Freddie and Patience took the children for a carriage ride through the countryside one last time before our visitors were due to arrive. I stayed behind, solitude suited me better as of late, especially with Leah keeping to her room. I took advantage of the quiet and roamed the hallways, looking at the familiar pictures. I lingered at the portrait of our parents, it was done sometime after they were married, but not long after. They looked very happy and definitely in love. I had some vague memories of Mother telling me about their courtship when I was a little girl. I think it was after a party and she was helping me get ready for bed, brushing out my hair and just talking . . . no, I remember now, it was after Freddie's wedding. Our talks were light and fleeting it seemed. There were never enough. How I wished I could confide in her now, seek solace in her arms whenever my heart threatened to break again.
I closed my eyes and thought of my parents. For the briefest moment I smelled her perfume, or the memory of her perfume, and it calmed me. When I opened my eyes and looked at the painting, for a split second I saw Isaac and I standing in front of that mirror again. I gasped and blinked quickly, only to have my parents return, their eternal love exuding from the frame. I gasped again when I was startled by our steward approaching, "Excuse me, Miss Woodbridge, but Mr. Nassar has just arrived."
I nodded in understanding, "Please show him to the drawing room and have some tea brought in, I will join him immediately." I composed myself as best I could, stopping in front of a mirror to check my countenance, "Presentable at least," I told my reflection.
As I made my way towards our guest I went over everything Patience had told me about Mr. Nassar. He was an old friend of her father's, they had business dealings together and he was from Egypt. What else was there? Oh yes, his wife was from Kent, I believe. They have three daughters near Patience's age. Well, that would be why he arrived alone then, his children must all be married with families of their own now. As for his wife, perhaps she was not feeling well enough for the voyage. I was sure that Mr. Nassar and I could find enough to talk about until Patience returned. At the very least I could ask him about his homeland and allow him to prattle on until his heart was content. I longed for the distraction of anything currently.
"I must apologize that I was not here to greet you," I began as I opened the door to the drawing room, "but my sister was not expecting you until this evening." I stopped once into the room and studied the tall figure in front of the window. He seemed much younger than I anticipated, but perhaps once he turned to face me I would see the distinguishing character of an older man.
"N-no," he started as he turned, "it is m-my fault, Mrs. Woodbridge." The gentleman was indeed young, barely twenty if I had to guess. "I am to m-meet my father here."
"Your father?" I asked as I took in his appearance. He was indeed very tall and slender, his skin a warm golden color, slightly reddened across his cheeks and nose. His dark hair was rumpled haphazardly and he had a beard. He looked quite scholarly with his spectacles perched so on his nose.
"Y-yes, my father is Samuel Nassar, do you not remember?" he questioned. He had a slight stutter and seemed very shy. He was fumbling with a thick book as he took a step closer, "I-I don't think we ever met."
"I know that we haven't," I smiled as I approached with my hand extended, "I am Margaret Woodbridge, Patience's sister."
"Oh, f-forgive me," he stammered. As he moved to accept my hand he dropped his book, which turned out to be an old and well-used journal from the look of it. "My f-father said that we were w-welcomed here . . . "
"You are indeed," I smiled and turned as the steward came in with a tea tray, "we have been expecting your family . . . "
"J-just my father and I-I," he said taking a seat, "Father will be here soon, I e-expect."
"That is very well then," I nodded as I took the seat opposite of him and tended to the tea tray as the steward left. I offered him a cup of tea, "Patience and my brother should arrive soon as well and then we shall all dine together." He nodded at me and took the cup.
We sat in an awkward silence for several moments when our steward entered the drawing room again, "The elder Mr. Nassar has arrived."
I bowed my head as I replied, "Do show him in," and I stood up to be ready to greet him. "He has excellent timing," I said quietly to the younger Mr. Nassar in hopes of putting him at ease. His only reply was to fidget some and adjust his spectacles.
The doors opened and our steward stood to the side as a robust older man sauntered, "Ah, my dear Mrs. Woodbridge!" his voice boomed as he opened his arms widely. In contrast to his son, he was a good foot shorter and many pounds heavier. He was round of stomach and in face and every line fell into place when he smiled. His eyes crinkled happily as he approached me.
"N-no, Father, this is M-margaret Woodbridge . . . "
"What's this?" Mr. Nassar asked looking me over, "You're not Stanhope's girl?"
"I'm afraid not," I curtsied, "I am Patience's sister by marriage. She was not expecting you until later, so she had taken the children out for a bit of a ride . . . "
"Ah," he nodded and gave his son a pat on the shoulder, "I hope we do not cause an imposition?"
"Not at all Mr. Nassar," I smiled and gestured to a seat, "I am very happy to make your acquaintance. Would you care for some tea?"
"Oh yes, some fine English tea!" he boomed as he took a seat on the sofa beside his son, "How long have you been here, boy?"
"J-just a few moments."
"Indeed, we had just met as you arrived," I smiled politely and handed the older gentleman a cup of tea.
"So Owen has not had the chance to win you over yet?" he chuckled as his son again dropped his journal and I sat motionless, my face surely going blank.
"F-father!"
"What? Is an old man not allowed to joke with a young lady?" he smiled until he turned to me, "Oh, my dear, I hope my wit has not caused you dismay?"
"Not at all," I tried to smile and nod and instead just sipped my tea. "Patience told me that you're Egyptian." I could barely believe that was the best I could do to change the subject, but it was.
"Egyptian?" he said somewhat in surprise but he eased into the change of conversation, "Well, yes, my father's family goes back quite a ways," he said stirring his tea, "but my mother, as was my wife, were fine English women through and through."
"Was?" I asked hoping that I had heard incorrectly.
The elder Mr. Nassar gave a queer smile as he looked into his cup. "Y-yes," his son spoke up, "M-mother passed away not quite a year ago."
"Oh, I am terribly sorry," I set my cup back on the tray and reached my hand outs to touch their arms, "please forgive me for . . . "
"No, dear child," Mr. Nassar soothed as he patted my hand, "there is no cause to worry. Death is just part of the cycle of life, is it not?"
"I suppose that it is," I said lowly. I turned to try to smile at them, but I could feel my eyes betraying me.
"Miss Woodbridge!" Owen said quickly setting his tea down and rushing forward towards me as I fell back, "Miss Woodbridge, are you alright?" I barely heard his words as blackness enveloped me. At first I felt as if I was falling through the emptiness of the dark, tumbling over myself when the small dim lights began to dance by. A few of the lights flittered closer to me, I could almost make out a faint sound or voice as they came nearer. One particular orb seemed rather impertinent and just as I was trying to single in on its melody, a cold dampness brought me to my senses.
"Ah, there she is," Mr. Nassar's voice carried quietly, "You gave us a good fright, young lady."
"What?" I tried to say as my eyes fluttered open, trying to get accustomed to the brightness of the drawing room.
"Y-you fainted, Miss," Owen whispered. He was dotting my forehead with a damp cloth while his father was patting my hand in his. "Are you feeling ill?"
"I apologize if I caused you any alarm," I said sitting upright, "but I feel fine now, thank you."
"Perhaps you should lie down," Mr. Nassar said looking over me, "your man went to fetch the doctor."
"Oh, no, that is not needed," I breathed, "I am fine."
"Just to be sure," Mr. Nassar corrected, "I am positive that your family would want you looked over. Now, your maid will be down shortly to help you to your room. Owen and I will wait here for your sister."
"But Mr. Nassar . . . "
"P-please do not contest," Owen's voice sounded deeper and I heard his accent more precisely than I had earlier, "We will be fine waiting."
My maid came bustling into the drawing room and helped me to my feet, "If you will excuse me then," I curtsied, "I shall look forward to talking with you later."