“All men are arrogant,” the old woman said. “Would you prefer marriage to Nicholas deJewell?”
“I would prefer being left alone.”
“That would be unnatural,” Giselle said. “A woman needs a man to love and to care for her.”
“What do men need?”
“The door swings both ways in that regard,” Giselle told her. “A man needs a woman to love and to care for him. Men and women are two halves of a whole. I know you want children to love and nurture.”
“My, aren’t we the philosophical one today,” Isabelle said.
“I am a higher being.”
“This is a mistake,” Isabelle said in a voice no louder than a whisper. “I don’t know how to mingle in society and will make a cake of myself.”
“There’s no need to worry,” Giselle said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I plan to be with you every step of the way.”
“Oh, Lord, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
“What kind of guardian angel would I be if I didn’t accompany you on the greatest adventure of your life? The Lord would never forgive me for being derelict in my duties.”
Someone knocked on the bedchamber door, drawing their attention. “Lady Isabelle,” Pebbles called. “The ducal coach and your stepfamily are waiting.”
“I’m coming,” Isabelle rose from her chair and turned to the old woman. “Are you ready for my misadventure?”
“God forgive me, but I cannot abide your stepfamily,” Giselle said. “I’ll meet you there.” The old woman vanished.
“Coward,” Isabelle called to the empty chamber and started for the door.
Less than an hour later, Isabelle peered out the window of the ducal coach as it left the road. She couldn’t see Avon Park itself but knew they had entered its grounds.
The ride down the private road to the mansion seemed to take forever. Ignoring her stepsisters’ excited chatter, Isabelle studied the sunbeams dancing on top of the crusty snow blanketing the lawns and wondered what awaited her at Avon Park.
The coach crossed a stone bridge over a stream and came to a halt in a circular drive. A Saint-Germain footman opened the coach’s door and assisted her stepmother and stepsisters down.
Alighting last from the coach, Isabelle caught her first look at Avon Park. Impressive and fantastical, the mansion appeared to have sprung to life from a romantic fairy tale. Made of golden limestone, the house reminded her of a castle. Its towers, gables, and ogee caps created a magnificent skyline.
Isabelle couldn’t even begin to guess how many rooms it had, but she knew she wouldn’t want to be the housekeeper. The duke needed an army of servants to maintain the house and the grounds in smooth-running order.
Clutching her flute case, Isabelle turned toward the mansion’s double doors just as they opened. A tall, impeccably dressed man with a haughty expression stepped outside. Several liveried footmen followed the man and immediately began unloading their baggage.
“Welcome to Avon Park, my ladies,” the duke’s majordomo greeted them. “Please follow me.”
Walking behind her stepfamily, Isabelle entered the mansion’s main foyer. It was three stories high and had a marble staircase that led to the upper floor. Though Avon Park looked like a castle from the outside, the interior appeared to have been completely modernized.
“What an exquisite foyer,” Delphinia gushed, unable to mask her envy. “Don’t you agree, my darlings?”
“Quite beautiful,” Rue said.
“And costly too,” Lobelia added.
Apparently, the Duke of Avon was richer than the king, proving at least that idle piece of gossip true. Knowing the amorous schemes her stepsisters would be hatching, Isabelle could almost feel sorry for him.
“Mistress?”
“I beg your pardon?” Isabelle said, realizing the majordomo was speaking to her.
“May I take your case?”
“No, thank you.” Isabelle clutched her flute case like a mother protecting her baby.
“Very good. The others are waiting in the drawing room.”
The majordomo led them down a long corridor to the lavishly decorated drawing room. The chamber had been furnished with a piano, opulent sofas, tables, and chairs. Crimson Spitalfield silk hung on the walls, and the carpet had large octagon patterns of crimson, gold, blue, and brown.
The majordomo announced their arrival. Wearing a polite smile of greeting, the Duke of Avon crossed the room to greet them.
“Welcome to Avon Park, ladies,” the duke said.
“It’s good of you to invite us,” Delphinia said, her smile ingratiating.
“I am happy to be here, Your Grace,” Lobelia gushed.
“Me too,” Rue added, and then giggled like an imbecile.
“Are you also happy to be here, Mistress Montgomery?”
“I am not unhappy to be here, Your Grace,” Isabelle lied with a sweet smile.
“Don’t you trust my servants?” John asked, his dark gaze dropping to the flute case she clutched in her arms.
His question confused her. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m certain Dobbs asked to carry your flute,” he said, “but you weren’t in the mood to give it up.”
“Nobody touches my mother’s flute but me.”
“I suppose we’ll need to bury it with her when she passes away,” Delphinia remarked.
“I intend to bequeath my mother’s flute to my own daughter,” Isabelle said.
“You need to catch a husband first,” Lobelia reminded her.
“Who besides Cousin Nicholas would offer for a girl who talks to herself?” Rue said.
“A deaf man, perhaps?” Isabelle said, narrowing her violet gaze on her stepsister. “We’ll look for a blind man for you.”
At that, John burst out laughing.
“Johnny, introduce your guests,” called one of the women seated on the opposite side of the chamber.
Isabelle looked at the two women who bore an uncanny resemblance to each other. Both had faded blond hair liberally laced with gray and wore kindly but curious expressions.
John escorted them across the drawing room and made the proper introductions to his Aunt Hester and his mother, the dowager duchess. Then he gestured to his majordomo. “I’m certain you’ll want to settle in and rest a while. Dobbs will show you to your rooms.”
Before leading her girls across the chamber to the majordomo, Delphinia turned to the duke. “I’m surprised dear Nicholas isn’t here to greet us.”
“Your nephew and my brother have gone along to London,” John said, reaching for a sealed missive on the sofa table. “The baron asked me to give this to you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Delphinia said. “We’ll see you later.” She began ushering her daughters toward the door.
Isabelle followed behind but paused when she heard her name called.
“Mistress Montgomery, please remain behind to speak with Lady Montague and me,” the dowager duchess said.
The request caught Isabelle off guard. She shifted her gaze to the duke, who also appeared surprised.
“Do not disgrace us,” Delphinia whispered. And then her stepfamily disappeared out of the drawing-room door.
Like a woman going to the gallows, Isabelle crossed the drawing room toward the duchess and her sister. She felt relieved that Giselle hadn’t appeared yet. Once those two aristocrats caught her talking to herself, they wouldn’t want to be in the same room with her.
“You may return to your office,” the dowager duchess said, sliding her gaze to her son. “Hester and I want to become acquainted with Mistress Montgomery. You wouldn’t be interested in our conversation.”
John nodded, but his expression screamed his reluctance to leave. The door clicked shut behind him.
“Sit down here,” the dowager duchess said, patting the sofa beside her. “Mistress Montgomery, we have been hearing a great deal about you.”
“Indeed, we have,” Lady Montague agreed.
“Why, Tessa, the child’s freckles enhance her innocent beauty.”
Without thinking, Isabelle touched the bridge of her nose.
“Johnny was teasing us,” Lady Montague continued. “Oh, what fun we shall have.”
“Hester, please allow me to get a word into this conversation,” the dowager duchess said.
Isabelle didn’t understand what they were talking about. She flicked a quick glance from one to the other and caught a look that passed between them, as well as a nod from the duchess. What did that mean?
The dowager duchess cleared her throat. “Mistress Montgomery—”
“Please, Your Grace, call me Isabelle.”
Both women nodded and smiled at her.
“The dressmakers and the others will be arriving right after the first of the year,” Lady Montague said. “We have ever so much planning to do.”
“With all due respect, this is a terrible mistake,” Isabelle said, looking first at the dowager duchess and then at Lady Montague. “I don’t know how to go about in society and wouldn’t wish to embarrass the Saint-Germains in any way.”
“We intend to teach you everything,” Lady Montague said, waving her hand in dismissal. “By the time we’re finished, you will pass for a duchess.”
“When in doubt, bluff your way through a situation,” the dowager duchess told her, and then stared at her for a long moment. “You have the look of your mother.”
“You knew my mother?”
“I met her more than a few times at social gatherings.”
“What was she like?”
“Your mother was an exquisitely beautiful woman and devoted to her husband and children,” the duchess told her.
Isabelle gave her a smile filled with sunshine. She would have spoken, but heard a familiar voice.
“I like this duchess.”
Isabelle snapped her head toward the hearth. Giselle was relaxing in one of the chairs there.
“Her untimely death saddened me,” Lady Montague added, drawing Isabelle’s attention away from the old woman.
“Perhaps you would like to retire now,” the duchess suggested. “We’ll speak more about your mother later.”
Isabelle acquiesced with a nod. She knew when she was being dismissed.
“If you step into the corridor, you will find Dobbs awaiting your pleasure,” the duchess told her.
Isabelle rose from the sofa and curtsied to both women. Clutching her flute case, she crossed the drawing room, but she felt their eyes upon her. And then Lady Montague’s voice drifted to her, “What do you think, Tessa?”
“If she’s anything like her mother,” she heard the duchess reply, “I believe she’ll do rather nicely.”
Wondering what they were talking about, Isabelle glanced over her shoulder and caught them staring at her. They nodded, and she smiled. Then Isabelle stepped outside, and the door clicked shut behind her.
* * *
“I don’t belong here.” Isabelle sat in one of the chairs positioned in front of the hearth.
“What did you say?” Giselle asked, sitting in the other chair.
Isabelle gestured toward the bedchamber. “I feel out of place in this luxury.”
“Mortals can adapt to any situation.”
Isabelle shifted her gaze from the hearth to the old woman. Then she turned her head and scanned the opulently furnished chamber.
The bedchamber was enormous—at least five times the size of her room at Arden Hall. The canopied bed could comfortably sleep four or five people. It had a mahogany headboard and fluted, carved columns at the bottom. A damask coverlet coordinated with the bed hangings, which kept the cold out. A violet patterned silk that complemented the bed’s accoutrements hung on the walls down to the dado, and a woven carpet, obviously imported from some exotic port, covered the wooden floor.
The chamber also sported the little necessities of life. There was a table complete with recesses for toilet articles, a dressing table with mirror, a washstand on tripod feet topped by a porcelain bowl, a bedside commode, a full-length looking glass, and a gigantic tallboy with drawers and wardrobe.
“I am not going downstairs to dinner,” Isabelle said, her voice sounding loud in the chamber. “I will make a complete cake of myself.”
“You will be fine,” Giselle assured her, her smile placid. “The dowager and her sister already like you.”
“I have nothing to wear. Lobelia and Rue destroyed my best gowns. Remember?”
“Have you no faith in your guardian angel?” Giselle rose from her chair and opened one of the trunks. Reaching inside, the old woman held up a violet gown. “You can wear this.”
Isabelle bolted out of her chair and hurried across the chamber to the old woman. “That gown doesn’t belong to me. Where did you get it?”
“Angels perform miracles every day.”
“Can everyone see the gown or only me?” Isabelle asked, narrowing her gaze on her old friend. “I wouldn’t care to be like that emperor who walked naked down the road.”
“Trust me, your stepsisters will drool with envy when they see you in this,” Giselle said smiling. “Besides, the duke is already too fond of you. Would I let him taste the wine before he’s paid for it?”
That remark confused Isabelle. “I don’t understand.”
“Your understanding is unnecessary.” Giselle reached into the trunk again and began removing accessories that matched the violet gown.
“Where did you get these?” Isabelle asked.
“This ensemble belonged to your mother,” the old woman told her. “Your father saved her belongings because he couldn’t bear the finality of giving them away.”
“My mother wore this?” Isabelle touched the gown. “I can feel her presence.”
“Can you now?”
“I do love you,” Isabelle cried, flinging herself into the old woman’s arms.
“Come now,” Giselle said after a moment. “Let me help you dress for dinner.”
An hour later, Isabelle opened her bedchamber door. After pausing to cast her old friend a confident smile, she stepped outside and started down the corridor.
Isabelle wore the violet silk gown with its high waist and puffed shoulder sleeves. On her feet were matching slippers, and around her shoulders she’d draped a matching cashmere shawl. Giselle had parted her blond hair in the middle and woven it into one thick braid knotted at the nape of her neck. She wore no gloves.
Isabelle felt like a princess. She descended the marble staircase to the floor below and then looked around, wondering where she should go.
“Please follow me,” Dobbs said, materializing from nowhere. “The others are awaiting you in the drawing room.”
Isabelle followed the majordomo down the corridor. “Thank you, Mister Dobbs,” she said, when the man opened the drawing room door for her.
Everyone turned when she walked into the room. Feeling conspicuous, Isabelle hesitated just inside the doorway.
“You’re late,” Delphinia said.
“Where did she get that gown?” Rue whined.
“She’s not wearing gloves,” Lobelia said.
Ignoring them, Isabelle looked at her guardian. His dark eyes gleamed with obvious appreciation at the change in her appearance.
“You look lovely tonight,” John complimented her, walking across the room toward her. “I hope you will allow me to escort you to dinner.”
Without waiting for her permission, John grasped her forearm and ushered her out of the drawing room. The others followed them to the dining room.
John sat at the head of the long table. On his right sat his mother, Delphinia, and Rue. Isabelle, Aunt Hester, and Lobelia sat on his left side.
Beneath Dobbs’s supervision, two footmen began serving supper from silver platters on the sideboard. First came hearty vegetable soup, followed by roasted beef and potatoes. Baskets of pastry accompanied this main course, and for dessert there was a rich custard.
Isabelle spoke little througho
ut dinner. She let her stepfamily’s inane questions and comments concerning society gossip swirl around her. Sitting in the enormous dining room with its forty-foot mahogany table, crystal chandeliers, silver, and china made her feel out of place. She had always assumed that she had every luxury at Arden Hall, and never in her wildest daydreams had she imagined that people lived in this opulence.
Her position at the table near the duke inhibited her conversational skills. Isabelle felt the duke’s presence with every fiber of her being. To make matters worse, he kept watching her. Moving a forkful of food from her plate to her mouth became a difficult chore.
“With all do respect, Your Grace,” Delphinia said, turning to the dowager, “you will need infinite patience to instruct my stepdaughter on the niceties of society. Heaven knows how hard I’ve tried and failed.”
“Our stepsister will have a difficult time catching a husband,” Rue agreed with her mother.
“She refuses to wear gloves unless the weather is cold,” Lobelia added to their list of complaints.
Isabelle focused her violet gaze on her oldest stepsister. “Playing the flute is impossible while wearing gloves, Lobelia. At least I have enough manners not to speak disparagingly about someone in her very own presence as if she weren’t there and couldn’t hear.”
The duke chuckled. Isabelle flicked a quick glance at him and then at his smiling mother.
“Correcting me in public is rude in the extreme,” Lobelia said.
“I cannot and will not pretend deafness to your insults.”
“Bravo, child. It’s past time you defended yourself against their jealousy.”
Isabelle snapped her head around and saw Giselle standing near the hearth. “Be quiet,” she said, without thinking.
“See!” Rue cried. “Isabelle is insane.”
“Oh, dear, the girl does talk to herself,” Lady Montague said.
Remembering her audience, Isabelle looked at the others and tried to think of a plausible explanation. Her mind remained humiliatingly blank.
“Mistress Montgomery has the most adorable habit of thinking out loud,” John spoke up, absolving her of insanity.
“Sometimes I do that myself,” the dowager said, coming to her defense.
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