Frenzied emotions shook William’s voice. “I must get off this ship.”
CHAPTER 22
Father was home again.
Isabella looped her bonnet ribbons into a bow under her chin and walked faster, the afternoon sun suffusing her cheeks with heat. She bit her lip. She must not succumb again. For Father’s sake, for Bridget’s sake, for Mrs. Morrey’s sake—for herownsake.
But ever since Father’s dismal news last night, angst had burrowed inside of her and threatened to bring back the blackness.
She would not allow such a thing. If that meant doing what hurt most, then so she must. She would face the seashore for the first time without him. Would that free her? Somehow, would facing her greatest pain lessen its power?
She was not certain anything would.
But she had to try.
When she reached the rugged slope, she drew in a breath of courage and eased through the tall grass. The second her boots met sand, she tugged at her bow. She ripped off the bonnet, slipped out the pins, allowed the wind to whip her hair.
Then she crept to the edge of the water. She pulled off her half boots and stockings and lifted her dress to her knees while the foamy water cooled her bare feet.I am doing it.She slid her eyes shut. She breathed as deeply as he’d ever told her to. She wiggled her toes into the sand. She turned her face up to the sunshine.All the things you taught me, William.
Perhaps coming here had been a mistake.
Doing sunshine and feeling the seashore was unimaginably heartbreaking when she was experiencing it alone.
Trepidation soared through William at the first sight of Sharottewood Manor. He leaned forward to rub Duke’s neck. After he’d rowed from the ship to the Ogden Wells port, he’d paid Mr. Sneyd double to get his horse back. God had returned Duke and so much more.
He glanced down at his clothes—the knotted necktie, the navy tailcoat and gray waistcoat, the tailored pantaloons and new boots. By all appearances, he was a different man than the one who had been here before.
But inside, he was the same. He was still the William Kensley who was born in a workhouse and knew how to serve in the stables—the man Edward Gresham hated.
Wiping sweat from his hairline, he led Duke around the gurgling fountain. Hammers pounded at his temples. What would his lordship say when he realized William had not forgotten his daughter?
Worthless fool. Repulsing beggar.The insults flung into his mind, accompanied by an image of Lord Gresham’s raging eyes and heated face. Did William truly think he could stride in here and attain the man’s blessing?
Perhaps he should have waited. If he had watched for Isabella to ride out alone, he could have spoken with her and proposed matrimony to her ears alone. They could have run away together if her heart was still his.
But that was wrong.
He would do things right before God, as a gentleman, or he would not do them at all.
After tying Duke to the horse-head hitching post, William ascended the grand staircase and knocked at the door and took a step back. Seconds later, the butler showed him in, albeit with a nonplussed glance at William’s clothes.
“This way … eh, sir.” He led William to a hallway, disappeared into a room, then strode back out with a motioning arm. “His lordship shall see you in his study now.”
William braced himself, just as he’d always done upon entering his aunt’s chamber. Whatever accusations Edward heaped upon him, he determined to remain uninjured. How many minutes would he have before Edward shouted for a servant to haul him away?
As he entered, Lord Gresham leaped to his feet from behind his orderly desk. His jaw slackened and deep lines formed on his forehead as sunlight from the window shone on his face. “William.”
“I ask nothing more than a word with you.”
Color flooded the man’s cheeks. He moved around the desk.
The silence propelled William forth. “I realize and respect the abhorrence you had for a match between your daughter and myself. I had no means to provide for her.”
“William—”
“Please, allow me to finish.”
“But—”
