by Abby Ayles
In any instance when Lady Abigail or Lord Bellfourd would try to include Isabella, Lady Lydia would take it out most carefully to flaunt before Isabella’s eyes.
Between the wicked ways of Lady Lydia and the constant fear that Mr. Smith might happen on her, Isabella felt she was becoming a shell of herself.
Soon the time of All Hallows’ Eve was upon them and Isabella was happy that she had at least finished Betsy’s dress in time.
She asked Betsy to meet her in her room just after supper for a surprise.
“Oh, my! Why, this can’t be meant for me?" Betsy exclaimed, pulling back the brown paper Isabella had wrapped the garment in.
“Of course it’s for you, you silly.” Isabella felt the warm glow of happiness reach her cheeks for the first time in a very long while.
“'Tis so fine. I could never wear such a thing,” Betsy protested softly, touching the lace overlay of the ivory dress.
“You certainly shall. I will help you put it on and together we will create the finest hair. Mr. Johnson will think twice about looking past you after tonight. I will make you the belle of the festival.”
She hugged Isabella in a tight embrace. Both girls had tears brimming in their eyes.
An hour later, Betsy was dressed and looked absolutely stunning. Her soft brown hair was pinned up in a sweeping chignon with some of Isabella’s white ribbon decorating it. Small ringlets surrounded her face and two large ones sat perfectly on her left shoulder.
Isabella added a thick satin white ribbon around the high waist to the ivory lace gown.
“I look just lovely,” Betsy said, standing before the round mirror in Isabella’s room.
“Oh, Isabella, ye must come with me,” she said, turning and taking Isabella by the hand. “We shall go together and ye shall have a grand time. Forget yer woes for a time.”
“I wish I could,” Isabella said, letting her brow fall again in sorrow. “I walk such a dangerous path as it is, I couldn’t risk it.”
Betsy had been the only one to whom Isabella had shared the truth of Lady Lydia’s devious ways. She trusted Betsy and knew she wouldn’t judge her harshly for taking the locket.
“How would the lady ever ken ye went? She certainly won't be there, just us local folk. Aye, the other servants will recognize ye, but they will say naught about it.”
“What about Mrs. Peterson? She, too, would be happy for any reason to get me in trouble.”
“Ach, Mrs. Peterson? At Samhain? I would no sooner expect to see the likes of her than to see the Devil ‘imself!”
“I suppose it would be fun to go. I must confess, I am a little curious after Lady Abigail’s tale of her adventure. If you don’t think any wrong will come of my being there?”
“It’s like Mrs. Murray told ye, ‘Whit’s fur ye’ll no go past ye.’”
“What’s ever meant to be will happen,” Isabella repeated, remembering when Mrs. Murray had spoken the words to her.
Though she was sure Mrs. Murray had taken her unhappy state to be because of Lady Lydia’s ever-growing attention from the marquess. Though it was a small part of it, it wasn't the root of her current problem.
“Yer meant to be here. This is yer home now, yer no a chancer for havin’ just a wee bit o’fun.”
“Alright, if you think it will be safe,” Isabella finally conceded.
“Right then! Let’s get ye all bonnied up as well,” Betsy said, walking over to Isabella’s closet of dresses.
Thirty minutes later, they were out of the room and on the road to the festivities. Isabella had changed into a simple, cream-colored morning dress with small green vines decorating the front.
Isabella wore an extra thick petticoat and brought with her a woolen forest green shawl that Mrs. Murray had made to stave off winter’s chill.
Isabella couldn’t help the skip to her step as they neared the glow of a fire just past a freshly cut field.
They walked around the piles of barley, stacked like little-pointed huts as they dried, and back to where the music and light both increased.
Isabella was amazed at what lay before her. She had been to a few public hall dances and expected it to be much of the same. Perhaps slightly livelier than a private event, but none the less, not much different.
She was mistaken. The crowd around the three bonfires was so full of chatter it was almost hard to hear. The children were running around, soot-faced and in ragged clothes. Most of the little girls had their hair down and flowing in the wind with garlands of pinecones and flowers adorning them.
She made out the outline of a small band just to the side of the main fire pit. It was by far the largest and even from a distance, she could feel the heat of it.
She could just make out the sound of a lively jig over all the chatter. There were even a couple or two already dancing beside the fire.
It looked to Isabella like most of the servants and all the town was there for the evening's festivities.
There were two long tables dripping in delicacies and roasted meats. Large cornucopias decorated the centerpiece, every so often bursting with apples and even an orange or two. She wondered how that had been managed.
“I must leave ye now,” Betsy said to her friend. “Tis almost time for the dance. Will ye be alright, then?”
“Yes, of course. Go on. I can’t wait to watch you.”
Isabella watched her friend make her way through the crowds and to a group of young ladies waiting just on the other side, all dressed in white.
Isabella walked along the edge of the crowd, stopping only once to help a small child sneak a tart from the table, so that she could continue to have a good view of her friend.
“I suppose I wasn’t the only one to be curious about Abigail’s story,” a rich voice said next to her.
Isabella looked up, very surprised to see Lord Bellfourd standing there. He was dressed rather relaxed in high boots, pantaloons, his cotton shirt, and long riding jacket. Isabella couldn’t help but notice that his cravat was simply tied in a napoleon knot, something he did himself, no doubt, upon exiting the manor.
His shadow was very angular as he looked over at Isabella, which only enhanced the wicked gleam he so liked to sport on his square jaw when he was unconventional.
“I did not think…” Isabella hesitated, rising with panic. What would Lady Lydia do if she found out that Isabella was there, and standing next to the marquess, no less? “I was hoping not to be noticed tonight,” she finally settled on.
“Mums the word, I swear it,” Lord Bellfourd said, winking down at Isabella. “Though I scarcely see how you could go unrecognized. I could spot your dark hair and amber eyes in the fire glow from all the way across the festivities,” he teased.
“Betsy invited me to watch the dance. I couldn’t help but be intrigued by it.”
“I said hello to her in passing, too. She does look wonderful in that garment you made for her. You are very talented.”
“Thank you, Lord Bellfourd, but I can’t take all the credit. Mrs. Murray did have to help me a bit with finishing it.”
“Mmm,” he said, now turning to Isabella and furrowing his brow, “Lord Bellfourd is it? I must tell you,” he said with that sly grin, “I too, am incognito. Therefore, you have no choice but to remove my title from your utterance.”
“Well, since you agreed to keep my secret, I suppose I will have no choice but to also keep yours in return.”
“That’s very kind of you, your ladyship,” he said with a teasing bow to Isabella.
His eyes stopped at the neckline of her dress, however.
“If you don’t mind me asking terribly, where is your locket? It seemed so treasured by you and always adorned your neck, but it has been missing as of late?”
“Oh, yes. That. Well…” Isabella stammered for an explanation but was luckily halted by the hushing of the crowds.
All attention and focus went to the line of fair maidens dressed in white as they made their way around the central circle
. It was almost a mesmerizing trance to watch as they danced and swayed with turnip lanterns hanging from a ribbon in each girl’s hand. It was both ominous and beautiful all at same time as they swayed and twirled around the bonfire.
Betsy stood out, not just for her exquisite dress but the light that shone from her as she moved about the pit.
Isabella couldn’t help but scan the crowd for the Mr. Johnson she had never met. She hoped her eyes would fall upon a young man crestfallen with regret and then she would know for certain this was the man who had lost the greatest prize.
She had no such luck, however. Most of the faces were happy and just as mesmerized as her own. She even caught a few small girls dancing and twirling around just outside the circle of maidens. Their sways were filled with the anticipation of someday being the maidens themselves.
After the dancing was done, everyone lifted roars of cheers. The band started again and this time, many couples came to dance around the fires.
Betsy came skipping over to Isabella with a slightly younger girl in tow. The family resemblance was easy to see between them, even in the dim light of the fire.
“Isabella, I must introduce ye to my kin, Fiona.”
“It is so good to meet the one I have heard so much of. You both danced beautifully.”
“Thank ye,” they both said in unison.
It was then that Betsy noticed the marquess at Isabella’s side.
“Beg yer pardon, yer Lordship,” she said with a curtsy. “May I introduce my cousin Fiona to ye.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Fiona,” Lord Bellfourd said with a dashing bow. “If you would please excuse me, however, I feel I am in need of some of those delicious tarts over there.”
“Try the apple pasties,” Fiona interjected. “My mum made those ones.”
“Then I shall be sure to grab one and doubt I will be disappointed,” he bowed once more.
Before turning to leave, however, he held out his arm to Isabella, “Would you care to join me?”
Isabella blushed a bit, hearing the girls at her side giggle as she placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and followed him over to the table of goodies.
Chapter 27
The evening continued for Isabella in a memorable sort of way. She stayed at the marquess’ side for most of the night and even danced to a few folk songs that she knew from public balls.
Though the attendees knew clearly that it was the marquess at the festivities, they treated him as one of their own. It was the greatest gift bestowed upon the Lord of Bellfourd to once again feel at home as he had in his naval times.
Finally, as the night began to wind on, Isabella thought it is best that she return home and retire for the night. After all, she still had a full day of lessons with Jackie on the morrow.
“I will walk with you home, then,” Lord Bellfourd said. “Let me just stop at Mr. Johnson’s barn to collect my horse.”
“Mr. Johnson?” Isabella exclaimed.
“Yes,” Lord Bellfourd said, a little confused by her excitement. “He is the tenant that works the land we are on.”
“Oh, to be true,” Isabella clapped her hands gayly, perhaps a little too much so after the sweet fermented cider she had earlier. “That would be the elder Mr. Johnson and he has a son about Betsy’s age.”
“Well, I would say that Alden is a bit older than Betsy, but yes.”
“Oh Christian,” Isabella said taking his hands. “That is so wonderful.”
“It is,” he said with a little laugh, enjoying Isabella’s giddy behavior. “Why is that you have taken a liking to the chap.”
“No, don’t be silly,” Isabella said hooking her arm in his and encouraging him to take her with him to the barn. “Betsy has been sweet on him for some time. He was sweet on her too, but then for some reason, set his eyes on another.”
“I wanted to make the dress for Betsy so that she could show that scoundrel, Mr. Alden Johnson, that he had made a grave mistake.”
Lord Bellfourd took possession of his chestnut steed from a much younger boy who was dozing away in a soft pile of hay in the barn. Isabella couldn’t help but smile as she watched Lord Bellfourd place a shiny new copper in his hand.
They walked on in silence down the road for a short while.
“Is that the only reason you made Betsy look so nice tonight?” Lord Bellfourd finally asked.
“What do you mean?” Isabella inquired from the other side of the horse that walked between them.
“I just mean, you dressed her all up as a fine lady. Perhaps you hoped that Mr. Alden would do more than regret his change in affection.”
"If by that you mean, see the true value in Betsy and fall hopelessly in love with her? I suppose, yes. I am a romantic at heart, after all.”
“You are?” Lord Bellfourd said, but seemed to think this over. “You know it doesn’t matter,” he finally said.
“What doesn’t matter?”
“What she wears, how she looks. If he truly loved her, he would see beyond the physical and love the girl inside. Outward situations matter little compared to the condition of the heart.”
Isabella felt the conversation turn to something with a much deeper meaning.
“That is quite a nice thought, Christian, but there is always more than just that simple statement to consider.”
“And what would that be?”
“Well, the feelings of family members, for one,” Isabella blurted out with obviousness.
“It is a silly thing if you ask me, to stake one’s own life’s happiness on the sensitivities of others. Certainly, that is no way to live.”
“You are saying you don’t think we should feel any attachment to our family. That each person, upon the age of adulthood, should turn from those who loved and raised him and care not for how his affections might affect them.”
“I don’t suppose I would put it quite that dramatically,” he said with a smug grin catching Isabella between the horse in the soft moonlit night. “But no, I don’t think a person should base his own happiness on what others, even his family, might want of him.
“Do you suppose,” he continued, “if your father knew of Mr. Smith’s proposal to you, he would have wanted you to take up such an arrangement?”
* * *
Isabella thought this over. Truthfully, her father, though loving and giving of every want, rarely spoke an opinion on the matter of marriage. She wasn’t sure if her father would have been for such matters so as to benefit his company, or against it, in support of her refusal.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Alright, but let's just say, for argument’s sake, that he wanted you to marry his business partner and, in fact, wholeheartedly endorsed it. Would you have married him then?”
“No!” Isabella blurted out without thought, as she often did when overcome with emotion.
“Precisely. Certainly family’s, and even societies’, thoughts and opinions matter, but in the end, we each live our own lives. We should all be allowed to choose who we will spend the rest of our lives with, no matter her status.”
Isabella felt Lord Bellfourd’s eyes on her and she couldn’t bear to look at him, for fear of giving away her own feelings.
“Well then,” she said, lightening the mood, “I shall congratulate Betsy heartily on the morrow for stealing away the Marquess of Bellfourd’s heart.”
Lord Bellfourd gave into unrestrained laughter at Isabella’s proclamations, much to her satisfaction.
They walked the remainder of the journey in contented silence. Isabella walked with him to deposit the horse in his own stall, and then, together, they walked into the main foyer of the manor. Parting at the opposite stairwells, Lord Bellfourd bowed politely and bid Isabella goodnight.
Isabella could scarcely sleep despite the late hour. If the festivities were not enough to keep her alert, the cryptic words spoken before parting the company of Lord Bellfourd certainly were.
She had long s
ince admitted to herself that she felt an attachment to the marquess. Never in all her life would she expect him to do the same. Such a thing surely couldn’t be allowed.
She replayed the night's events over and over in her head as she lay awake under her quilts. Constantly, she second-guessed if she saw more than there was. But then, Lord Bellfourd's words came back to her:
‘We all should be allowed to choose who we will spend the rest of our lives with, no matter HER status.’
Had he meant Isabella when he uttered that phrase? Isabella certainly wanted to let herself hope so but also feared to allow such excitement to grow inside her.
She stayed awake pondering these things till she could see the dim early light of the day breaking. Despite her need to ready herself for the day's tasks, Isabella finally drifted off to sleep, with thoughts of Lord Bellfourd on her mind and in her heart.
“Isabella? Isabella? Are you not well?” broke through the haze of what seemed like only a few seconds later.
It was Lady Abigail sitting at the side of Isabella’s bed, her youthful face drawn with worry.
“Why? What's going on?” Isabella said, surprised at how hoarse and dry her throat felt.
“Betsy came to get me. She said she came this morning with breakfast, but you were not awake. When Mrs. Murray informed her that you had not left your room to attend Jackie she thought you must be unwell. She came to me straight away. Are you ill?”
It was clear that Lady Abigail asked in true concern.
“No,” Isabella said softly, still attempting to get her bearings on the preceding night and following morning.
“My goodness, what time is it?” Isabella said, shooting up in her bed, now coming to her senses.
She instantly regretted such movement as her head began to swirl most painfully.
“You are ill,” Lady Abigail instead. “I should have the doctor fetched for.”
“No, please don’t. I will be alright shortly,” Isabella said, eyes closed as she rubbed her temples. She was willing the massive pain to leave her body. “It must have been that cider. I had far too much of it.”
