Lady Isabella’s Splendid Folly
a Fortunes of Fate novel
Sandra Sookoo
*****
Kindle edition
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LADY ISABELLA’S SPLENDID FOLLY © 2019 by Sandra Sookoo
Published by New Independence Books
ISBN- 9781386502869
Contact Information:
[email protected]
[email protected]
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com
Book Cover Design by Sweet ‘n Spicy Designs
Couple: 2016-02-16_18.01.30-2| Period Images.com
Background: Deposit Photos.com
Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2019
*****
Dear Readers,
It’s always fun to be part of a multi-author group project set in a shared world. This time around, we were all told the only element that we needed to share was a fortune teller. Immediately, I was intrigued, and once I’d selected my fortunes, even more so.
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did while writing it. Just goes to prove that life—and fate—are fickle, so we should always take a chance when we can.
Sandra
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Dedication
To every person who believes in fortunes, fate, and the luck—or folly—of romance.
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Blurb
There is only one path to true love, no matter how fate, fortune, or destiny play.
Lady Isabella Fortescue has tired of trying to bring a man up to scratch. At thirty-one, she’s put herself on the shelf and is glad for it, except she wants to have one splendid folly to call her own before that happens. But the unorthodox arrival of a horribly rude man makes her think even a scandal isn’t possible.
Captain Peregrine St. John has sworn off women—indefinitely. With the ill-luck of his last relationship fresh in his mind, he retires from naval service sporting a bum leg and a shattered heart. Rustication proves beyond boring, and a visit to a gypsy fair has him face down in the mud on a stormy afternoon. The heated admonishment from a lady only further cements his attitude on the fairer sex.
As fate would have it, Isabella and Peregrine are neighbors in Buckinghamshire. As country social life throws them together, tempers rise with each new meeting and sparks fly. Verbal banter gives way to wicked glances, and teasing kisses flare into passion on one glorious night. Fortune might predict happiness or foolish error, but love can only bloom if they listen to true desires hidden deep inside their hearts.
*****
“Anyone can achieve their fullest potential, who we are might be predetermined, but the path we follow is always of our own choosing. We should never allow our fears or the expectations of others to set the frontiers of our destiny. Your destiny can’t be changed but, it can be challenged. Every man is born as many men and dies as a single one.”
― Martin Heidegger
Chapter One
Late May, 1818
London, England
Lady Isabella Fortescue was celebrating her twenty-eighth birthday and she wished to do so with something fun, perhaps even slightly scandalous, for what was the point of attaining such an advanced age if one couldn’t do something gossip-worthy?
So, she and her two older sisters had taken themselves through London where they visited a fortune teller who was part of a gypsy camp operating in part of Hyde Park. It was the last day the caravan would linger there, for they were due to depart for the country, and since Isabella and her sisters would do the same soon, it was fortunate indeed that she caught them.
Very much into herself, Isabella didn’t take stock of her surroundings, for all she wanted was her fortune read and for her life to finally begin. Being eight and twenty, still living with her parents and sisters, was rather a bore and quite stifling, when all she wanted to do was cause a splash that would, perhaps, catch the eye of a dashing gentleman who’d whisk her away to adventure and love.
She stepped up to a gypsy’s colorful wagon and approached a woman clad in gay skirts. A bright orange scarf covered the woman’s dark hair. Golden spangles and sequins tossed back the brilliant early summer sun in tiny flashes. “Will you read my palm?”
“Of course.” The woman smiled at her and pointed to an embroidered red cushion that perched on top of a tree stump. “Sit.”
With a glance at her sisters, Isabella promptly sat and offered the requisite coins, which the gypsy then tucked away in a clever pocket sewn into her skirts. In short order, Madame Zeta took one of her hands and began tracing the lines of her palm. Seconds later, she uttered a short, generic fortune that had a frown pulling down the corners of Isabella’s mouth.
“Are you having me on?” She snatched her hand away from the gypsy, feeling foolish. “Is this folderol after all? Is that the best you can do?”
“What do you mean, child? You gave me two farthings and asked for a fortune. For the slight, that is what you get.” A faint smile curved the madam’s full, pretty lips.
“Ah.” Isabella narrowed her eyes. Then she tempered her ire. Gypsies must make a living the same as anyone else. She fished about in her reticule and this time offered the woman two half crowns, which would severely make a dent into her pin money. “Better?”
“Much.” The gypsy’s brown eyes flashed with amusement. “Give me your hand, miss.”
Again, Isabella offered her hand, palm upturned, and this time when the woman took it in hers, warmth ebbed over her skin, but she held her breath in anticipation. “Well?”
A sly look gathered over the fortune teller’s creamy mocha-hued face. “You are after love?”
Heat sank into her cheeks. “Perhaps. Else I’ll be firmly on the shelf. Many think I already am; my sisters do, certainly.” As if not marrying by now was such a crime.
“You have had chances with men?” The gypsy drew a forefinger along the lines of Isabella’s palm as she spoke.
“A few, but—”
“None of the men touched your heart, yes?” Her brown eyes sparkled.
“Yes.” It was wonderful to have someone finally understand. She wanted love or nothing at all, and if the man was titled and wealthy, all the better, for it would make her father—an earl—proud.
It was her parents’ fault, really. They were blissfully happy in their union, and were a good picture of what marriage—love—should be. Why shouldn’t she wish for that in her own life?
“Ah.” The gypsy tightened her hold on Isabella’s hand. “I do see something in your future,” she finally said.
“Oh?” She sat forward, breathless.
Madame Zeta nodded. “I foresee much joy in your life. M
uch hope, but there are plenty of paths for you to trod in order to find true love.” The gypsy fingered a golden pendant that sat at her collarbones. “So many paths. Which is the right one?” she asked, almost to herself, her eyes seeing something far away.
Isabella frowned. “How will I know which path is mine?”
The fortune teller gave herself a little shake and her eyes were once more clear like a cup of black coffee. “You will know here.” Madame Zeta touched her forehead. “And here.” She touched her stomach. “And here.” She touched her heart. “If these do not align, it is not the right path and you must try again.”
That sounded like an awful lot of work, but the fortune teller said no more. With a sigh, Isabella stood and thanked the gypsy. She left the caravan feeling… odd. Not quite hopeful yet not exactly worried.
In fact, she rather doubted she’d gotten her money’s worth at all.
Silly girl, you should know better than to glean romantic advice from a fortune teller. Life and love doesn’t work that way.
With the self-admonition chasing through her mind, Isabella’s joined her sisters for a bit of birthday shopping in Mayfair. They planned to enjoy an ice at Gunter’s, and when they did, Isabella vowed to give all attractive, passing gentlemen greater scrutiny. For truly, love could bloom anywhere and it would behoove her not to miss it.
Late May, 1818
Buckinghamshire, England
Another birthday rolled around, and once more, Lady Isabella Fortescue bickered with her sisters, for, like that time three years prior, she wanted to visit a gypsy caravan that had planted itself in Buckinghamshire for a couple of weeks.
“Why, for the love of everything wonderful, do you wish to visit the fortune teller again?” her oldest sister, Louisa asked with her eyes lifted to the heavens.
“I’m curious,” Isabella replied with a smile as they walked toward the gypsy fair that sprawled through a meadow beyond the village proper.
“But it’s so pointless,” her other sister, Mariana, complained with a huff.
All the Fortescue girls, as tradition dictated, had converged upon their father’s country estate to spend three months together in an effort to reconnect as a family. Ever since their mother had nearly died years before from a particularly nasty bout of pneumonia, they’d vowed to never take each other for granted. When their father was free of his duties in London, he would join them, as was also tradition. When Parliament and the Season reopened, they would all remove to their Mayfair townhouse once more, and in Louisa’s case, her own.
“Of course you’d say that, since you’ve had no end of suitors filling Father’s parlor these past weeks, even as the Season concluded.”
“As have you; the flowers given to you alone could fill a bower, but yet you insist on having your fortune read, as if there is some mysterious man still waiting undiscovered,” Louisa inserted. She fussed with a wrinkle on the bodice of her mint green frock and along the barely noticeable rounded bump of her belly. For in the past three years, perfect Louisa had married a viscount and was now enceinte with her first child. “I simply don’t have the time to waste loitering at this fair; Donald will arrive soon from London. Parliament is in turmoil this year and he’ll only have a week with me before having to return to Town for an extended session. No doubt Father will need to do the same.” A wistful sigh followed the announcement.
Isabella rolled her eyes and bit off the gagging sound she wished to make, for Louisa and her new husband were forever mooning about each other, holding hands and stealing kisses when they weren’t talking about plans for their nursery.
Love was quite disgusting when it happened to a member of one’s family.
So why am I so interested in it for myself?
Perhaps that was the exact problem. She alternately wanted a relationship but she didn’t want love. The knowledge she’d gleaned these past three years had told her it was too much… work. And that made it annoying. Having young bucks filling one’s parlor, each bearing some sort of tribute to their feelings was more than a bit stressful and… disappointing.
Why, though? Three years ago, she would have done anything for such attention. Now? Her dowry was large enough that any of those men would consider themselves set for life, but beyond that, none of them appealed.
Knowing her sisters waited upon an answer, she sighed. “I merely wish to know if my fortune from three years ago has changed.” For though the multiple paths promised in that last fortune had proved to be true and she’d had many suitors, none of those men had struck her fancy or tugged at her heart, much to the dismay of her sisters and her parents.
And, possibly more to the point, none of those men set her aflame or made her heart race with anticipation or mystery.
There was something to be said for that. Marriage would be long indeed if there wasn’t attraction present.
Mariana took up the threads of the conversation. “You won’t find a suitor at a country fair, Izzy. Or if you do, he won’t be a man of the ton.” She snorted as if such a thing were a tragedy. “Imagine, marrying a man who works for a living.” Her tone suggested it was not to be borne.
“What difference does that make?” Three years had been a long time, and her personal tastes had changed. She no longer cared if a man possessed a fortune or held a position or title within the ton. Neither did she give a jot that she was an earl’s daughter and expected to marry well. None of that mattered. She wanted love, and it was nowhere to be found within the bevy of eager suitors that had come to call.
“It makes a huge difference,” her middle sister asserted, her expression scandalized. “A man who works a trade is somewhat rather… less, don’t you think? He’ll never settle into domestic life and will forever be tempted.”
Isabella pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Tempted by what? The amount of coin he could possibly make for himself? Tempted to not rely on old money or the traditions found within the ton?” She purposefully dropped her voice to what she hoped was a thrilling whisper. “Tempted by perfumed arms and come hither glances only found in the workaday world?” Then she emitted an unladylike snort. “In the event you hadn’t realized, sister dear, a man encounters those temptations all the time, no matter the circles he resides in, but if he is any man at all, he won’t indulge once his heart is engaged.”
That was the trick, though. How to engage a man’s heart so that it stuck unerringly to hers? No, perhaps love wasn’t in her future at all, and if that were the case, she wanted scandal, something she could look back upon in her dotage and say with satisfaction that it was the most splendid folly, and that she was glad she’d done it.
“Don’t be droll, Izzy,” Louisa said, but there was a decided smile upon her lips.
“Fine.” Isabella shrugged. “Visiting the fortune teller is fun, and as it’s my birthday, it’s my prerogative. The two of you do not need to accompany me.” If love wasn’t part of her path, she was ready to embrace spinsterhood, for being firmly on the shelf kept unsavory men away. The eager young bucks would realize that soon enough as well.
Mariana linked their arms. “Of course we’ll go with you. Then we’ll enjoy the rest of the fair.” She smiled. “That’s what sisters do. But the fair will run for ten days, at least, so if you don’t wish to go today…”
“No, I do.” Isabella shot her a grateful glance. Then a sobering thought occurred. “No doubt you’ll be married soon, and then what with Louisa’s impending motherhood, our lives will shift and change. No longer will we have this time together, for other interests will pull you both away.” Would she still visit Buckinghamshire in the summer if she was alone?
“No more maudlin thoughts,” Mariana declared and it was she who pulled Isabella along toward the brightly-colored wagons of the gypsies. “Marriage and children won’t break our bond.”
As they drew nearer, sights and sounds and smells enveloped Isabella. The gypsy wagons were cozy, tiny houses on wheels. With round tops and a door at the
end and painted in all manner of bright, happy colors, the wagons were arranged in half moon-shaped arcs. Each gypsy sat either on the steps that lowered from the back end of the wagon or on a chair in front of the vehicle. Small tables were draped with colorful scarves; some had crystal balls, others contained tarot cards, while still others were scattered with tea cups. It seemed each fortune teller had a different way of diving the future—for the right price.
Isabella skimmed her gaze over the various vendors, and when her notice alighted on one in particular, her breath caught. “Can it be?” She broke away from her sisters. “It is!” The same gypsy she’d talked with three years ago sat at one end of the half-moon curve, her skirts just as bright and flowing as the last time, the scarf and spangles about her head as cheerful. “This one,” she urged and led the way toward Madame Zeta.
When she stood in front of the woman with the beautiful creamy mocha skin and the soulful brown eyes, she smiled. Behind the seated woman, on a wooden placard affixed to the side of the wagon, a pretty hand-painted sign read: Fortunes by Madame Zeta. “I saw you three years ago in London. For my birthday,” she tacked on as if it mattered. “You read my palm.”
“Ah.” Interest twinkled in the other woman’s eyes. “Did you find your true love?”
“No.” Isabella chuckled. It was all so very amusing. “I found everything but—fortune hunters, men who are looking to gain a higher foothold in the ton, men who want a new mother for their brood, men who must marry for appearances, and even men who might be devoted husbands…”
Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7) Page 1