by Abby Ayles
She had been in deep conversation with Lady Cunningham, and they two were perhaps the only ones who hadn’t seen the shocking proximity of the marquess and governess.
“Oui, Madame,” Jackie said releasing her hold on her uncle and skipping over to her grandmother’s side.
Isabella couldn’t help but smile as she watched Jackie’s beautiful gold curls bounce against the fire glow as she happily obliged.
“I was just telling Lady Cunningham that you sing so beautifully. Would you sing that nursery song your mother use to sing to you?”
“Yes Grandmère,” Jackie said dutifully.
“Oh, how splendid,” Lady Cunningham said, clapping her gloved hands softly. “I can already tell by your voice that you must be an outstanding singer.”
“Now, just stand there, so we may all hear you,” Her Grace said, pointing to the middle of the room. Her face was glowing with pride.
“Lord Bellfourd, do come sit down,” Lady Lydia cooed. “I would hate for you to be so far and not hear this little treat.”
Lord Bellfourd started to move closer in the room, Isabella on his arm, when she slipped her hand out. He raised a questioning look back at her.
“I should like to take my seat back here, if you please, Lord Bellfourd,” Isabella said politely.
“Come now,” Lady Lydia called. “You don’t want to miss it.”
Lord Bellfourd gave a soft nod of his head to Isabella in farewell before coming to stand next to his seated mother.
Isabella enjoyed the sound of Jackie's soft rendition of Au Clair de la Lune. She did have a beautiful singing voice. So, in the darkened far corner of the drawing room, Isabella sat with her eyes closed as she absorbed the lovely words.
Isabella opened them, surprised to find the marquess watching her. He didn’t look away when their eyes met. He towered high over his mother, with one hand resting on the high back of the chair, watching Isabella most intently.
Isabella blushed and looked away, thankful for the shadow of her seated position. Lord Bellfourd, too, let go of her gaze and turned to look on Jackie just as she finished.
All in the room clapped most heartily. Lady Abigail invited Jackie to sit at her side once the song was done and the room went back to quiet conversations.
“Lord Bellfourd,” Lady Lydia cooed yet again. “Please do tell me how His Grace is doing? My mother and I have both been so worried about his health.”
“I am afraid very poorly, Lady Lydia.”
Lady Wintercrest reached up and took her son’s hand instinctually. They had already lost James, the thought of losing the duke in such quick succession seemed more than any one family could bear.
“How unfortunate,” Lady Lydia said with what seemed like very little honesty in Isabella’s opinion.
“Perhaps a carriage ride around the estate might help him. I have heard quite often that fresh air can do wonders for healing,” she continued.
“Sadly, I don’t think my father can leave his current room, much less take a trip outside.”
“What a shame. I was hoping to take a ride and see the splendid grounds. Mother spoke of them so much on our trip up here from the last time she visited.”
Isabella did her best not to openly wrinkle her nose at what she was hearing. Lady Lydia was unmistakably using the poor health of the duke to secure an intimate ride with Lord Bellfourd.
Lord Bellfourd hesitated a moment. Indeed, at that moment, there was the proper thing to be said. In fact, it was expected by Lady Lydia.
“I have a wonderful idea,” Lady Wintercrest chimed in before anything could be decided in Lord Bellfourd’s mind. “Christian, why don’t you show Lady Lydia around tomorrow afternoon?”
“Of course, Mother,” Lord Bellfourd said to appease that wistful hope hanging in his mother’s soft eyes.
The night continued much the same. Isabella sat in her corner, Jackie played games with her aunt, and the duchess and her friend remained deep in conversation. This left the marquess to make conversation with Lady Lydia.
He did so politely, and with all the grace of a future duke. Isabella couldn’t help but see the fallen crest of his brow or notice the sheen, so often present in his blue eyes, missing.
After Jackie gave her third yawn, Isabella was happy to insist that it was time to take her student up to bed. Jackie happily agreed, utterly exhausted from the long day.
As Isabella laid in her own bed that night, she reflected on many things. The significant change in the household with the arrival of guests was, of course, at the forefront of her mind. Also apparent was the tingling feeling she still felt at her fingertips from Lord Bellfourd’s grasp.
Isabella wondered if she had only imagined him disinterested with Lady Lydia because she so detested the lady. Had she made up the reluctant manners of his speech and the bored set of his shoulders?
She also couldn’t help but wonder if more repercussions would occur with Mrs. Peterson after that evening's events with Lord Bellfourd. She told herself, yet again, not to worry and that her job’s security was in the hands of the marquess, and not the housekeeper.
It was with these uneasy thoughts that she finally drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 23
Dear Louisa,
I am disappointed to inform you that my happy life here at Wintercrest has drastically changed in the last few days.
As you might have expected would happen, Lady Lydia came to visit the duke’s household along with her mother. Though I find her mother to be a very kind, charming lady, it is with a sad disposition that I must confirm your earlier sentiments of Lady Lydia.
To make matters worse, she is clearly here with only one purpose in mind. That is, to win the affection of Lord Bellfourd.
Lady Wintercrest and Lady Cunningham are all too eager to try their hand at matchmaking, as I suppose any mother would be.
I thought that perhaps my dislike of Lady Lydia might be, at first, clouding my judgment of the lady and that perhaps I saw things not really there.
However, I was assured that this was not the case when, just yesterday, Lady Abigail came to join me in the garden in the early evening.
She told me that while Lord Bellfourd was taking Lady Lydia out for a ride in his curricle, they happened to see little Jackie and I leaving the small family graveyard outside of the estate chapel.
You see, I take Jackie there at least once a week on our afternoon walks to lay some flowers at her father’s grave.
According to Lady Abigail, Lady Lydia asked Lord Bellfourd if he was aware that I was taking the child to the family’s private cemetery.
When he said he was not, she went on and on for several minutes about my presumptuous behavior to do what I will with the child without the permission of the household.
Lady Abigail then confirmed to me that she too found Lady Lydia utterly ridiculous.
I do feel terrible on behalf of Lady Abigail. Surely, if the marquess does end up attached to Lady Lydia, I would not be far from out of employment, but Lady Abigail will be out considerably worse than me.
She fears greatly that if Lord Bellfourd decides to marry Lady Lydia, she will have lost a second brother. Between this and her father’s ever-worsening health, I fear she couldn’t stand it.
I did my best to assure her that it was very much too soon even to consider such notions. That being said, however, I cannot help but share in her apprehensions of where this path is currently leading.
It may not even end up being the choice of the marquess to make. With his father gravely ill and the dukedom at stake, I feel that Lord Bellfourd is being pressured to take on a wife and secure the line of succession.
Lady Lydia, though we both know has very many character flaws, is the daughter of an earl and a very likely match for Lord Bellfourd.
We both know that arrangements in such situations have not to do with feelings of the heart.
I have grown to care for the whole Wintercrest household, more than I ever thought
imaginable. For this reason, my heart is breaking at the thought that Lady Lydia may very likely be the new mistress of the manor.
I hope, for the sake of Jackie and Lady Abigail, and not my own, that this will not be the case.
Your friend always,
Isabella
Isabella finished her letter and, grabbing her hat and bonnet, prepared to take it into town herself.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon and Isabella rather enjoyed the idea of walking to town, something she had only done a few times since coming to Wintercrest.
“Where are ye off to?” a voice called out to Isabella as she entered the servants’ dining hall.
Isabella recognized it instantly as that of Betsy. Isabella turned to find her friend sitting alone at a table finishing a very late luncheon.
“I’m going to town to drop off a letter to post. Can I get you anything while I am there?” Isabella asked her friend.
“Well, actually if you dinna mind terribly. I do have an item or two I was hopin’ to get but have been avoidin’ goin’ myself, of late.”
“You have?” Isabella said coming to sit by her friend with concern. “Has something gone wrong with your Mr. Johnson?”
“Only that he isn’t my Mr. Johnson.”
“Oh Betsy, I’m so sorry to hear that. I know you were truly taking a liking to him.”
Isabella reached out and took Betsy’s hand in compassion.
“Ach, nothin’ to fret about, I suspect,” she did her best to wave off the hurt.
“If you don’t mind terribly, please tell me what happened. Perhaps I could help in some way.”
“I dinna think much can be done about it. One day I was walkin’ to market, and Mr. Johnson wasna waitin’ as usual. I dinna think much of it till I saw him at market walking next to Sally.”
“Oh, that rake!” Isabella said with venom.
“Aye, well it is what it is,” Betsy resolved herself. “I haven’t been able to brin’ myself to go to market since that day, though.”
“And you shan’t ever again, if you don’t want to. I will happily get any things you may need,” Isabella said with the heart of a true friend looking out for the broken-hearted.
Isabella walked to town with her letter in a basket that also included a short list from Betsy. The only item that she had absolutely needed to get was some fabric. Her cousin was turning sixteen in a few weeks, and she hoped to make her a lovely dress as a gift.
Isabella only paused once on the road, as she made her way to town, to look along the fencing of a house she thought might belong to Mr. Johnson. But with none, save some chickens, out and about she could not determine much.
She stopped to post her letter first and was surprised to find that she had a message in return. It was from Mr. Jenkins, her late father’s lawyer, and probably the only one who knew of her employment beyond Louisa.
Isabella tucked the letter safely into her basket and went on her way to the small mercantile shop. The dress that Betsy was planning to make for her cousin was a cream cotton in a flowing design for what she explained was a Scottish tradition on All Hallows’ Eve.
She said that, though she and her family were good Christian folk, like many of those rich in their Scottish heritage in these parts, they participated in the druid tradition of Samhain that night.
A grand bonfire would be built, small children would dress as ghosts and little people to blend in with the ones said to be free for one night. The maidens of the village would dress in white and dance around the fire.
Though it seemed a bit wild and strange to Isabella, in all honesty, it didn’t seem to differ much from its counterpart of the Mayday celebration. Thinking of Betsy there with her cousin, as they danced and warded off the evil spirits while commemorating the memory of their long-gone ancestors in the pure white gowns, Isabella decided she would try her hand at gifting one to Betsy as well.
Isabella had, after all, made the dress for little Jackie’s doll. Though she had never done more than mending and embellishing garments in the past, Isabella figured it couldn’t be so difficult to make one. Probably just a doll’s dress only larger.
She picked out the simple cotton fabric that Betsy asked for, then, using her own wages from employment, Isabella purchased a cream-colored cotton fabric and a matching lace overlay. Isabella was determined to make sure Betsy was the most beautiful maiden at Samhain. Then Mr. Johnson would regret his decision to show his affection elsewhere.
Isabella was so excited for her scheme and surprise for Betsy that she scarcely noticed much as she made her way back home. It was because of this that she was taken on by a great shock when a horse seemingly appeared from nowhere right behind her.
Isabella turned, frightened, and fell to the side of the road, basket and all following her to the ground. Immediately, the Barouche with the Wintercrest emblem on the side came to a halt.
Chapter 24
“Isabella, are you alright?” Lady Abigail’s voice called out from the open carriage.
Before Isabella even got her bearings, Lord Bellfourd jumped out of the coach and rushed to Isabella’s side before the driver had stopped entirely.
“Do forgive me, my lord, I did not see her as we came around the bend,” the driver said, most apologetically.
“Please don’t worry yourself, Samuel,” Isabella said, righting her basket and making sure all was safe. “I was lost in my own thoughts. I should have been listening and gone to the side of the road on your approach.”
“None the less,” Samuel said, stepping down from the carriage, “I beg your forgiveness, Miss Watts.”
“And I heartily accept it,” Isabella said.
She meant to stand on her own, but Lord Bellfourd was at her side and reached down to lift her up himself. He inspected her, once she was on her feet.
“Are you sure you are quite alright, Isabella?” he asked, his soft blue eyes searching her own.
“Yes, quite fine. No damage is done, My Lord,” she replied, smoothing out her skirt and taking a step back. She was keenly aware of the two pairs of eyes watching from the carriage.
Lady Abigail, she had no problem with; Lady Lydia sitting next to her, however, was a different matter.
“Bring her into the carriage,” Lady Abigail called. “She is much too shaken up to continue to walk.”
“Oh no,” Isabella protested. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your outing.”
“You have scarcely ever been an interruption not wanted, and I can safely say that that is still the case today.”
“But my hem is all dirty from walking; I will soil the carriage.”
Lord Bellfourd bent his head low just slightly, as was needed for his towering height, to see the hem of Isabella’s muslin walking dress. It did have a small dusting of dirt and mud from the occasion of her walking on the road.
“Muddy hems we can manage just fine. Provided there is no jewelry dangling from it?” He reached out his arm to Isabella and bent to pick up her basket for her.
“You are a terrible scoundrel for bringing up such a memory,” Isabella replied, taking his arm and walking with him to the carriage.
In her fall, her bonnet had slipped from her head, having not pinned it in place, and her lush black hair was a stark contrast to the white sheen of her skin.
Since Lady Abigail and Lady Lydia were seated next to each other, Lord Bellfourd helped Isabella to the opposite side of the carriage, before handing up her basket to rest next to Samuel in the driver’s seat. He sat next to her in the carriage and Isabella struggled to keep her breath from their proximity.
The Barouche moved onward with a call from the driver. With a slight lurch, they were off again at a comfortable trotting pace.
“You must have had a very successful trip into town, Isabella. How you didn’t tip over from the weight of your basket alone is a small miracle,” Lord Bellfourd teased.
“I suspect the staff has just recently been given their monthly earnin
gs,” Lady Lydia interjected. Her cool brown eyes were holding Isabella in an unfriendly manner. “I know as soon as my staff receives their earnings they go straight into town and spend it all away at once.”
Isabella wanted to tell Lady Lydia that she had made a horrid assumption. In fact, she had found, in her new position, that much of the staff rarely spent so much as a pence of their earnings. Much of it went back to their families or was saved up for the chance at a happier life.
“It isn’t all mine,” Isabella said instead, toward Lord Bellfourd. “I was also picking up some items for Betsy. She is making a Samhain dress for her cousin to celebrate her sixteenth birthday.”
“Samhain?” Lady Lydia repeated in shock. “Is that some pagan ritual? I cannot imagine being involved in the slightest way in such a thing.”
Lady Lydia opened her silk fan and waved herself, though it was not the least bit warm with the open carriage affording a soft breeze. Isabella watched Lady Lydia puff out her cheeks indignantly.
“Actually, it is quite fun,” Lady Abigail said, stretching to her full height in her seat.
“Abigail? You naughty little thing,” Lord Bellfourd said, reaching forward to tug playfully on Lady Abigail’s dark red curl that came to the side of her bonnet. “Have you been to the festival?”
“Yes, I have,” she replied, jutting her small chin out. She had a dusting of freckles on her nose, no doubt from all the times she took her bonnet off outside.
Isabella knew many women who would use concoctions to painstakingly remove such marks, but on Lady Abigail’s face, it was quite fitting to her wild spirit.
If Isabella was willing to admit it to herself, she had been one of those ladies who always shielded herself with bonnets and parasols, as well as used lemon water at any sign of a blemish.
It did seem rather silly to her now. Even at her youthful age of eighteen, Lady Abigail looked to be a beautiful young lady, and what some would call blemishes were part of that beauty.
“Well you must tell us all about it, then.” Lord Bellfourd encouraged his sister with a hearty smile on his square jaw.
