, will you tell Gertrude I’ll be along shortly?”
I looked at Grant.
“I’ll take care of her.”
I nodded and headed up the path. I knew he would and—more importantly—Isabel did too.
Chapter 14
I walked to the house alone and, rather than walk to the front, headed straight to the kitchen door I’d exited earlier.
The kitchen was a bustling enterprise. Two enameled stockpots sat on the Aga; a short elderly woman, who reminded me of my maternal grandmother, was putting away dishes; and Sonia stood at the counter cutting a selection of cheeses and meats. Six full platters lay before her.
“Is Isabel okay?”
“Yes. She is deep in character.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I could leave it there. They didn’t know Isabel; there was no reason to expose her. “Is this lunch?”
“Cheese, cucumbers and other vegetables, and a variety of cold meats. We even have a lovely salad of boiled eggs. Our nineteenth-century version of egg mayonnaise. And a pudding for dessert.” Sonia wagged a finger to the Aga. “It’s in the blue pot.”
“There’s a brick on it.”
“Sticky toffee pudding is sealed in a tin inside, then submerged in boiling water. The brick keeps the top on.” Sonia poked her knife toward the door. “Head into the dining room. Everyone just came in. You haven’t seen them all yet.”
I entered the dining room and found everyone seated. Helene, sitting at the end of the table, flapped a hand at me. She was now dressed in beige with a red wool shawl pulled tight around her. It puddled in her lap.
I stalled, unsure where to sit.
“Come in, my dear. Have you been out with the young men? I met that handsome Grant at the stables.” Helene pointed her fork at an open chair to her left, then cast her gaze behind me. “Where is your pretty friend?”
“She is off with that handsome Grant from the stables. They went to meet his grandfather.”
“Oh, this is fun. He’ll have to join us for dancing. I hear he’s in the military.” Helene’s eyes lit. “Do you think he dances?”
“I have no idea.” As I walked to my seat, I noted everyone was halfway through a salad of greens and what looked like pears. “I’m late. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all. I’m Mr. Bingley from Netherfield Park. We missed each other at breakfast this morning.” Aaron popped up and pulled out my chair.
“I . . .” I felt myself heat. It was time. “I’m Catherine Morland from some small village, I can’t remember the name, but I’m happy to be here and sorry I missed breakfast. Emma and I went riding.”
Mr. Bingley sat again. “Capital. Miss Bennet”—he gestured to Sylvia—“assured me that a love of the outdoors was part of Mr. Bingley’s charm. Glad to hear you feel the same and have already been out and about this morning.”
“That was the movie, darling. In the book, it just says Bingley is an idle fellow who has more books than he’ll ever look into,” Sylvia called from across the table.
“I think I prefer the movie description. No one has ever called me idle.”
Sylvia laughed. “True.”
Sonia and Duncan passed around the platters while the table indulged in stories—all made up—of exploits on horses, duels with swords, or drawing room happenings that never happened.
By the sticky toffee pudding we were toasting our adventures, making up new ones, gossiping about the accomplishments of local young ladies, discussing the dangers of war with cannon fire, and sharing our hopes for the upcoming social season.
Isabel joined us as we finished dessert. She seemed flustered at first that she had missed the meal, but Sonia quickly seated her and brought a plate. Her face soon lost its pinched expression.
Watching her, I realized that no one would notice anything was different. She spoke with her slight British tones and inflections. She sat at the table with ease, as if in command of the room. She added to the conversation here and there and sat with a certain degree of formality. She was Emma.
Helene soon brought up dancing, and the advantages to having military men nearby. If Isabel caught that “Mrs. Jennings” was teasing her and planning a great romance, she didn’t let on.
“It’s very nice to have him stationed here. If offered, I don’t think an invitation to dine and dance would be rejected.”
Isabel enjoyed herself until the conversation turned to gossip again and Sylvia started making up names. Then her eyes widened and her face paled.
“Miss Thistlebum has thirty thousand a year, but her betrothed is a rake.”
Helene joined in. “Yes, but Miss Mopflop has an estate in Devonshire and her betrothed is a rattle. That’s far worse.”
“Is it? I’d think sexual indiscretions far more damaging than silly talk,” Sylvia shot back.
“I suppose it depends on how much silly talk is foisted upon one,” Aaron added on a dry note that made me smile.
“Who is this Miss Mopflop and why are we talking of her?” Herman punctuated his inquiry with a few fist taps on the tabletop. He looked as anxious as Isabel.
Helene smiled and reached for his hand. “It’s pretend, dear. We are making up names.”
“But aren’t we already making up names? Why do we need more of them? It’s too much.”
She shifted to him more fully. “You are right. You are playing Sir Walter. Remember, we talked about him this morning.”
We caught the hint and Aaron steered the conversation back to Austen. Helene took it a step further and gently focused our comments on Sir Walter and his friends and family from Persuasion. Herman soon looked more comfortable and so did Isabel.
Lunch wound down and we broke apart for quieter activities. The Muellers excused themselves to rest. Clara, with a yawn of her own, expressed an interest in returning to her room as well—“One show, Mama?” Sylvia acquiesced and joined her. Only Aaron was not to be “idle.” Grant had promised him shooting.
I walked to the end of the table and looped my arm through Isabel’s. I led her from the room and toward the stairs. I didn’t want to talk to her in front of the others.
When we reached the Green Room, she curled against her headboard and hugged her knees tight.