by Abby Ayles
Mrs. Peterson made it abundantly clear, with her looks and huffs, that she didn’t approve of Isabella in the central part of the house, and most unquestionably not to social afternoons with the ladies of the house.
Nothing could be directly said against it, though, since Her Grace was present at these social encounters. Mrs. Peterson, so prim and proper, though not agreeing, would never dream to go against the duchess.
Isabella was enjoying the company and friendship that came along with Lady Abigail being home. Isabella's first few weeks had been so secluded from any other person, she feared she would die of loneliness.
Of course, she had her mornings and afternoons with Jaqueline and was often able to chat with Mrs. Murray during lunch, but she was missing the companionship and social gatherings she had lived for in London.
Isabella also enjoyed the time because, as the ladies sat in the small drawing room, they worked on some embroidery. It was a favorite pastime of Isabella’s since she was a child.
Isabella took the opportunity to walk to town, after a few weeks, and picked up some supplies to embroider. It didn’t take long for her to decide what to make first.
She had sewn a small dress for Jaqueline’s favorite doll and was making progress adding lace and small blue rosettes to decorate the garment.
Teatime with Lady Abigail was the perfect time for her to work on the dress while keeping it a secret from Jaqueline.
Jaqueline’s seventh birthday was four short weeks away, in the middle of June, and Isabella wanted to give it to her as a gift.
“Do ye fash much if I try somethin’ a lil more fancy with yer hair today, Miss Watts?” Betsy asked Isabella one morning as she brushed out the long black locks.
“I don’t want to make you late,” Isabella answered with concern.
“It won't take long at all. Nancy showed me just yesterday how ter make a nice plait. I was hopin’ to try it out. You have to take Miss Jaqueline to His Grace tonight. It might be nice to look a lil finer.”
“Okay, if you are sure you won't be in trouble for the extra time.”
Isabella enjoyed the mornings she spent with Betsy, who often talked about the other servants and things that happened downstairs. She was assuredly in the space of limbo, spending her mornings with Betsy discussing the servants’ troubles and her evenings with the ladies of the house, talking over matters of the town.
After Betsy finished, Isabella did her best to feel around, still with no way to see.
“Oh here, Miss Watts. I brought this out of my own room,” Betsy said, handing Isabella a small, round piece of mirror.
It was the first time that Isabella had seen her reflection since moving to Wintercrest. She examined the dark curls that were neatly pinned with small ringlets flowing down her left shoulder. It was as beautiful as any lady’s maid might do.
Isabella also took a quick moment to steal a look at her face. Though she had never spent much time in the sun in London without a bonnet, she was decidedly paler now. Her green eyes even looked a little grayer than usual.
Isabella stuffed down her feelings of altogether disappearing in this small room, so removed from the rest of the world. It didn’t do any good to dwell on things that would make her unhappy. She gave back the mirror to Betsy.
“I believe this the finest job I have ever seen. I look ready to see the Queen, herself,” Isabella complimented.
“Thank ye,” Betsy said shyly, but with a bit of pride in her work.
“I suspect you will be a lady’s maid in no time. Well, that is if the dashing Mr. Johnson you tell me so much about doesn’t steal you away first.”
Betsy blushed. Isabella hadn’t met Mr. Johnson. He was the son of a tenant farmer near town. Betsy had met him once at the weekly market. Since then, he had waited by the road each week for Betsy. He would walk with her to the market and back again, stopping at his father's farm.
Betsy made him sound very handsome, and she was convinced that soon, he would start to court her in seriousness. Isabella loved to hear Betsy talk of him. It was that exciting chatter of someone finding love.
“How were Jaqueline’s studies today?” Lady Wintercrest asked in the small drawing room over her own embroidery.
“She did very well,” Isabella responded. “We practiced addition facts today. She is taking to them very quickly. I believe she will have a terrific knack for numbers, Your Grace.”
“I thought I heard her small forte the other day, as well. Are you teaching her to play?”
“Yes. Lord Bellfourd requested that she play him a song upon his return.”
“And is that going well?” she asked.
“As much as can be expected for a child of such a young age,” Isabelle replied. “Our goal is to learn one song before Lord Bellfourd’s return. I am hoping it isn’t too high of an aspiration.”
“As you said, though, she is very young,” Lady Abigail chimed in. “Christian will just have to be satisfied with what he gets.”
“Perhaps you will have her play for us tonight,” Lady Wintercrest invited. “I don’t expect it to be wonderful, but it might be nice for the duke to see her taking up the accomplishment.”
“I would be happy to have her share all that she has learned thus far.”
Isabella enjoyed the fact that she wasn’t the only one desperately trying to encourage the duke to accept Jaqueline into his heart.
“I suppose the dressing-bell is going to ring soon,” Lady Abigail said, leaning to look at the clock on the mantle over the small fireplace.
Lady Abigail wasn’t one to enjoy sitting and doing needlework. In fact, every day that Isabella had sat to tea with her, she found that Lady Abigail went from reading a book to working on some embroidery, to working some lace, and back to reading a book.
Isabella agreed that the hour was getting late and it was time for the ladies to dress for dinner. She began to pack away her embroidery in the small bag she had brought along with her.
“Why don’t you join us tonight, Isabella?” Lady Abigail blurted out without thought. Isabella enjoyed that Lady Abigail had taken her encouragement to call her by her Christian name.
“Abigail,” her mother cooed in a warning, but soft tone, “as much as I know we would both enjoy Miss Watts’ company at dinner, I don’t think your father would approve.”
“It’s so silly, the way Father is acting, as of late. He never cared about such things before. Do you know, he has Isabella all the way at the end of the west wing up in the attic? It’s a ridiculous walk for her.”
“I really don’t mind it at all,” Isabella interjected before Lady Wintercrest might think she was ungrateful.
“I am sorry for this situation, none the less,” Lady Wintercrest replied. Her soft brown eyes filled with sincerity. “As Abigail said, things weren’t always like this. Since the situation with James and…” Lady Wintercrest paused, deciding against speaking of family matters. “Well, my husband feels that he let our younger children be too lax with propriety.”
She turned to Lady Abigail, “It wasn’t that he didn't mind, he just didn’t see the harm. Things are different now. We must respect his wishes.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Isabella said to comfort the worried look on Lady Wintercrest’s brow. “I would never have assumed otherwise.”
“I know, my dear,” Lady Wintercrest said, reaching across the tea table and patting Isabella’s hand lovingly.
Isabella sat alone in her room to eat her dinner before taking Jaqueline down to her grandfather. She wondered what Lady Wintercrest had meant by harm. She had started to speak of Lord James and then stopped. Was it after finding out he had fathered a child by a commoner that the duke had insisted on creating a more profound separation between his family and others?
Mrs. Peterson had been hired on after the arrival of Jaqueline. Other than the duke himself, she seemed the sole enforcer of stations. In fact, neither Lady Abigail nor Lord Bellfourd seemed like it was commonplace. Isab
ella imagined it was a drastic change to have their father suddenly make demands on them that were never made before.
Her heart sank deeper as she thought of the duke. If Jaqueline was ‘the harm’ that the Duchess spoke of, no wonder His Grace kept a distance from the child. He had called her here to find closure and instead saw her as a stain on his son's memory.
Isabella determined, at that moment, that she would do everything in her power to help the duke find a place in his heart for the little girl. She would show him that this small child was capable of so much more than he thought. Isabella would prove to him that Jaqueline could be raised a proper young lady and, in doing so, hopefully, find her a place as part of the Duke of Wintercrest’s family.
Chapter 12
“I have some fun news for you,” Lady Abigail said as she walked up to Isabella.
It was now just two days before Jaqueline’s birthday and Isabella was frantically doing her best to finish the lace cuffs on her small dress.
Isabella had found a seat out in the garden to do her work today as it was one of those rare days of sun. She even went as far as to remove her bonnet like Lady Abigail so often did when she was outside.
Lady Abigail came to sit next to Isabella on the stone bench with a few letters waving in her hand.
“I have a letter from Christian,” Lady Abigail continued.
Over the last few months that they had spent under the same roof, Lady Abigail and Isabella had become close friends. As long as they were out of the eyes of the duke, they were able to chat and visit just as Isabella had once done with Louisa.
“Mmm,” Isabella responded, looking fixedly at a particularly tricky stitch.
“He says that on the night he wrote this letter,” she flipped the page back to look at the date, “four days ago, he went to a lavish ball held by the Earl of Cunningham.”
Isabella knew the name well. She had gone to school with Lady Lydia Prescott, daughter of the Earl of Cunningham. Isabella didn’t regularly have trouble getting along with people, but Lady Lydia was particularly unfriendly toward her.
As best as she could guess, Lady Lydia had been a favorite of Mrs. Mason until Isabella had arrived. She never liked when Isabella was presented before prospective parents to recite her French. Isabella didn’t have any sour feelings toward Lady Lydia in return, but made sure to avoid her so as not to develop any.
“While he was there he made the acquaintance of your dear friend, Lady Louisa.”
This got Isabella’s attention. She put her embroidery down and turned to Lady Abigail.
“You see, I told him about her. Well, what you told me of her, anyway.”
Isabella smiled. Lady Abigail was always one to pass along any story, no matter how trivial.
“He said that he danced with her twice and found her to be a very welcome dance partner. He sang wonderful praises of her and also her older brother, Viscount Dunthorpe,” Lady Abigail added looking back at her letter. “I suppose you must have also met the Viscount?”
“Who? Oh, Colton. Yes,” Isabella said, not recognizing his proper title at first. “He is just barely a year above Louisa. I am sure your brother and Colton really got along, too. Colton is such a jokester,” she said with a whimsical tone.
Though Colton was a good brother, and very close to his sister, he had enjoyed playing pranks on them as children when Isabella stayed with Louisa on holiday breaks from school.
“Do you miss London, then?” Lady Abigail asked softly, placing a hand on top of Isabella's.
She knew that Lady Abigail was speaking of the people she left behind more than the place itself.
“I do miss Louisa, her whole family really. They were always so kind to me. Often, Father was away on extended voyages and the Lady Gilchrist was kind enough to invite me to family dinners.”
“It must have been so lonely to have your father always away.”
“Not really,” Isabella answered. In all honesty, she never knew any other way, and so couldn’t be sad for it. “I was at Mrs. Mason’s school from eleven to seventeen. I had plenty of companions there and enough work to keep me busy.”
“And later, when you were done with your schooling?”
“I had Louisa. We met at school, you see. And, as I said, her family often invited me to join them for dinner and parties.”
“I love the stories you tell Jackie about your father. It must have been wonderful when he did come home and spun such amazing tales for you. They remind me so much of Christian,” Lady Abigail said with melancholy.
“You must be very close to Lord Bellfourd to miss him so.”
“We were, growing up, despite our age difference. Christian, Mother, and I were like three peas in a pod. I didn’t really know James that well; he is almost fifteen years older than myself. He was grown and gone by the time I was really old enough to remember much.”
“Gone?”
“Oh, you know, he would stay at the house in London or go to France. He had a very adventurous spirit in that way. Not like Christian adventurous. It was more like he wanted to sample all that life had to offer.”
“I remember when Christian left for the navy,” Lady Abigail continued, “I was so sad and lonely. I know it wasn’t for the best reason, but I was happy when he was able to come home. He would always write me letters of his time out at sea, but I suspected he kept much of the harsher realities of that life away from me. I worried about him so much.”
“I’ve heard Lord Bellfourd tell a story or two to Jackie about his time in the navy,” Isabella said. “Do you think he misses it much?”
“I am not sure if it is so much missing being in the navy, though certainly, he did enjoy it, but more the freedom he was allowed.”
“What do you mean? I would guess any form of the military to be very strict?”
“That’s true. Christian wrote me a few times in the beginning that he would be treated severely if his buttons were not shined properly and the like,” Lady Abigail said with a little laugh. “It was more the freedom of not having father’s constant attention.”
“I sometimes think that is why James stayed away so much. Father is a hard person to truly please. He put a lot of pressure on James, as the eldest son. Christian and I were free to do whatever we wanted. Father never bothered with either of us.”
“I have noticed that His Grace can be a little severe on his family,” Isabella said, as delicately as possible.
She was thinking of Jackie and wondering if that precious little girl would ever meet her grandfather’s standards.
“He is so stuffy,” Lady Abigail let out in a huff. “When we were little, Mother was always a good barrier between him and us. He has gotten so much worse now.”
“He doesn’t care much for Jackie,” Isabella said cautiously.
Lady Abigail gave a little shrug of defeat. “He doesn’t like the ‘impropriety of her existence,’” she said, deepening her voice to sound like her father. “I think he fears getting to know her. Then, he would love her as the rest of us do. It would prove his silly standards wrong.”
“I am sure it was tough for His Grace, for all of you, to lose a member of your family so suddenly. Perhaps he just needs time to mourn, in his own way, and then he will come around.” Isabella said this, hoping it to be true, else all her work to endear the child to him was for naught.
“I think Father’s mourning over James stopped the day he got the letter. He was so upset that James had done something so shameful. He put so much pressure on James to always do what was proper, to live the scrutinized life of a duke, even as a child. Father felt betrayed when he learned of Jackie.”
“Surely he shouldn’t put that blame on Jackie, though,” Isabella replied, doing her best to understand the Duke of Wintercrest.
“I couldn’t agree with you more. Sadly, she is the one left to shoulder that weight, and so she must, in my father’s eyes.”
“I am certain there must be a way to soften his heart,” Isabella
said, revealing her desires in the name of her pupil.
“I wish you the best of luck in that regard,” Lady Abigail retorted, not entirely sure that such a feat would ever be possible.
Isabella re-entered the manor via the service entrance just before sunset. She planned to stay in her room and complete the last of the sewing before her dinner was brought up.
Isabella was surprised to see small huddles of servants talking amongst themselves in the dining hall. She found Betsy out of the crowd and made her way over.
“Oh, Miss Watts, ye'll never believe what just happened,” Betsy said, just above a whisper. “It's somethin’ dreadful.”
“What happened?” Isabella asked as she entered the small circle of maids talking.
She knew most of them, or at least had said greetings in passing.
“His Grace was on 'is way dun the stairs when he had a spell and took a terrible tumble.”
“Is he alright?” Isabella asked with genuine concern.
“His Grace’s groomsman was not too far away,” another maid finished the story, “and came running to help. He is propped up in the large drawing room close to the fire. The doctor was sent for.”
“Well, he has been very ill,” another maid added, this one named Sally, Isabella thought. “I can’t imagine this will help His Grace improve.”
“You saw 'im just last night, did ye not Miss Watts?” Betsy asked.
All eyes fell on her.
“Yes, I took Jaqueline to the drawing room. He was struggling with a cough these last few weeks, as you said, Sally, but he was really looking very healthy last night. I do hope that this new event won't set him back.”
“I am not exactly sure why so many of you are standing around gossiping,” a loud voice boomed into the dining room.
Immediately, the small groups of servants turned and went quickly back to work. Isabella didn’t have to turn to know the voice came from Mrs. Peterson. Sadly, Isabella made the mistake of turning and looking at her anyway. Mrs. Peterson narrowed her eyes at Isabella, seeing that she was part of the gossipers.