With a sigh, Isobel stood. Hoping Fanny’s unsettled stomach found a cure soon, she made her way through the townhouse until she arrived at her mother’s bedchamber door. For the last few days, her parent’s strength had waned, and she’d been unable or unwilling to go downstairs to join the family for meals or tea.
“Mother?” In the back of her mind, she wondered why none in the family had referred to their parents as “papa” or “mama”. Perhaps they weren’t as close enough for all of that. The Stormes had always hidden behind formality and had been taught to never show emotion because it was a weakness. For a long time, that had worked for her, but now? All the turmoil swirling through her chest would require an outlet, and soon.
What would happen then if she let herself break? Especially after Caroline had been sent away or Cousin Andrew had nearly ruined his life from the force of his emotions.
She came further into the room and padded over the floor toward the winged back chair where her mother said curled on with a quilt covering her lower half. William or Fanny must have situated the chair at the window so her mother could gaze up the back garden and the square beyond. “How are you feeling today?”
“Tired, but grateful to see another day.” Her mother’s words were soft, barely audible. She didn’t turn her head from the open window. The gentle breeze ruffled tendrils of hair at her temples while the bulk of the gray-streaked brown tresses reposed in a braid over her shoulder.
Isobel came around so that she faced the chair and perched upon the edge of the shallow window seat. It hurt her heart to see her once-vibrant mother so drawn and frail. As best she could, she swallowed the lump of tears in her throat. Even more reason to enter into a wild affair with the doctor—it would help her to forget everything going on around her. “Do you want to go outside? There’s a chair set up on the terrace.”
“No. This is fine.” She clutched a blood-stained handkerchief in her hand, which rested on her lap. “I can see the trees and the flowers from here. Sometimes a bird comes close enough to hop on the window ledge.”
Isobel glanced over her shoulder. As of yet, there was no bird, but people strolled through the square, and the breeze carried the sounds of birdsong and laughter amidst the clatter of carriage wheels upon the roads. “Perhaps we should have removed to Derbyshire. There’s so much more for you to look at there.”
“Nonsense.” The response was little more than wisps of a voice. “I’ve enjoyed London and its life. Especially once your father passed. There was always something to keep me occupied.” The veriest hint of a sigh escaped her.
“That’s how I feel about it.” Isobel ignored how tight her chest was or how much it hurt to talk with her mother now knowing she soon would be gone. “London has my heart and soul. If I were a city, it is what I’d be.”
“Yes, it’s as wild and untamed as you, Isobel.” Finally, her mother rested her tired, faded gaze upon her face. “Though I wish you’d give a lucky young man your heart, I know why you resist.”
“What?” This was a different vein of conversation than they’d last had.
“You fear your marriage will follow the course that mine did.” It wasn’t a question.
“I do.” There was no sense in lying about it. “You and Father fought all the time. To say nothing of the fact that William argued with Father; Caroline fought with you both.” She shook her head. “When I was a child, there was nothing but strife and discontent. Everyone was angry all the time. I don’t want those shackles.”
I only want love. Unconditional love for who I am.
“I’m sorry we failed you. That we all failed you, in a different way than we failed Caroline.” Once more, her mother glanced out the window. “It was a turbulent time in both my life and your father’s.” She shook her head, but her eyes were far away; perhaps she’d gone back in the past. “I don’t know how it happened. At one point in our marriage, we loved each other very much.”
Isobel remained silent. She twisted the ruby ring around her finger. Obviously, that emotion had cooled shortly after she’d become cognizant enough to realize the world around her and feel the moods from the adults in her life. By the time her sister was sent away to the institution, Isobel had attained the age of ten. There was no hiding the truth, and her father had spent more and more time away from home.
Over the years, she’d wondered if he’d taken a mistress, but then he’d died suddenly when his heart attacked him, and there was no scandal attached to his name, so it had been but a theory only. Still, she hadn’t known him well as his own person, and perhaps that was the greater crime than holding the crumbling foundation of her life against him.
Finally, she sighed. “Don’t think about such things any longer, Mother. It’s a waste of time.” She stared at the ruby in the ring. So much like a drop of blood—anger that had torn apart the Storme family.
It’s exhausting feeling that I’ll explode from one reason or another all the time. Is this my legacy, then?
“Perhaps it is, and I’m glad you’ve realized that so early in life.” Her mother glanced at her. So much sadness lurked in her eyes that Isobel’s chest tightened further. “You deserve happiness, my darling daughter, and if you cannot find that within the Storme family, I pray you’ll find it elsewhere.” A ghost of a smile curved her lips. “No matter how it comes about.”
Isobel frowned. Did that mean her mother was more or less giving her blessing on a possible tryst with Doctor Marsden? “I hope for that too,” she said in a choked whisper.
“Good.” Her mother lifted her face to the breeze that came into the room. “Now, why don’t you lie on my bed like you did when you were small. On your belly, when you used to tell Caroline and I stories you thought up while at the Derbyshire property.” Again, her eyes took on a faraway look. A series of coughs racked her body, which produced more blood on the handkerchief than ever before. “I used to adore it when you let your imagination run away with you, and for a time, those stories calmed Caroline.” Her chuckle mixed with wheezing breaths. “Isn’t it odd that you and Phineas have the same talent?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Tears sprang into Isobel’s eyes. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage later, after the initial wave of grief left. “I’ll talk to him about what writing a book entails.”
“I was always so proud to see you and your cousins turn out so strong where your parents where so weak…”
“Oh, Mother…” When moisture fell to her cheeks, she dashed them away. Walking Ivan could wait, as could the need to see Doctor Marsden. Everything would keep. This time with her mother was too precious to squander because she couldn’t bear to venture into the unknown. Even though terror sat heavy on her chest and threatened to steal her breath, she crawled onto her mother’s bed, made herself comfortable, and then said, “Once upon a time…”
There would be time enough to break or let the storm of her namesake have at her.