Isabella's Choice (The Choice Series, Book 1)

Chapter 22

The condition was harsh and almost too wild. Earl Lockwood did have the gallantry to throw both of his guests out in the middle of a deadly night simply because of his name and fame in the noble society. Horton found it difficult to believe the true nature of his teacher, an old wise judge was under the disguise of a coarse ill tempered father!

Horton used his own carriage and his own horseman, without a second argument with the unreasonable Earl, he carried Isabella in his arms and escorted her along the journey back to Claverton. Servants were woken up to help pack Isabella's luggage. Horton was surprised that the amount of novels Isabella had brought in the journey were more than the amount of her clothes. Because the books were consumed in one big beautiful crafted leather luggage while her clothes were randomly folded within a small luggage bag. Actually, Isabella secretly exchanged the things inside the two different luggage after Lady Marchwood had finished packing for her. That would explain the impossible disproportionate categorizing.

The journey was quiet, comforted with the peace of a navy blue night. People were sleeping tight while Horton's carriage passed through the rough paths and hill roads and disturbed the dream-like fogginess. Isabella's head rested on Horton's firm shoulder. She was breathing but it seemed difficult for her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against him, like the tree crown which overshadowed the lilies on the field from the ferocious wind and merciless summer blast. His heart felt a stream of warmth passing through gently, like a river of honey, and he smiled because he was holding her and he was protecting her.

However, he was also worried because Isabella's situation seemed to be getting worse. She breathed heavily and her temperature grew warmer. He found that she was not comfortable with the ride and so he placed her head on his laps instead of his shoulder for a better and comfier posture. He mildly stroked her hair to ease her headache and she looked like a baby to him, a vulnerable innocent child. He smiled and found the image beautiful.

When they finally arrived, it was at dawn the next day already. When the servant answered the gate, she was shocked and when the servant informed her ladyship, Lady Marchwood was so worried and furious that she almost had a heart attack. The Viscount, on the other hand, was more practically assured than his wife. When he was informed of the rude act of Earl Lockwood, he instantly burnt away the unsigned contract promised to the Earl of a friendship deal about the farmlands near his new residence.

***

Isabella was placed peacefully in her bed, sleeping sweet and sound. When Lady Marchwood closed the door quietly, Horton saw the sweet genuine countenance of Isabella when sleeping and he felt the burden of the world had left his shoulders. His gaze gleamed with a kind mild glow at her.

Both the Viscount and the Viscountess were utterly thankful towards Horton. They invited him for a late night tea chat. Because Horton didn't appear to be too exhausted and the old couples really wanted to thank him from the bottom of their heart and only a real heart talk could express their gratitude thoroughly.

"What a scoundrel he is!" Lady Marchwood exclaimed, "Elizabeth's elopement is not a civil excuse for such a barbaric act!" And immediately, shifting a calmer and gentler tone, the Viscountess said to Horton, "However, thank you, Lord Horton, truely, very much."

The Viscount joined, "Horton, thank you, if it's not for you, God knows what will be of my daughter's situation."

"No," Horton replied with a nod, bashfully and politely, "it's my pleasure."

The Viscountess looked at Horton sincerely and back to her folded hands, she continued, "No, Lord Horton, you don't know what a great deal you've done for Isabella. Surely a great favour! You see, I had Izzie born when I was at quite the age. She was not born with good health. We were all terrified because she wouldn't cry. Only after a horrible long silence, with many forceful slaps on her back, that she started to cry and breathe. Dr Borton said she was born with weaker lungs and had to be taken extra care growing up. She took medicine regularly everyday until three years ago when Dr Borton said we could try stopping the pills to see how it went. So far, everything seems quite well but if you hadn't helped her yesterday, her fever and the terrible shock could have triggered her sickness again! So, thank you very much, Lord Horton."

Horton smiled to receive Lady Marchwood's gratitude and asked, "Did Isabella often get sick when she was growing up?"

Lady Marchwood nodded and there was pain in her eyes, she said, "Very often. The poor girl had to stay in bed for an entire week if she had an episode. Pills and rest. Only Elizabeth -" her ladyship paused suddenly at the mention of their eldest daughter who just eloped with the pianist boy, she gulped and continued, "and the novels by her side. She is a lonely child."

So, the books were her worlds and escape! Horton suddenly felt guilty and unfair to have once judged her taste in literature. Those books brought her joy and companionship and he had made it sarcastic to her.

Perhaps, after all, it is possible to read too many novels.

Now, he felt terribly sorry.

***

When Isabella woke up, the first concern she had was not her sudden return but Elizabeth. Horton was relieved that Isabella was fine. The Viscountess didn't concern Horton's presence because of what he did for Isabella. Somehow, very quickly, Horton was accepted as a new family friend to the Marchwoods.

"That old scoundrel! How can Earl Lockwoods do such a thing! It's a good thing, Izzie, to see his true face so early. It'll be terrible to learn it after your marriage that -"

"Mama, where is Elizabeth? Has she been found yet?" Isabella asked with the sound of sickness still in her voice.

"She is gone," the Viscount answered with a mixture of anger and sadness.

Lady Marchwood, on the other hand, holding perfectly of herself from crying, said, "Around a week after your departure, I tried to convince Elizabeth to accept William Blakeford's proposal and forget about Baron Longenton. But she astonished us with the fact that she fell in love with Charles Fairfax and Longenton was only her pretense! Charles Fairfax! The son of Mrs Fairfax, our housekeeper! What nonsense!" Lady Marchwood couldn't hold herself anymore but cried out (still politely, with a hand covering half of her chaotic facial expression), "How could she! That's not love! That's just hysteria and fantasy! The silly girl doesn't know! She will regret this. Love can be at first sight but it won't last forever if one doesn't cultivate it. How can they cultivate love when they can't even feed themselves? A gifted pianist, ha, a prodigy will stop being a prodigy when he becomes a man! How can they afford to build a life as a family? That the husband finds a job in a music hall with so little payment that the wife has to be a maid for some barons and lords?"

"Where is Elizabeth? Have you found her? They can still be found! Austria is far away. We can chase after them on the route from London to Vienna!" Isabella suggested hopefully.

"We did send men to find her but no result." Lady Marwood wiped her tears away with her silk handkerchief and continued, "Elizabeth's been away for five days. We still have no message. She's gone, completely gone!"

"We've lost a daughter. A daughter we'd been waiting for many many years, just gone, with a housekeeper boy. What a terrible joke!" The Viscount held back his tears and continued, "She is not my daughter." Then, in a weak painful voice which sounded like the moans from an injured lion, he said, "at least she could've told us. It's my fault. I shouldn't have raised my hand at her."

"Elizabeth was in pain," Isabella said in sorrow but also carried a kind of indigence in her voice, "but all mama and papa care about is the fact that she elopes with the son of Mrs Fairfax."

The Viscount and Viscountess looked at Isabella for a moment, felt attacked, the mother said in her weeping voice, "Izzie, you will know how we feel when you become a mother. You'll want the best of the best for your daughter. The best of the best is not a poor pianist boy whose mother is a housekeeper. The best of the best is to make sure her life is well abundant, that she is loved and cherished by a man who can take care of her thoroughly with honour and dignity. The best of the best is a guarantee in sustainability of life, not some quick faded fervent sparks of frantic love. But you won't understand now because you are not a mother."