A Distant Shore (28 page)

She did not have the kind of faith or zeal that the Judsons, or Jack Braeburn for that matter, possessed. And if that were the case, why on earth would Mr. Braeburn wish to marry her?

Obviously, she thought now, he didn’t.

And while Mr. Judson had suggested she might remain in Burma to help them with their work, Isobel wondered at such a possibility. She did not know if she possessed the strength or courage, much less the desire.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the bedpost, one hand wrapped around it as she fought tears.

“Dear Isobel.” The door had opened without her having heard the noise, and Isobel opened her eyes and straightened, a flush spreading to her face. Emily Judson smiled at her in sympathy. “I am sorry to see you looking so desolate.”

“I am sorry for you to have caught me in such a moment of self-pity,” Isobel answered. “Truly I am grateful to you, and your most generous hospitality.”

“But it is a strange season for you, is it not?” Emily said, coming with easy familiarity to sit beside Isobel on the bed and put one arm around her. Isobel stiffened under the surprising embrace but then found herself relaxing into it, and even craving that essential human touch. “We must see you properly settled,”

“I’m not sure how,” she said, her voice choking just a little. She fought the urge to bury her head in Emily’s shoulder like a child would with its mother.

“I think,” Emily answered, a faint thread of humor in her voice, “I can think of a way.”

That very evening she managed it. Isobel had helped clear away the evening meal when Jack Braeburn appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Miss Moore? If I may have a word?”

Isobel felt her heart lurch inside her chest. The Marshmans had assured her Jack Braeburn was a man of humor and kindness, but she’d yet to see either attribute and right now he sounded unaccountably grim.

“Of course.” She kept herself from adding that he had not said so much as a word to her through the meal they’d just shared, or the now nearly four days past.

They both repaired to the sitting room, its wooden shutters closed against the muggy night. Burma was, if anything, more humid and stifling than Calcutta had been but now Isobel felt perspiration prickle along her shoulder blades not from heat but rather from nerves.

She laced her hand across her middle and attempted a smile. “You wished to speak to me, Mr. Braeburn?”

“I did.” He gazed at her solemnly for a moment, and Isobel fought to keep looking composed. He was a handsome man, with dark brown hair and eyes, his skin tanned from several years in the tropical sun, his shoulders broad underneath his plain frock coat. “But I confess,” he continued, his mouth quirking into a surprising smile, “that I am hesitant to do so when you look like you would like to take me to task.”

Isobel glanced away, discomfited. Despite what the Marshmans had told her of this man, she had not expected levity.

“But perhaps,” he continued quietly, “I should be taken to task, for ignoring you these last days. In truth it was because I did not know what to say to you. I have never found myself in such a situation before.”

“Nor have I,” Isobel answered. She felt her cheeks heat and she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I trust Mr. Judson has told you of his proposal.”

Jack Braeburn arched an eyebrow. “It should be my proposal, by rights,” he said, and although his tone was light and perhaps even teasing Isobel felt her cheeks heat all the more so she knew her face must be positively crimson.

“If it so pleased you, Mr. Braeburn,” she answered stiffly.

“I don’t know if it pleases me, or if it pleases you, for that matter,” he answered. “But pray let us be seated and at least begin to determine if that might be the case.”

Isobel glanced at him warily. “There are things you wish to know…?” she asked tentatively once she had seated herself on the horsehair loveseat, with Jack Braeburn sitting opposite her.

“There are many things I wish to know. And I imagine there are many things you wish to know. I confess, I would like to be married again. It can be a lonely life here, and companionship of the gentler kind can be a great comfort.”

Isobel stared down at her lap. “I’m sure,” she murmured.

“But if we wouldn’t suit each other, then there is no point to consider it. You surely have not travelled all the way to Burma to be so disappointed.”

Was he trying to let her down easily, Isobel wondered. She glanced up quickly. “Mr. Braeburn, I am thirty years old and as yet unwed.
That
is my disappointment.”

“And I confess it is quite a surprise to me,” he answered with a smile. “I cannot believe a woman such as yourself would prefer to be wed to a man who does not suit you than not at all.”

Isobel stiffened. “A woman such as me?”

“Handsome, intelligent, well-bred…” He spread his hands. “I would have thought you’d have had your pick of suitors.”

His words warmed her, even if his assumption was entirely wrong. “You would be mistaken.”

Jack cleared his throat. “There is only one suitor here,” he said quietly, and Isobel saw that now he was blushing as well. They were quite a pair.

“I know it well.”

“All I would ask, Miss Moore, is that we attempt to get to know one another, spend time in each other’s company, before we decide on a course of action.”

Isobel clenched her hands in her lap. “That seems reasonable,” she said carefully. “But as I have said before, I am thirty years old, Mr. Braeburn. My time is precious to me, if I—if I wish to enjoy marriage in all of its benefits, such as motherhood.” Her face felt scorched at making such a bold admission, but Jack Braeburn took it in his stride.

“Fair enough,” he said, and settled more comfortably in his chair. “Then we will waste no time. You hail from Boston, I heard? Tell me about your life there. What did you do with your time?”

“I—” Isobel stopped, at a loss. How could she begin to describe herself?

“Mr. Judson said you were well read,” he offered helpfully. “And that you started a school?”

“I didn’t start it,” she said quickly. “I only helped—”

“Tell me of it,” he said, settling back to listen.

Isobel stared at him, finding it hard to believe he really wanted to know. But then she saw how his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and that they were bright with interest and kindness. A new hope kindling in her heart, she began to speak.

“I have been teaching at the First School for five years,” she said slowly. “And I confess I began simply because I was bored and disappointed with my life.”

“Disappointed?”

Isobel hesitated, wondering how much to impart. Then she decided that Jack Braeburn deserved her total honesty if they were to decide whether they suited one another. “There was a man,” she said carefully, “a friend of the family who had escorted me to various functions. I am afraid I read far too much into his intentions, and expected a proposal when none was forthcoming.”

Jack frowned. “And he was not aware of this?”

“Not until it was too late. He loved another. But he was a gentleman, and he offered to marry me anyway. I refused.”

Jack sat back, smiling. “As I would have expected.”

“How? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you possessed the strength and determination to travel from Boston to Burma. Not a small feat, Miss Moore.”

“No, but I have been overwhelmed at times by the strangeness of things,” Isobel confessed. “And the Marshmans could tell you how disconsolate I was when I arrived—I sat in my room for weeks.”

“Are you trying to put me off, Miss Moore?” Jack teased and she blushed and shook her head.

“No, I only mean to be honest. I do not know if—if I possess the conviction that you and the Judsons do. In truth sometimes I feel positively beleaguered by doubt.”

“Then you are no different from me,” Jack said softly. “I have had my fair share of doubts, Miss Moore.”

“And your fair share of grief, it would seem.”

“One begets the other, I fear.” He smiled at her sadly. “But let us talk of happier things. You taught in Serampore for a little while?”

“Who told you?”

“Mr. Judson brought a letter from Mrs. Marshman, recommending you to me.”

“Oh.
” Isobel didn’t know whether to be pleased or mortified by this.

“She did an admirable job,” Jack continued quietly, and Isobel could not think of a thing to say. But when Jack smiled at her, she tremulously smiled back.

Chapter Fourteen

Boston, 1839

It had been nearly a month since Maggie and Seamus had first kissed right there on the street in Boston’s Murder District, a month of waiting and wondering, fearing that Seamus regretted their sole indiscretion. Occasionally Maggie found a reason to speak to him at school, or steal a moment with him when she stepped outside the building to refill the water pail or coal scuttle, yet even during these hasty conversations he seemed reluctant to speak with her, and he never spoke of that kiss in the street.

Even so, Maggie knew she loved him. And despite his obvious reticence at being with her, she believed he might love her back. At least, she hoped.

They had not been alone together long enough to have a conversation about it, or any possible future they might share. Maggie was afraid to ask; she knew Seamus didn’t like disobeying her aunt, and he still felt the difference in their stations even if she did not. But if those could be overcome… Maggie hardly dared to hope, and yet she did not think she could take much more uncertainty.

Now that her Uncle Henry was back from China, her parents would expect her to return to Prince Edward Island. Aunt Margaret had written to inform them of his return, and as the days slid into weeks and then months Maggie knew she could expect a letter with her return fare at any moment. She had been gone for the better part of a year already. And truth be told, she missed the island with all of its familiar ways as well as her family. Yet how could she leave Seamus?

An opportunity to talk to him came unexpectedly, when Maggie came down to the dining room one morning for breakfast to find her aunt dressed for visiting rather than wearing one of the plain, serviceable gowns she chose for her work at the school.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to teach alone today, Maggie,” she said briskly. “I have an invitation to tea with Rose Forbes that I wish to accept.”

“I see,” Maggie said, a little surprised by her aunt’s decision, since she did very little social visiting during school hours. Still, she was hardly going to question it, not when it might provide her with an opportunity to speak with Seamus.

“I trust,” Margaret continued rather severely, “that you will behave with a decorum that befits your station.”

Her station, Maggie thought wryly, was that of a simple farmer’s daughter. “Of course, Aunt Margaret,” she answered, lowering her gaze.

Maggie’s heart seemed to be beating double-time as she entered the First School that morning. She busied herself with starting the coal stove and setting out primers and slates, all the while keeping an eye out for Seamus.