Isabelle and Alexander, Rebecca Anderson [nonfiction book recommendations .TXT] 📗

his response to the poem was akin to hers, but she found him asleep in his chair. She noted the smoothness of his forehead, so often creased in pain or discouragement. As she placed the book once again on the table and stood to go, she leaned over the arm of Alexander’s chair. Inhaling softly, she allowed the scent of him, warm and masculine, to fill her.

Whispering words of another poem by Elizabeth Barrett, Isabelle hovered near Alexander’s sleeping form. “How do I love thee?”

Unprepared to fully answer her borrowed question, she placed a tender kiss upon his handsome brow. Perhaps another day she would be able to more adequately ask and answer Miss Barrett’s lyrical query.

A letter arrived informing Isabelle that Edwin’s marriage was approaching and that he would love nothing more than to bring his bride to Manchester to meet her.

Belle, I am happier than I ever deserve to be, and the only thing that could tip the scale to make me float above the earth is for you to love my Charlotte as much as I do. Please say we can come.

Isabelle read and reread Edwin’s letter. Had there been anyone to whom Alexander had spoken like this before their own marriage? Did he experience even a particle of the anticipation for marriage that Edwin had? If so, whom did he make his confidant? There was no guessing if Alexander were more likely to reveal such thoughts to Yeardley, Mr. Connor, or the Kenworthys. Isabelle found it difficult to imagine Alexander speaking in such a manner to anyone.

She knew it was unfair to compare the two—they were different men in every manner. Even so, she wished to believe Alexander had the capacity for such excitement about joining himself to her.

Aside from his work and visiting the mill, she hadn’t seen him act excited about much of anything since the day of his ride.

His ride.

Perhaps what Alexander needed was a return to Wellsgate, but she knew that was unlikely. Certainly not while under the care of Doctor Fredericks and Nurse Margaret. And how much good would it do him to be near the horses he loved when there was no conceivable way for him to ride one, perhaps ever again?

She mentioned Edwin’s letter to Alexander. “He wishes to come here as part of their wedding trip,” she said lightly, conscious that any mention of travel or celebration might sound like a complaint about her own wedding experience.

Looking out the window, away from her, Alexander gave a short laugh. “Manchester. Every woman’s dream honeymoon destination.”

She could not counter that, so she said, “I believe they have interest in a place they’ve not seen. And that they board a ship from Liverpool. They intend,” she said, holding up the letter, “to ride the rail line.” The Liverpool and Manchester Railway lines had been delivering passengers and goods from the port city to Manchester and back again for twenty years.

“Hm.”

Which was not an answer at all.

She waited what felt like forever for a reply.

Finally, she asked again.

“May I tell them they can come to stay for a few days? I could have Mrs. Burns make ready your dressing room for them.”

Alexander still gazed out the window. “If it pleases you,” he said, and nothing more.

What, she would love to know, would please him? Now that the doctor had told him it was unwise to visit the mill, what could she do to bring a moment of amusement or satisfaction to his days?

This quiet and occasionally sullen Alexander would be desolate company for Edwin and his bride. They could come and sit in the parlor, and he could stare out the window and furrow his admittedly handsome brow.

“It will please me very much, I thank you.” Isabelle forced the words out, feeling once again the need to behave formally. Remembering the tenderness with which she’d kissed him as he slept, she wished that such a spontaneous action might be welcome more often. But she had no assurance of such welcome. Would that she could laugh with him and he with her. That she could encourage a friendly conversation as she’d been able to do on a few memorable occasions. With a sigh of acceptance that much was improving, and the promise that she would have Edwin here in the city, she stood and left the room.

Mere moments after she wrote to Edwin informing him that they would be delighted to receive him and his bride, worries about the impending visit flew around Isabelle’s mind like night birds round a rookery. Would Alexander’s sometimes recalcitrant attitude put them off? Would Nurse Margaret perform her typical pain-riddled treatments while she was entertaining in the next room? Would Manchester’s dreary, gray, dirty features throw a mood of gloom over all their stay?

At least she need not worry about Mrs. Burns creating a warm and welcoming space for them. She managed to manufacture a bright and cheerful guest room from Alexander’s dressing room. The fact that he’d used this room as his own ever since he’d bought the house made Isabelle fear it was as masculine and spare in its aspect as the entire house had been in its furnishing and fixtures. But Mrs. Burns brought in sunny and cheerful linens and drapes, added flowers in vases, and placed a gilt-framed mirror on the wall facing the window, which all led to a vast change in appearance and impression.

“It’s lovely,” Isabelle said. “I am unsurprised at your ability to make the room more inviting, but I am indeed pleased.”

Mrs. Burns said, “I am delighted to help you refinish your home,” a gentle reminder that Isabelle ought to be comfortable making changes here. Learning to believe the housekeeper increased Isabelle’s confidence in many of the aspects of home.

“Mae,” Isabelle said, taking a comfortable seat in the kitchen, “Mr. Osgood has requested that you serve duck this week. Are you comfortable attempting such a thing?”

“Oh, aye, ma’am. Simple to make but rich and delicious. Easy