Storm at Marshbay Read Online Free PDF Page A

felt strangely calm and steady even though I had no idea how I was going to handle this impossible thing that was being asked of me. How could Father do this to me? And to know my mother was complicit in the matter pained me deeply. Would there ever be anyone I could trust? One person I could rely on?

Chapter Three
     
    The Fitzgerald carriage arrived the next morning promptly at eleven to take me to meet Ian. How excited I’d been the last time I went to Marshbay. But this was a new reality.
    I felt unsure of myself and anxious, wondering if I was making the worst mistake of my life. Mother had been sick for years, but I could always go to her bedroom to talk. Now there was no one to share this moment with, good or bad. How I missed her.
    I sighed and sat back against the leather seat, watching the marsh as we passed. Normally that would have cheered me. But today my mind was in such a whirl I could think of little else than Ian Fitzgerald and those stormy gray, questioning eyes.
    We stopped at the same double doors as the last time and a young uniformed man came to help me from the carriage. I stepped out, and brushed out the wrinkles of my decidedly unfashionable black gown while I waited for the trembling in my legs to stop.
    Taking a deep breath to prepare myself for what was to come, I looked up straight into the eyes of Ian Fitzgerald.
    “Welcome, Isabella,” he said. “How are you this morning? You look tired.”
    I shook my head for a moment. He always managed to put me a little off kilter, to look at me or say something to me that shook me and left me speechless and disconcerted.
    He held out his hand and I took it without thinking, feeling the warmth of his skin through my glove.
    “Let’s go in. I’ve had lunch set up in the courtyard where it’s quiet and we can catch the sunshine. No one will disturb us there.”
    The house seemed different from the night of the ball. It was open and bright and I realized you could catch a glimpse of the inner courtyard from almost every part of the house. I felt more welcome. Or so I told myself.
    The courtyard was empty of all the tables used the night of the party. Now only one table sat beneath a group of palm trees. A fragrant breeze blew across the yard, rattling the palms and sending splashes of sunlight moving about. It was so beautiful that for a moment I quite forgot why I was there.
    As we moved down the steps toward the table I sighed, feeling relaxed and warm and welcomed. I was glad to be here. Who wouldn’t want to spend more time at this beautiful house so perfectly blended with nature?
    Ian must have heard my sigh. When he pulled out my chair and seated me at the table, he stood with his hands on the back of the chair for a long moment.
    “It’s good to see you relaxed and smiling,” he said.
    I had no idea what to say to him.
    He continued to make the day pleasant for me. While we ate a delicious lunch of sea bass and fresh vegetables, we spoke only of trivial things. Light, happy things.
    “My father loved Spanish history,” he told me. “The house is a reflection of architecture from the Spanish Mediterranean Coast.”
    “I love it. It’s unique.” I looked around us. “I love this inner open court. I think I could spend hours relaxing here.”
    “It pleases me very much to hear you say that.” he said.
    I smiled, but did not reply. It was too soon to speak of the arrangement I’d come here to discuss. I still wanted to enjoy the food and the wind, always touched with the scent of sand and sea. The whisper of the swaying palms around us relaxed and soothed me.
    “Tell me more about the house,” I said. “I find it fascinating.”
    “Well, it was originally built as a summer home, but we all loved it so much we always hated to leave. So gradually we began spending more and more time here. Now we’re here much more than we are in New York.”
    “I can understand why.” I laughed, a touch self-consciously. “Of course I am partial