“He came for you.” Again, a statement full of questions. I didn’t answer this time. After a heartbeat, she grabbed my hand and pulled it into her lap. Her dress was soaked and freezing. “I’m so sorry, Mary. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you about. I didn’t mean to do it. I was in the middle of it—” Her eyes widened as if she’d discovered something sour and ugly. “No. I knew what I was doing from the beginning.”
I stood. We weren’t finished, but I also needed action to help us. “Let’s get you changed.”
“I can’t go back there, not yet. I’m not cold.”
“Then at least let’s get the dress drying. This way?” I tilted my head farther down the path. “Are your legs burned? That’s what Grant was trying to find out.”
“Oh.” She stood, and I imagined she was remembering Grant and how she’d slapped at him. She touched a finger to her thigh.
“They’re fine. They sting a little, but I can tell they’re not burned.” “Then if you won’t go change . . .” I mustered up a smile and looped my arm through hers. “We shall walk. When there are serious matters to discuss, Austen women walk. And it has the side benefit of keeping our figures so light and pleasing.”
She choked on a laugh that became a mess of tears before we’d walked five steps.
“I don’t want Austen anymore. I don’t even want to finish. I . . . I never knew myself, Mary.”
“I think that’s Austen.”
“True . . . I’m not sure I have many original thoughts left.” She swiped at her nose. “But Lizzy was right when she lamented her despicable behavior. And I’ve done the same . . . I’ve acted so horribly. How did I get here?” She pulled at me. “Do you hate me? Or is the question how long have you hated me?”
“Stop . . . I don’t hate you. But I was close, maybe I even did for a heartbeat, when I first heard Nathan’s voice on the phone. But not now.” I stared straight ahead.
“I’d never heard you talk like that about a guy. You’d always wanted that fairy-tale thing, and then there you were laughing about a guy’s faults and quirks—and you accepted them all. You and I—we were written, and then you started changing and I didn’t. It was like you were ready for something new and I . . . I didn’t know what I wanted. It wasn’t planned, honest, but I met him and I was jealous. Can you forgive me?”
We had strolled up the path and out Braithwaite House’s front gate. We walked on, and eventually it dawned on me she was waiting. She wasn’t pushing me for an answer; she wasn’t demanding one. She was awake and waiting.
I broke our silence. “I do forgive you, and I’m sorry too.” That spun her head my direction. “I’m your best friend, Isabel, but until this trip I don’t think I ever understood, not even when it happened before.”
“It can’t happen again.”
“When we get back to the house you need to call Dr. Milton for his daily update. We’ve been talking and texting the past couple days. If you hadn’t come back by tomorrow, I was to get you on a plane somehow.”
“But now?”
“You can ask him yourself . . . And call my dad too. He’s been getting practically hourly updates as well.”
“I love your dad.” Isabel sighed.
“I know.” I’d always known. Now I understood.
I felt Isabel stiffen next to me, and I lifted my head to see a small group of women staring at us. I also noticed Bath, twenty-first-century Bath with its buildings and cars—and tourists—surrounding us.
We were standing on the sidewalk of the Royal Crescent, a mile from Braithwaite House, in full Regency dress. And at that moment, three separate families were taking pictures of us.
“Can you pose again please?”
Isabel clapped her hand over her mouth. “What do we do?”
“Smile, then run.” I stretched my lips wide.
She grabbed at my arm with both hands, then looked out at the growing crowd. “‘For what do we live,’” she quoted, “‘but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?’”
Three women clapped.
I cringed. “Can we go back now?”
Isabel shook her head. “There’s something cathartic about humiliation. Let’s walk to the end and back.”
“I don’t need any more humiliation.” As soon as the words escaped, I wished to call them back. Isabel understood that I was reacting to more than the dresses.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t.” I looped my arm through hers. “Going back won’t help us. I shouldn’t have said that. And in the end maybe I’ll be thanking you.”
“Thanking me?”
“Nathan had left WATT, and you know me. I wouldn’t have pursued him—ever. There is a chance I wouldn’t have seen him again.”
“I will never take credit for that.” She tugged me close. “Come on. One lap for good-bye.”
Arm in arm, we took our lap. We were stopped seventeen times for pictures—and several groups cut in front of us to take selfies with us as their backdrop.
Chapter 23
Isabel stalled at Brathwaite House’s front gate. “I don’t want to do this . . . Do I have to?”
“It’s a few apologies. The rest we can work out later.” I started forward.
She gestured to the path. “This way is faster to the stables. I owe everyone an apology, but I owe him more, Mary. I need to see Grant first.”
“Go then.”
She gave me a hug and headed down the side path while I continued up the main drive. The sun was behind the house now. Afternoon sent slanted rays across the roofline and shot a warm rose glow off the chimneys.
I didn’t want to go back either. Each step felt heavy. I pushed open the front door and found myself alone in the darkened front hall. Sonia had not gone through and switched on the lights or lit the evening’s candles.
It was that Regency resting time, the lull between the afternoon event and the procession of the evening. I suspected the Muellers were in their room asleep; Clara was curled up with her iPad with Sylvia nearby; and Aaron, if not comforting his daughter, was outside somewhere with Grant.
I climbed the stairs, intending to change for dinner as was expected. Yet without thinking about it, I found myself pulling on jeans and a sweater. I grabbed my Converse from the bottom of my suitcase.
I stepped into the gallery as Gertrude passed, clutching a high stack of linens.
“Can I help you?” I reached for the toppling tower.
“The cupboard is at the end of the hall.” She righted the stack and continued on. I followed. “Is Isabel okay now?”
“She will be . . . I don’t think I ever truly understood. I doubt I do now.”
“Sometimes you can’t see something clearly until you step away from it.” Gertrude propped the linens on a display case while she opened another concealed closet. She turned and took in my outfit. “Are you going out?”
“Would you mind if I walked into Bath? I might even skip dinner. I need to clear my head.”
“Not at all. Everyone is a little weary tonight. Sylvia asked if Clara could have soup in their room.”
“I’m so sorry about her. Isabel feels horrible. She’s planning to speak to them, to apologize.”
“Kids are resilient. It sounds cliché, but it’s true.”
“To a degree.” I thought of Isabel and I wasn’t so sure.
Gertrude touched my arm as if offering condolences. “Go. Take some time for yourself. Do you want Duncan to drive you?”
“Thank you, but I’d rather walk.”