SWNOVELS A Spinster for the Earl: Chapter 12
Isaac walked up the staircase. The lit candle in his hands sent spires of light off the walls and across the ceiling. He could feel the warm glow on the tip of his nose, hot against his cheeks. As he cleared the final step, he heard a whisper. He turned to look down the opposite end of the hallway. His grandmother’s door was open, and she was waving him over.
He obliged. He was exhausted from working in his office for too many hours, but he knew better than to test his grandmother’s patience. If she wanted something, she would have it, and on the chance that she didn’t, she would never stop reminding him.
He slipped into her bedchamber, and she shut the door. He hadn’t been in here often, but the overwhelming scent of vanilla and potpourri smacked him across the face as soon as he crossed the threshold. His grandmother had a mostly normal bedroom, except her mattress was covered with a hard plank, as she had insisted that sleeping on it was better for her back, despite still waking up complaining of pain.
“You are still awake,” he noted.
She closed the door and hobbled across the room toward a chair by the window, her cane scratching the floor as she dragged it along. “I do not need to sleep,” she claimed, despite stifling a yawn at the very same time.
“I do,” he said. Maybe she would take the hint.
She settled down into the armchair by the window and exhaled sharply. “We have to be quiet,” she murmured. “Your mother is always awake during this hour.”
Isaac settled onto the velvet ottoman at the foot of the bed and ran his hand over the fabric, feeling the texture scratching at his skin. “Is this about her?”
“My dear,” his grandmother began quietly, her head tilting.
Isaac couldn’t stop the anxiety bubbling in his chest. She only ever treated him sympathetically when she really thought he needed it. His throat bobbed, his mind racing just so that he could steel himself for some bad news.
“I know that you and your mother have not had the easiest relationship.”
He scoffed, “What a charming understatement.”
His grandmother frowned. “She loves you. She just doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. She doesn’t know how to talk to me either, but I have a thick skin.” She put her feet up on the footstool and leaned back. “I admit, it hasn’t been easy seeing how far she fell after your father passed away.”
Isaac had never seen a broken heart destroy anyone so easily. Within just a day, his mother had gone from a fun-loving, cheerful wife and mother to a ghost. He would never forget the first few months after his father had died and his mother’s wails had become as common a noise as the sound of crickets outside.
He sighed. “I wish she would try. Even to just join a ladies’ circle or anything. It’s been sixteen years.”
“Is that what you want?” his grandmother asked. “You want her to rejoin Society?”
He contemplated the question. He did, but maybe now wasn’t the right time. He had a lot to focus on this season without the added pressure of escorting his socially awkward mother to every event. If anyone had the possibility of scaring away the wife she so desperately wanted for him, it was her.
“Yes, although this year might be—”
His grandmother grimaced. “Are you willing to tell her that?”
His eyes widened. “Is she actually considering it?”
She shook her head. “She has decided.”
Isaac pressed a hand to his temple. He had a pounding headache. “You cannot be serious,” he said.
Having to escort his mother around and stop her from embarrassing herself sounded draining enough as it was, without the added pressure of her watching his social interactions and giving her unwanted input every time he danced—or didn’t dance—with someone.
“She is not ready.”
“It’s been sixteen years, Isaac,” his grandmother reminded him. “If not now, then when?”
“This is a difficult time, not to mention that she is going to make my search that much harder.”
“There is no time as the present,” she said. “Why she would want to go to these balls is beyond me, but I will take the evenings alone to freely smoke my cigars without judgment.” She stuck her nose in the air.
His grandmother had adjusted easily once her husband had passed away. She had loved him, but she was also compassionate. When he had passed away, she had known it was time for him. She had grown up with dreams of becoming a dutiful wife, but once Arabella had gotten married, she had taken it upon herself to do all of the things she’d never been able to do. Of course, she liked to keep that a secret.
Isaac was the only one who knew about her penchant for cigars. He had bought them for her, after all.
“I know this will be difficult for you,” his grandmother continued, “but it is your duty to reintroduce your mother back into Society. I am sure you will realize how beneficial this is once you are married.”
Isaac nodded, holding any signs of his disappointment back so that his grandmother wouldn’t know just how apprehensive this made him. “I know you are right,” he admitted, looking down at the floor so he wouldn’t have to see the pompous grin that he was so certain she had on her face.
“Words more musical have never been spoken.” The rocking chair creaked as she shifted back and forth.
“I worry a lot about how she will treat my future wife,” he added. “If she is hard on me now, I wonder what her opinions will be of the woman who takes over her role in the household.”
His grandmother nodded, humming. “The problem is not that she’s cruel. She has fallen out of practice with tact. While bringing her out amongst the ton sounds challenging, sometimes baptism by fire is the quickest way to learn. If she can handle their vicious ways, then she will have no problem handling whatever brassy little minx you decide to marry.”
“I am going to marry a reserved and nurturing woman,” he corrected her.
“No, you are not,” she said, rolling her eyes.
For being seventy-nine years old, his grandmother still had a great deal of attitude herself. Isaac had long been aware that the women in his life were fierce and strong, and as much as he thought he needed a break from that, he also knew that his grandmother was as good as a clairvoyant. Or he was just that predictable.
“That Miss Kitty Barrington is a sweet girl, but she’s not a Robins. You know it, I know it, and I am sure, deep down, your mother knows it too.”
“I am going to marry Miss Barrington,” he insisted.
“I am either right or mistaken, but I am never wrong.” His grandmother gave him a knowing look.
Isaac had a sinking feeling that she was right because deep down, in a part of himself that he was trying to drown, he deflated at the thought of a life spent with the very kind, very sweet Miss Kitty Barrington.
He sighed and sat on the foot of the bed, his eyes widening when he connected with the board instead of the soft mattress he’d imagined. His grandmother folded her hands in front of her and continued to rock back and forth. Outside the window was the low rumble of a thunderstorm.
“I have wanted her to break her cycle of bitterness for so long. I wanted her to get out of the house for once, to put her hair up, to make an effort to eat a full meal, even just take up a simple hobby. Anything,” he murmured. “She has been stuck here for so long, punishing herself as if it was her fault that he passed away…”
“And yet, now that she is willing, you are chickenhearted,” his grandmother finished for him.
He narrowed his eyes and ground his jaw. “Could you have made me sound any more pathetic?”
She smiled, her blue eyes glinting with a level of mischief that a woman her age should not be capable of possessing. “The most uncomfortable parts of life are so often in preparation for the most comfortable.”
“That is kind on the ears, but much too optimistic for you,” he shot back.
“Sometimes, I can be optimistic,” she clipped. “For you, Isaac, my hopes are high. I have always believed you to be capable of good things.”
Isaac felt a twinge in his chest. He believed her, even if he wasn’t so certain about his own greatness. As much as his grandmother could be bothersome, he loved her. Although she didn’t allow herself to be vulnerable around him often, times like these had so often made such a difference for him.
He stood up and silently walked over to where she was seated in her rocking chair. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She smiled toothily as if she knew she deserved it.
“Goodnight, Grandmother.”
“Get some sleep,” she said. “We have to take your mother to the Modiste in the morning.”
It was going to be difficult, and the ton could be cruel and unforgiving. He would have to stay by his mother’s side and protect her as best as he could. This was a good thing, even if there were inevitable growing pains.