The Gaslight Journal

Carla René

Published: 2010
Tag(s): victorian history "historical fiction" "author rené" "author carla rené" "historical romance" "women's fiction" "women's literature" family

THE GASLIGHT JOURNAL

by

Carla René

The Gaslight Journal copyright © 2010 Carla René

Cover art copyright © 2010 Carla René

“Secrets” by Carla René. Copyright © 2010

“A Sleep To Startle Us” by Carla René. Copyright © 2010

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from its author, Carla René. Thank-you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction by Carla René

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Secrets—Bonus Short-Story

A Sleep To Startle Us—Bonus Short-Story

About the Author

Coming in spring, 2011

INTRODUCTION

I was late in coming to Jane Austen. My first exposure to her was after I was well into my thirties by way of NPT. One night while flipping through channels, I noticed a mini-series called Pride & Prejudice, and after watching for only a few moments, I was hooked—I had to have more.

It wasn't long until I was checking out this Jane Austen person's books from our library and scanning channel guides for re-runs of this riveting story (of course, a healthy crush on Colin Firth and his Mr. Darcy didn't hurt). Then Sense & Sensibility premiered with Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet. I was in heaven.

I can't really say where my love of all things Victorian began, except to possibly acknowledge it began with that first exposure to Austen. I felt there was so little quality entertainment already, so naturally I gravitated towards her and her stories. Then I discovered Portrait of a Lady by Henry James, House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, and my old holiday favourite, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

The period dress, the mannerisms, the language, all captivated me, but especially the idea of class systems and societal standing being the end-all of the upper echelon spurred my fascination.

This book has been a struggle—I will not lie. I began writing it in 2000 with a simple line that flew into my head one winter night: The snow crunched mercilessly beneath her boots. So it's not Hemingway. But I suddenly began to see a movie unfolding of this long-haired woman, fighting to retain her honour and dedication to her family, while wanting to be true to herself, in spite of what society said should be her proper behaviour.

Then due to an illness, I had to stop writing. During that time, my confidence waned and I wasn't certain I would ever see this book to its fruition.

At the end of 2008 when we began to feel the effects of the recession, I lost my home and both part-time jobs. For the next 18-months, I was forced to live in my car with my cats, find comfort on benevolent friends' sofas, and reside in a boarding house temporarily. There were some nights I was convinced I wouldn't make it, and those had to be the darkest days of my life.

But at the end of June 2010, I found a rental situation with a wonderul lady, and a week after settling in the cats and myself, with no internet or distractions, I began again to work on Gaslight. Within three days' time, I was working non-stop, forcing myself to do at least 2,500 words each day. And by mid-September, I had finally finished the book I never thought I'd see.

This is just a story from an adult girl's imagination of how I wish things were. This has been a true labour of love, and I am ecstatic to be able to bring it to you now. I hope you will enjoy it more than I enjoyed writing it.

Thank-you for your support.

Carla René

November, 2010

For my parents, who support me beyond anything I could hope; for my specific friends around the globe, Alaric McDermott, Barry Aitchison, Steve Warburton, and John Pyka, who stood by me, cheered me on and weren't afraid to kick my butt when I needed it; the members of AFO (you know who you are), my online writing group who stayed with me through each draft, offering patient critique only in the hopes of making me a better writer, for Mike Norrell (Captain Stanley of Emergency!) who first gave me advice and was the main reason I saw publication, for Robert W. Walker, my funny and strange friend who has encouraged me even when I didn't believe in myself, and to my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, for making me the eccentric, witty, very flawed and strong woman I am today.

THE GASLIGHT JOURNAL

Chapter   1

You Can't Go Home Again

You Can't Go Home Again (Chapter One)

Without being attentive to where she was walking, Isabella Audley, having collided with something solid, soon found herself lying in the snow with the wind properly knocked out of her, wholly unaware of what it was that had blocked her path.

She lay for a moment, stunned. I hope no one is looking.

"Help you up, miss?"

A man stood beside her with his hand proffered, a group of men his approximate age, just behind.

Miss Audley, being a lady of privilege and the human condition—never a good combination for one with her own mind—fought the urge to be proprietous, although, she knew well, that being suitable was indeed what had always been expected of her. This divergence, however, seemed to inevitably be her own undoing, much to the chagrin of her poor mother.

"Did you lose your eyesight in a horrible accident?" she yelled, fully realizing that divergence had won out, yet again. Finding her reticule, she hastily made her way to her feet. In spite of her ire, she was not foolish enough to pass up a gentleman's hand, even if he needed a good lecture from a chapter in Our Deportment.

"Sorry, miss, I truly did not see you," said the man. A low ripple of chuckles permeated the group.

As she brushed the snow from her skirts, she was aware of crimson creeping into her cheeks.

"If you had any sense of decency, you would be ashamed right now."

The man deigned not to make any reply, but unable to contain himself, said, "I suppose, the same could be said of you, miss." He then tipped his hat to her in an exaggerated fashion. When he saw her anger at his statement, however, he knew an apology was in order.

"I should have been more careful. In fact, as a group of gentlemen always on the hunt for a beautiful maiden, we offer our most sincere apologies."

The men murmured agreements while tipping their hats to Isabella.

She stared at the lot of them, but considered the man in front of her. He was quite comely and tall, with mounds of thick hair. His clothing tailored, his mannerisms suggested a man of fine breeding; a gentleman. A smile formed on her lips, for he seemed quite familiar, and yet, she was finding great trouble in placing from where. “I will leave the judgment of the term gentlemen for the higher courts, as it is a most questionable modifier, but I accept your apology."

The handsome man smiled in return. Against his better judgment, he allowed his eyes to boldly engage hers. This act, alone, would be cause enough for much speculation. And yet, having full knowledge of the possible consequences, found he was unable to resist the urge.

"Good day to you, miss; we needs be on our way. And Merry Christmas to you," and with that, the men moved to exit.

"Just a moment," she said.

The group waited.

"Do we not know each other?"

The man, obviously taken aback, was having visible difficulty in hiding his anxiety at the question. "Uh, no miss, I do not believe we do."

And before Izzy could form a proper response, they took their leave of her.

Upon gathering her things, she continued. The snow crunched beneath her high-heeled boots, making proceeding difficult at best. She had decided to leave off the patens, hoping to make better time. Blast the damp boots, and she had arrived at her decision. Today, she found the weather was revealing itself to indeed, serve as a new way to meet eligible bachelors.

But she had not a care in the world of it and retreated from the image of the dark-haired man, vowing to think the matter out when she could avail herself of more time to give it proper attention.

It was five days into December, and her spirits were high. She had not seen her mother since spring, when Mrs. Audley traveled on a rare visit to Radcliffe. It was here that Izzy had enrolled in a curriculum in English Literature, and in doing so, honored the memory of her father. Lilly Audley had remained for the full week of spring hiatus, and Isabella could not have been happier. Their small family suffered terribly since, only a week before Izzy was to depart, Sir John had died of complications from pneumonia.

So while she felt great joy at the thought of seeing her mother again, it would also be bittersweet. This would be the first Christmas that Izzy had been home since his death, and she was determined in her heart to make this as special for her mother as best she could, knowing all too well that it could be a near to impossible task.

In fact, it was her desire to make her mother’s holiday special that had made her so late. The line in Mrs. Jenkins's millinery was longer than she had anticipated, but once she saw the Burgundy velvet hat with the pale roses in the window, she immediately knew this had to be Mother's special Christmas present. It was one of those gifts that her mother would never be caught buying for herself, which made it all the sweeter to Izzy as she laid out the bills. She gained pleasure from trying to picture the bliss on her mother's face as she opened the most unexpected present.

"May I gift wrap that for you, miss?" came the question that jolted Izzy out of her fantasy.

"Pardon me?"

"I would be happy to gift wrap this for you if you wish. Some beautiful new papers have just arrived that I think you will like."

"Oh yes, that would be lovely. And please make sure to add a nice gold ribbon. Mother does love gold during this time of year," she said.

"Fine. I will return straight away with your gift," and the saleslady disappeared behind the velvet curtain into the back room.

While waiting, Izzy decided to further inspect the spectacular stock of opulent hats. Each time she ran her fingers over the long pieces of silk that hung draped from the back of the brims, she was reminded of the times that she came here as a small girl with her mother. Being the only child also meant that it did not take much convincing to Mother that little girls were always in need of new hats. Hats were just as important to a woman of gentility as the proper slippers and gloves. Unashamedly, Mother loved indulging in the purchase of both. She smiled at how musty show rooms and snippets of tulle could evoke such rich memories. An exquisite green hat then caught her eye, but a voice from behind startled her.

"Good afternoon."

"Is it me to whom you are addressing?" Izzy said as she turned around.

"Yes. Do forgive me, but are you the Audley girl?" said a huge woman standing an aisle over.

Izzy did not recognize her, but apparently the lady with the blazing red hair in the peacock blue walking outfit knew her. For a moment, Izzy had to analyze what she was seeing to make sure that all of that behind, was indeed bustle. She stifled the urge to laugh.

"May I ask who wants to know?" said Izzy, with a bit of the bluntness on which she prided herself.

"Oh dear me, yes, you certainly may. I am Mrs. Arthur Tinsdale, of the New York City Tinsdales. We moved here to Fairtown just about a year after you left for Harvard. My husband secured a professorship at the college, and I met your mother in church one day. We literally bumped into each other, laughed, struck up a conversation, and discovered that we both had an insatiable love for gardening. It was then that she informed me of her gardening club, and so I joined. We belonged to that club for the longest time."

The woman seemed to speak so quickly it was all Izzy could do in her exhausted state to keep up with the story. One thing Izzy did notice, was that the 'peacock lady' had used the word "belonged" in the past tense when speaking of the gardening club. How could that be, when Mother would never quit that club, short of hay fever or the second coming? When the woman finally paused to take a breath, Izzy saw her chance.

"What do you mean, belonged?"

The question caught the woman by surprise, and she said with sincere sympathy, "Oh dear, I do hope I have not been speaking out of turn. I just assumed that you knew."

Izzy felt her face creep crimson again and her heart flipped in her chest. She just knew that she could not listen to this woman's inane ramblings any longer. Without a proper dinner in her stomach, she did not possess the strength to attempt to set this woman's syntax in proper order, but yet her curiosity proved to be too strong. Just as she found words to press for further details, a short man with a moustache and cherry walking stick called to Mrs. Tinsdale from the door, and she excused herself, slipping out the shop as mysteriously as she appeared.

As she did so, the sales clerk returned with Izzy’s wrapped package. She thanked her and made her way into the cool night air, hoping to catch the Tinsdales, but as the shop door closed behind her, she caught only the hem of a peacock blue walking gown as it entered an awaiting carriage.

Noticing nightfall now, she did her best to put her disappointment and the scary blue woman out of her mind by pulling it back to the present. As she stopped to glance behind her once more before rounding the last corner of town, she drank it all in; the way the air tasted like ice; the warm glow surrounding each lamp. She promised to fully enjoy it another night. Her mother knew she would be arriving and had Izzy not chosen to give leave to Charles, her footman, so to indulge in the brisk evening air, she might have arrived before dark. She had no intentions of being so encumbered with a steamer trunk, so she left it at the station and made arrangements for a porter to deliver it at a later time.

Each time on her walks home, she would play a game with herself, imagining the people settling in for the evening in their Queen Annes with the amber glow from the lace-paneled windows. Were they stoking and banking fires for long, cold nights that lay ahead? Were there smells of imported spices, herb-ed breads, plum puddings soaked in brandy, and warm cinnamon scones coming from the kitchens? Were little girls already in their dressing gowns, curled up under their favorite quilts with the family tabby next to them trying to steal their warmth?

Mr. Puss! She had nearly forgotten him. He was the one family member who understood a good nap. He had been hers since childhood, and she was now fast approaching twenty-four.

Remorse crept in at that thought, and ruined her anticipation of seeing him again. Why, she should have been married by now. Everyone expected her to receive many offers at her coming out party, but it did not happen. So, all of Mother's society matrons decided that the next logical place for it to happen would be University. Is that not the sole reason women of her stature and advanced age go to college? This situation, too, unfolded in a different manner than expected, so what was she expected to do? Stop listening to the matrons. She laughed in an infectious manner at the thought of the group being at Mother's one afternoon for one of their weekly teas, when she informed them of her impending doom. She was almost certain that at least three would pass out from shock and need medical attention.

"Perhaps I should carry oxygen therapy with me to save time."

The lights had begun to thin out now as Izzy continued on in the tree-lined streets. She also noticed that tonight there was not much traffic. So in the quiet, she settled into a soothing rhythm with the click of her heels and the beating of her heart, which she noted was unusually loud and rather fast for the medium pace that she kept. Her palms were sweaty; her lips dry.

"This would not have anything to do with the pronouncement of the peacock lady in the millinery, would it?" she thought aloud. "Of course not you foolish girl. That is just the most preposterous thing you have said to yourself all evening, and there have been some wonders fallen from your lips. Why on Earth would there be anything wrong, and Mother not tell you? For Heaven's sake, you are all she has in the world now."

Yet all of the reassurance she could muster at this moment in time did nothing to stop her feet from picking up the pace a bit. Nor did it do anything to alleviate that ever growing lump of coal in the pit of her stomach.

She recognized her street, and realized she was just one block away, so she quickened her pace. Finally, she rounded the last corner and could not have been happier as her cherished childhood home came into view. She felt her heart leap at its site, but quickly stopped.

The family had always decorated Capriolé to extremes for Christmas. Mother and she made it a ritual to bathe every window of the Victorian in the flickering light of long, white tapers. But as she stood staring at the windows, they wore nothing but darkness. There was no hope of the season shining from within. There was only cold, stark nothingness that barely hinted at signs of life.

As she commanded her feet to follow her body and move forward, the closer to the house she went, the clearer she could make out details of the porch. She remembered how it used to proudly wear the scent of greenery over every pane, every doorway and baluster of the elaborate porch that encircled the house. But tonight, that very porch also stood in blackness, lacking not only the usual small lamp to light the way, but even a single holly sprig.

Had Mother simply decided to wait so they could decorate together, as a family should? Stepping onto the boards of the porch and taking time to briefly note their need for a fresh painting, she decided this must be the only logical explanation. Part of her wanted to believe this, yet that horrible peacock lady's face crept into her mind, and her hand shook all over again as she reached for the glass doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she resolved that no matter the situation, she would be adult and handle it in the manner in which she would have made Father proud. Pleased with her decision, she turned the knob and entered.

Chapter   2

And So It Begins....

And So It Begins… .(Chapter Two)

“Mother, I am home!”

In spite of her anxiety, she could not contain her excitement. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled off her gloves and hat, tossed the bag with her mother’s gift and her own reticule down onto the hall tree, all while taking stock.

“Some things never change,” she said. At that moment she noticed the silver salver and how it was suspiciously empty of cards, but chose to shrug if off. Mother must have cleared them away as Rachel would have surely called by now. She removed her scarf. Though the hallway was dim, everything was still the way it had been when she left.

“Mother! I am home! Where are you hiding?”

“Bella! My Bella!” came the thick Indian dialect from the dining room. “Oh, I so happy to see you.” The woman emerged with her arms outstretched, throwing them around a most surprised Isabella.

“Sharmi! Oh, what a kind greeting. You are well, yes?”

Sharmisthma Reddy, the Audley’s housekeeper, had been on the staff for almost twenty years, and had watched Isabella grow.

“Yes, miss, I quite well, thank-you. ‘s so good to see you. You Mama’s been very worried.”

“I think ‘worried’ might be a bit much,” said Lilly Audley as she approached.

“Mother!” Izzy’s delight could not be contained as she slipped into the waiting arms of her mother. She melted into their warmth with a smile, and for a long moment, neither woman moved. Izzy listened to the soft beating of her mother’s heart, feeling very much like a child. Suddenly, all of the day’s emotional uncertainties came to the fore and she felt a tear. There, in the calm quiet of the front entry hall, Isabella and Lilly Audley, for a suspended moment in time, grieved again for John; the man they would never stop missing.

After the flooding of tears had subsided and Lilly saw that Izzy had control of her faculties, she released the grip on her daughter, pulled back, and with her finger cupped beneath her daughter’s chin, raised her face to meet her eyes. Mrs. Reddy had stood silent during the encounter, and now her dark skin glistened under the glow of the gas lamps.

“Here, use one of my handkerchiefs and do not think another thing about it, darling.”

Without a word, Izzy nodded and accepted, all while wondering how her mother could have possibly known what she was thinking.

“I am clairvoyant,” and all three women laughed through their tears.

As they made their way to the breakfast room in the back of the house, Izzy noticed that Mrs. Reddy had lain a small meal of homemade bread, hard cheeses and sausages.

“You must be clairvoyant if you knew that I would be late, and that I would be famished.”

“Well, I do know that you are your father’s daughter and he could never get any place on time, and you are your mother’s daughter in that you love a good midnight snack.”

Izzy laughed again, if only because she loved hearing the lyrical voice that she had missed so. On days that she traveled, she always thirsted for adult conversation. The lady who occupied the seat across from her on the train earlier, for lack of a less vulgar expression, was a stoic old crow, as she rambled on about her forty-five year old son who lived with her and could not find anything of substance to do but live on her twenty-thousand a year.

“I want you to sit down and allow me to serve you. Mrs. Reddy, you may go now.”

Sharmi nodded, and gave a slight bow before winking at Izzy. “We catch up tomorrow. G’night Mrs. Audley.”

Izzy was overcome with much fatigue and she slid into the wooden chair. As Lilly set out a tall glass of cider, Izzy realized that perhaps she had she missed taking care of someone. She had not been a mother herself yet, but Izzy realized that perhaps mothers have this need to take care of people. While she was fiercely independent, Izzy decided that for the length of her stay, she would be more than happy to humor her mother.

Lilly pulled up a chair adjacent to her daughter, leaned her cheek on her fist, and watched Izzy eat.

While she had not thought of it before, it must have been at least sixteen hours since she had eaten her last meal, and with the first bite of warm bread in her mouth, her stomach began screaming for more.

“It is so nice to have you home, muffin. No, do not say anything, you eat. We have plenty of time to talk after you have had a good night’s sleep.”

Izzy nodded as she took a sip of the cool cider. Oh the times in life when we are allowed, nay encouraged, to simply be sweet, youthful girls again!

It was at this instant, as if on cue, that the most horrendous ruckus was heard from a back room, slowly working its way down the hallway. For a second, Izzy thought maybe it was Elizabeth, her ladies' maid. But after much ado, there was a sliding on the wooden floors as it rounded the doorway into the breakfast room, and right onto Izzy’s waiting lap.

“Puss! Mr. Puss! Oh my baby! Just let me look at you, sweetheart,” said Izzy cooing, petting and fawning over the black and white short-haired cat.

He was very happy to see his mistress, and responded in kind with a purr so loud that he sounded like there were two of him. He was so overjoyed to see her, that he immediately stopped rubbing her chin with his face and walked up onto her shoulder. He perched himself at his usual lookout: the back of her neck.

She giggled, remembering all of those sweltering summers in the garden. She would be bent over her delicate pansies and then let out a shriek as he would neatly land on her back, unannounced.

With Puss now firmly in his place, Izzy resumed eating, as she too, was used to this routine.

“It is just so good to see you two together again,” and Lilly.

“I am so happy he is doing well. I wager he was wonderful company for you in this awfully large house by yourself.”

“Please, do not use slang, but oh my, yes. He has chosen me as his official play toy, and I have chosen him as my official shadow. The maids cannot even begin to get any sweeping done as he finds the broom just uproarious,” she said as she made her way over to the cabinet, clearing some of the food.

Isabella laughed, then took another bite of sausage. “How is Marta by the way?”

Marta was their housemaid of ten years.

Lilly suddenly dropped a jar of eggs. Clearly, she had not been prepared to tackle this subject so soon. At best, she thought tomorrow would be the soonest she would need to answer questions from her daughter, and did not have a rehearsed answer ready. She certainly did not feel like going into the story tonight, yet her daughter was very tenacious. Lilly knew that the gates had been opened and there would be no way to close them, save that of a full, sordid explanation which she decided she was not prepared to handle tonight.

So, drawing in a slow breath, she turned to her daughter. In a matter-of-factually manner, and with the least amount of concern, she began, “I have given her the month off to visit her family in Mexico. Her mother is not doing well and I thought it would be nice for her to see her family. In the meantime, either myself or Mrs. Reddy takes care of the housework. It is not that much, and at times, I rather enjoy it.”

Lilly’s hand began to shake, but she hid it before Izzy had chance to notice.

As Izzy chewed the last of her food and stood with Mr. Puss still perched warmly on her neck, she walked over to where Lilly stood with her soiled plates. She kissed her mother on the cheek, and said, “Oh Mother. What a wonderfully thoughtful thing for you to do for Marta. You must be the most principled lady I know. And, while I am here, I will help you all that I possibly can, you know that, do you not?”

Lilly, choking back tears and trying to hide her face, now blood-red with shame, only nodded her head in silence. She made sure not to meet Izzy’s eyes, as they always had the power to find her out. And that would happen soon enough.

John would be so ashamed of me right now, but I will deal with that tomorrow.

Quickly pulling herself together, she said, “Miss, it is time we made way up the stairs and got you into your own, proper bed. How does that sound to you?”

“Like heaven!” said Izzy.

“Well then, I will help you get your things. Do you have everything?

“Yes I do. I am ready. Are you coming?”

“Oh yes, I am ready to go up as well. Shall we?” She was anxious to get Isabella out of the mind of suspicious and into bed for some much needed repose.

“Did you let the scullery maids have the month off as well?”

“Yes, I did. I could see no need for all of the help here with just myself.”

As she followed her daughter up the two flights of stairs, each with an end of the steamer trunk in tow, Lilly Audley whispered a prayer asking God to forgive her for her impropriety. She only hoped that he would hear her, understand, and show her mercy.

Once at the top of the second flight, they set the trunk down for later retrieval and Lilly headed left to her chamber, with Izzy going in the opposite direction to hers.

Three years later, and Lilly had kept everything exactly as it had been left, with some signs of minor cleaning. Izzy waltzed into the room and took note that the gaslights had been lit, as well as the bed made up with the warmer inserted. Mr. Puss took his cue and jumped onto the antique quilt, sparing no time in getting himself into a comfortable position so as to begin the evening’s final bath. Izzy’s heart gladdened, as she had missed her old friend.

“Just one more semester, sweetie,” she said while scritching his chin, “and then we will be together for good.”
Her first impulse was to walk around the room, reacquainting herself with all of her treasures, but thought better of it and headed for the bureau to get a fresh night-gown. She changed in front of the fireplace, then headed into her own private bath to take care of her face, as well as her teeth.

With the baking soda in her mouth, Lilly, not seeing Izzy right away, yelled into the bathroom, “Honey, do you have everything you need? I am going to retire and wanted to check.”

“Grrrrrrrrrgwumph.”

“Oh good, that is what I had hoped you would say. Well, good night!”

“No mother, wait! I was spitting!”

“Of course dear, that is exactly what you were doing,” Lilly teased.

Izzy walked over to her mother, flung both arms loosely around her neck, planted a huge kiss on her right cheek and with much love in her heart, while heading to the bed, said, “Mother, the room is absolutely inviting and I love it. Thank-you for the hard work you put into keeping it. We are both very eager to retire.”

“It looks as if you and Mr. Puss had no problem in taking up where you left off.”

She circled around the bed to where Izzy lie, already wrapped under the covers, and just like the doting mother she was, began to tuck her firmly into place.

“Mother, please stay for one of our talks,” said Izzy.

“No dear, I am exhausted as I can see you are also. Unless you have plans to leave me sooner than agreed upon, we have plenty of time for talking. Now, you and your friend close your eyes, and dream sweet dreams. And if you need anything, you know where I am. Do you think you will feel like breakfast? I can wake you if so. Or, you can have the morning to sleep in, it is your choice.”

Izzy thought a good moment while blankly scratching Puss behind the ears.

“I am sure I will want breakfast, so whenever you get up will be fine.”

With a final kiss on the forehead, Lilly said, “I will inform Mrs. Reddy and Elizabeth to let you sleep. I will see you in the morning then. I love you, little one.”

Lilly then snuffed the gas lamp to the bed’s right, and in the room lit only by the glow of the fire, began making her way to the door. She stopped at the doorway. There in the silence, all she could hear was the crackling of the fire and the enormous purring of the friend who had not deserted the family like John had. Lilly brushed away a tear, and turned to go. As she pulled the door shut, her thought was, Now that I have my family back together, I am not going to let them go.

Inside the darkened room, Izzy, lying in the nether world between wake and sleep, feeling Puss’s warmth beneath her fingers, began thinking of her family and of college, and how lucky she was to be able to get an education.

She whispered, “Puss? Just think. In four months I will be the first woman in our family to have a college degree, and I cannot wait. I simply cannot wait!”

With that last thought, she closed her exhausted but happy eyes into the most pleasant dreams she had in a long while. Little did she know, that the coming days would change her life forever, and only if she were lucky would she ever dream sweet dreams again.

Across the hallway, behind her door, Lilly Audley lay alone in her own bed under a thread-bare quilt, with no firewood for heat, no gas for her lamps, and only her racking sobs for company.

Chapter   3

Isabella's Angst

Isabella's Angst (Chapter Three)

Gray dawn crept into Izzy’s peaceful room, gently disturbing its two fully intertwined inhabitants. Izzy lay still before opening her eyes, in that strange, ethereal world between reality and repose. It suddenly dawned on her that something was amiss. Why was there a warm lump beside her, and why were the dorms so quiet? Had there been a fire drill and they vacated the building without she being told, leaving her to die a horrible, fiery death?

No, that could not be; she was not sure in what condition her undergarments were, and Mother would be so horrified if she were found lacking in propriety. The thought of it made her bolt upright in bed, scaring poor Mr. Puss, who had taken up permanent residence near her right thigh. At his own disturbance, the jingle of his collar made Izzy aware of his presence, pulling her back to reality.

Finding herself safely in her own room with her “little man” planted firmly beside her, she reached for him to soothe his fear, cooing to him; more for her own benefit than his. Soon his purring gave her the “all clear” sign, and she laid gently back on her pillow, placing him squarely on her chest, which was also another favorite spot to nap. Petting him with joy, she thought to herself that there was definitely something to be said for “Creature Comforts”.

She took a moment to listen if Mother were up yet. Her query yielded only a serene silence, so she made a quick decision to return to her treasured slumber. A few more hours would not hurt anything, and it had been ages since she had to be awake for an eight o’clock class. Her mother did say she did not mind, so Izzy perceived no real harm. But not before she sneaked a quick peek at dawn’s blue serenity through the lace panels of her windows. Inching her way onto her elbows to even her face with the sill, her heart leapt at the sight of the freshly fallen snow. She marveled at how its blanket now appeared to dress the tiny town in its most superlative finery as easily as it wore its old money, which lent itself to the illusion that it be grand enough for the final act in a new play by Oscar Wilde.

She so loved these little peeks during the wee hours, and delighted in the feeling of discovering a secret to which no one else was privy. She remembered as a young girl, being awakened gently by Father with delightful smells of scones and cocoa. He lavished Izzy with forbidden treats from the kitchen before Mrs. Audley arose, but she would always discover their comical secret, as Izzy was never able to wear the cocoa in any place but her upper lip.

Happily, and with the memory safely tucked away, she and Mr. Puss, who was still in his place, eventually drifted back to their contented slumber.

At eight o’clock when the sun put in a full appearance, it found Lilly Audley dressed and busying herself in her boudoir. Mrs. Reddy was already in the basement kitchen readying breakfast. Lilly was sitting in her most comfortable armchair near the desk, with a stern look on her face. Lately she found herself full of dread at having to pay the household wages. Mr. Audley loved to take care of their monetary affairs, since his job in politics lent itself to that fashion of mind in him in any event. So Lilly never minded relenting when he wanted to help.

But, today was payday for the servants, and while not a difficult task in itself, it was always time consuming. Her idle hands did enjoy the engagement however, since it always proved an ingenious way to keep herself warm without feeling the full chill of emptiness within the house. Right after Mr. Audley’s death, she had entertained the idea once or twice of selling their beloved dwelling and finding something smaller and easier to manage. Even more so since they owned their country home of Demesne Hall as well. It was no secret that she was getting on in years, and she could not think of one earthly thing she would need with two dwellings, staffed with complete sets of servants. Since the land did not rightfully belong to Isabella as part of her dowry due to the Law of Primogeniture, and Lilly had no heir apparent or brothers left that had not been taken of consumption which would have given her an heir presumptive, she knew she must sell. She put them off as long as it would allow.

However, when the time came to decide whether to sell Capriolé, she had not come to any sort of closure with John’s passing, felt that she was not emotionally ready to govern a new dwelling, and negated the notion. Now that Isabella was home, it would be easier to fare, but only for a time. Eventually, she would have to share her deep, crimson secret with her daughter. She only prayed that their relationship was strong enough to handle it: this was her steadfast hope, as she was not about to lose both of the only people she ever loved to the same prevarication.

She sat back to regard the ledger, and did not hear Isabella slip in behind her.

“Good morning,” she said to Lilly, expecting to surprise her.

Lilly was taken so off-guard and so eager to hide the ledger, that in her haste, she dropped it onto her feet and let out a scream.

“Mother, perhaps you should take to your couch; it seems as if you are unwell,” said Izzy, as she bent over to reach for the ledger.

Lilly saw the movement and quickly intercepted; then just as fleetly inserted the tattered ledger into the middle drawer of her desk.

“Oh Isabella, you do have an imagination. I am not like those society matrons who cannot be happy unless they cannot breathe through all of their corsets. You just startled me, that is all,” and Lilly sat back to take a deep breath.

“Well, as long as you say you are fine, then I will believe you. How did you sleep?”

The lie came easily. “Just fine dear,” then she quickly added, “It was nice having you back across the hallway. And you?”

“I cannot remember a time when I have slept more sound. We did not have the luxury of fireplaces in the residence hall, so the embers were very comforting.”

Lilly leaned up from her armchair to give Isabella a good morning kiss. “Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous.”

“Dear, you know I do not like slang,” Lilly said.

Izzy looked annoyed. “Oh Mother, I am hungry, please do not be so bothersome.”

Lilly just sighed, knowing full well that to engage Isabella this early on an empty stomach would do no one any good.

Just then a bell rang from downstairs, signaling that the morning meal was waiting for them.

“Come, shall I escort my favorite mother to breakfast?” said Izzy, as they walked arm-in-arm downstairs to the waiting morning meal.

When they entered the breakfast room, it revealed Mrs. Reddy admiring the table she had just dressed and she was pleased. Upon one smell of the delectables, Isabella’s stomach let out an audible growl.

Gracing the table top were cinnamon scones with spice-butter, poached eggs, more of the sausage from last evening’s repast, and ice-cold milk. Modest by the usual Audley household standards, yet quaint enough to reacquaint oneself with one’s own daughter.

“Goo’ morning misses, please have seat,” said a smiling Sharmi, as she removed the coffee pot from the wooden cook stove. She loved serving the Audleys and could not imagine ever working any place else.

Izzy could not contain her gratitude and immediately ran over to Sharmi and threw her arms around the Indian woman’s neck, followed by huge kisses.

“You know how I have missed your cooking Sharmi? The residence hall food was simply horrible, and I would die if I had to eat another bite.”

Lilly frowned from across the room, but said nothing. Lilly reminded herself that in spite of all of the unpleasantness that she found herself in as of late, there was nothing like the feeling of having her only daughter return in good health. She kept her secret firmly hidden for now, but assured herself that soon, Isabella would be thanking the good Lord above for every bite that she had.

“I glad you like and dat you are home safe. You father would be proud of you,” Sharmi said.

The soft-spoken words caught both women off-guard. The look on Sharmi’s face suddenly revealed the belief that she had overstepped her boundaries, and just as she began to apologize, Izzy, who was always given to capriciousness, broke in.

“You were reading my thoughts Sharmi. At times I wonder, but I am very glad you said something. Thank-you,” and the conversation was dropped for the time.

Lilly noticed how Isabella had tactfully handled the situation and smiled to herself. She had always been a breath of fresh air no matter the mood, and it was this whimsy and unpredictability about her that she missed, while at other times wishing to pull out every hair in her head. As she dwelled on this, she felt her spirit lighten considerably, and suddenly, the impending day did not seem as laden with burden as she had originally imagined. So she joined her daughter at the smallish, round table that saw many years of solving the world’s problems.

Both women enjoyed their breakfasts, eating in complete silence for what seemed a lifespan, and while Sharmi never hung discourteously over their shoulders watching, she always managed a peek from the hallway, just to enjoy their reactions. Isabella was voraciously engaged in a comical affair with a sausage and would not have noticed had the house suddenly disappeared around her. Lilly, who had been watching the scene, saw it the perfect time to broach a topic of a more festive theme.

“Thomas is anxious to call on you tomorrow evening. I told him you would be delighted.”

If spit-takes had been an invention of this time, Izzy would have been the inventor. The milk bespattered everywhere, and caused a screech from her that not many had been privy to. Lilly however, was accustomed to it and rather enjoyed the reaction, but remained silent to await the inevitable. As well, Mr. Puss seemed to enjoy it as he wasted no time in lapping up the droplets that covered the floor.

Lilly was just the sort of gracious lady who did not allow herself to become rattled by much that her gregarious daughter could throw at her. This was one of those times, and she continued to sip her coffee without incident.

“Mother! Are you completely daft? I cannot nor will I see Thomas tomorrow night, or any evening. I will not, I will not, I will not!!” and the scream landed Mr. Puss right at her side, fearing for any harm that may have befallen his mistress.

As Izzy suddenly removed herself from her meal and began pacing, without purpose around the table, Lilly continued to appear the matron of order, gently sipping the tea and silently laughing to herself over the ordeal. Still she said nothing.

“How could you? I mean it, how could you? Oh I am finished. I am ruined. Wait until Rachel hears this. My life as I now know it, is ended. Do you hear me? ENDED! Oh mother, I am swooning. I am weak; please help. Oh dear, I am fainting.”

Still, Lilly did not look from over the brim of the stone mug, except to grab a small piece of leftover scone and ceremoniously place it into her mouth.

“And it is all your fault. See? See me fainting. This is it. I can see the room darkening. It will be any moment now. Please push over that chair for me so I will not hit my face when I slump to the floor.”

But she could see Lilly from the corner of her right eye, and once she saw that her mother would not give in to her histrionics, she slowly moved back to her chair and sat down again, letting out a large, dejected sigh of surrender.

She moaned, “Mother, but why? You know I love you dearly and I would never deliberately disobey you, but why did you have to tell him I would be happy to see him? You know I have not spoken to him since the day of Hattie Mason’s ball before I turned sixteen. Do you not remember? He stood me up and never gave me an explanation as to why. Mother, I was beyond humiliation, and pledged then and there to never converse with him again, no matter the circumstances.”

Quietly, and with as much understanding as a mother could, she said, “Yes sweetheart, I fully remember. I remember how much you doted on him, and how your pulse quickened when you knew he would be near you. I also remember how you used to fight like animals as mere innocents, and how I discerned even then, that you both would always be in each other’s company.” Then quickly she added, “And yes, I also remember that one particular incident was only the proverbial straw in a whole line of atrocious behavior Yes, I remember well.”

“Mother,” she said with full respect, “I know you think this befitting behavior, but I must say that I thought you understood when I explained how I felt about all of it.”

“I did. And I still do.” She leaned in closer to Izzy and continued in a softer voice. “Darling, he is a man now, completely mature, and oh dear daughter, he is so comely. Truly, you will not recognize him.”

“And do you know why? Because I am not seeing him,” and with that she popped a scone into her mouth, got up, and resumed her pacing again.

Lilly marveled at how this beautiful young woman, this strong, fiery creature could, at the most inopportune times, appear such an insecure, weak child. Catching her daughter’s fair hand on the way by, she turned Isabella to face her, and gently said, “Muffin, if you will not allow a man to grow up into his own being, and be willing to pardon him his misdeeds, you will always remain single.”

Izzy’s expression softened, as she knew it was a mother’s eternal mission to marry off her daughter.

But Lilly saw that there was much more work to do.

“Do you know he finished college? He returned last week. Dearest, I am sure he is changed, since the very first thing he did once he arrived in town was to inquire of you and your family. I almost did not recognize him. He carried himself so forceful and confident. Nothing that resembled the clumsy, unsure child that I saw in him last. You do him a great disservice if you refuse to allow him to call.”

From Isabella’s countenance, Lilly could finally see a glimmer of that old child-like curiosity that kept her alive, and so gave her finale to seal it.

“Listen. Let him call upon you. I will serve as chaperone if you wish. If, after speaking to him in the safety of the drawing room you find that your wounds of the past are too great to heal, then I will send him away and you will never have to worry about seeing him again. Does this sound fair enough to you?” She awaited the answer that she knew would come.

“Mother, I must tell you again, that while your erstwhile match-making is as transparent as my stockings from last season, and just as adorable in you, I do not need to be some important man’s wife. I adore my life as it is, and am quite happy with it. I am sure that you, and every member of your garden club have been extremely busy in match-making, now that the universities have adjourned for Christmas. Dear me, you must already have every eligible, fourteen-year-old girl in this city married off and choosing grandchildren’s names.”

Lilly curbed her temporary anger at the comment, but did not allow Isabella to see it. She had no idea how very important it was that she find a suitable husband, now more than ever. But again, this was not the time.

As Izzy made the comment, her careful thoughts were suddenly derailed as she remembered the horrible mysterious peacock lady who stopped her in the millinery. While she did not wish to table this discussion of seeing Thomas tomorrow night, now was the perfect time to ask Mother what she may know about the mystifying woman.

“Mother, that reminds me. Yesterday on my walk from town, I happened by the millinery to merely look at a hat I had seen in the window, when the most strange lady I had ever met stopped me in the shop to say hello. She said that she was a friend of yours from the garden club, a Mrs. Arthur Tinsdale. Do you know her?”

Lilly’s expression brightened as she remembered her cherished friend, yet took a long, thoughtful moment to consider her words carefully, for she knew that the manner in which she answered the question would be important to the dynamic of the rest of the afternoon, day, week, and Isabella’s eventual stay. After careful consideration, she concluded that perhaps another lie would only serve to exacerbate the situation, so opted instead for part of the truth.

“Know her? Why we have been practically joined at the bustle since we literally bumped into each other at church one morning.” She giggled at this and was surprised when Isabella did not respond in kind. “Am I the only one to see the irony in that?”

“Yes, I am afraid you are, mother. The woman was very unflattering in her manner, and I felt it rather rude of her to simply waylay me in public in such a fashion. Besides, her news that she let slip was not of a festive nature, and I wish to question you on it now.”

For a moment, Lilly noticed the room had grown quite dim. But a quick breath rectified that before her daughter could suspect. It was also very inopportune at times that Isabella would be so sensitive a girl. She always had felt things on a much deeper level than those around her, and while those are perfect qualities to have for a devotee of the stage, they did nothing but complicate matters in some cases of personal natures. This was one of them.

“Yes? Go on. What did she say?”

“Well, she was also telling me the story of how you met in church, when she said the most curious thing. She said that you had been a member of the garden club, in the past tense. I was so flustered that I rushed out into the open air so I would not faint, and to press her for further details but she left abruptly with her husband. I knew that it must have been a grave mistake, or perhaps a case of mistaken identity. I tried not to put too much weight on it, since not everyone has a mastery of the language such as I,” and this she said in her best playful tone, but could not help but allow her serious fear to show through. “But now that you have just verified the facts of your meeting, I do know that she is an acquaintance and not a case of mistaken identity. Mother, to be honest, it disturbed me the rest of the way home, but by the time I arrived, I had long forgotten it, since I was so tired, cold, and happy to see you. However, now the lump in my stomach has returned, and I wish for your consolation and clarification on this matter. Has there been occurrences transpire to cause you to no longer be a member of the garden club? I cannot fathom it, since you absolutely love that club.”

Again, choosing her words carefully and taking a deep breath before beginning, she said, “Sweetheart, please do not concern yourself with what Mrs. Tinsdale might have said. I am sure the most reasonable explanation for it all was a mere slip of the tongue. You have now seen how large a woman she is; perhaps in a swollen state her tongue was unable to function properly, leaving you with the impression that her words referred to me in the past tense.”

“No mother, I am positive that was not the case, since later in the conversation, she asked me if perhaps she had let something slip that I was not supposed to have known. Is it true mother? Has something happened?” Izzy began to lose control of her senses and could barely contain her exasperation. She would never consider herself to be a shallow individual, but she did love the familiarity of the atmosphere of Society with which she had been raised. She had never taken them for granted, for with them came certain privileges that she had always embraced. In fact, with father now gone, the thoughts of possibly losing her place in society were simply more than she could bear, for she did not wish to grieve over that aspect of her lost life as well. But rather than make a hasty judgment about her entire life based on one mere, insipid comment from someone who obviously dressed with as much taste as a vaudevillian clown, she waited patiently for mother’s answer.

Lilly realized that it was now or never, and had to take another long deep breath to determine what to do. She quickly decided, that the best way to deal with this, was not at the breakfast table with dirty dishes cluttering the sink and too much to catch up on. It must be at a time when nothing else would interfere or jar her thoughts, and she could have complete and total concentration. She wanted the meeting with Thomas tomorrow night to go flawlessly, and she knew that if Isabella were fretting over the information she was asking her to share, she would never enjoy herself. Yes, that is what she would do. She would allow Isabella one more night of blissfully happy memories and surroundings of her own doing before unleashing the entire hideous truth.

“Sweetheart,” she began as she cleared her throat to make way for the lie. “Listen to me. There is nothing mysterious or cryptic about anything Mrs. Tinsdale has said to you. I simply forgot to mention to you in one of my letters, that I had temporarily dropped from the club for a time. It was nothing really. I just felt that with your father gone and you away at school, I was spending far too much time away from the house and not enough time paying attention to the things that really mattered. So I began taking extra shifts at the children’s wing of the hospital. It is nothing really, just a few hours a week, and that is probably why I failed to mention it. That is all.”

Isabella hung her head, letting out a large sigh of relief and said, “Oh Mother, I am so sorry I allowed my fear to get the better of me. Thank you for your explanation. Yes, it makes perfect sense, and now everything the peacock lady said also fits into place. I am so relieved to hear that nothing is wrong.” With loving eyes, she continued. “Mother, you would tell me if something were amiss would you not? I can still trust you can’t I?”

Isabella’s pleading eyes were enough to cut through to Lilly’s very soul. A lump gathered in her throat, but she choked it back enough to say, “Isabella Audley, you simply worry too much. A girl of your age should not be fretting over such matters. You should be courting, chatting over beaus with best girlfriends and such. It is Christmas, your favorite time of year, so why do we not simply put this fuss away and concentrate on something festive?”

The heartfelt plea and half-truth seemed to set the course, for she paused and saw the forlorn expression her mother’s aging but still very comely face wore, and then reconsidered her speech.

“Oh of course mother, and yes, I will see him.”

She knelt down before Lilly, clasping her hands and continued in a softer manner.

“But you swear that if I find myself distasting him, you will immediately and without repentance, send him away, never to return?”

“I do swear it my pet,” and Lilly placed her hand over her heart with one hand, while crossing her fingers behind her back with the other. It was enough appeasement for the woman-child, who threw her arms around her mother’s neck with abandon.

She returned to her teasing tone. “You know you can be quite a bugger mother; and do not think I do not know what you are up to, but I wish to make you happy, and so I will do it.”

Lilly chuckled, kissed the fair cheek, and said, “Good. Enough of this nonsense. Back to the day at hand. We must find you a proper dress to wear. Mrs. Reddy will take care of the dishes, and I must finish the receipts, so as soon as I am finished, I will help you choose the perfect gown.

“Mother, I have been meaning to speak to you about something. I know we have much to do to ready for Holiday, but please may I call upon Rachel this afternoon? I have missed her so very much, and I know she will wish to see me also. Do you mind terribly? I can be back in time to enjoy high tea with you if you wish.”

“Why do you not invite her? It would be very nice to see her also. And I like the idea of having some youthful laughter in this house again. It will certainly make the mood seem festive. Yes, that would be a lovely idea.”

Without Lilly’s knowledge, Izzy saw the brief pain in her mother’s face as she spoke of joyfulness that no longer existed in their home, and it made her sad. She grabbed her mother’s hand and said, “Mother, you are absolutely wonderful. Maybe she can also give us her opinion on a proper gown for tomorrow night.”

Lilly kissed her daughter’s forehead, and said, “Yes, the idea grows on me. Now, do run along to your room and begin unpacking while I finish those receipts. Then I will be along soon to help.”

“I will be in my room,” came the reply and with that, she was out the door and into the hallway, cooing to Mr. Puss, who had followed her.

Thankful to have another set of moments to herself, Lilly was so unnerved by this time, that after she entered her room and before she began the task of opening her ledger, she sat for a moment at the desk, and hung her head in her hands, while the tears seemed to flow of their own volition. How could she manage to string together such a set of falsehoods? How had it come this far? Why had it come this far? How could she go on like this for another four weeks?

Her inquisitive daughter, if she would only put the pieces together, knew far too much already, and the more she asked, the more panicked Lilly became. She suddenly felt trapped, alone, helpless, and angry. Yes, she realized that she was no longer shedding tears of sorrow, but tears of rage. How in the name of all that is Holy, could he have done this to them?

Isabella’s pleading from across the hall broke the silent thoughts and dragged her back to reality. “Mother, I do not hear you shuffling papers. Hurry and help me! We have spent far too much time apart.”

“Yes dear, you are right. Give me a few moments.”

She would definitely shelve the matter until the evening when she had more to repent for as the day wore on. By the time she finished the last paycheck, she was determined to let that be her last lie.

Chapter   4

A Taxing Proposition

A Taxing Proposition (Chapter Four)

The sun made its way through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the drawing room where Lilly and Isabella had been sitting for the better portion of the afternoon. The room contained some of the finest architectural details afforded Fairtown. Looking from the center of the room, the windows facing the West seemed to expand forever upward from the hardwood floors to the twelve foot ceilings, softened only by the motionless French lace panels. These windows always received the hottest afternoon sun and served as beacons of warmth for the house; not only for tactile purposes, but also for one's spirit. This also attended to Mr. Puss’s mood as well, for he was very serious about his sunbathing.

The fireplace served as the room’s central focus on the South wall, and embodied an ornateness in the columns as well as the rich mantle that was unparalleled by any estate in the town. Hand-carved by the architect himself out of mahogany and dark cherry, the work was original. In their grander days when Mr. Audley still served in office, the family would throw elaborate parties that not one of the invitees would miss, since that meant another lost opportunity at seeing the exceptional house. It was Mr. Audley’s heart-felt wish that Isabella be married in the house, and eventually inhabit it with her own family one day.

Flanking either side of the fireplace were two commissioned paintings; one of John Audley while in office, and the other of his father, also while in office. In rich gilded frames with carvings of fruit and bird motifs, the oils were hung in 1852 and never removed.

In the center of the room serving as its anchor, was an imported Indian rug in rich mauves and mint greens that Mr. Audley had purchased on his last trip to India as a surprise gift for Mrs. Audley’s birthday. Little did she suspect at the time, that he had also purchased a rare mauve wall covering that was custom-made to match the rug. He saved that surprise for a later time. When she returned from a trip in which she had visited her sister in Massachusetts, she wept happily to find that John had stripped the old paper and installed the new, all without her knowledge. To this day, it still remains her favorite room in the house.

Included in the decor were sofas and love seats in a matching hue, but darker shade of the same mauve; an imported color from Germany, reserved only for the most affluent; another reason many families vied to have it decorate their own homes.

On the North wall, flanking a doorway leading to the formal dining room were hand-carved, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, again, from mahogany. While it is true that they had a well-stocked library within Mr. Audley’s own private study, these shelves were stocked with volumes highlighting Mrs. Audley’s and Isabella’s own tastes.

In this room is where they placed the enormous floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree each year, and that was an incredible sight, due solely to the large ceilings. It took nearly one hour to light each and every candle hanging, but oh, the smell of fresh greenery! The Audley household was always filled with the smells of the season, which included evergreens, spices and citrus. Citrus was always a luxury that they came to expect each year, and would never give up.

As both women sat silent, working on their individual sewing projects, Lilly noticed that Isabella was smiling to herself.

“And would you care to share those thoughts making you smile?”

Izzy, startled, smiled again and said, “Oh. I was just remembering the way the house always smells and looks at Christmas. I cannot wait until we are able to hang the greenery. It just does not seem to be Christmas without it.”

Without looking up from her sewing, Lilly only said a small, “Um,” under her breath. She was becoming good at appearing to be insouciant by circumstance, while inside she was dying of unmitigated terror, wishing it all to be over very soon.

“My, my, what is it that has your attention so captured, mother?”

“Just the hole in this favorite neck scarf of mine. It seems that I mend it and mend it, and yet a newer hole appears each season as if by magic. The same with my hats. I cannot keep a decent hat to save my head,” she said, then chuckled at the unintended pun.

Izzy took notice of the hat remark, and it was all she could do to keep from blurting out her wonderful secret of the lovely one awaiting her mother’s head.

At that instant, Charles, the footman entered the room.

“’Scuze me madam,” said the fifty-five year old who had taken care of their stables and horses for nearly twenty years.

Lilly looked up from her sewing. “Yes Charles, what is it?”

For a moment he did not speak, looking down uncomfortably at the hat he held humbly in his hands.

“Come on dear man, spit it out,” said Lilly, with much impatience.

“Well ma’am, I hate to interrupt you, but it is about today’s wages.”

As quickly as she could muster, she turned to Isabella and whispered, “Dearest, this is of a personal nature. Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

Isabella nodded and exited.

With the room to themselves, Lilly turned back to Charles, changed countenance and proceeded. “Now Charles, what is the problem?” Lately, her temper had been shorter than ever with the servants, but she resolved to never let Isabella know.

Charles squirmed. “Ma’am, it is Martha, my wife. She took ill bout a fortnight ago and the doc says she needs bleedin’, but we do not have the extra money. I tried not ta bother you with this until after I got my wages today, but it is hopeless with how much I get. I was hopin’ you could see your way to advancin’ me a week’s worth. Doc says that if we do not do this now, there will not be any hope for her.”

Lilly was silent. Her eyes wandered over to the fireplace, now dark with a fire-less ash, and she stared. A deep weight pushed on the top of her head, dousing her mind in a thick, black haze. She could feel her ears beginning to close, yet each passing second made her heartbeat even louder. With all the strength she could muster, she met Charles’s eyes, stood to her feet, and in a small voice, said, “Charles, I am so sorry that your wife is ill. I know how long you have been with her, and how special she is to you. You know that I will do whatever I can to help. I am sorry that you waited this long to speak with me. I, of course, will advance you a week’s wages, and I sincerely hope that the time lost has not been of detriment to Martha’s health. Do keep me informed of her progress, will you, not?”

The tension in Charles’s face weakened, and without remembering his place, he, with force of gratitude, threw his arms about Lilly’s neck, choking back a grateful sob. She was on the verge of a cry as well, but for a reason that only she understood.

After they parted and Lilly took care of paying the advancement, she made her way to the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Reddy. Little did she know that as she spoke near the staircase, Isabella was descending the carpeted stairs, and overheard her mother tell Mrs. Reddy that there would be no meat or cheese for next week’s groceries.

The chiming of the mantle clock struck four, and Izzy sprang from her seat. “Well mother, it is time. I am going to change into a walking outfit and call upon Rachel. It has been so long that I am just too excited for words.”

Rachel Hastings was Isabella Audley’s best girlfriend since they met each other in the first grade. And as girlfriends go, they held similar interests, mannerisms, and beliefs. She too was a fiery spirit with strawberry blonde hair to match. Both very intelligent women, they were never afraid to speak their minds on issues as broad a topic as that of political import, or matters of fashion. While in childhood they both were interested in the performing arts, yet it was after high-school that the dream took an alternate route, with Rachel choosing to pursue the written word and engaging in the composition of novels and eventually stage plays, rather than ending up like one-third of society’s women in what one would call the “sweat trades”. If they did not fulfill their destinies for spinsterhood or motherhood, they ended up working as milliners, seamstresses, domestic household servants, framework knitters, washer women, nailers or straw-plaiters, to name a few. Since Rachel too, came from a family of privilege, she was afforded the luxury of choosing one of the cerebral vocations. Her father was a gentleman, and her mother a matron of society, so the young ladies shared similar backgrounds more than their own common curiosities.

Remaining friends all this time had been their utmost priority throughout the years, and they had survived all happenings that one could only imagine, except that of a man. They decided long ago that no man would be worth coming between them. Attaining a level of solidarity that even the rolling currents of societal undertow could not destroy, the girls vowed a commitment of steadfastness that served as a wellspring of inspiration for those closest to them. Loyalty between friends was avowed and disavowed as quickly as one could lace a corset or unbutton a boot.

And now, after three-and-a-half full years, she would finally get to embrace her dear friend. The fervor was too much.

"Tea will be promptly at six."

"Do not worry. I will be there and back with plenty of time left over."

And with that she scooted upstairs without any thought for decorum that a lady should consider, grabbing her skirts around her knees as she took the stairs two at a time.

Smiling, Lilly vividly recalled a time when she too, could not remove herself from her home quickly enough to see a cherished friend. Those were indeed gleeful times.

She sighed. How would she be able to get herself and her daughter through this holiday in such a condition as would soon befall them? As soon as the thought passed through her mind, a cloud passed over the sun, sending a chill up her spine.

Chapter   5

A Plan Is Hatched

A Plan is Hatched (Chapter Five)

The afternoon sun created fantastic, dancing prisms of light on the mounds of fresh snow. From the ground, the sky looked absolutely clear, as if one could materialize the wind by merely wishing it. On such a day as this, all things in direct opposition were crystallized, without appearing to emanate from any effort. It was easy to see the great expansiveness of the town from overhead through exposed craggy tree limbs, while at the same time seeing the smallness of it as one moved down its streets, peering on beloved family pets asleep in their dog houses through uncovered backyards. Everything out in the open, while still undercover. Very prominent people, carrying on cozy, intimate lives.

Izzy felt as if she were a colt loosed into a large field, and since her footman was tending to his wife, she set off on foot. The brisk afternoon walk to the other end of town invigorated her spirits, although fending off the matrons’ keen eyes and sharp tongues for such flagrant behavior would serve as an equalizer of such. Torn was she between remaining true to her requirements, and bringing reproach upon the family name, for it was unseemly for young ladies of Isabella’s station to be seen unescorted.

The green silk of the afternoon walking gown that she chose glistened in the sun, and mirrored the gaiety of the spirit of the season, blending perfectly with the red ornaments of holly berries on the trees and street lamps. It was one of her favorites, and had been given her by Mr. and Mrs. Hastings on her coming out day that she had shared with Rachel. So elaborate was it, that she had not been afforded the luxury of traveling with it to Radcliffe, and so left it behind with great sorrow, but not without much luck in her favor, as Mother had forwarded ample sustenance for her years at school, which did indeed include new apparel.

As she proceeded up their street and onto Harrison, the usual flood of childhood memories crept into her mind, illuminating her heart with joy. There was Mrs. Winston’s home on the corner, and Mr. Ruby’s large but beautiful home situated adjacent.

One Halloween day in particular held a fondness in Izzy’s heart. At the lunch hour, she and Rachel crept out of the school yard and over to Mr. Ruby’s cozy kitchen for much forbidden morsels of English toffees and chocolate milk, in lieu of the usual sustenance required by the boards of education for lunch. Mr. Ruby, a widower, enjoyed being kind to the neighborhood children. That evening, he piled candy and apples so high that children for ten blocks came running, certain in the knowledge that Mr. Ruby would never run out before getting their own sacks filled. And each time they knocked on his door yelling “Trick or Treat” with giggles, he acted surprised, which made the children laugh all the more.

John Audley minded not in the least at Izzy’s involvement with Mr. Ruby, for sometimes in the summer months, he would allow Izzy to tend to minor chores for the elderly man such as weeding or sweeping his porch. She was always rewarded with a glass of lemonade, and for a girl of nine, a true prospector’s dream. But Izzy’s favorite came when Mr. Ruby would ask that she sit on the great porch and read to him in the cool of the evenings. Sometimes it was Shakespeare, the Holy Bible, or Thomas Hardy, and at other times it was his favorite, John Donne. There would be some days when he would ask that she read several chapters of “Divine Meditations ” until it was long past dark, and at times, lingering shamelessly upon his favorite poem:

[i]Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me;

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.

She could never fully exact its meaning, and Mr. Ruby would only smile with a far-away look on his face, and say, “Well my little miss, it means that soon I will be a happier man, everything that John Donne has written will come into my powers of understanding, and that God’s wisdom has a special place for those who have come of age.”

Then he would give her an apple for the journey, pat her head, kindly walk her home to make sure no harm befell her, and apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Audley for keeping their daughter so late.

Now slowing in front of Mr. Ruby’s house, she could see the doors and windows were boarded with no sign of life. There were large stacks of boxes sitting on the once pristine porch, and trash from drifters lined the walk ways where the colorful roses once bloomed. Izzy remembered then, that once his wife had died he had no one to proceed him, as all of his children had died from the consumption many years previous.

After brushing away her tears, she moved onward, thankful for the time that she had spent with him, and grateful for her unfailing memory. At least now, John Donne made all the sense in the world to him, and she was grateful to be old enough to understand what he had meant.

She turned her thoughts to happier ones as she neared Bristol street, where Rachel’s childhood home had been situated for many years. It had been their good fortune that they lived in such proximity, and they took every advantage that the situation afforded. There was nothing quite like a childhood friend to steal your beaus, your lunches, and dress ideas for balls, but all fared in gaiety.

In all of Isabella’s time spent at Radcliffe, she still had not the pleasure of locating a most particular friend such as she had in Rachel, and she vowed to keep it for all eternity. Visiting the Hastings always raised her spirits for this reason as well, as they openly regarded her as one of their family.

Each spring the blooming Dogwoods and apple trees thick with white blossoms created the illusion that perhaps one had somehow magically stepped into the deep south, so closely did they resemble cotton fields of Alabama. And even now in December, as she rounded the corner to Bristol, the long line of trees held yet another special beauty under their heavy mantles of snow.

Anxiety quickened her pulse as she saw the Hastings’s home come into view. Her immediate thoughts turned to the worries over her initial greeting to Rachel, but eventually settled upon the notion to allow what will happen to happen. The beautiful mustard yellow porch was fully decked with greenery, holly and a six-foot fir to the right of the door, complete with special ornaments of lard for the winter birds, since the winters in Fairtown tended to be long and arduous.

Finally, standing in front of the door, she found herself almost too afraid to reach for the knocker.

She laughed, since the only other time she remembered feeling this overstrung was when she met Gerald Brighton for her first date. Having been many years past, she realized that beaus will surely come and go, but a most particular friend is to be cherished forever.

She moved the pewter knocker three times on the door and waited. Within seconds, the door opened and standing in front of her was Mrs. Hastings, and suddenly each memory of Isabella’s turned to vivid, lively colors At first sighting Mrs. Hastings looked shocked to see Izzy, and then taken aback. She recovered and managed a strained smiled.

“Oh my dear Isabella, what a surprise this is indeed.”

Izzy felt warmed by the greeting, and took no time in noticing how Mrs. Hastings aging had chosen to hide itself. She still had creamy skin, her tiny waist and beautiful black hair, pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. Pleasantries were exchanged, and while Isabella felt ecstatic, it was not difficult to notice that Mrs. Hastings’ air seemed strange, especially when Isabella inquired of Rachel.

Mrs. Hastings’ hesitation hinted at a secretive undercurrent, and so after advising Isabella that Rachel ventured out to do her holiday shopping, she attempted to put a hasty ending to what she considered an all too lengthy meeting.

Isabella, sharp to notice that she was being maneuvered, quickly added, “I would appreciate your giving her my card. It has been many years since we have spoken face to face and I can hardly contain myself at seeing her. Please inform her that I will be at home this afternoon if she perchance returns before tea. Mother had hoped to extend an invitation for this evening.”

Mrs. Hastings thanked her, politely refused the invitation for her daughter, and promptly closed the door in Isabella’s face, leaving Izzy to stand alone with her wonderment.

And so in a ruminative state, she began her solitary return journey, but now, the snow had lost its glisten, the sun not quite as bright, and the travel had become arduous.

At that very moment, unbeknownst to Isabella, a red-headed woman of four and twenty could be seen peering through lace curtains upstairs in a third story window, quickly allowing them to close before being detected.

By the time she reached home, such a state of despair had befallen Isabella that she did not hear her mother’s greeting as she entered the hallway and hung her wrap.

“Isabella? Did deafness overcome you while on your walk?” she said, while walking up from the kitchen.
“I am sorry mother, I did not hear you. Would you repeat it please?”

“Sweetheart, you look flushed. You are unwell. Come and have a cup of hot tea to warm you. I was preparing to have some as well,” and she proceeded to lead Isabella into the sitting room.

Too many thoughts to comprehend danced around Isabella’s mind, and so she sat staring dumbly into the fireplace, unaware that the grate was altogether depleted of fire. Her mother’s activities also went unnoticed; Lilly walked over to the teapoy they had picked up on one of their excursions to India, and began to pour hot Earl Grey from the antique silver service into the small cups that had once belonged to her mother. After pouring a spot of cream into the tea and watching the clouds form, she handed it to her daughter, who again did not hear her speak.

“Dear? I asked if you would like some cake and fresh fruit to accompany your tea.”

“Apologies Mother, yes, that would be lovely.” She sipped her tea, while watching Lilly slice a delicate piece of the cake and surround it with thinly sliced apples.

Lilly finally sat in her chair, sipping her tea and nibbling on her own plate of apples.

Many moments of silence passed before Lilly began, “So now dearest, are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Mother, I can not explain it. I venture a hypothesis that it was more of an impression than an actual event.”

“Did you see Rachel?”

“No, I saw Mrs. Hastings; and by the way, she sends her compliments.”

This news seemed to brighten Lilly’s mood, and she began rambling incessantly of how an overdue call was on the table without thought for Isabella’s present sensibilities.

“Mother, please. I am trying to keep my thoughts.”

“Apologies dear,” She said. “You were saying?”

Isabella, with much trepidation and pain of heart, began recounting the events that transpired not more than an hour’s half previous. As she spoke, she could not help but attempt to decipher the obvious mystery that had beset her, yet paid every effort to retell only the facts, and allow Lilly to make her own determinations therein.

“The air was decidedly icy, and I almost felt unwelcome in their home.”

Lilly stopped chewing. Doubts flirted with her common sense; doubts that laced themselves with the possibility that the Hastings had learned of her recent situation and in turn informed their daughter, which would be a most unfortunate occurrence, if in fact, it held any truth. Her uncertainty at how to proceed consumed her for the moment. Verily, she had committed her person to enlightening Isabella of the recent events on this very morn, but in light of this new exploitation, her recantation was decided. She had wanted Isabella to learn of them in as gentle a manner as possible, so she proceeded cautiously as she dared.

“My muffin, I am sure it is of no consequence. Mrs. Hastings has many people in her home at the present, now that it is quickly nearing Holiday. I took heed that Rachel’s older sister and her new husband are calling from Rhode Island, and Rachel’s older brother and wife are bringing the babe to meet the family for the first time. I am most certain that she meant no abruptness. She must have many affairs plaguing her mind at the present, and nothing less than forbearance from you will be the ordered remedy. When you call upon Rachel tomorrow, all will be explained.”

Izzy strongly considered this counsel and then agreed with a sigh. “Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to think that simply because I am now in town, everyone will be free on my schedule.” She then laughed.

This comforted Lilly as well, but not for Isabella’s sake; rather the comfort of her own, as she was certain that if she just had one more day to prepare, the recounting would go smoothly and spare Isabella the most pain. Yes, in her mind, it was settled. She would reveal all tomorrow.

“In the meanwhile, my memory slipped to inform you of something. I will be but a moment.” And Lilly disappeared into the hallway.

Izzy waited while sipping the rest of her tea, and by the time she got to the leaves, Lilly returned, carrying some calling cards.

“I am sorry that it slipped my mind,” she said as she handed them over.

As Isabella’s mood brightened, she took a moment to thumb through them. “Oh, that is fine. Considering how shaken I was when I entered the house, checking the salver in the front hallway was last on my list of priorities.”

The thought excited her, that perhaps Rachel’s card lie hidden in the pile, and she began her cursory examination. Maybe Rachel made a call while she were calling upon her at the Hasting home! This thought lightened her heart, as it was exactly the kind of thing that happened between them, and just at that moment, the corner of a card on ivory linen with gold engraving caught her eye, and she could swear she felt her heart stop.

iDivine Sonnet X by John Donne.

Chapter   6

When Society Comes To Call

When Society Comes to Call (Chapter Six)

“Katherine Whentworth!” Isabella froze and stared at the tasteful card. “Mother, is this true? Did she make a call?”

Lilly of course saw the fuss, and explained that shortly after Izzy, a beautiful woman of Izzy’s age in a very expensive-looking mustard yellow silk afternoon gown called on her with her footman. She had seemed quite disappointed to find Isabella to be out.

“Yes, I thought you would find that one of particular interest,” said Lilly.

Izzy gathered her composure and hurried over to the small desk in the corner, sat down, and pulled out her nib and a piece of her best parchment. She then scribbled the following note:

My dearest Miss Whentworth,

I offer my sincerest apologies for missing your most thoughtful call this afternoon. If it will be convenient for you, I would like to call upon you tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. Please send word at your leisure.

Sincerely,

Miss Isabella Audley

After appraising her work, Izzy folded the note upon itself, and addressed the outside of the parchment:

20 Myers Street

She then lit the end of the sealing wax and dripped the Burgundy substance onto the edge of the note, thus assuring the privacy of its contents. Grabbing the handle of the emblem with the family crest, she pressed it into the wet wax, and wasted no time in ringing the bell. A man of about sixty appeared from the back of the house, awaiting further instructions from his mistress.

“Mr. Wilhelm, please see to it that this note is delivered at once.”

The tall, grandfatherly man nodded, took the note, and left.

Isabella’s excitement could not be contained and the rest of the afternoon was spent in the most emotional speculations regarding the woman’s visit. The Whentworth were only society’s wealthiest and most gracious family, and anytime one was afforded a visit from them, it was truly an occasion to celebrate.

In all of the excitement regarding Miss Whentworth’s card, Izzy had almost forgotten about the others. She returned to perusing each distinguishable card, admiring the various designs and thumbing over the engraving. They ranged from plain white linen with black lettering, to the more elaborate but still unostentatious ivory linen, belying the authoritative yet commonplace style of the giver and their particular place in the dominant culture. It had always fascinated her that cards must be used at all when making a contact. If she had her way about it, the cards would be mere adornments on the roofs of carriages, held together with the pure spit of the footmen, who, since having to deliver the mistress and her card, would no doubt be all too eager to oblige this practice.

Izzy became sullen again when she did not find Rachel’s card.

Her mother ascertained the matter and intercepted. “Dear, had Rachel’s card been amongst the others, I would have told you at once.”

Isabella sighed and picked up another card. “This one is from Gerald Mattingly, and it seems he is now a physician by the looks of his declamatory card. How wonderful for him. I will promptly set aside time day after tomorrow to call upon him. How does he look, Mother?

“Oh quite well. They removed the hump from his lumbar just last month and the wart on his nose appears to have come off quite nicely. All in all, it was a terrific success.”

Izzy retorted, “Good. Perhaps now he will find a proper wife.”

Lilly smiled. “That was my gentle reminder that you can tend to be superficial at times, my dear. To be honest however, he is quite comely.”

“I am so glad to hear it,” Izzy said, “although I do not care.” She stormed to the darkened grate and stared into its ashes. “Mother, if you are going to treat me with such disdain, then I do not care to discuss it with you.”

“Isabella, please, calm down. I believe it is your frustration in the Hastings matter that has you angry now. Is it not?”

Izzy’s countenance softened. “Yes, you are right, and I am sorry. Mother, I am beside myself with grief and just do not know how to proceed.”

Lilly walked to her and draped her arms around Izzy’s small shoulders. “Sweetheart, in life we bear one another’s grief. I am and always will be here for you. Please remember that.” She kissed Izzy’s cheek, which she noticed was moist.

Izzy brushed away a tear and turned to Lilly. “Well, now what?” she said, hoping to gracefully change the subject. “I was so looking forward to having company for high tea. Now we shall be alone.”

“My, how you jump to conclusions,” Lilly said. “Mrs. Pearson will be joining us. It appears that you are not the only one to receive callers.” With a twinkle in her eye, she held up the linen card. “She has requested to come at five, and I have accepted.”

Mrs. Pearson was a new acquaintance that Mrs. Audley had made during Isabella’s absence, and the two women soon found themselves to be most intimate friends.

As the hour for tea fast approached, Lilly recounted to Izzy the history of her newfound friendship with the Pearsons, hoping that she might share in the same high esteem with which Lilly also regarded them. Izzy assured her mother that she would certainly give the situation a chance.

A short time later, upstairs in Izzy’s room, Elizabeth, her lady’s maid, helped to ready her for the evening gathering. Izzy openly despised corsets, and would rather have been tied to a stable wall and covered in oats and honey than to have had to endure the pain and agony of being bound up like some “balloon in a harness,” as her favorite saying on the matter went.

“Miss, please hold still. I am unable to do your laces if you keep moving.” Elizabeth had been in the Audley’s employ for nearly eight years, and knew just what a handful Izzy could be.

“I will not hold still. This thing is simply inhuman. It must have been contrived by a man. That can be the only logical conclusion.”

At that moment, Elizabeth gave a final tug on the laces so hard that Izzy shrieked. “There. You are now laced,” Elizabeth said, and smiled in pride at herself. She ignored the cacophony of ongoing shrieks of pain and “blasts” and “shoots” that continued to emanate from Isabella’s mouth. Elizabeth knew exactly how to handle Isabella; she was probably one of the few who actually did.

“What gown would you like for this evening, Miss?”

Regaining her composure, Izzy walked to the wardrobe and reviewed her choices. After several minutes, she settled on a dark Burgundy tea gown with black trim. The gown was of the newest fashion, and had a Burgundy silk skirt, with a black bodice that sported a high neckline. It was adorned with black lace and the smallest of seed beads. The sleeves were also of Burgundy silk, possessed large flounces from the shoulder to the elbow, then hugged the arms to the wrists. “This should be smart enough to meet one of mother’s particular friends, would you not agree?” Izzy asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth gave a nod in silence as she began to help her mistress into the cumbersome gown. Being a lady’s maid and working for such a well-to-do family was definitely advantageous, for it meant to Elizabeth never having to work in a sweat trade, and always getting the Mistress’s old gowns, for it was expected that ladies' maids dressed above their technical station, as they represented the family to all of society. In fact, if one did not have enough maids in the family household, then it was thought that the family had fallen on hard times, so talk would begin about town of their “situation”. In most cases, if the rumors could be proven true, the family was shunned.

Mrs. Audley had already departed for downstairs looking very fetching. As hostess to Mrs. Pearson, she had chosen the less ostentatious attire of an at-home toilette, with dark green skirt and cream bodice, simply adorned with a single red bow at the waist. She had not the luxury of purchasing any new dresses in a long while, and so the wear was beginning to show on what used to be her most prized gowns. But, she held her head high nonetheless and made do as best she could. Being a woman of her age, and a widow, she constantly struggled between the limits and rules that society placed upon one of such wealth, and her own personal convictions regarding superficiality. However, knowing that Isabella would shun the former idea in a minute if allowed, she would never give her daughter reason to believe anything except that she condoned society’s rules for their obvious greater good.

At exactly five o’clock, both women were sitting patiently in the drawing room as Mr. Wilhelm entered, and announced Mrs. Pearson’s arrival. The fashionably attired woman entered the warm room, which now showed signs of life it had lacked in the former hour (tables had been drawn near a glowing fire, and long, lit tapers in the candelabras bathed the room in soft light). Mrs. Pearson’s aged face reflected her approval.

Mrs. Audley stood and waited for Mrs. Pearson to come to her, extending her hand in friendship as she smiled. “Mrs. Pearson. Please do come and sit down. I am so glad you could accept my invitation for tea.”

The woman responded in kind as she stood directly in front of Mrs. Audley, obviously heartened to see to share an intimate time with her new friend, for there is nothing greater or more inspiriting than the ritual of tea . “My dearest Mrs. Audley, it is I who am humbled by your kindest invitation. I have been looking quite forward to this all day.”

“Mrs. Pearson, I would like for you to meet my daughter, Miss Isabella Audley. She is returned for Holiday from Radcliffe. Isabella, this is Mrs. Robert Pearson.”

Izzy greeted the kind-faced lady, and motioned for her to take a seat beside her, of which the invitation was accepted.

“It is so very nice to finally meet you, Miss Audley. Your mother does nothing but talk of you incessantly. And I see she was not amiss in her description; you are simply beautiful.”

A blush crept over Izzy’s face. “You are too kind, Mrs. Pearson, and I thank you for the compliment.”

At that moment, Mrs. Reddy entered accompanied by the rattle of plates and dishes with the delicacies for the evening. Very succulent was the meats, very thin the breads, and very sweet the pastries. Cream cakes, warm scones and blackberry tarts were all balanced with savories of flavored mustards and basil butter; perfect accouterments for the main courses. Mrs. Pearson remarked in disbelief at how beautiful everything looked, and indeed, the household’s most elegant finery put on a superb showing. Two tables had been covered with the finest of white linen and set with the family china, reserved only for such a social occasion. The pattern of deep red roses in the china’s perimeter was modishly mirrored by the centerpiece, also comprised of the deepest red and brightest white roses, ensconced in a crystal rose bowl that shimmered dutifully in the candlelight. The Waterford stemware sparkled next to paper thin, bone china cups and saucers, which thirstily awaited their lot of freshly brewed tea, served smartly from a silver antique tea service.

It was the most fortified that Mrs. Audley had felt in the longest time, and as the conversation progressed, she found herself in the highest of spirits. Topics for tea time were specific: only the finest of blithe conversation. And gossip, while expected, must never be harsh.

And so the evening progressed with the three women finding themselves enjoying their time together as they never thought possible. Much laughter was shared, and many stories told. Of course, whether they were true or not, was not the concern. Since Lilly had become something of a recluse during Isabella’s absence and Mr. Audley’s demise, she had lost touch with those in her closest circle, and was extremely grateful for any news of their present welfare.

It was learned that Mrs. Driver, an old friend of Mrs. Audley’s, had moved to New York City with her family after her husband’s appointment to the senate, and was having a wonderful time now that she had been fully integrated into that society’s wide circle.

“Why did Mr. Audley not forge ahead with his aspirations for the senate, Mrs. Audley?” asked Mrs. Pearson, while nibbling on a watercress sandwich.

“He actually did at one time,” Lilly replied, “but that was just after he was elected to the mayoral office. Shortly thereafter, he stopped viewing the office as a stepping stone, and began to believe he had been entrusted with a God-given appointment, and, therefore wanted to make the best of it. He was happy with his decision right up until the very last.”

Mrs. Pearson said, “While I did not have the good fortune of knowing Mr. Audley as you did, knowing you this short time, I feel as if he and I were friends as well.”

It was then shared that Mrs. Beatrice Cummings had fallen on hard times. This was of particular interest to Mrs. Audley, who had served on the women’s suffrage committee with the woman, and had shared her circle of friends.

Mrs. Pearson said, “It is rumored—and you know me, I abhor gossip—but it is rumored that her husband gambled away their entire fortune, left her before he died, and now she is left to fend for herself. Poor dear. There was a trust in his name only that he could not touch before the age of fifty, but his will left no stipulation for it, so it was forfeited to the state. She has had to sell their homes, and is left with nothing to pay their debts. She has been denied credit all about town, and now lives in a poor house, working in a factory to sustain herself. And the worst part I believe, is that all of those who once held her in the highest esteem now refuse to acknowledge her existence. Tragic, really. She has no family to help her and no friends who are willing to support her with a loan until she is able to stand on her own feet again.”

Mrs. Pearson’s news created a heavy silence that hung over the room’s inhabitants like some thick smoke, threatening to choke their very life from them. She continued to sip her tea and nod solemnly, while Lilly and Isabella sat frozen in horror. Recovery by both ladies was difficult, but they too murmured their, “tragics” and “Ooh, how awfuls,” in chorus with Mrs. Pearson’s. And while neither one of them spoke of this again, unbeknownst to the other, each one held a fear that by some fluke, the same fate could very well befall them, in the same manner.

A short distance across town in a capacious office of the local bank, a well-dressed man sat behind a prominent wooden desk, that was covered with papers of varying levels of importance. One document in particular directly in front of him engaged all of his present attention. Standing next to him, a clerk, small in stature and plainly attired, listened intently to his master with all of his powers, endeavoring to transcribe to his pad the man’s precise instructions. The sitting man was speaking in direct but hushed tones as if fearing their content’s detection, despite seeming very assured of his task at hand.

After several intense minutes, both men, after purveying the fruits of their labor, looked up from the paper with a look of evident satisfaction. Finally, the sitting man said in a most affective tone, “Yes, I am sure of it now more than ever. Go ahead with the matter on the Audley home straight away.”

The clerk nodded, plucked up the piece of paper, and exited the office with as little eclat as he could.

The sitting man reclined behind his desk and smiled.

After Mrs. Pearson left, Isabella and Lilly retired to the sitting room to take up their embroidery. As they sat down, Izzy recollected, “Mother, do you remember the time we went boating at the marina and Father accidentally fell overboard? My goodness, we laughed about that until we became ill.”

“I had nearly forgotten. Did he not trip on his own life jacket that had fallen to the floor of the boat?”

Izzy laughed. “Yes, I believe he did. And while we were all looking over the side being hysterical, he was bobbing about in the water, saying, “’Hmmmn, tasty, but a bit salty.’”

At that moment, their laughter was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

“I wonder who that could be at this hour,” Lilly said. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Isabella shook her head.

Mr. Wilhem appeared at the door to the study and announced, “Mrs. Audley, a caller for you.

Lilly made her way up the long hallway to the front door.

Izzy started to scratch Mr. Puss, who lay asleep on the back of her armchair, while she attempted to listen. She heard a man’s faint voice, but could not make out the conversation. He spoke briefly, and then she could hear her mother’s voice in a pitch higher than usual. Then all was silent. Izzy was fast becoming concerned when Lilly reappeared, looking very shaken. She did not look directly at Izzy, but instead went to the fire and poked at the coals.

“Mother? Who was that?”

Mrs. Audley remained silent. At this point, she had no idea how she would deal with Isabella’s obvious probing that was most certain to follow. Taking a moment to gather her faculties, she formulated a narrative that she hoped would accomplish the diversion.

“That was the postman. Apparently a letter had been delivered next door to Mrs. McCarthur’s by mistake, and instead of her bringing it to us directly, she returned it in the post and it is just now making the rounds.” She paused and awaited Isabella’s response.

“Mother, why should that upset you so?”

It was not the answer Lilly had wanted. She needed to cover her tracks, but how could she when she felt to be on the verge of tears? Then it happened: there at her own fireplace, her mind began to spin out of control. Every sound ran together, and images blurred beyond recognition. When she gasped for breath, Izzy took note of the situation and rushed to her mother’s side.

“Mother? Please come and sit before you faint.” She led her mother back to her chair. Once she was safely seated, Izzy went to the dry sink and the basin of cold water in the formal dining room, and she wet a cloth to give Lilly for her face.

When she returned, Lilly detected Isabella’s concern. She took a sip of the fresh tea Izzy had just poured for her, and said, “Dearest, please, do not worry. I will be fine. I think I am just excited by all of the happenings of today.” The lie was out of her mouth before she knew it.

Izzy pleaded with her to allow her to escort her to bed, but Lilly begged off and convinced Isabella that she should retire. Izzy finally relented and retired to her room, none the wiser.

Mrs. Audley was thankful for another incident of grace.

At some point later that night, Izzy was awakened by what she thought were voices downstairs. She could not clearly make them out. She reluctantly crawled from her bed, threw on her robe and made her way to the bedroom door by the light of the fire. She opened the door, but as soon as it creaked, the voices stopped. After listening for moments more, she decided it must either have been her imagination or a Tom outside, and climbed back into bed.

At the opposite side of the staircase, across from Isabella’s room, Lilly continued to cry herself to sleep.

Chapter   7

Returning The Favor

Returning the Favor (Chapter Seven)

The next afternoon found Izzy at her wardrobe, deep in assiduity over her attire for the coming afternoon’s social engagements. If she were to be honest, they were the only things that she found herself to be living for at the moment. It was the aspect of daily living in being free to choose with whom one associated that Izzy sorely missed while away at school, and one she wished to return to, more than ever. So she made certain to ready herself in extra finery. In exactly one hour, she was herself, to call upon the very prominent and socially estimable Katherine Whentworth, which made her stomach churn as if birthing butterflies. After Miss Whentworth's note had arrived shortly after tea the previous evening, and Izzy must have read it over ten times before drifting off to sleep, she could now, with little prompting, repeat its contents word for word:

My dear Miss Audley,

Tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock will find me at home, so shall it be the perfect time to call. Do come prepared to join me for tea.

Please send my compliments to your mother.

Until then.

Miss Katherine Whentworth

As she dressed, she realized that it had been shortly before Father's death since the two women had been intimates, for to Isabella, Miss Whentworth would have been deemed her best friend had she and Rachel not grown up together. Isabella met the Whentworth years ago upon their arrival from London, and had been immediately accepted as one of their circle.

This meeting alone would have made the perfect day had it not been for her mother, who thoughtlessly and without prior consent, extended an invitation for tea at a later hour to Thomas.

Thomas Whentworth the Third, brother to Miss Katherine. The arrogant, young, opinionated youth whose eye wandered incessantly toward Izzy, but to her, he lacked every common decency she found pleasing. He was reputed to be one of society's finest and most eligible bachelors, thus being dubbed a "most suitable match" by Father himself.

One blistering night in August ten years ago, during Hattie Mason's ball, Isabella stood prostrate on her doorstep for hours. Of course there had been much speculation within her circle as to the possible causes that her escort did not show, but none that gave Izzy's heart any peace. In her opinion, this was just another one of Thomas's childish games that he was so famous for, and it was at that exact moment of humiliation that she determined to never speak with him again.

Yet here it was, three hours hence that he would be in her own sitting room taking tea. The thought of it angered her all over. How would she be able to conduct herself in a manner pleasing to Mother, since her mother knew the details of what had transpired so many years before? But, this was to be a question best answered at a later time, for her mentation were dragged back to the present as Elizabeth entered the room.

"Elizabeth, I've chosen the apricot silk," said Izzy.

"Oh mistress, what a fine choice; the color compliments your skin so well," said Elizabeth, as she pulled the dress down from the wardrobe and helped Izzy into it.

Twenty minutes and one exhausted ladies' maid later, Isabella kissed her mother good-bye, and headed to the awaiting carriage, with Charles at the ready. It was highly improper to call upon a lady of such high station as Miss Whentworth without a proper carriage and footman; calling upon Rachel allowed for such informal visits, this one certainly did not.

The carriage rolled promptly through their neighborhood and onto Main street. A big, wet, heavy snow began to fall, and the scenery had come alive. Main street was peppered with folks who were doing their Christmas shopping early, for as the carriage passed, each store appeared to overflow with shoppers too burdened with bags to wave at Izzy's passing, but everyone recognized the Audley carriage. In the distance, carolers could be heard, their cantabile reaching into the depths of Isabella's soul, and she was convinced at one point that she could hear Charles' voice above all else.

Fairtown's square, which stood at its center, contained an immense statue of its founder which was now decorated with a wreath of pine boughs and holly. A twenty-foot Fir stood near the statue, decorated with large red, green, and gold glass balls—they wore whipped cream tops from the accumulating snow. The gas lights that surrounded it were also bedecked with wreaths, and as the carriage rolled by, Isabella lowered her window to get a whiff of the fresh greens. She smiled as she remembered how nice it was to be near familiar things.

After passing the square, Isabella yanked the cord for Charles to stop, for out her right window, a chestnut vendor caught her attention and she could never pass up a hot cup of steaming cider. Quickly gathering her skirts, she accepted Charles's hand and stepped onto the pavement—which now looked like meringue from the snow—while nearby onlookers began to gasp stare. The smell of roasted chestnuts permeated the wind, its woodsy scent so thick she could taste it. Stepping up to the cart, she smiled and ordered two cups of cider, and the man behind the cart recognized her.

"Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain't-a Miss Isabel Audley, come home from that fancy school a-hers," and he smiled a large, partially-toothy grin.

"Hello, Mr. Jones," said Isabella, eager to return the grin.

"Enjoyin’ yer time home I ‘spect," he said, as he handed her the hot cups, one of which she passed to Charles, who nodded his thanks.

"Oh my, yes. How are you and your family?" she said.

"We's doin’ just fine, thank ye for askin’. And how's yer momma?"

Isabella smiled, for she had missed her periodic chats with the elderly gentleman on her frequent jaunts through town. She knew in her heart that she probably should not have struck up a friendship with the old man, since she was after all, society. But his gentle face and kind ways always drew her in. She also figured that since his family had long since fallen on hard times, taking home news of the "society folk" from their conversations was probably the high point of his week, so Izzy did not mind in the least. It was probably what father would have done as well.

After chatting for a bit, Izzy then said her farewells.

"Well, ye come back here as soon as ye can, will ye? Oh, I almost forgot. Please tell yer momma that I'm awful sorry 'bout what happened. I hope things work out for ye." At this, he tipped his hat, wished her a Merry Christmas, and began helping the next customer.

Isabella stood frozen. This made the second person in town to comment on some tragedy that had supposedly befallen their family. So why was she the last to know?

Before she could think of it further, Charles politely pointed out the lateness of the hour and helped her back into the carriage. It took all the courage she could muster to enjoy the remainder of the journey, and by the time they arrived at the Whentworth residence she was in much improved spirits, albeit, nervous.

Accompanied by Charles, she made her way up the front steps of the grand home to the porch, which was decked in lush greenery and red bows. White tapers graced the lengthy windows, awaiting night fall when they would find their destiny and light up the night. Again, the greenery filled her senses and heightened her feelings, reminding her what a special occasion this was.

Inside, the home was lavish and grand—only the finest architectural work had been contracted. Luxuriant Indian tapestries honored the hard wood flooring, and remnant pieces of Louis XV furniture stole attention from the other fine furnishings. All in all, it was a house that admirably rivaled Capriolé. Isabella was led to the door of the drawing room on the second floor, and instructed to wait while she was announced to the mistress.

She was then led into the room, which on first sight, caught her breath. All of the furniture was decorated in a heavenly powder blue damask, and the trim of the wood shined in beautiful gold. A matching powder blue carpet lay in front of the sofa, and gold framed pictures hung plentifully on the high-ceilinged walls, which were also decorated in powder blue wall coverings. A roaring fire filled the room with such warmth that Isabella almost forgot there was a beautiful lady standing in front of her, waiting to be greeted.

"Miss Whentworth, Miss Audley," said the footman, before he bowed and left the room.

Both ladies dutifully bowed from their knees. It was Miss Whentworth who spoke first.

"Miss Audley. How very delightful for you to have called."

Isabella, whose mouth had turned to cotton barely made her own greeting. "Uh, M-miss Whentworth. I thank you for your most gracious invitation."

Interrupting further conversation of the women, a linen covered tea table was wheeled into the room, and again, Isabella gasped, so beautifully was it lain. She immediately recognized the Spode china, which was an available rarity to those who could indulge it; Waterford stemware was plentiful; the centerpiece was comprised of dried peach roses with golden gypsum, and golden tapers completed the warm color theme. She then turned her attentions to the array of delights that awaited her, from salmon mousse, to thin sandwiches with the crusts removed, to pepper jellies, and of course tea; hot, steaming, smiling tea served in a most delectable silver service, accompanied by silky cream.

So satiating was the repast, that Isabella had to take extra care not to fill herself before tea with Thomas that evening. The conversation of re-acquaintanceship was always the sweetest, and today's held no difference on that account, so eager were the two women to reacquaint. Finally, when neither woman could eat another bite for fear of protruding their corsets, Miss Whentworth invited Isabella to take a turn with her around the drawing room, and she eagerly complied.

"I understand that you have been home a mere few days," began Miss Whentworth. "Are you enjoying the familiarity?"

"Oh, my, yes. I think out of all the things to look forward to when returning home, that is the one that holds the most promise for me. It was difficult not being home during my absence with Mother during holiday," said Isabella.

Miss Whentworth stopped and turned to face Isabella squarely. "Miss Audley, I wanted to take this time to personally convey my sadness at your father's passing. I know this must be a difficult time of year for you both, and if there is anything I can do," she continued with much hesitation, "… then, please, let me know. I do know how hard it can be to fall on hard times."

Isabella merely stared, too afraid to inquire if what she heard, was indeed, what she had heard. Miss Whentworth discerned the matter and immediately continued.

"Oh, please do not think that I will think any less of you for it. I mean, people are people and when they have nothing better to occupy their time, then they of course will engage in dubious speculation, after all, but you cannot fault them for being human. I feel that we have been friends long enough and such good ones at that, that it would be mere lunacy for me to take my leave of you, simply because your family no longer had their wealth."

And there it was; the secret that everyone else in this town had apparently been either too afraid, or too shy to voice. She considered her next words carefully, for if it were true, her actions would determine in what manner she would now be viewed by those in her circle, and that decorum must be preserved at all costs. She was certain that a mistake had occurred somewhere.

"Miss Whentworth, I dare think that you have been grossly misinformed. I am certain that had we lost our finances, my mother, of all people, would have told me straight away." Yet as she said this, snippets of memory flashed through her mind that seemed to confirm what this creature in front of her maintained. There was the Peacock Lady in the Millinery showroom, the conversation with Mother and Mrs. Reddy at the bottom of the staircase, and not more than an hour ago, the chestnut vendor on the street. As the realization hit her that perhaps Miss Whentworth was correct, she felt her body go limp and she fainted.

Chapter   8

If The Truth Be Known

If the truth be known… (Chapter Eight)

It was a full ten minutes before Isabella came round, and then only at the prompting from the pungent smelling salts being waived under her nose like unreachable money. She took speed with assessing her scene, and her attempt to sit up was muzzled by the portly man wielding the salts.

"Now, now, dear, just take your time," he said. "I fear you have fainted."

"Fear nothing, my good man, I did faint; be assured, that my bum kissing the ground was more than just my way of saying good-morning to the posies," she said as she moved to sit up. At her rather brusque comment, she heard Miss Whentworth gasp.

"My apologies, Miss Whentworth. I forgot myself," said Isabella. She could not pinpoint exactly why, but she suddenly felt agitated.

"My dear, are you well now?" said Miss Whentworth.

"Fine, thank you. My proximity was too close to that of the fire," said Isabella. She then noticed several new people in the room who could do nothing but stare.

Trying to seem insouciant in the matter, she proclaimed, "Please, everyone, do not be concerned. I am not ready for my burial dress fitting, yet, I can assure you."

This seemed the prescribed appeasement, for the group chuckled and dispersed; all except for Miss Whentworth, who joined Isabella on the couch where she resided.

After a moment's silence, she turned to Isabella. "Dearest, I assumed you knew."

"What do you mean, Miss Whentworth? I still maintain that there has been some confusion in the line of communication. That is certainly no reflection upon you," she said.

"We shall thank providence for that, yes?" said Miss Whentworth.

Did Miss Whentworth mean to offend her, or was she misreading everything in light of the recent proclamation? "I only meant that if you were told some misinformation, then I would not fault you for the mistake."

"I assure you, Miss Audley," said Miss Whentworth, in the sweetest voice she had, "that had my informative source been of a traitorous nature I would not have passed it on in such a haphazard manner."

Again, Isabella could not discern the direction of Miss Whentworth's implications. "I do apologize; apparently my head is still bleary from the salts. Would you explain what you mean?"

"Did you not think there was a reason I asked you to my home to partake of tea?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Perhaps it was my silly schoolgirl fantasy, but I thought that it had been far too long since our last tête-à-tête, and your wish was to renew your acquaintanceship with me. Was I amiss in this assumption?"

Miss Whentworth laughed. "My dearest, I could have reacquainted myself with you at any time, but I thought it imperative that you find out the details of your present circumstance; that it come easier through a cherished friend and in a very expedient manner, seeing as how you have been in town for less than seventy-two hours."

"Am I to understand, that in your informing me that we are now indigent, and if we are, no such behavior as this will ever induce me to be explicit, your only interest was for my well-being?" said Isabella, as her face began to burn.

Again, Miss Whentworth expressed mirth. "Why, of course dear."

She reminded Isabella of a serpent, romancing its prey before feasting on it.

"Would you not find it in keeping with our acquaintance for me to pull you from in front of a runaway carriage, should the need arise?"

"My dear Miss Whentworth, I confess verily, that as of this moment, I could not say for certain what you could do that would be in keeping with your character or your professed attachments. Were I not hearing this with my own ears, I would swear that you were kindly pushing me into the oncoming carriage." Isabella remained in shock, for it clearly appeared that this woman standing before her, actually believed the words she ejaculated.

"So then it is true," Miss Whentworth said.

"If it is, then I shall be the last person to confess it. I will not deny or confirm it: your ladyship has declared it to be so; what shall I say in declaring it to be otherwise that would sway your beliefs of it? Truths are perceptions that are relevant to the teller only, not to the one having them uninvitingly bestowed."

"What an insolent woman you are, Miss Audley!”

"I have only to retain my honor, not to sway public opinion of it, and that includes yourself."

"Perhaps you are not hearing me, Miss Audley… "

"No Miss Whentworth, I heard you very well the first time you made the charges. What I now wonder, is what other motives you had in sharing this bit of good fortune with me?"

"Dear girl, your impertinence prevents me from divulging anything further on the matter."

"So there is more," said Isabella, her temper rising.

"I am not at liberty to say, but if your attitude toward it is as insufferable and disrespectful as it has been at the present, then I feel there is nothing further to be said. I acted only out of my good conscience, wishing to spare you further pain, and this is the gratitude that I receive in return," Miss Whentworth said.

"Then perhaps our meeting is over for the time, Miss Whentworth. I cannot say that I enjoy having my family's gossip, whatever its nature, spread all over town like dirty linen, and available to the first beggar to pick up off the street when the mood strikes. Please importune me no further on the matter; I am duly disgusted at its entirety, and would implore you to speak no further of it until you have all of your facts. At least do me that honor," said Isabella.

Perhaps it was the soothing quality of Isabella's voice in spite of her obtuse anger, or perhaps Miss Whentworth chose at that moment to devise a plan of deceit against Isabella, but whatever the reason, Miss Whentworth immediately softened, and said, "Miss Audley, you do have my word, and while I disagree with your obstinate assessment of my motives, I will do you that courtesy; for that much I owe you."

Isabella was appeased. "I thank you Miss Whentworth, now if you will excuse me, this meeting is over. I take my leave of you," and she bowed quickly, then exited.

She found the ride through town on the return trip to be much more arduous than its contrary, and wished above all else she were already situated safely at home. However, it afforded her the necessary time to process all that had transpired, and to put it in proper perspective before facing her mother. Had Miss Whentworth picked up on a gratuitous rumor that was currently floating about town and conveyed it, without checking its validity? That had to be the case, as she was sure of her former statement: Mother would certainly have told her had something been amiss with their present circumstances.

Satisfied in her own reasoning, she braced herself for the visit with Thomas that was to come, yet was filled with dread at knowing she had just quarreled with his only sister. She sincerely hoped that Miss Whentworth would have the good grace to keep propriety, as she promised. Was Miss Whentworth sincere in her proclamation? Only time would tell, and at that, the carriage rolled up to the front steps of Capriolé. Isabella took a deep breath before stepping down, and quickly formulated a tale to tell mother's awaiting curiosity. She must never reveal the incidents of today, for her mother would be so disheartened to find the great change in Isabella's once cherished friend, that worry over Isabella's state of mind would eventually consume her. Izzy could at least protect her.

Two hours later, Isabella was in the sitting room, involved with her own thoughts.

Lilly took notice and said, “Dear? What is it that has your attentions so caught up?”

“Nothing.”

Lilly pressed. “I do not think I believe you. You seem quite unlike yourself. Is it something with which I may help?”

“I said nothing was wrong,” Isabella said, as she turned her back to Lilly.

This was enough signal for Lilly to gracefully change the subject. "Isabella, dearest, you have chosen your gown well.”

This time, Izzy’s gown was of a wondrous royal blue with dramatic black trim, and created in her such confidence of appearance, that her nerves regarding Thomas's call were put to permanent rest.

"Thomas will be very impressed."

"Mother, you promised not to meddle; will you please keep to your bargain?" said Izzy. "This is just to be a friendly meeting, nothing more. He is an old school friend, and I owe him the courtesy of seeing him, especially since you went to so much trouble to arrange it," she said.

"Fine and well. I will behave," said Lilly. “You know me—sometimes I just cannot help myself.”

At that instant, Mr. Wilhelm entered, and announced, "Mr. Whentworth, for Miss Audley."

Both women stood and faced the door, and Isabella wondered suddenly at the attack of nerves. She felt ridiculous and the more she tried to suppress it, the more it controlled her.

But her wonderings were promptly interrupted as Thomas Whentworth the Third entered the drawing room and bowed courteously before the two women. He cordially greeted Mrs. Audley first, and just as he extended a hand to Miss Audley, she quickly blurted forth, "It is you!"

He stopped short, and stood his full length to get a better look at the creature before him.

Isabella immediately took note of how tall he was, and she hated to admit it, but Mother had been correct; he was comely indeed. She almost did not recognize him—in fact, she had not recognized him earlier—so handsome he had become, and as she stared into his brown eyes, she questioned an involuntary skip of her heart. She was not, however, to be derailed. Before he could respond, Isabella ejaculated yet again, "And how is it that you find yourself in my home? Have you not wrecked enough havoc upon the streets of Fairtown, without choosing to do the same to our humble drawing room?"

Mother immediately questioned Isabella.

"Mother, let us just say that we have previously bumped into each other. This man, Mr. Thomas Whentworth the Third, was the self-same man who clumsily and with forethought of malice knocked me over on the street on my journey home the very night I arrived in town," said Isabella.

"My dear, was that you?" said Mr. Whentworth in a teasing manner.

"You know full well that it was," said Izzy. As her blood began to boil, she tried hard to ignore the lock of long, dark hair that had disobediently fallen across his eye.

"Well, I do beg your pardon, it was difficult to tell the difference, for that very day, you were covered in snow and it was hard to discern just whom I had knocked over," said Mr. Whentworth again, if only to aggravate her. "I knock over so many people these days."

"Is that your idea of humor? I feel very strongly that we can do without it, if you please," said Isabella.

"I do apologize Miss Audley, and I bow grandly before you, in honor of you," and with this, he did an exaggerated bow, nearly touching his head to his knees. "And to you, Mrs. Audley, my folly was meant only to lighten an otherwise awkward moment."

"My dear Mr. Whentworth, there is nothing to forgive," said Mrs. Audley, stifling the urge to laugh as he kissed her hand. "Will you please sit down? We have prepared a savory repast, as it is well past my tea time."

Mr. Whentworth happily consented.

However, his chosen seat was directly to Isabella's left in closer proximity than she would have liked, and so her mood was sullen at this most untimely turn of events. She quickly reminded herself to speak to Mother about it as soon as Mr. Whentworth had gone, which for her, would never be soon enough.

Mr. Whentworth, however, seemed to enjoy the look on her face and was not to let an opportunity such as this go by.

The tea table was rolled out at that time, with Mrs. Reddy outdoing herself.

Mrs. Audley noticed Mr. Whentworth sneaking a peek at Isabella without her knowledge, and the thought of it made her spirits soar.

Clearing her throat, she began, "So tell me Mr. Whentworth, how does it feel to be a college graduate now?"

"I have not had much time to consider it, to be honest; I am now happily employed at the Fairtown Savings and Loan, in the accounts receivable department, and most recently, was given a promotion to officer of loans."

"Oh how nice for you. I believe that is where we have our note on this very home," said Mrs. Audley.

Mr. Whentworth agreed, while tasting one of everything. He went on to explain that business had been extraordinarily good, in spite of the upcoming holiday, and while that made everyone busier, there certainly were few complaints of it. "Yes, it seems as if holiday will be exceptional for all around," he said as he neatly finished off a crab tart. Neither he however, or Isabella, had chance to notice the forlorn look that painted Mrs. Audley's face.

Mr. Whentworth turned his conversation toward Isabella, inquiring kindly of her own college progress, hanging upon every word she said. Isabella found herself volunteering information, in spite of her resolve to hunt down his carriage after dark and string up his horse.

"And how is your sister, Mr. Whentworth?" said Mrs. Audley.

"She is well, thank you. I will tell her you inquired," said Mr. Whentworth.

"Oh, that is not really necessary," intercepted Isabella. "I was there not more than three hours previous, and I passed along Mother's inquiries then."

"Is she not something else?" said Mr. Whentworth. "Was your visit interesting?"

"Like nothing I have ever encountered. And yet, I find her much altered than when I knew her," and before she could stop herself, the words were out.

Mr. Whentworth sat up straighter in interest, as if his spine held the key to his hearing. "Really? Do tell? Perhaps she is more mature than you remember."

"Um, yes, that is it. She has grown into her own person and I was just not used to seeing it. Would you like more tea?" she said, and the diversion worked.

A full hour later saw Mr. Whentworth bidding farewell to the ladies, and then stopping short of the door while his carriage was being pulled round to the front. "Miss Audley, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the steps?"

She quietly consented, with a full mix of feelings exiting with her.

At the foot of the Capriolé steps, Mr. Whentworth turned to face Isabella square on, and she pulled her cloak closer to her, more to brace herself for what was to come than the biting air.

"Do forgive my improprieties and for being so forthright, but you have blossomed into an extraordinarily beautiful woman, Miss Audley."

Isabella felt her heart lurch at the sound of his voice, filled with such compliments, and suddenly was aware that she had become incomprehensibly shy, which was so versus her nature. Still she said nothing.

On the spur of the moment, his next words caught her so unguarded there was no time to prepare herself. He leaned as close to her ear as he could, and began a throaty whisper. "Miss Audley, I would like to ask you to accompany me to the Aitchison's annual Christmas Ball in a fortnight." He waited for her response.

For a split second she seemed to enjoy the proximity so much, that a relaxed smile crept across her face, accompanied by a dreamy look, but she quickly gained control. She turned to face Thomas, still smiling, and said, "Do you think me foolish, Mr. Whentworth? How extraordinarily braw of you to attempt such a stunt twice in your lifetime," she said, and waited.

Now uncomfortable, he shifted his weight in the snow, and made some off-handed comment to the horse which now stood directly behind him, before turning back to Isabella.

She noticed how boyish he looked, and had it not been for the four lost hours of her life spent alone on a hot August night many years ago, she would have forgiven him anything; here, in the snow, under the romantic glow of the street lamps, with her favorite time of year now in full season.

He must have noticed her effusive gleam, for he moved closer to her still, and gently, with a gloved hand, gathered up her bare hands—which were now bluish from the cold—looked her in the eyes, and quietly whispered, "I offer my apologies for leaving you alone that evening." He waited for the onslaught of emotion that he had been sure would follow, but when Isabella stood there looking at him in silence, he continued. "I have put myself through ample punishment these many years, I can assure you. Accompany me to dinner on Thursday evening and I will explain all."

She was suddenly in a quandary as to what she should do: allow this man to destroy her principles with a mere cry of apologia, or put the past behind her and attempt to rebuild a friendship with him. She decided that she did not want to know the answer until she heard it come from her mouth. "Mr. Whentworth, if you have come here on the sole assumption that your mere words, sprinkled with sentiment and caresses, were all that was needed to woo me into a state of compliance, not to mention forgiveness, then you are sorrier than I ever deemed you to be. I do not suffer fools gladly and I regret to inform you, that you are no exception. However, if your purpose was to make me a fool with this diversion, as you are so good at doing, then again, you have found a dead end. If I gave you reason to think anything of our relationship other than acquaintances with no particular attachment, then I do beg your forgiveness."

"My good lady, you lay grievous offenses at my charge, that would take a man a lifetime to answer; I do not have that kind of time. If this is your pronouncement of me, then who am I to change it? Perhaps my only presumption lie in my hope that you would listen to my rebuttal of such accusations; a man is allowed such, at the least."

Isabella stood silent at this last reason, and gave it heavy thought. However, her conclusion was only that Mr. Whentworth apparently had not outgrown his own games and she no longer wished to be their brunt. "Mr. Whentworth, it is getting colder, and I must check on my mother, so if you will excuse me," and she turned on her heel to leave.

Mr. Whentworth called after her again. "Miss Audley, it is merely dinner. I will call upon you tomorrow, to see if perchance you have changed your mind. Good night, Miss Audley." At this, he waited to enter his carriage until he was certain that Isabella had entered her home safely, and as soon as he had appeared, he disappeared into the night.

Isabella stood alone at her door inside for a moment in the blue silence of the night, watching the carriage drive away until she could no longer see it, wondering why her heart felt as if a piece had suddenly been torn from her.

Chapter   9

Of A Most Traitorous Nature

Of A Most Traitorous Nature (Chapter Nine)

"My dear sister," said Thomas, as he ceremoniously greeted first Katherine, then his mother.

Katherine Whentworth's esteem for her older brother had always been evident; each regarded carefully the welfare of the other, and no closer relationship would exist for either.

Mrs. Whentworth always made merry when her treasured son came for a visit, and spared no preparations. "Thomas, you are looking unwell. Are you eating properly?"

Thomas had to smile and muse at what a mother's heart must be like. "I assure you Mother, I am eating enough for a regiment."

"It is my job, so dare not deny me that," said Mrs. Whentworth.

"How is Father? Has he returned from Paris?" Thomas said.

"No, I am afraid not. He was scheduled to return this very day, but unfortunately will be detained yet another fortnight. This solitude from him is so extensive that at times I feel I cannot bear it. But, graciously, your sister has been a blessed help, and for that I am truly thankful."

"He will be returned in time for Christmas, yes?"

"So he assures me. I received his post just this morning," said Mrs. Whentworth.

Katherine decided to change the topic to something of a more festive nature. "Mother, I have learned that Mrs. Falkner's daughter, Caroline, has recently become engaged to the most handsome Edward Allwright. He and his fifty thousand a year are to be wed at the next full moon. I so wish we could return to London for the festivities."

Thomas expressed a snort of disapproval.

"My dear Thomas," began his mother, "you cannot be ignorant of such matters. If you possess a fortune, then you are in want of a good wife.”

Thomas made no reply.

"Are you not aware that many an eligible lady, whom upon learning of your extensive fortune, may, for the sake of sport, make herself a scandalous opportunist that you may never live down?" said Katherine.

"Why should I give that thought?" said Thomas. "If and when I do ever make an attachment, I assure you, it will be for the burning desires of true love and no lesser value."

"Perhaps. But how are you to be certain the woman's motives are as pure as your heart? My dear brother, you make yourself a fool to think you are an unworthy target."

"Your sister is right, Thomas. Our lineage has worked laboriously to retain our good name, and to have that soiled by the likes of one whose only regard is your affluence in exchange for her own social standing is beyond reproach. You are most handsome, and to couple that with the good fortune of monetary sustenance in abundance, makes for a dangerous combination. I caution you to take careful heed of the company you keep."

"Mother, I assure you, that if I were keeping company, her breeding would be fine enough to appease even your discretion. However, as it turns out, I am keeping no other company other than my own at the present. You may rest easy."

"Really, Thomas, I find your impropriety distasteful. Were you not, just this past evening, in the company of one widow Audley and her daughter, Isabella?"

Thomas looked up from his tea. "How did you know about this? Are my goings on now printed for the entire town to read?"

"Why so infracted? I find this outburst more telling than you would have us believe. Would you agree, Mother?"

"Indeed I do, and I am surprised at this intrigue. Thomas, I will not demand it of you, but I deeply implore you to share the details of your visit of your own free will, as there is much at stake."

Thomas was now beyond livid. "Honestly, Mother, your overreactions are wholly unnecessary. Do you not know that Miss Audley and I attended school together and have been acquainted for the better part of our lives? To read anything more into this leaves my mouth as cotton. Re-acquaintance was our only motive since her return from Harvard for holiday; nothing more, I assure you. Is this an answer you can satisfy yourself with so that I may finish my tea in peace?"

Katherine stood in ire. For one of his caliber and good standing to hold such an insouciant ideology was intolerable, in light of her recent encounter with Miss Audley only the preceding day, and so it was without prior thought, that Katherine blurted out her next statement. "Dear brother, you are not as wholly aware of particulars in matters as you pride yourself. Do you not know, that Miss Audley and her widowed mother, are teetering on the very edge of poverty?" and the words had speed of their own volition.

Thomas stood, without movement or sound, staring at Katherine, as if struck dumb. Slowly, he looked toward his mother for confirmation.

She could only nod her affirmative.

"How long have you known?" he asked of them both.

"These five days past. It is now to the point where word is spreading faster than they can muzzle the rumor," said Katherine, feigning a sympathetic voice.

"What makes you think they are attempting to muzzle anything?"

"Oh Thomas, is it not obvious upon what this woman's attentions and affections are set? It is not you, the dear old friend with which she wished to renew her acquaintance, but you, the handsome, eligible savior that will rescue them from the depths of despair in a most respectable way," said Katherine.

"Perhaps your logic is flawed, for neither woman mentioned any hint of this to me, and I know Miss Audley—she is too loose with her tongue at times to hold a secret such as this."

"My dear boy, I am always amazed at your readiness to give doubt to those who probably do not deserve it; it is what I love about you most," said his mother. "Of course they would not share with you such a hatched plan. It would be too shameful and the truth of it might perhaps scare you away forever."

The gravity of this news was heavy upon Thomas, indeed, for he slowly took a turn around the drawing room in deep thought.

His passive reaction, however, was too much for Katherine. "Well? What are you thinking? What will you do? Oh, dear brother, your next move will be of crucial social interest to all involved and you must divulge it to us straightaway. What will it be? Oh, I can just see the look on Isabella Audley's face when she is cast aside by all who held her in high esteem. Her loose tongue will not be able to pry her out of this one."

Thomas stopped. "If that is your good opinion of one with whom you profess admiration, I should hope to never be on the receiving end of its opposite. What could she have possibly done to have changed your admiration of her, or her poor mother?"

Katherine smiled at her mother and then turned to face him.

“Isabella, please! Your prancing round this parlor makes the horses in the stable look paralytic. Why the anxiety?”

Lilly had come to read Isabella’s moods better than her own.

“Oh, I am not anxious, mother! Really. You do jump to conclusions,” she said, as she smoothed the last of the wrinkles in her best blue evening satin.

Lilly was not to be fooled, however. “If you say so, dear.”

It was another ten minutes before Lilly deigned to break the silence. “So what time did he say he would call?”

Isabella stopped her pacing to stare out the front door. “Really, mother. You know how I love the way the blue dusk shimmers onto the fresh snow. I am just enjoying the scenery, as they say,” she said, as she secretly noted the time on the mantle piece to be half-six. She tried to calm her twitching hands in a futile attempt to erase the burning memory of that sweltering August night when reality hit her: when a man sets his affections on a woman, he will stop at nothing to bring that union about. Affectations and sentiments, however, are not to be trusted at face value, for deceit lies at the heart of its intent. The proof of this lie in the numerous acquaintances of Izzy’s who formed attachments quickly, and then resided in unhappy unions, either for the sake of the children, or societal circles. She frowned. It was not to be born.

A passing carriage on the street below caused her heart to flip, but she resumed her frowning once it continued by the house. Thus she put her disappointed energy into staring at her hands. The less Mother knew this was affecting her, the better.

“Isabella, do come and sit with me for a bit. You are going to wear a hole into the carpet.”

Isabella complied, while trying not to appear dejected in doing so.

But Lilly, being a mother, discerned the matter. “Sweetheart… ”

“… oh please, Mother, spare me your speeches. I knew this was coming, and quite frankly, I am just not in the mood for one of your lectures.”

Lilly breathed deeply so as to calm herself. “Look. I know how much this must hurt… ”

“… no; no you do not. How could you? To be humiliated like this not once, but twice in one’s lifetime? I would rather have pitchforks inserted into my forehead than to have to endure this again, and no, no one understands.”

“Dearest, you forget that long before I was your mother, I was a young, beautiful woman who had quite a few men lining up to be my potential suitors.”

Isabella faced her mother.

Lilly took her silence as an affirmation to continue. “I was not much older than you are now. We had just returned from one of my father’s numerous excursions throughout Europe; back in the city in time for the annual Aitchison Christmas Ball. Oh, it was the social event of the season. If you never attended any other social function, that was the one not to miss. Have I told you previously about the Aitchison Mansion?”

“No; actually you have not.”

“Well. The home was an exact replica of the famous Woodchester Mansion; an unfinished Gothic Revival Mansion in Gloucestershire, England. Except, while Lord Aitchison had a reputation for never finishing a thing he started, unlike the Woodchester, he finished this magnificent home for his beautiful bride. But that is another story best suited for a rainy afternoon. You have heard how The Aitchisons got their money, have you not? The old-fashioned way: they inherited it.”

Both she and Isabella laughed, which filled Lilly with hope that she was on the right path, so she continued, this time with more animation and drama so as to hold Isabella’s interest.

“It was a fortnight until the ball, when this tall, quite gangly-looking fellow approached me one afternoon and asked if I would be so kind as to escort him. Well, of course I was delighted. I had my eye on this fellow for quite some time.”

“Who was it, Mother?”

“All of his friends called him Leaper.”

Isabella crinkled her nose in question.

“He, apparently, was quite an athlete, with the broad jump being his specialty.”

This time she crinkled her nose in distaste. “Oh, dear!”

“Now, dearest, remember: this was a ball, not a contest for seeing who could bring the man with the silliest hobby. He really was quite comely. Tall, with sandy hair, piercing blue eyes the color of ocean waves, and a smile that could melt your heart.” She sighed.

“Mother!”

Lilly grinned. “Sorry darling, I do get carried away. Anyway. It was the night of the ball. I had chosen my finest emerald evening silk with black trim, had my hair coiffed and was too excited. Just to be seen on this man’s arm was a social triumph, and already my girlfriends were quite jealous.”

“So, what happened?”

“He never showed.”

“What?”

“No, dearest. He was supposed to collect me at seven sharp, and he never showed. By half-eight, I knew he was not coming and I was so emotionally weary from thinking about it, that I changed into my nightgown and went to bed early.”

“Oh, Mother, how awful for you!”

“Yes. I had been walking on the clouds since he asked, certain that the evening would be most magical, and then he never showed.”

“So what happened? What did you finally find out?”

“Well, it was not until the next day that he called upon me to apologize and explain. It seems his carriage had met with some tragic situation in which the wheel detached, and he spent the entire evening engaged in fixing it.”

“Really? That was it?”

“Yes, dear, that was it. He was so heartsick over it, that he spent the next few weeks making it up to me. We saw quite a lot of each other, and I grew to love him.”

“Mother! But what about Father?”

Lilly drew in a breath. “Dearest, it was your father.”

Both women sat in silence for a few moments; Lilly, brushing away a tear of fond remembrance, and Isabella, realizing that perhaps in both instances, she had been much too hard on Thomas for his missed appearances.

“Mother, I think I will take an evening trip up to The Blackberry Patch Café. I think watching them light the street lamps will do me some good.”

“I think that is a marvelous idea. Do be careful.”

Isabella walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thank you for sharing another part of who Father was.”

When Isabella had exited the house, Lilly smiled to herself and thanked God above for the family with which she had been truly blessed.

Another lush, wet snow had just begun to fall as Charles pulled the carriage round to the front of the steps. Before she got in, however, she sneaked a carrot to Porkchop, the faithful sorrel that had been with the family nearly as long as had Charles. After giving his muzzle a pat, she turned to Charles to accept his waiting hand to help her into the carriage.

“Tell me, Charles, how is Martha? Is she in better health?”

“Yes ma’am, she is. The doctor is quite hopeful that she will be recovered in a short time. I will tell her you asked about her.”

Within mere minutes of anticipation, the carriage was heading into the roundabout at the center of town on the square. From this vantage point, one could see all of the town’s holiday decorations, and because they were now against the velvet backdrop of nightfall, the lights' twinkles shown as tiny halos of goodwill. To Isabella, this time of year was filled with nothing but the promise of hope in the New Year to come, and that, alone, would be enough to overcome any tragedy that might befall their family. She was certain that as long as she had Mother, there was nothing they could not face.

Minutes later Charles was offering his hand to help Isabella down from the steps of the carriage in front of the Blackberry Patch Café.

As the front door bell tinkled announcing her arrival, she caught a whiff of her favorite: cranberry orange scones, fresh from the ovens. She approached the counter and placed her order for one, said her hellos to old friends, and took her usual seat by the large picture window near the front of the store. She loved this seat, for it was here that she had a clear picture of the street merchants as they lit their gas street lamps each night at dusk. However, tonight she had just missed the lighting, so she pulled out her favorite journal and began recording her most recent thoughts of the trip so far, since this was the first real time she had to be alone with since arriving.

Her first sentiments settled upon Thomas. What if mother had been right, and there had been some logical reason for Thomas to have missed both engagements? Had she sold him short by placing judgment upon him before he earned it?

About three lines into her first page, the doorbell tinkled and as she looked up, she dropped her pen. Standing in front of her, facing her squarely, were Thomas, and on his arm, Rachel.

Chapter   10

The First Cut

The First Cut (Chapter Ten)

“Well. Is this not an awkward circumstance in which we have found ourselves?” said Rachel, as she was the first to break the silence of the party.

“Oh dear me, I fear it is so,” said Thomas.

Social circles needed to operate like a well-directed play; if one person even so much as forgot a line or spoke out of character, the entire structure would be subject to scrutiny and eventual demise.

Isabella was well-trained in societal intrigues and could play her role with genius. Not wishing to appear offended in her sensibilities, she said, “Good evening to you both,” while wishing away the tears now stinging her eyes.

“Dearest, I offer my sincere apologies for missing you; Mother told me you had called. Perhaps, if fate smiles upon me, I can clear some of my schedule tomorrow and maybe return your call, if I have enough time,” Rachel offered. She continued to grip Thomas’s arm as if he were the only safety device within distance.

However, his attentions were not on his escort, they were drawn to Isabella, sitting just feet in front of him, wishing he could explain his present union, but knowing this was not the proper time to do so.

A long silence fell upon the party, until Rachel again broke it, for she knew of Isabella’s history with Thomas.

“So how is your mother? I hope she is in good health.”

“She is, thank-you,” said Isabella.

Rachel said, “Oh, dearest, I have the best news! Mr. Whentworth has agreed to be my escort for the Christmas ball. Is that not wonderful?”

Isabella felt her breath catch in her throat, but again, reserved her ire and confusion for musing in private.

“That is wonderful news. I wish you a beautiful time,” she said. Her speech was delivered while avoiding Thomas’s eyes, and she continued to do so while Rachel launched into the details.

“I just had to grab this wonderful bachelor before some poor, undeserving society-climber sought him out for herself. Dear Thomas deserves much better than that, right dearest?”

“I am disinclined to believe that you know me well enough to be able to speak on my behalf for what is and is not best for me, Miss Hastings.”

This seemed to do the trick, for Rachel eased her grip upon his arm and went silent.

“Miss Audley, how is your Mother? I, too, hope she is within good health,” said Thomas.

Isabella was unsure how to craft her speech to this greeting. Should she cause a public scene by saying exactly what was in her heart, or should she simply go along with this intrigue?

“Mr. Whentworth, she is well; you saw her just a day ago,” she said coolly.

Thomas could ascertain the hurt trying to hide behind Isabella’s eyes, but remained silent on the matter.

After another awkward, long silence, Isabella said, “Well, I must be going. It is getting rather late and I do not like to leave Mother for too long.”

“Yes, she must be lonely in that cold, empty house,” said Rachel.

“She keeps very busy, and she is glad that I am home for holiday,” said Isabella, as she began to gather her things.

“It has been good to see you, Miss Audley. Perhaps we will see you at the Christmas Ball? Oh dear, listen to me. I think I have caught the only eligible bachelor in town; I fear there are no more left for anyone,” said Rachel with great mirth.

Thomas stood still, fully embarrassed at the absurdity of the situation, and sorry that he once again caused Isabella pain.

“Isabella, you did receive your invitation, did you not?” said Rachel.

Isabella thought for a moment as to how to proffer an answer. If she lied and said yes and then did not present herself, people would talk, which would do her family no good. If she offered up the truth in stating that her invitation had not yet arrived, it might cast a shadow over her standing in society and doubts that she was still, indeed, a part of her own circle. She had to think quickly at which would have the least devastation on her family and her Father’s good name. Then it hit her.

“Actually, some of my mail seems to have been held up from Radcliffe, so I cannot say with honesty whether I have received it or not. The post promised to find the problem and engage it forthwith.” Isabella was very happy with this answer, and it seemed to calm Rachel’s surprising rival spirit.

Isabella moved to the door, avoiding both Rachel and Thomas, but offered, “This encounter has certainly been enlightening. Merry Christmas to you both.”

As she exited the Café, Thomas tried to go after her. “Miss Audley, wait… ”

But she was already situated in her carriage and heading away from the lights of town.

“Number 22. Order ready for scone!”

The huge fir in the center of the square glistened against the soft glow of the street lamps, foreshadowing the glow in the hearts of families at this time of year. It was the street lights that seemed to anchor of town. During the day they stood as sentries in watch over its citizens, and during the night they lit the path, showing the way. Tonight those sentry guards wore huge, decorated fir wreaths with bright red bows, which, on any other night, Isabella would have found immensely humorous.

Tonight she did not care. She felt like a worn rag as the carriage jostled her through the town’s streets. All she could entertain at the present were the hoofs of Porkchop; clomp, clomp, clomping down the cobblestone streets. Pound, pound, pound; a mallet driving the stake into her heart.

She stared out the window upon those beautiful, sleepy houses, with their fires stoked and the curtains drawn, causing only an orange glow to emanate from the windows. She loved these homes, filled with laughter and families, and she wondered if she would ever have a family of her own. The tears burned her eyes again, and she ruminated on this evening’s events.

Had this evening really happened? Or was she engaged in some strange intrigue; one designed to drive her sensibilities straight into a cell? What had she possibly done to create such a division between herself and Rachel? She had so strongly professed to be her most intimate friend from the day they met. Now she hardly recognized her, so self-aggrandizing was she. And to flaunt Thomas in her face that way? If Isabella did not know her best friend better, she might think that Rachel’s behavior was precipitated by a change in status between them.

Then, it hit her. Everything she had been hearing since her arrival in town. It all finally made sense. Mother’s strange behavior in not decorating Capriolé; advising Maria that there may not be meat enough in the next week’s budget; the Peacock woman’s garish pronouncement; Rachel's strange behavior at not returning her call, and Katherine Whentworth’s vulgar confrontation with her.

“Oh my dear Lord, Miss Whentworth was right!” she blurted out through her tears. “We are indigent, and Mother has been too stubborn to tell me!”

She began to cry unfettered. All the hurt that had been bottled was now loosed and flowing down her face. What would she do now that she was no longer accepted into society? And why had Rachel chosen her status over their friendship? Is this what it would now be like; to be shunned by everyone who once professed to be her intimate?

She began to wonder how it happened. Had Mother simply squandered every penny of Father’s most generous inheritance? That was crazy. Mother indulged Isabella in the occasional shopping excursion while growing up, but never did she flaunt and waste their good fortune. She had always been too sensible for that.

But something must have happened.

She noticed Charles making the final turn down the last street for home. Home. What a cruel jest. Suddenly it was no longer the safe, inviting haven she had loved. Now it was a den of lies and uncertainty, and she realized there was no way she could presently return there. Not yet. She immediately called to Charles. “Continue driving. I am in no way ready to return home! I have no preference as to where, just go!” she said.

So Charles pulled the carriage round to the left, made the turn, and continued down another side street of their neighborhood.

She sat back in her carriage seat, relieved for the moment. I cannot return home until I have discerned what has transpired.

After returning home, Thomas, in a state of despair, barely allowed himself enough time to remove his overcoat and scarf before he strode immediately over to his writing desk and penned a detailed letter to Isabella, carefully explaining the course of the evening’s events:

I am completely certain that I am, at the very least, the last person from whom you wish to hear, and that is completely within your right. But I would never put whatever fellowship lies at stake between us in obvious jeopardy unless it were absolutely imperative that you hear my explanation of this evening’s events.

As you may remember, during my visit with your family during high tea last evening, I asked you to sup with me this evening, so that I might have you—uninterrupted—all to myself, to allow me time to set right the gross error I committed against you many years ago, when you were to be my date for Hattie Mason’s ball. Trust me, when I tell you, this is still my number one desire.

However, after we parted last night, my mother contacted me with most distressing news. She had learned, apparently through Mrs. Hastings, that Rachel had been seen all over Fairtown, unescorted at odd times of the evening, and still with odder company. Mrs. Hastings was in an inconsolable, uproarious condition according to my mother, and was sealed in her idea that Rachel’s strange behavior would spell certain shame and ruin not only for her daughter, but for the family name as well. Not knowing what else she should do, she contacted my mother for advice. Since my family and the Hastings have been friends for as long as my family and yours, and not wishing to see the Hastings name be tarnished for reasons that could be avoided, my mother proffered my services as a proper escort for Rachel for this evening’s performance of a new Oscar Wilde play at The Proscenium, as well as for The Christmas Ball in a fortnight. I can assure you this was not my personal choice of how to spend an evening, but I would rather you be transiently put out with me again, than to see the Hastings’ name turned to mud.

I realize this note is a hasty explanation of a complicated situation, but it is the best I can offer at short notice, and I hope and pray it is enough at least, to mend a shaky fence temporarily between old friends.

I await your reply.

Sincerely and with haste,

Mr. Whentworth

After sealing its contents with the wax and Whentworth family crest, Thomas rang the bell, deposited the parcel with his butler, and retired to bed, accounting the matter fully closed, but with some anxiety over how Isabella would accept his account.

The next morning when the postman called, the butler promptly turned over the letter. The postman nodded his thanks, grabbed his horse’s reins, flung himself onto the carriage, and tossed the parcel toward his mail bag. The letter missed its intended target and slipped between the mail bag, and two floorboards of the carriage. No one knew that it would never reach its destination.

Chapter   11

When It Rains...

When It Rains… (Chapter Eleven)

At four a.m., Isabella allowed her exhausted body to slip beneath the awaiting quilt. She wanted to block out everything that had transpired within the last 24-hours, and pretend that none of it happened; she was getting good at avoidance. That was also her final thought before her eyes welded themselves shut and she slept solid until daylight.

“Yes?”

“Dearest, I promised I would pick up a shift at hospital, so I will be gone for the better part of the morning. I just wanted to inform you so you would not worry.”

Isabella grew cold at the sound of her mother’s voice, and did not stir, lest she give herself away.

She then heard her mother’s shrinking footsteps as Lilly made her way down the hallway, until all Izzy could hear was the crackling wood in her fireplace.

She scratched Mr. Puss’s head, and whispered to him, “Well, that was close.”

She stretched in the warmth of the sun. “Is this not a first since being home? I have the entire house to myself, and a wonderful idea has just struck me! I am going to pull some of our decorations down and make the house festive. Will that not be wonderful?”

Fueled with the excitement of her project, she quickly dressed, stopped for a bite of breakfast, and then with a stout purpose, strode up the final set of stairs to the abandoned attic.

She opened the door: it was like any other attic—people’s past lives covered in dust and cobwebs; too many extra things to be displayed; too much claustrophobia; too much heat and not enough oxygen. But as she circled the room, memories crowded in on her, invading her heart and transporting her. She bumped into mounds of boxes with old clothes, whatnots and random papers that had somehow defined a generation of her family. She then spotted the Christmas decorations near the attic’s only window and moved toward them, but her attentions were hijacked by the massive bookcase to her right. She fingered each book on the bookshelves, not daring to disturb their rest, for someday soon, it would be time to rouse them to fulfill their one destiny: to paint someone else’s life in literacy.

As she continued brushing the spines of each book in passing, one particular book caught her attention and she abruptly stopped. Its familiarity beckoned to her and she carefully pulled it down from the stack.

Her mouth flung open and her eyes widened.

There in her hands, was the one item she never expected to see again. She fingered the gold-embossed words set into the beautiful, weathered leather.

“THE JOURNAL OF JOHN AUDLEY”

“1872”

Her throat began to close and cotton grow in her mouth. Her hands shook, and soon she realized that her entire body was seizing to the point that if she did not take a seat soon, she would join the piles of grime on the floor only to be eaten by teeming moths.

She backed up slowly and found a pile of boxes with old clothes—she took a seat and only continued to stare at the journal’s rich cover.

“This belonged to my father,” she whispered, as more tears welled up. “How am I supposed to intrude upon its sacred pages? Mother told me this had been lost.”

As she sat staring dumbly at the book, she tried to put pieces together as to why it was here and not in someone’s else’s hands, or worse, in a trash bin somewhere.

“Mother assured me she had lost this without having seen even one of its pages. So why would she have lied to me and kept it?” She was having difficulties with her sensibilities, and Izzy could feel her temples begin to pulse, but she was determined to press on.

She took her fingertips and grabbed the upper right corner of the book and turned its page.

Blank.

She turned another in the same fashion, and found the same words:

“THE JOURNAL OF JOHN AUDLEY”

“1872”

This script, however, was not an embossment from the printer, but rather from Father’s own hand.

This touched her again, and she could not help but run her right index finger over the aged ink.

She turned the third page, and gazed upon the handwriting. Immediately she scanned to the first word and began.

I find this journal a comfort, an awaiting friend at times and it is

the only thing to which I have to look forward. To slip into the solitude of my

study after the household has quieted is a catharsis for my soul. The

feel of my leather armchair, the gentle flickering of the hog scraper,

the scratching of my quill to paper. All sensory delights in which

I will continue to indulge. But more importantly, the journal

itself. One given me by my father, I love to run my fingers over the

paper and listen as it makes its quiet hum, for blank parchment is a

treat for any writer, as the pages say, "Indulge. These

pages are yours and by accepting them, you are accepting the opportunity

to begin anew." I think this is the greatest appeal: the chance to

begin clean and fresh with each page.

This idea has hung heavy within my heart as of late, but as it is my

private hell, only the journal shall benefit from my shared

information. It is the only way it can be at present. I have labored

too hard and will disappoint too many to allow otherwise. My heart is

now resolute in the matter.

Until tomorrow,

John Audley, III.

When she finished reading, she lay the book in her lap and stared at the window. She was trying to process all he had just said. The beginning of the passage was very positive; very introspective; very like her father. But the last paragraph was the one that troubled her most.

She read the words again, out loud this time.

“… .as it is my private hell… .”

“What in the world was Father talking about?”

“… .and will disappoint too many to allow otherwise… .”

“He could never be a disappointment! Dear Lord, what is he on about?”

She continued to the second entry and voraciously read, but again, it yielded no new information as to the previous entry. Further and further into the journal she went, a big cat on the tail of its prey, always just without reach. After each new passage, she felt more dissatisfied than before, until finally she took the book and hurled it against the bookcase, giving a wild cry as it went.

Her actions disturbed the maids below to the point that a host of them gathered at the foot of the attic steps to inquire of her safety.

“I am fine, just leave me in peace.” Her temples ached.

As she moved toward the book to pick it up, she noticed that the back flap from the inside cover had come undone, and in doing so, yielded up a folded note, the sealing wax broken. She carefully unfolded it and felt her heart quicken as she began reading.

So long has it been since holding you. I fear if we are to be parted for any more length of time, my arms will not recognize it when we are finally enjoined again. My days spent with you on the island were the happiest ones of my life, and, my precious, I am confident in knowing you feel the same. If you will but rip this torment from me and write me, all will be well, of that I can be sure. It will be another two months before I must return to my Lil, but I have discovered in this solitude, that my heart just does not function without you… .

Sincerely,

Your loving John’

Isabella sat in a stupor for the longest time, unable to tear her hands away from the note that she held like a steel trap. As she slowly came back to herself, she could now feel hot tears scorching her cheeks; the ink from the paper mocking her; making the Queen fool out of her, and she could do nothing to stop it.

“Well, naturally, there must be a rational explanation for this.”

But her own logic, which had always held her in good stead, now failed her, for even she did not believe the justification. It could only mean one thing: Father had an affair.

She paced as she lived out the drama unfolding before her. When? How? Why??

But it seemed the more questions she posed, the more it would uncover, and at this point she was not sure she was ready for more. And so far, that acrimonious journal had yielded absolutely nothing of import on the matter. Or, perhaps she had merely given up too quickly. Brushing the tears from her cheeks and slowing her breathing, she walked back to the journal which still lay prone on the floor, and began reading where she left off, knowing that the worst would be more pain similar to the letter. But even though a part of her knew these were Father’s private thoughts and she should not intrude, still the better part of her knew that she was his daughter and she had full right to know.

She turned another page.

“… and would you mind handling that matter for me, Mr. Miller? I would appreciate it.”

As the young clerk exited the office, Thomas Whentworth’s superior sat eye to eye with Thomas and continued where he had left off during the young clerk’s interruption.

“Son, I must say you are doing a bang-up job. In my thirty-four years, I have never had anyone pick up on this job quite as quickly.”

“Well sir, I appreciate your praise. This was my first choice, after all.”

His superior smiled and said, “Glad to hear it. Do not let me down.” Then he exited the office.

Thomas decided that with the well-earned silence, he would return to the stack of paperwork that would soon be overwhelming his small desk.

Just then his eye caught a carriage going by his window through the town square. His heart leapt involuntarily as he mistakenly took the carriage for the Audley coach. This greatly disturbed him. As much as he did not want to admit it, the previous conversation with his mother and sister had been weighing heavily on his mind. What if they were right, and the only thing he had to offer a woman were his circumstances? Or worse, what if the only thing on the young lady’s mind was his fortune? This did not seem to be the case with one particular lady in mind. He hid his partial smile at the image of Isabella giving him a grand “what for” when she recognized him as the one who had mistakenly knocked her down in the snow-covered street on her first day home.

His smile faded and was replaced with an affect more personal when he remembered just how lovely she looked in her blue evening gown; how girlish and almost vulnerable she had become when they were saying good-night beneath the street lamp in the blue of dusk; how tortured and then volatile when he had requested a time at which to see her. Thomas could never remember a time when he had met someone who moved him so; someone who contained the full spectrum of emotion and could run the gamut in tenths of a second. As much as he knew it would probably send his sister to her early grave, Isabella Audley excited him.

But, he was not ready to call Royal Doulton and make the announcement just yet. There was one, tiny little problem.

Isabella.

She was still so angry with him, after all those years. And try as he might, there just did not appear to him to be a way back into her good graces. Especially now, after seeing him on the arm of Rachel last evening. What he had informed his mother and sister had been the truth: he had no professed attachments. But would Isabella be inclined to believe that? Thomas sat back in his chair and stretched. His truthful self had to answer a hearty “no.”

But then an idea struck him. What did he have to lose (besides a possible body part this time), by extending another invitation to Isabella for dinner so they could really talk and square away these misunderstandings?

He leaned forward in his chair. Reaching for the parchment with one hand and his quill in the other, he wrote as quickly as he could so as to get his note ready for that afternoon’s post.

He could feel his heart leaping again… .

Before she knew it, the morning had passed in a blur of history. After having put nearly five hours into the journal, the only truth to which she was closer in learning, were the depths of harsh despair that had plagued her father for so many years. Thinking back over time now, perhaps it was her skill at revisionist history that served to protect her, but she could detect no special behavior of Father’s in hindsight that would have betrayed any peril in his thinking.

So lost in her own thinking was she now, that she neglected to hear Mother’s entrance downstairs upon her return for lunch. When Lilly called out, her breath caught in her throat and she felt as if her heart leapt out of her chest.

As she gathered her wits, it suddenly struck her with force: Mother! How much of this did she already know? Had she been the one to break the seal on the letter from John to Victoria and make the decision to keep all of this from Isabella? The more Isabella thought of this, the more she could feel the anger from the pit of her stomach, for all evidence supported Isabella’s supposition. Her only mission was to derail Mother before giving her the chance to escape with more lies. Yes, Isabella was now convinced that Lilly knew exactly what had happened in this house before her arrival. And now she was about to hear it firsthand.

“Sweetheart! Oh, there you are. The kitchen maids told me I would find you up here. What on Earth would you be do… ”

“YOU! Just stop right there.”

Lilly stopped at the foot of the attic steps, but only out of shock at such an outrage from her daughter. As Izzy descended the stairs, she took in Isabella’s features. They were twisted in rage, and Lilly could see tracks of tears down both her cheeks. Slowly it dawned on her; Isabella was about to confront her and the truth would finally come out. She had been dreading and praying against this day for nearly 4 years, but knew there was not a thing she could do to stop it from unfolding, except brace herself for the coming onslaught.

Chapter   12

...It Pours

… It Pours (Chapter Twelve)

“All of the pieces finally fit.”

Izzy was having trouble controlling her shaking; the rage so prominent that her breathing was labored. She noticed how small Lilly looked at the foot of the staircase, staring upward like a child.

“What are you on about, dearest?” said Lilly.

Izzy was livid. “Do not try and deny this. All of it makes sense. The Peacock lady; the Hastings’s peculiar behavior; not having Capriolé decorated for Holiday; a chestnut vendor on the street; even you. I overheard you talking with the servants about how there would not be enough money for meat in the coming week. How could you keep something so important from me, Mother? All this time I gloried in the fact that we had a close, loving relationship that nothing could destroy, and now I find out, quite by accident, that the one person who created such security in me has done nothing but tear that down in her constant betrayals and cover ups. This is simply too much to be borne.”

Lilly caught a glimpse of the book dangling from Isabella’s left hand, and immediately knew, but continued to keep her silence.

“And do you know what thrilled me most? Fainting dead away and then sitting in a fool’s stupor two days ago, listening to Miss Whentworth describe to me at length how our family was now as poor as the mice that inhabit our church.”

The tears streamed down Lilly’s face as realization hit her. “That is why you were so morose when you returned home from her afternoon call.”

“Well, at least you are not daft as well as dumb,” said Izzy.

For a moment, Lilly considered a protest, then thought better of it.

“Well? Do you have any intent of defending yourself, or shall you entertain me with more intrigues and half-truths?” said Isabella.

Lilly took a deep breath and then said a simple, “No.”

Isabella, taken aback, could only stare.

Lilly was calm. “Actually, I am rather glad the truth is now out in the open. I have borne it in solitude for so long, that I simply do not have the fortitude to continue.”

Isabella snorted in disgust. “Really. For someone so exhausted at their own hand, you seemed to have fared rather well.”

“Trust me when I tell you, I did not.”

“And I suppose that is your attempt at creating sympathy for yourself and your plight? I tell you now, I refuse to do it.”

“That is within your right, and I would never ask such a thing of you,” said Lilly.

Isabella thought for a moment. “Perhaps you are now going to give me some cockamamie reason for your decision. Such as, you were just trying to protect me.”

“As a matter of fact… ”

“Do not insult my intelligence thus. I am not the shy, unassuming child that you knew when I departed for college. I have matured, and for you to treat me with such disrespect is unconscionable.”

“Perhaps when you have a child of your own, then you will understand.”

“I am not some porcelain doll!” Izzy screamed. “Do not feed me such tired platitudes!”

“Are clichés not popular because they are true?” said Lilly.

“And I have fallen for it, again,” Izzy said, as she flounced down the stairs and past Lilly.

“Excuse me?”

“You are good, Mother, I will give you that. You know how to push my buttons to the point that we can be off on a tangent and miles from the original conversation before I have even ascertained what has happened.”

“That is not fair,” said Lilly.

Izzy, her face contorted with rage, turned slowly to face her mother. “You have absolutely no right or experience to speak to me about what is fair.”

“And you do not know the entire story,” said Lilly.

“Oh, please! Am I now expected to listen to a fable about how you are a victim?”

“Dearest, we were both victims,” said Lilly. “If you will try to calm yourself a bit, I will endeavor to share the truth with you as I know it.”

At that moment, both women were interrupted by the sound of the door knocker. Mr. Wilhelm answered, and returned in haste with a look of fatherly concern.

“What is it, Wilhelm?” said Lilly.

“Mrs. Audley, there are some men here for you. They are sent by the Savings and Loan company.”

Lilly’s face went pale, and for a moment, Izzy forgot their former quarrel and went to her mother’s side. “What is it? You know what this is regarding, Mother?”

Lilly nodded. “I am afraid I do, Isabella.”

Two men dressed in dark clothes with blue emblems on their sleeves that said, “Fairtown Collections” entered the parlor, and without acknowledging the ladies' existence, began clearing some of their furniture. The sofa was the first thing to go, then when they returned, they took the love seat, a Parisian tapestry and one of the antique silver tea services. This enraged Izzy even further, and before Lilly knew it, Izzy was fighting one of the men, tearing at his hands like a prize-fighter.

“Mrs. Audley, would you kindly restrain your daughter? We have the proper paperwork.”

Lilly moved swiftly and harnessed Isabella, who was still screaming obscenities and flinging herself in front of the larger of the two men. When Izzy had been fully extracted, Lilly walked her over to the fireplace out of the way of the men, and cooed to her in soft tones while Isabella continued to cry on her shoulder. “It will be all right, muffin. Please, calm down before you make yourself ill.”

Izzy obeyed and continued to watch in horror as the men carried out the Waterford Crystal, her grandmother’s antique silver flatware, books, paintings, and even some of Mrs. Audley’s antique jewelry.

“Mother, I do not understand! Please. What is happening?” wailed Izzy. “Why are these men destroying our home?”

“Bella, now is not the time. I promise, I will keep nothing from you any longer. Let these men do their job and then I will reveal all.”

But just as she said this, one of the men was seen carrying some of Izzy’s most prized gowns to the front door. That is when Izzy lost control again and went after the man, yelling at him as she went. Again, Lilly was able to intercept and drag her crying daughter away from the most grateful man, and back to the fireplace.

Izzy could not bear silence on the matter any longer. “Mother, in earnest! Share with me what has happened, now!”

Lilly sighed, and said, “Isabella, the bank has foreclosed upon our home. They are taking some of our things to sell in order to reduce our debt. I wish I had better news, and that this did not hurt so much, but, there it is. Remember the call we received last evening after tea, and I told you it had been the postman with a misplaced letter?”

Izzy intercepted. “It was about the foreclosure.”

“Yes,” Lilly whispered. “I just did not know how to tell you.”

By now, Izzy had pulled away from her mother’s grasp and was heading up the stairs to her room.

Lilly called after her. “Where are you going?”

Izzy ignored the question, grabbed her journal and a wrap, and headed toward the front door, all while Lilly was left alone in the parlor to watch her world being removed one memory at a time.

Outside on the street, Rachel Hastings happened by just as the Collections men were loading up the furniture and personal household items. This piqued her interest, and she made herself inconspicuous as she continued to spy on the activity within and without the house. Rachel, not being a stupid woman, was easily able to fit the pieces of this intrigue together and ascertain the situation. Just then, she noticed the postman making his deliveries, and before he could approach the house, Rachel intercepted, stating that she was a friend of the family, that she was on her way for a visit, and would be happy to deliver their mail. This appeased the postman; he gave a tip of his hat to her, got onto his carriage, and left.

Before she drew close to the house to do as she promised, however, she inspected the Audley mail, and noticed a letter of particular interest, addressed to Isabella. She turned over the letter to inspect the crest, hoping it would yield some clue as to its giver, when she noticed that it belonged to the Whentworth family. Knowing full well the history between Mr. Whentworth and Isabella, and knowing, too, that Mr. Whentworth was obviously enamored of Isabella—afraid that a proposal might be forthcoming any day—as sly as she could, Rachel tucked the personal letter into her reticule. She did so just as Izzy was exiting her house.

The friends caught each other’s eyes, and before Rachel could feign her sympathy at Isabella’s situation, Izzy, awash in embarrassment, fled without her footman in the direction of town, too swift for Rachel to catch her.

Thankfully, there were not that many patrons at the Café during this hour of the day, so Izzy ordered her usual scone, took the empty seat near the picture window, and slumped into it. Today’s visit was not for mere pleasure, but rather, escape, and try as she might to relax and enjoy it, that did not happen. Her mind was twisting at the day’s events—so much had already taken place, and it was not yet half-three. Her muscles began to ache, joining her chorus of throbbing temples. Could this actually be real, or was it some sick prank someone had decided to play upon her? But that made no sense, for why would her mother, of all people, join in that caper when there was nothing to be gained by it?

A group of acquaintances in the corner booth giggled and sniggered, but with decorum, like all good society members should. And as soon as Izzy turned to catch the noise, they stopped looking in her direction so as not to be conspicuous. But Izzy knew in her heart that this is the way things would progress from now on. People would no longer stare at the oncoming Audley coach with wonderment and jealousy; they would now talk behind gloved hands and join neighbors in choruses of, “Poor dears,” in between their fits of laughter and mockery. Her face burned at the imagery. How could she now bear it? She was certain she would die of embarrassment.

As Izzy picked at her scone and continued in thought, more realizations hit her as to exactly what was to come. There would be no more high teas with society’s most fashionable, for what reason would they have to sup with the Audleys now? In most of these societal circles, it was their money and their social clubs, also based on money, that were the only things they held in common. And what of the servants? With no money coming into the household, there would be no way to keep the household staff on in their employ, so Mother would eventually have to dismiss each one, and some of them had been with the family since Isabella was in diapers! They were more than servants—they were family to her, and had she and her mother not lost enough family for a lifetime? Of course with nothing to wear, there would be no more society ball invites. And with no invites, there would be no more suitors, for where would one have occasion to meet an upstanding young gentleman if one were residing in the poor house and working in a factory? Oh my dear Lord. How will I ever be able to face Mr. Whentworth again? He must never, ever find out. He already treats me as if I am incapable of thinking for myself. What is to be his opinion of us now that we are no longer his social equal? Oh my goodness! His sister, Miss Whentworth was right about everything, which means that when he called upon us to take tea, he already knew about our situation! What he must have thought of us, and how was he able to keep from laughing? I will never be able to speak to him again for as long as I live. What if I am unable to return to Radcliffe and complete my studies! And worse yet, what if both Mother and I are forced to find jobs in a local sweat trade? Oh, this cannot be borne!

Tears streamed down her face as the self-pity began to roll. Unable to finish eating her scone, she no longer cared who noticed her tribulation and she cried openly. While she admitted to herself that she thought, at times, society’s general rules superfluous and high-handed, still, it was all she knew, and without it she would no longer be able to define who she was. Perhaps that was the reason her mother had wanted to protect her from this torment for as long as she possibly could.

“No,” she said. “I will not take up for that woman. Not today. She has done enough damage for one lifetime.”

Izzy realized that during her ruminations, she had picked up her nib and begun writing her thoughts in her journal. She suddenly began to feel lighter, in spite of the fact that she still did not have an answer to the anxiety plaguing her future. So she continued to write—faster and faster as she found solace in the privacy of each page. Now she understood what it was that Father had found so therapeutic in his own journal writing, and that’s when she remembered she had exited the house with not only her own journal, but also his.

But her plans of solace were cut short. As the bell to the front door tinkled, she looked up and her mouth flew open.

Chapter   13

Round And Round We Go

Round and Round We Go (Chapter Thirteen)

“May I join you?” said Mr. Whentworth.

Izzy sat motionless, hoping perhaps that Mr. Whentworth had not seen her, there, directly in front of him, not more than three feet away, staring into her eyes. How good could his eyesight be?

As he removed his hat and sat in the booth, he said, “Wait, I wish to retract that question. If given the choice, you will escape with my dignity in tow and I will never catch you.” His eyes twinkled in merriment.

Still Izzy said nothing.

As Mr. Whentworth searched her face for some clue, that is when he noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks. His concern was immediately apparent. “Miss Audley, are you unwell? Has something happened?”

Izzy could feel her cheeks begin to flame hot, but she remained composed. “Why do you not tell me, Mr. Whentworth?”

“Pardon me?”

“You are not hard of hearing. You know exactly what I said.”

“Perhaps. But I do not understand why you are asking. Has something happened?”

“Do not insult me any further, Mr. Whentworth,” said Izzy. She gathered up her things and started to excuse herself.

But Mr. Whentworth stood directly in front of her and blocked her path of ingress.

With no place to go, Izzy sat down and avoided Mr. Whentworth’s gaze by staring out the picture window, noticing the brilliant crystals of snow in the afternoon sun.

Mr. Whentworth softened his tone. “Miss Audley, please. I implore you. Has something happened to your mother? Is she in good health?”

At the mention of her mother, Izzy could feel the tears begin again under their own volition.

This did not go unnoticed by Mr. Whentworth. Suddenly taking stock of their public circumstance, he proffered the option of accompanying him to somewhere with a little more privacy. “Join me in my carriage, Miss Audley. I will have my footman drive to no place in particular, and there we will have all the privacy we need.”

Izzy stood, thus giving her consent and Mr. Whentworth escorted her to his waiting carriage just outside the Café door.

Once safely ensconced inside the warmer carriage, Mr. Whentworth waited for Izzy to situate herself, take a deep breath, and begin her account of the week’s events; from her first moments in town with the mysterious Peacock Lady, to the chestnut vendor, to the visit with Mrs. Hastings, to yes, even the encounter with Mr. Whentworth’s own sister. She spared no detail, no thought, no question, and no one’s feelings.

When she finally came to the end of her tale, it was Mr. Whentworth who then took a turn at staring out onto the crystalline snow, unsure of how to proceed or even what to say, for Miss Audley at this moment appeared to be inconsolable.

It was Izzy who finally broke the silence. “Are you going to be a statue, or are you going to respond? Please, do me the courtesy of saying something.”

Mr. Whentworth was now in a precarious situation. He had to choose his words carefully, for he did not wish to hurt someone who was fast becoming more to him than a passing acquaintance. But he also did not wish to betray a confidence that would soon play into this little drama that was unfolding before him. He feared if he were to play dumb, then it would certainly offend Miss Audley’s raw sensibilities. But if he were to share what he knew, then he feared it would do more harm than good for the time being.

Then, it came to him. “Miss Audley, I will confess that I had heard something of this nature through the town gossips. You know people, they love to whisper.”

“Then why on Earth did you not come to me about it?” said Izzy.

Mr. Whentworth’s voice softened. “Miss Audley, I just did not want to believe that there was any truth to it.”

This reply seemed to douse some of Izzy’s rage and she lowered her head. “Oh, Mr. Whentworth, I am truly beside myself, and I will confess that inwardly I buck against the ridiculous rules of society as much as anyone with common sense, but at the same time, it is all I have ever known, and without that barometer, I just do not know how I will be able to measure up again, in my own eyes.”

This was something Mr. Whentworth understood all too well, for society seemed to place more pressure on the women of a family to marry well, since they could not inherit a fortune on their own. But for a gentleman such as Mr. Whentworth, once he gained his inheritance, a man was free to find a wife in good societal standing and breeding, or, not. The choice was clearly his own, and no one would fault him for choosing to remain single. Growing up with two very well-connected women in his own family, Mr. Whentworth had learned much more about this topic than he felt he might ever need in one lifetime. And while the rules in America were modeled after but slightly more relaxed than those in his London hometown, both sets still considered a woman to be that of a spinster if she did not have a doorstep full of eligible suitors and offers of marriage forthcoming by the time she had turned twenty-four. If a woman had not become engaged by that year of age, then it was globally accepted and understood that she probably would never marry in her lifetime, and would live with whatever parent remained.

“May I ask a question of a personal nature, if you do not deem it inappropriate? You are wholly welcome to decline.”

Izzy signed. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide now.”

“How is it that you finally learned the entire truth?”

“Oh.”

“As I said, you are welcome to decline, and I hope you do not feel my question to be too unfitting.”

“It was quite by accident. This morning after Mother left to go to hospital, I decided I did not like looking at the house without holiday decorations, so I went to our attic and began searching, but my attentions were hijacked by the bookshelves, and then by one in particular… ”

Suddenly, she stopped, a horrified look on her face.

“Miss Audley? What is it?”

“Nothing. It is nothing, and I fear the hour has become late and I must be getting back home. Would you kindly have your footman take me home now?”

Mr. Whentworth did not like the mood that had overtaken Izzy; she reminded him of a wilderness cat trapped in a cage, and he became concerned for her well-being. “Miss Audley, I will confess, that I would like to help you and your mother in this most trying of circumstances if it is at all possible to do so, but I feel I cannot successfully intervene if I do not know the entire truth. Will you at least trust me that much?”

“It is not a matter of trusting your character, Mr. Whentworth, it is about your family connections. You come from one of the most estimable families in this town, and I would rather die than allow you to be witness to more of my family’s public humiliation,” she screamed. “Now please take me home!”

Mr. Whentworth stiffened. “I am only trying to help. I meant no offense.”

“Kindly do me the honor of not placating me, Mr. Whentworth. I am not an infant.”

“I did not say you were. But you are clearly agitated, and I truly had no wish to exacerbate that.”

“Well, then, kindly keep your remarks to yourself.”

Mr. Whentworth’s face grew hot. “Why have you chosen now to pick a fight with probably the one person in this town who will still bother to associate with you?” and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“How dare you! How utterably insolent and brazen you are, and I do not need this! You have absolutely no room to make snap judgments, do you? You have probably never known a day of want in your entire life, and now you deem yourself qualified to give me advice? I want to thank you for adding insult to my already deep injury, Mr. Whentworth. You sit there with your college degree, your job security, your connections and your eighty-thousand a year and think you are qualified to give me lessons in keeping friends.”

“Miss Audley, I… ”

“… are you truly stupid, or just really that naïve?”

“I am afraid I do not understand… ”

“Your family, Mr. Whentworth. Are you too naïve to realize that it was your own mother and sister that helped spread the word about our situation? With every lash of their tongues they added fuel to this already precarious tinderbox. Go pledge your allegiance elsewhere, for I do not have time to be insulted thus.”

Mr. Whentworth sat back in the carriage and said nothing. Apparently, Miss Audley had been correct in her assumption that it was his own flesh & blood that had helped to actively damage their reputation. This much he knew to be true from his conversation with his mother and Katherine only days previous. But what could he do about it now? If he distanced himself from his family at the joy of helping the Audleys through this trying time, then he would anger the two women who meant the most to him, and had the biggest influence on his life and connections. But if he turned his back on the Audleys now, then his former statement would also be true: he was probably the only one still speaking to them, rather than about them, and his character did not allow him to be pleased with anything else.

And with that, he realized he had just answered his own question. So, at the risk of betraying a confidence and losing his job, too, he decided a vagary would be best. “Miss Audley, you are right. I have never been in your boots, nor would I enjoy it if I were. But I also have never turned my back on a friend, and I do not choose now the time to do so. I will say, that I am asking you to hold on. Be hopeful and of good cheer. This situation might not be as abject as you think.”

Izzy stared wide-eyed at him. “Mr. Whentworth, what are you on about?”

“I am just saying to not jump to conclusions too quickly. You know how life can change from one minute to the next; fortunes are sometimes lost and won again in the span of a heartbeat. Life is unpredictable that way. I am just asking you to not be so disheartened, that is all. I do not like to see you so upset. Your beauty only shines when you smile.”

“And there you go again, stating what you feel is best for me without consulting me.”

“Oh, Miss Audley, I sometimes think I already know you better than I know myself, and I have lived with me forever,” he said, hoping a slight smile would lighten an otherwise tense mood.

For a moment, Izzy was silent, as if contemplating his words. Then she said, “Mr. Whentworth, I am tired, and I am hungry.”

Mr. Whentworth immediately turned to speak to his footman. Izzy could not make out what he said to the man, but she felt the direction of the carriage turn and hoped that meant she would soon be at her own doorstep.

“Miss Audley, allow me to take you to dinner at my favorite restaurant. The chef and I are old friends, and he always saves me a private, curtained table in the back where we can gain sustenance as well as continue talking. You are so distraught right now, that as a gentleman, I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone with your mother in that lonely, empty house. Please, I am asking you to allow me to help share your burden this evening.”

She protested. “But why on Earth would you still be seen in public with me? You do not need to damage your reputation in such a haphazard manner, especially when it is not just your own, but also that of your family.”

“Please, Miss Audley, sometimes you speak too much for your own good. Will you allow me to do this for you?”
Izzy, too tired now to continue, only nodded her head in affirmation. Then she turned and stared out the window during the rest of the ride, no longer able to make out the beautiful snow crystals for the tears that were stinging her eyes.

Mr. Whentworth had been correct: the restaurant’s prime booth had been saved for Mr. Whentworth, and was, indeed, quite private. Once they were situated in their respective places, the heavy draperies were drawn, the gas table lamps lit, and a large pitcher of brewed tea immediately brought to their table. After the waiter poured them each a cup, added the milk and exited with their orders, Mr. Whentworth leaned closer to Izzy and watched her drink her tea. “Thank you for allowing me to do this for you.”

She was so overcome with emotion again, that she could still only nod at her companion. But she enjoyed her tea. She could feel each golden sip fortifying her exhausted body. It was like an elixir.

“It is good to see the color beginning to return to your cheeks,” said Mr. Whentworth.

“I admit, I am beginning to feel more like myself again,” said Izzy.

“And just in time, too.”

At that moment the waiter drew back the draperies and set out their courses. Mr. Whentworth had ordered for them both, and the waiter delivered two plates of Maine lobster with drawn butter, asparagus with Hollandaise, and french bread, straight from their ovens. Mr. Whentworth, an amateur wine officianado, had chosen a White Riesling to accompany dinner, and he could not have been more pleased.

When Izzy saw the yummy repast, Mr. Whentworth could not help but laugh out loud at how large her eyes became. “I told you, this is my favorite place to eat, and the food is worth the wait and the price.”

Izzy, her stomach in full complaint at the smell of the tasty treats, sipped the Riesling and then, with Mr. Whentworth’s nod of approval, began her meal with a hearty mouthful of the lobster. She could not have been more pleased at its sweet taste, accompanied by the savory of the butter.

Mr. Whentworth, seeming to intercept her thoughts, nodded, too. “Yes, I agree; this is scrumptious,” and both companions laughed.

The meal continued for nearly three hours, and conversation eventually returned to topics of a more festive nature. As they were exiting after Mr. Whentworth paid their bill and helped Izzy into his carriage, it was then that he asked her the one thing he had been meaning to all day long.

“So. Why did you not answer my two letters?”

Izzy stopped short. “What do you mean? I have received nothing from you.”

“Are you certain? As soon as I returned home from the Blackberry Patch Café that evening with Miss Hastings, I penned a hasty note giving you the details of why I had been her escort and could not have dinner with you. I put it in the next morning’s post.”

Izzy was surprised. “Mr. Whentworth, I am sorry, but I received nothing. In fact, I have not received anything in the post for nearly three days now.”

“That is strange, because when I did not hear from you yesterday on the matter of my first letter, I again penned a second one, requesting a time we could have dinner. And you are sure you did not receive that one, either?”

“Mr. Whentworth, I would have remembered seeing something, anything from you in the post, but I did not. As it turns out, I have not even received my invitation yet for the Christmas ball. But on second thought, I do not have an escort and cannot see someone taking particular pity on me by extending an invitation.”

“Remember my advice, Miss Audley. Do not create trouble for tomorrow, when it has enough of its own.”

Izzy nodded. “Probably good advice. I will attempt to heed it while I sit home alone as you escort my best friend to the Ball.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No! Why would I be? We have no professed attachments, so it truly is none of my business.” she said, hoping she had hidden the tiny green demon that had suddenly appeared on her shoulder.

“Miss Audley, I wanted to explain about that.”

She waived him off as she noticed they were nearing her home. “No need, Mr. Whentworth. I am no longer a part of your circle, so it matters not to me where you go and how you spend your time.”

He took both of her hands into his, and with purpose, said, “Miss Audley, it is important to me that you know. I did not wish to broach the subject at dinner for fear of the discussion becoming heated, and in your condition, you did not need the added stress. But I would love the chance to meet with you again tomorrow evening, so we can truly talk, and I can have time to properly clear the air of all our misunderstandings all these years. Will you do me the honor?”

Izzy thought for a moment, then said, “I will give you my answer in tomorrow afternoon’s post.”

This satisfied Mr. Whentworth, and as he escorted Miss Audley to her front door, he whispered close to her ear, “I am already looking forward to tomorrow night.” He then kissed her hand, bowed to her, and returned to his carriage.

As she entered her home, her feet felt lighter than air, and she wondered at the sudden attack of butterflies, now gathering in her stomach.

Chapter   14

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve (Chapter Fourteen)

Today was Christmas eve. Usually the household bustled with activity; the servants busy in the kitchens readying the evening’s meal. Each year as soon as the last dish was cleared, the Audley family would follow John into the street to watch as he and Charles would unstrap the fir from the roof of the carriage and drag the oversized tree into the sitting room. Other families of their stature would simply have the servants do this job, as well as the decorating, but not the Audleys. John loved being a part of making his family happy.

Then once the tree was fixed in its position so as not to tumble upon anyone who decided to sneak an uninvited peak at their presents, the arduous task of attaching small, thin, white candles to each branch commenced. It was here that the household staff were invited to help, for with a twenty-four foot fir, hanging ornaments would take two days with only three people. Along with the delicate candles, hand-blown glass ornaments from the German Lauscha hung shimmering. Hans Greiner, chief designer and from the lineage of the original Greiner, had begun exporting these delicates to Britain in 1870, and Mr. Audley, on one of his London trips, brought back many of them in various shapes—fruits, nuts, balls, and yes: even the Christmas pickle. Each one was lined with silver-nitrate so as to make them shimmer even more in the candlelight, and those lucky enough to see the collection, were of course, envious.

After dinner and the lighting of the tree, the three of them would sit near the window where they could see the heavy, wet snowfall in the light of the gas lamps. A serenity settled over each one of them, enjoying the silence of being together.

Today’s mood, however, was not that of a festive one. When Izzy and her mother sat down to breakfast that morning, they were not speaking. The servants picked up on the tension and eyed each other over pots of cold milk, conveying secret signals to the other. The Audley home had always been happy.

If Lilly would do something that ired Izzy, then Izzy would slam down her silverware. “Must you chew so loudly?”

Lilly would sigh and over-exaggerate barely chewing. “There. Is this better? Would her highness prefer I swallow it whole?”

And so it went, all during breakfast and well past lunch. After the meals, the ladies retired to separate rooms; Lilly with her knitting, and Izzy with her father’s journal, still trying to discern what it was that made him stray from her mother in the first place. Of course, Izzy knew better than to ask Lilly. In their current state, Izzy knew it would accomplish nothing but more yelling and more denial. So she continued to scour the journal on her own, hoping to find a new clue.

Just then, Wilhelm rapped on her door and announced the post, putting her thoughts on hold. “This letter just arrived for you, Miss.”

Izzy noticed the penmanship immediately, and nearly tossed the note into the bin. What in the world could she possibly want? She carefully cracked the seal and opened the parchment. It read:

Dearest Miss Audley,

It is with a glad heart that I invite you to be my particular friend at the annual Christmas Ball tomorrow evening, December 25, at 7.

Please accept my most sincere apologies—earlier I had assumed incorrectly, that your invitation had already been placed in the post and that due to your situation, you would not be attending. Before today, I was reticent to mention your situation, or even that there was a problem, but now that I know you are aware of it, I am no longer afraid to approach that topic. Of course, I also know that my assessment of things was not to be true, and I do hope you will come.

Your dear friend,

Miss Hastings

Izzy stared at the note as if it had been a demand for ransom. She read it over and over again, hoping each pass would deliver some hidden meaning that she might have missed previously, yet each time she could deduce nothing. She paced the room as she considered her options. Why did Rachel have to put me in this precarious situation? We have hardly spoken two words to each other since my returning to town, and now she is making assumptions based on heresy that she pretends to be true; pretends to know intimate details about, when she clearly does not. Who gave her permission to take such familiar liberties? And what about that despicable display with Mr. Whentworth? Dear me, I do wish I had received his note explaining what happened. Now I wished I had possessed the patience to hear him out, but my stubborn pride precluded that… .

She felt very disheartened. Her world used to be such a simple place. She had friends who would support her, a family that she knew loved her and whom she adored, and a place in society in which she could clearly define herself in her world. Her days centered around social gatherings, callers from cherished intimates, and time with family. She felt safe; secure; like nothing could ever touch her.

And now, thanks to her mother’s blatant betrayal, she had none of those things. Her friends were sniggering behind her back as she exited rooms; she had not had a gentleman caller since before she left for college except for Mr. Whentworth, and even her security at home was an illusion, for she now had no clear idea of what tomorrow would bring. How long will it be before they come to repossess my bed?

She paced around the room, asking herself questions without answers, and chiding herself for not allowing anyone to explain things to her. In that regard, she felt herself to be no better than Rachel on the matter, for was she not also making assumptions and then acting upon them as if they were true?

This notion clearly softened her. Perhaps, in her own way, this was Rachel’s attempt to make amends for her recent behavior Perhaps I should give Rachel the benefit of the doubt and offer her another chance at forgiveness. What right do I have to hold onto all of this anger when I am not at all certain of its reasons? And if I can’t do this for one of my most cherished friends, then how can I expect anyone to do it for me when the time may come?

Pleased at her decision, she allowed her mind to drift to tomorrow evening’s festivities, and suddenly realized that with the recent seizure of some of her best ball gowns, she had better make haste in deciding what she had left to wear.

In his office, with his desk cleared of paperwork in anticipation of the evening’s dinner, Mr. Whentworth sat in awe as he thumbed through that afternoon’s post, with not one reply from Miss Audley anywhere in the pile. This ired him to no end, but, he was not going to allow it to color his evening. Perhaps he should have been listening a little closer when Miss Audley told him in several different fashions that she was not interested in his advances. He knew the state of his heart, and unfortunately, it was growing in deep love for Miss Isabella Audley. As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Miss Audley’s statement about society’s rules being rubbish, yet a necessary punishment. Punishment? Did he really mean to say the rules were punishments instead of rewards for those who followed them? For what good are they doing the Audley family right now, except to excommunicate one of the most upstanding families in Fairtown? What good were these rules of class when they forced sheer banishment upon its unwitting recipient?

Mr. Whentworth answer to each of these questions had to be ‘none.’ In fact, he realized that these “rules,” had been societal norms from the time a child entered school. Is that not where children learn from each other to mock something or someone they do not understand?

He could feel his anger flaring again, but this time, realizing the lateness of the hour, decided it would be best entertained on a different day, by the fire, with a snifter of Cognac. In the meantime, his immediate concern was what he would now do with his free dinner plans.

And then it occurred to him. He made haste for his carriage, had his footman drive through town at full speed, until they reached their intended destination. Mr. Whentworth made his way to the front door of the beautiful home, lifted the heavy door knocker, and handed the butler his calling card, then waited.

Within minutes, the butler showed him into the beautiful sitting room. Mr. Whentworth removed his hat, bowed to its inhabitants, and said, “Miss Hastings. Would you be so kind as to join me for dinner?”

Later that night, back at the Audley home, tensions were again high between Izzy and Lilly. The two had not spoken since the chewing incident at breakfast, and with the arrival of Miss Hasting’s invitation to tomorrow evening’s Christmas Ball, frankly, Izzy had nearly forgotten about their row. Mother had been so unlike herself; sullen; depressed, and Izzy was glad of the respite from it all.

However, the silence was not to last. After dinner that evening, while Izzy went through her wardrobe one last time to choose an appropriate gown for the Christmas Ball, Lilly, hoping to mend things with Izzy, stopped by Izzy’s door and stood, tentative.

Izzy noticed her presence, and immediately went on the defensive. “What do you want?”

Lilly, hoping to keep it light, said, “We have not spoken all day. What are you doing?”

“Truthfully, I did not think that any of your concern.”

“Well, I am still your mother, no matter your opinion of me, and what you do is still my concern.”

“Oh, yes, I had forgotten. You have set yourself up to be my overseer, deciding what I should and should not do. But most recently, what I should and should not know about my own family.”

Lilly winced. Izzy had a valid point. “Dearest, would you now allow me to explain?”

“Why should I? What possible good would it do for me now that most of our furniture is gone, our books, silverware, incidentals, and for what? All because you could not stop spending the small amount of money Father left to take care of us?”

Lilly was nonplussed. “Where did you get an such a ridiculous notion as this? Did someone pass along this tale to you? And you believed it?”

“You heard what I said, Mother. This is entirely your fault, so do me a favor, and do not attempt to garner any sympathy for whatever innocuous pain you may be feeling, because there will be none from me.” She turned to brush past Lilly, but was immediately halted.

“Isabella Elizabeth Audley, you stop right where you are.”

Izzy stopped, only because she had never heard her mother speak in such a stern manner since she was a young child. She knew the degree of her mother’s anger by if she called Izzy by her full Christian name. For many years, she was convinced that her full-name was “Isabella stop it.”

“You do not understand any of the situation, so you do not have, in any shape or form, the right to speak to me in such a manner.”

When Izzy opened her mouth to protest, Lilly silenced her once again.

“This time, you will listen to me, and hear the truth.”

“You may be blocking my path, but that does not mean I have to listen. You forget that I know the truth already, from Father’s journal.”

Lilly could not help but laugh. “Oh, yes—the journal. Tell me, muffin, did you really learn anything of value from that book?”

“What?” said Izzy. “I do not think I understand.”

“Exactly. So why make accusations you have not proven to be unfounded?”

“Stop talking in riddles and explain what you mean.”

“Oh, so now you wish to hear me out?”

“Fine. I will not verbally spar with you. If you do not wish to tell me what you mean, then get out of my way so I do not have to look at you any longer.”

Lilly could not control what happened next. As her face grew hot with her anger completely out of control, she stepped to within a foot of Izzy’s face, and with her right hand, slapped her cheek as hard as she could.

Chapter   15

The Ball Arrives

The Ball Arrives (Chapter Fifteen)

Izzy grabbed her cheek as if she’d been shot in the face.

Lilly was horrified at what she had done, and immediately took several steps back and turned away from Izzy. Neither women could speak for several minutes.

Finally, Lilly decided to break the silence. “Isabella, I am sorry.”

Izzy, her feelings hurting like that of a four-year old, did not speak a word.

Lilly continued. “I did not plan to hit you.”

Again, Izzy kept her silence.

“I have never touched you in anger in my life,” said Lilly, and adding in a whisper, “and I do not know what came over me now.”

Silence.

“Izzy, please! Say something! I need to know you forgive me.”

Finally, Izzy let go of her face and in a quiet voice, said, “Mother, I do not know what to say at this moment.”

Tears now streamed down Lilly’s face, and she could no longer speak.

After another awkward pause, Izzy said, “What is happening to us, Mother? One week ago, I arrived home from University, expecting my life to be just that: my life that I am used to. And instead, I come home to a darkened front porch sans any Christmas decorating, people laughing at me behind my back, friends who no longer take my calls, others professing to be friends who are, instead, throwing me in front of on-coming carriages at will, robust women in garish walking outfits giving me their sympathies before I have even had chance to sleep one night in my own bed, an apparently promiscuous father who kept secrets from the very people who loved and supported him—now there is nothing left but unanswered questions and his much-tainted memory, and you: a mother whom I adore, but is now much altered than before. I will have to admit, I do not know who this woman is now, and that scares me a little. The security I once cherished of this family and this household, is now slipping away from me little by little, and I have no idea as to how I can stop it! I am at the end of my tether!” Exhausted now, Izzy crumpled into a heap into the floor and cried openly.

Instead of going straight to her daughter, Lilly stood as still as she could, trying to digest everything that had just been fed to her, having a difficult time with it. Had she been so wrapped up in her own grief that she had failed to put herself into her own daughter’s boots? Did she fail to realize just how difficult this entire ordeal has been on her? Lilly admitted she truly did not wish to know the answer, for if she did, then it would mean also taking responsibility for that answer, and perhaps she was not as ready to do that as she wanted to believe.

After moments wrapped in her own thoughts, Lilly now realized that Izzy was still crying, and so she went to her daughter’s side. “Izzy, please. I know this has been an extremely difficult adjustment on you, but try and pull yourself together, dearest.”

Izzy continued to cry as if she had not heard anything her mother had just spoken.

So, Lilly tried again. “Izzy, I am begging you to calm yourself, or you will fast become ill. Here, let me help you up and into that armchair.” Lilly walked her daughter over to her chair, and then with haste rang the bell for Elizabeth.

“Yes, misses?” said Elizabeth.

“Miss Audley is unwell. Will you kindly bring us a pot of strong tea as quickly as you can?”

Elizabeth nodded and exited with her mission firmly in tow.

Izzy allowed herself to slink back into the fullness of the chair and begin to relax. She continued to sniff and whimper, but generally, her crying jag was near its end.

Lilly, planted firmly on the chair’s arm, seemed grateful for this and stroked her daughter’s hair; repeating in hushed tones that everything would be well soon. This seemed to placate Izzy for the time, and the two women sat in silence while awaiting the pot of tea, neither one really knowing how to proceed from there.

A few moments later, Elizabeth entered Izzy’s bedchamber, placed a pot of brewed tea before the two women, a plate of sliced lemons, a cup of ice-cold milk from the ice-box, and a plate of raspberry scones—left over from that morning’s breakfast.

Lilly expressed her thanks, and took note that Elizabeth was very worried over Izzy’s present condition, so she nodded to Elizabeth that there was nothing to worry about, and Elizabeth exited, a little more relieved than when she had entered.

Lilly poured a cup of the tea—still piping hot—into the thin, bone-china cup, poured a dab of the milk, placed a slice of lemon on the edge of the saucer, accompanied it with a scone slathered in hand-churned butter, and handed it to her daughter, with a simple command: “Eat.”

Izzy was too exhausted to argue, and so the two women ate in silence, hoping to fortify not only their bodies, but their flagging spirits. However, Lilly was smart enough to know that a mere cup of tea and some flour was not going to be enough to fix the mess that they now called their lives. There was still so much Izzy did not know and needed to, but where would she begin? How do you tell your child that her suspicions about their situation were true? What exactly, were the words one used when telling them that the father they adored and worshiped, was nothing more than a cheating philanderer? Perhaps someone more versed than she would have the exact prescription of linguistics that would convey the gravity of a situation, whilst also sparing the unending pain to their soul. Perhaps Charles Dickens has done this a thousand times and I should contact him for counsel on what to say.

“Mother? Did you hear me?” said Izzy.

“I am sorry. I was off in my own thought. What did you say?”

“I asked you if you were well?”

“Um,” said Lilly. “I have a lot on my mind, is all.”

“I know. And at the risk of us fighting again, I would like to get everything out in the open now. Mother, I need to hear everything, for my sanity’s sake.”

Lilly knew Izzy was right, and instead of putting it off again, Lilly decided to be honest, and perhaps that avenue would help them both navigate this rocky path. “Isabella, I do not know, in earnest, where to begin.”

“How about just let me ask you questions, and if you have a short answer, then so be it, but if it leads you to expound in more detail, then we both let it take us where it may. Does that sound fair?”
Lilly thought this suggestion a wonderful idea, and could feel some of her burden beginning to lift. “Fine. What is your first question?”

Izzy knew right away the one she wanted answered the most, and knew that for the first time, she could not be concerned with sparing her mother the pain of it. “Did you know Father was having an affair?”

Lilly knew this would be the first question posed to her, and tried to prepare for it, but it was of no use: the question stung as if she were hearing it for the first time. “Yes, but I only found out after your father passed, much is the same manner you found out.”

“You mean, through his journal?”

“Exactly. I was clearing some of his old things from the study when I saw the journal in his desk drawer. When I thumbed through it, I must have disturbed the paper flap on the inside back cover, for the letter that you found also came tumbling out, the sealing wax broken. I just could not help my curiosity and so I read every searing word.”

At this point, for the first time since learning the truth, Izzy felt her mother’s pain, and placed a comforting hand on Lilly’s arm. “Mother? What was your reaction?”

The afternoon rays from the sun shone into the study windows and spilled onto the floor. Lilly enjoyed their warmth as she sat in John’s leather chair at his oak writing desk, going through some of his legal papers and a few personal items along the way. She could see why John loved to spend so much of his afternoons here, especially in the winter months. Sometimes in New York, the temperatures would dip to the single digits and no amount of fire in the grate would chase away the chill that filled the expansive rooms. The sun augmented their comfort quite well.

She had been putting this task off since John had passed; she just did not feel as if she were emotionally ready to say good-bye to her cherished husband a second time by binning his personal effects. However, when she learned that there had been a problem in probating his will, she knew she needed to be well-educated as to the details of his estate, so she could fight it if necessary. This proved to be motivation enough to begin the arduous task. She became familiar with the many papers, and then decided whether they needed to be kept or tossed. Their family attorney had contacted her just the week before when she had asked him to look into why the inheritance had not yet been granted, and his answer was not a favorable one.

“Mrs. Audley, I am afraid the news is not good.”

“What do you mean? How difficult could it be to probate an uncontested will and distribute its inheritance?”

“Well, ma’am, that is precisely the problem. The will is being contested.”

Lilly felt the blood drain out of her face. “What? How can this be?”

Now realizing that perhaps Mrs. Audley had not been privy to Mr. Audley’s activities, he softened and added some needed tact. “Mrs. Audley, I do not know how to break this news to you.”

“Dear God, man, I am afraid for what you are about to say. What is it? Tell me!”

“Fine. I am sure you are familiar with the law of Primogeniture, yes?”

“Your point?”

“This law states that if there is a male heir apparent, then no monies left by the decedent will be awarded to the living daughters.”

Lilly could barely feel herself breathing. “Oh… my… God… .”

“Mrs. Audley, I am sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but your husband had a son, and he and his mother are the ones contesting the will.”

“Stop joking with me, I am not in the mood.”

“I wish I were, Mrs. Audley, but this is too serious for that. Unfortunately, whatever monies Mr. Audley had left you with when he died, is all you will be receiving.”

Lilly’s mind began to race. First, she was bewildered, then she was in denial, and finally, she was angry. Why? How? When? I… don’t… understand… betrayer… skunk… someone is lying… .

She was able to gain control of herself for the next question. “I am sorry, but explain why we will not be receiving Mr. Audley’s inheritance? He set that aside specifically for us. How can the law protect us from receiving it?”

“It is the law of Primogeniture, Mrs. Audley. That law states that if a living male heir is discovered anywhere during the time of probate, then the inheritance will be passed to the eldest son of the lineage and not the daughter.”

“But is there nothing you can do to mend this mess? Mr. Audley was extremely ill with pneumonia when he passed, and he was not able to leave us much that did not automatically go toward paying his medical expenses and pharmacy bills… ” she said. Then the realization of the situation hit her, full force. “Oh my Lord, we are now destitute! My daughter is at Radcliffe. How will I ever be able to keep up with paying her tuition? And what of our servants? They need to be paid their wages!”

Suddenly, the worst realization of all hit her, and she whispered, “How will I ever be able to keep this out of the papers? Soon, everyone that I know will learn of this and we will be cast out of society quicker than we were accepted.”

The attorney could hear the desperation building in her voice, and tried to intercept. “Mrs. Audley, let us not get too much ahead of ourselves. There might be something we can do.”

“Then do tell me before I have a nervous fit.”

“Well, I have spoken to the boy and his mother briefly a few times recently, and they do seem like nice, benevolent people. They might entertain the notion of allowing you and your daughter a yearly stipend upon which to live. All we would need to do is send them a written request.”

“You mean to tell me that I am to lower myself to the position of beggar and go to my husband’s mistress and ask her to take care of us like children? It will not be borne!” she screamed.

“Now, now, take care, Mrs. Audley. It is not as bad as it might sound. It is actually done quite a lot when the decedent’s nephew is the only living male heir and the decedent has a household full of daughters to be provided for.”

Lilly was beside herself with grief. “No, no sir, no I say.”

“Allow me to ask you one question then.”

“Yes?”

“What else will you do?”

This silenced the turmoil inside Lilly’s mind. The attorney had an excellent point. But before she could respond, he continued.

“Mrs. Audley, there is something else.”

Lilly’s hands were now shaking and they were cold. “Oh, dear me. I do not believe my heart can take much more.”

“It is regarding your houses. The heir and his mother have decided to keep the country house. Which will leave you and your daughter to reside in Capriolé, however, understand this: with the pittance he has left for you as sustenance, there will come a day when you will no longer be able to afford the town home, and chances are, it will be repossessed by the bank.”

Lilly was silent.

“I am very sorry, Mrs. Audley.”

Lilly gathered her senses. “So? That is it, then? My future laid out for me like dirty linen on a clean table? Not only am I humiliated with the knowledge that my husband was unfaithful to me, but now I am to look forward to crawling on my knees to his mistress and her bastard child, and beg them to give us enough upon which to live so we are not thrown into the street like common vermin? And then, as if that were not enough, I get to sit in my lovely town home—the only thing I have left of my life with Mr. Audley, waiting for the day when I will eventually run out of money and watch as the bank sells off my life, one piece at a time? Please, correct me if I am in error, but is this what you are telling me I have to look forward to?”

For the first time, the attorney was silent.

“Yes, I feared as much,” said Lilly, her face now white as porcelain.

The attorney only shook his head. “Mrs. Audley, I do not know what to say, except how sorry I am that this has befallen you. I will draft the letter to the woman and her son as soon as we are finished here, and then let you know the outcome. Do I have your permission to do so?”

Suddenly, as if on cue, Lilly began to wobble back and forth in her chair. She could see the room spinning but could do nothing to alleviate its effects, and in one swift motion, she not only grabbed her chest near her heart, but fell to the floor, unconscious.

Chapter   16

Was It All A Dream?

Was it All a Dream? (Chapter Sixteen)

Three days later, Lilly awoke in a hospital bed surrounded by a doctor and several nurses. It was the doctor who spoke first.

“Well. There you are. Welcome back. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to just snooze until Christmas.”

Lilly, still bleary from the Laudanum they were giving her for pain, could not figure out why everyone in the room was chuckling. Had she missed something? Very hoarse from the medications, she could hear herself say she was hungry, but she was not even sure it was her doing the talking. She felt very disconnected from herself, and truly could not even remember what had happened or how she got there.

“Being hungry is a good sign,” said her most handsome doctor. “But I would rather you wait a few more hours, to see if you can keep simple liquids down. Will you do that for me, please?”

Lilly nodded.

The doctor smiled at her, nodded to the nurses, and began to leave the room.

Lilly stopped him. “Doctor Davis, will you tell me how I got here?”

He swung back around to face her. “You mean you do not remember at all?”
She shook her head. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not at all. Sometimes with traumatic events, the person will block it out and not remember anything about it until their bodies are ready to remember, and then when it is time, the memory returns on its own.”

“But will you tell me, doctor?”

He hesitated. “Are you not sure that you want to just wait and remember when you are meant to?”

“No, I am fairly certain I want to know now. Do you know what happened to me?”

“Mrs. Audley, yes, I was informed when they brought you in, but as your doctor, I do not think it prudent to push the memory of such a traumatic event before you are physically and emotionally capable of handling it. You are a smart enough nurse to know that it was obviously some kind of trauma that put you here.”

Lilly did know this much. But she was trying so hard to grasp that illusive shadow of something tragic, just out of her reach, and getting frustrated each time she was unable to see it.

Dr. Davis saw her duress and said, “Mrs. Audley, trust me. You will remember when you are meant to. But right now, I need you not to push yourself and rest. Rest is the best thing for you. Let your body recover, all right?”

Lilly nodded, and as the medical team left her room, one of the nurses, an old colleague of Lilly’s, stayed behind and brought Lilly a pitcher of cool water. “I want you to sip this very slowly, and let one of us know if you feel as if you are going to be ill. I will return in a bit to check on you. Rest.”

Lilly was glad of the water to sip, but she could not quiet the growling of her empty stomach. Finally, after an hour of fighting sleep, she gave in to the medications and drifted off into a full range of strange shapes and shadows; images that were unrecognizable, plot-lines that were familiar, but too vague to distinguish.

It was here that Lilly took a much-needed respite from her tale, but Izzy pleaded for her to continue.

“Mother! You had a heart-attack? How in all that is Holy, could you not tell me something so huge?”

Lilly saw her daughter’s vast stress levels, and attempted to calm her. “Sweetheart, was there anything that you could have done for me from New Haven?”

“I would have left on the first train to be with you! But instead, you went through all of this alone! Oh, Mother, I am so sorry!” and Izzy began to cry again.

Lilly put both arms around her daughter and held her, cooing to her softly. “Everything is well now, little one. I am fine.”

Izzy looked at Lilly and searched her face for a hint of untruth, but could find none.

“Dr. Davis said my heart is as healthy as the day I was born, and there are no worries.”

Izzy was silent and took in the information as best she could without allowing it to emotionally overcome her. When she was ready, she asked her next question. “Mother? Do you know the woman and her son? Have you ever had contact with them?”

“I am glad you asked that question. As a matter of fact… .”

Three weeks after her departure from the hospital, Dr. Davis cleared her for release and to again begin dealing with the affairs of Mr. Audley’s estate. Once again, she met with her attorney to learn of the outcome regarding whether this woman and her son were going to be benevolent enough to allow she and Izzy a small piece of inheritance.

The attorney was smiling when she entered his office. “Mrs. Audley, I have some good news. I have spoken with the woman and her son, and they have very graciously agreed to share the inheritance. The amount is not much, but it will be enough to at least keep your daughter in University, and for you to keep a few of your household staff. Unfortunately, it will not be enough to eventually ward off the sale of your town home, and for that I am deeply sorry, but at least this will buy you precious time until you decide what you will do.”

While this was not what Lilly had wanted to hear, she did not feel the way she expected: she felt grateful to be having any help from these two interlopers at all. “I know this is an untoward question, but, do you think there is any way that I may be able to meet these people?”

“It is funny that you ask, because she asked me the same thing. Apparently, she was unaware that your husband already had his own family.”

Lilly had to admit she was feeling pain at this statement. She had always prided herself at being the light of John’s life, and to find out that he shared that light with another woman was a little too much to bear. But, she would bear it, because Izzy needed her to. She also realized that this stranger did not wantonly choose a family to destroy. Perhaps she even loved John? And what of the boy? What was he like? “Sir, can you tell me how old the child is now?”

The attorney searched through some papers on his desk, then said, “He has just turned eighteen.”

Lilly could feel the room beginning to spin again. This means that John began his affair at least six years after Isabella was born! We were barely newly-weds. Oh, my… .

“Mrs. Audley? Are you unwell?”

She caught herself. “Yes, I apologize. Just my thoughts.”

“I can probably guess what you are thinking, and I cannot tell you how much unimaginable pain you must be in. If there is anything else I might do… ”

“No, I am fine, I assure you. Just a jolt to the sensibilities, that is all. May I ask one more question?”

“Certainly.”

“Where do these people reside?” she held her breath, hoping the answer would not be right here in Fairtown.

“Connecticut, I believe.”

Lilly let out her breath in relief. “I think I have decided I would like to definitely meet them.”

The attorney thought for a moment. “That will be fine. In fact, I think they both would like to meet you and your daughter. Would you like for me to intercede upon your behalf and set up a neutral meeting place?”

“Actually, that would be fine. But I do not want my daughter knowing about this yet. I must find just the right time to reveal everything. This has been a bit much to learn so shortly after her father’s passing, and right now, her mind clearly needs to be on her school work.”

“Very well, then. Allow me ample time to be in contact with them and I will communicate with you as soon as it has been accomplished.”

Lilly stood, smiled, shook the attorney’s hand, and then cried all the way home in her carriage.

Isabella simply could not believe what she had been hearing. “Are you telling me that the attorney was successful and that you actually got to meet this woman and her son?”

“That is exactly what I am saying, dearest.”

Izzy said, “When? How? Where? I cannot believe what I am hearing… ”

Tried as she might, Lilly was unable to control the nerves that had been rising during the morning. In order to keep her minimum sanity, she busied her hands, but that did not go very far in keeping a calm head. Several times she caught herself wishing she had never asked the attorney to grant such a ridiculous request. What on Earth would she possibly say to these two strangers, and how would she keep a calm head while doing so? She felt so much raw anger at John’s impropriety, that she could not see herself getting through this meeting without taking that anger out on the direct object of his adultery, and she knew that was not how she wanted this meeting to go.

What on Earth could he have possibly been thinking? She shook her head as she marveled again at the thought of the love of her life lying with another woman and eventually having a child with her. Up to this point she had not allowed the pain of this to control her, but now she was not feeling too steady with that idea. She began to feel overwhelmed as the time on the clock drew near. She could feel her mind spin and her thoughts run together. “Oh dear Lord, what am I going to do?”

“Mrs. Audley?” Wilhelm said. “Are you unwell?”

Lilly was snapped out of her torment by her butler’s voice. This was the needed prescription to pull her back toward reality. “Wilhelm, you startled me.”

“Sorry ma’am. You have visitors.”

Lilly, feeling very disconnected from herself, stood slowly to her feet as her guests were announced.

“Mrs. and Mr. Jackson, for you, ma’am,” said Wilhelm. He stepped aside as a stunning woman in her mid-forties swept into the room. She seemed so comfortable, as if she had been a guest in this sitting room many times, and immediately made direct eye-contact with Lilly.

Lilly was taken aback with this woman’s outward beauty. Ice-blue eyes seemed to stare straight into Lilly’s soul, discerned what she had been feeling, and immediately put her mind at rest. Her pale, porcelain skin was only made to appear more so with a head full of molten red-hair, but the combination was not garish—merely striking. Lilly had no trouble telling this woman was self-confident, for she wore a bright red lip-stain on her full, round lips, and they were smiling broadly from the time she entered the room. Because of all the staring she had been doing, Lilly did not notice that the woman’s hand had been outstretched since she arrived, and now Lilly felt foolish. Apparently, however, she had hidden it well, for if Mrs. Jackson noticed, she did not appear to let on that.

“Mrs. Audley,” said the woman, “It is so wonderful to finally meet you.”

Again, Lilly was struck dumb. In a made-up woman such as this, one would expect her voice to be as boisterous as her appearance, but this was not to be. She had a soft voice that only made you want to get closer to find out more about her.

“Mrs. Audley? Are you unwell?”

Lilly gained control and responded. “Mrs. Jackson, do forgive me. You are not at all what I expected.”

Mrs. Jackson seemed to enjoy this, for she laughed with ease. “Oh, that is quite all right. I hear that a lot from people I have just met.”

Lilly, feeling a little more relaxed, allowed herself to smile.

“Mrs. Audley, allow me to introduce you to my son, John.”

This was truly something Lilly had not expected, for when the son’s name was mentioned, Lilly went weak in the knees and slumped into a nearby chair.

This clearly concerned Mrs. Jackson. “Oh dear! John, quick! Fetch a glass of water.”

The handsome red-head, who bore a striking resemblance to his father, quickly located the tea service and poured a bit of water from the pitcher into the available teacup, then delivered it with humility to Mrs. Audley.

Lilly did not look at the boy as she took the proffered cup and drank the water, glad of the momentary diversion. As she sipped the water, she became painfully aware of the silence that had settled, and as a good hostess, she would not allow this to be. “Thank you, both, but I assure you, I am fine. Perhaps I did not get enough sustenance at lunch. How about we partake of tea and get to know one another?”

“Oh, what a grand idea!” said Mrs. Jackson.

Lilly called for Mrs. Reddy to enter with the afternoon’s treats, and wonderful they were. The table had been lain with their best linen table covering, shimmering peach tapers, and her cherished Waterford crystal. Lilly’s favorite out of this had to be the cut crystal rose bowl, and today it held her favorite combination of cherry red tea roses and peach American Beauty roses, which matched her mother’s Royal Doulton china.

With not much money left in the household budget, she was not able to offer the banquet she was accustomed to offering, but she also could not allow these people to see how bad a time of it the Audleys had been having; especially not these two. While she had inwardly agreed to be congenial to these people in spite of the situation in which they found themselves, still, a part of her regarded them as the enemy and she needed to put on her best showing. Maybe to prove to them that Mr. Audley was wrong in choosing to humiliate she and Isabella? Or perhaps to prove it to herself?

With cups of tea poured, lemoned and milked, and treats of blackberry tarts, lemon-poppy seed bread and salmon mousse served, the party settled into a congenial, social rhythm, what with talk of the next Presidential election, soaring University costs and the state of women’s suffrage. Finally, it was Mrs. Jackson who addressed the real reason for their visit.

“Mrs. Audley, I hope you do not think me maudlin, but I think it would be wise if we were to discuss the pressing issues at hand.”

“Oh, certainly, Mrs. Jackson.” For the first time since they all sat down to dine, Lilly allowed herself to take in John’s features. This was disturbing at first, because the resemblance to her own John was so remarkable. Aside from his mother’s staggering red-hair, he had Mr. Audley’s solid build, height, soft green eyes and pouty mouth—no, there was no mistaking that this young man was indeed, Mr. Audley’s son. And perhaps that was the most disturbing notion to Lilly. Was I secretly wishing that someone had made a vast error—that perhaps this woman had some improprieties of her own? This, she realized, was her reaching for any explanation that would make sense of this state of stress and confusion. But now that she saw the boy in question and his resemblance to her own John, there could be no doubt.

She forced herself out of her ruminations, however, and back to the situation at hand.

Mrs. Jackson seemed to pick up on Mrs. Audley’s private thoughts, and she smiled at Lilly in a way as to convey her understanding. “Mrs. Audley, I realize more than anyone, how trying a time this must be for you, and I assure you, I am here to make this as painless as possible. I am just sorry that your daughter, what was her name, Isabella? That she could not be here. We both would very much like to meet her, if that is well by you. But, back to the issue at hand.” Mrs. Jackson paused. She looked down at her hands, as if reaching for the right thing to say. “Mrs. Audley, I know the attorney set up this meeting so we could not only meet, but also help you with your present circumstances, but I have to say: I fear we need to talk.”

Chapter   17

The Confrontation

The Confrontation (Chapter Seventeen)

Lilly could only stare at this creature before her.

Mrs. Jackson continued. “I know we told your probate attorney that we would give you a little of Mr. Aud… your husband’s generous wherewithal to help you and your… Miss Audley out, but I have a problem with this.”

Lilly’s heart stopped. In the back of her mind, she had a feeling something like this might happen. She did not wish to believe it, but sometimes, no matter how badly you wished for something didn’t make it transpire. Apparently for Lilly and Isabella, sadly, this was to be one of those times. Lilly sat still and waited for the woman to continue.

Mrs. Jackson now paced around the room, as if her thoughts were hiding in each corner and she needed to physically pursue them. After a few minutes, she stopped and turned toward Mrs. Audley.

“Mrs. Audley, I would like to think myself an evolved enough human being to be able to at least empathize with you.”

Lilly continued to stare, hoping this woman would get to her point, tell her they would, under no circumstances, help them, and be done with the day.

“Please, allow me to get right to the point. John and I have decided you need more help than we were prepared to originally give you.”

Lilly waited. Why was she belaboring the point?

“We would like to do more than we previously offered, if that would not be insulting to you.”

At first, Lilly did not think she heard Mrs. Jackson correctly. “Forgive me, but did you say you wanted to do more than your original offer?”

Mrs. Jackson beamed. “Yes, ma’am, that is what we would like to do, if you will let us.”

“But, but why would you want to? Before a month ago, you did not even know we existed. I just do not think I am understanding your motives,” said Lilly.

Mrs. Jackson drew in a deep breath, and gently took Lilly’s hand. “You are correct. We did not know. And to be perfectly frank, I am having a very difficult time in dealing with my own guilt.”

Lilly tried to protest, but was immediately muzzled.

“Please, let me say this. It hurts me deeply to think of you and your daughter, learning that the love of your lifetime had an indiscretion that eventually led to the birth of an heir apparent, thus, cutting you out of your own inheritance. I have not been through that, but I do not believe it takes a genius to be able to imagine the hurt you must have felt.”

Lilly, the tears now heavy in her eyes, could only nod and look down at her hands.

Mrs. Jackson, so full of compassion, wiped away one of her tears, and continued. “I will say that once we learned of your existence, neither one of us felt all too well.

Suddenly, it hit Lilly like a wall. Lilly looked up at the woman, now completely in disbelief. “I want you out of my house.”

“Excuse me?”

Lilly said, “I know exactly what you want to do, and it will not work.”

Mrs. Jackson opened her mouth as if to speak, but shock overtook her and she could only stare.

“If you think for one moment, that I will allow you to make a mockery of my family, then you are sadly mistaken, Mrs. Jackson!” said Lilly.

“I am afraid I do not underst… ”

“Oh, you know exactly what you are doing and what I am talking about,” said Lilly, now rising to her feet to match her anger.

Mrs. Jackson said, “No, I am afraid I do not.”

“Fine,” said Lilly. “Play obtuse. I will play your game. How dare you come into my home and wave money under my nose as if it is some prized carrot, in the vain hope that by my accepting it, it will appease your guilt. Did you really think I could be bought, Mrs. Jackson?”
Mrs. Jackson stared in amazement. “I assure you, Mrs. Audley, that was not my intent. In fact, that horrid thought never even crossed my mind.”

She kept her voice even, which irritated Lilly. “Ever the hero, yes?”

“What on Earth would give you that impression, Mrs. Audley? Did you not think I had better use of my time than to travel all this way, with my only objective to rub your nose in it?”

Lilly stayed her ground. “It has been done before, yes.”

“Well, never by me.”

“Oh, so this is not the first time you have ruined a family, then?”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Honestly, Mrs Jackson, I could not tell you with certainty what I do and do not know about you. You say one thing with sincerity dripping from your lips, when your clear intent is another.”

Mrs. Jackson was livid. “How dare you? I come here with the sole intent to help you in your time of need, and what do you do, but throw it back in my face like dung? I think I am beginning to see now why Mr. Audley strayed from you in the first place.”

Before she could control what happened next, Lilly brought her hand hard across Mrs. Jackson’s left cheek, the “slapping” sound startling even her.

Mrs. Jackson grabbed her cheek and John was at her side at once. This time it was he who spoke for the first time. “Woman, do not touch my mother again, for if you do, it will certainly be the last thing you remember.”

Lilly immediately took a few steps backward. She could not decide if she were more shocked in the motives of this family standing in her sitting room, or in her own behavior, but she knew she would never apologize “You have disrupted this family enough. I would like you to go now,” she said, almost in a whisper.

Mrs. Jackson told her son she was fine, gained her composure and said, “Mrs. Audley, if we can all just calm down for one moment, I would like the chance to explain.”

“Mrs. Jackson, there is no nothing to explain. The situation is nearly self-explanatory. Shall I do a summation? Fine. You slept with my husband, became pregnant, had a child, found out that Mr. Audley did, indeed, have a family, and though the law clearly resided on your side regarding his money, you saw your chance to appease your guilt by coming here, offering us money in the hopes of buying my silence, and you took it. Did I forget anything?”

Mrs. Jackson let out a slow breath. “Yes, I believe you did.”

“What could I have possibly forgotten?”

“The part where I can empathize, because I have been there.”

Lilly wheeled around to face her. “What is this? Another half-truth to gain my trust?”

“No, Mrs. Audley, I would never insult you in that fashion.”

Lilly could not help herself. “And yet you have.”

“Please, let me continue.”

Lilly only nodded.

“Mrs. Audley, I was twenty-two and newly married. I thought we were the perfect couple and happier than any two people could be. We had a beautiful home in Maine, and a summer home in New Hampshire. We always had plans of having children, but for some reason, after we had been married for six years and began seriously talking about it, he began to make excuses such as, he was too busy at work, or, the cost of education was too high; things like that. And me, being entirely naïve and completely in love, accepted these excuses, telling myself that he knew best and that a woman should always believe in and listen to the wisdom of her husband.” Here she took a slight break to catch her breath, and continued. “After we had been married for ten years and things seemed to settle down with his business and we got into a regular flow as most couples do, I began asking about the topic of having children. And again, I was met with a myriad of new excuses, this time, ranging from, my health is not what it used to be (he was nearly twenty-years my senior), to, I have been giving it a lot of thought lately and I am just not sure that children is what I really want. Well, you can imagine my exasperation.”

Lilly kept her silence and her anger, but continued to listen.

“So, I let it drop. Then one afternoon I received a caller, who said that Mr. Jackson had collapsed at work and I should visit him in hospital straight away. Of course I was scared and confused, but I left in haste. We lived only ten minutes by carriage from the closest hospital, but by the time I had arrived, it was too late.”

“What do you mean?” said Lilly.

“Mr. Jackson had died of a brain aneurysm only minutes before I arrived. The doctors said he probably had the condition for years and no one would have known.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Lilly.

Mrs. Jackson waived her off. “No need, Mrs. Audley, although I do appreciate the sentiments. But garnering sympathy is not the reason for my tale. A few months after the burial, the probate attorney contacted me regarding Mr. Jackson’s estate. It seemed there was a problem that I needed to handle promptly, so one afternoon I made my way to his office. When I arrived and the attorney explained the Law of Primogeniture to me, is when I learned the truth.”

“Mr. Jackson had been having marital indiscretions and had a son with another woman,” said Lilly.

Mrs. Jackson nodded her head. “Exactly. There was to be no money or any part of our possessions to go to me. Being a woman of Society all my life, I was destroyed. I had no idea what I would do, for I had no family close by.”

Lilly said, “So, what did you end up doing?”

“After selling off most everything I had that the bank did not end up taking for some of Mr. Jackson’s other debtors, I ended up working in a factory and living in a boarding house for nearly three years.”

“What happened to the estate?”

“It was the attorney who told me that Mr. Jackson had another family, and in his use of the word ‘family’ is how I found out that he had a son by this woman. He never told me, but he never requested a divorce, either. But I digress. Through the attorney’s mediation, I met the woman and her son, and once she found out I existed, she offered a helping hand. She gave me a little of Mr. Jackson’s estate, although not enough to get me back on my feet. But the gesture was very touching.”

“So how did you get on your feet? It seems you are doing well now.”

“That is true. But it is entirely in thanks to Mr. Audley.”

Lilly winced. “How so? He has only recently passed.”

“True again. However, I met Mr. Audley while still living in the boarding house and working in the factory. One afternoon in the local tea room, we literally bumped into each other and in apology for ruining my gown, he offered to buy me a drink. During the conversation over drinks, I ended up sharing my story with him, and the rest I will reserve telling so as to spare you any further pain.”

“I appreciate that, but I really do need to know, if you do not mind.”

“Very well then,” said Mrs. Jackson. “The next afternoon, I saw Mr. Audley again, only this time he confessed that it was not merely by accident. When I questioned him, he admitted that he sought me out for a reason. Again, when I asked what he meant, he told me he had a surprise for me. He wanted to take me across the street to show me something, and when I resisted because I wanted to go upstairs to change my clothes, he told me my things were no longer there—they had been taken across the street. At first I was angry—how dare someone I barely knew take the liberty to move my things without my permission! And I said this to him. And he laughed. Out loud. In my face. Which angered me all the more. But he was very serene and understanding, and assured me, I would want to go across the street with him, so I finally did. As it turns out, my story had touched him deeply, and being the kind-hearted man that he was, he had rented a flat for me in the building across the street, terminated my stay at the boarding house and had my things moved to the new place.”

Lilly smiled to herself. “That sounds exactly like Mr. Audley.”

Mrs. Jackson walked over to Lilly. “Are you well? Shall I stop?”

Lilly shook her head. “Please continue.”

Mrs. Jackson looked uncomfortable, but complied. “I protested Mr. Audley’s involvement, assuring him I would be fine, but he would not hear of it. Not long after my moving in, he was visiting me on a regular basis when he was in town, always providing for me, whether it be food or entertainment. We were always going to the theater.”

It was here that Lilly interrupted Mrs. Jackson. “Excuse me, but how long was it before you became romantically involved?”

“I was just getting to that. I think it was about six months before I finally gave in.”

“So, you mean it was Mr. Audley that approached you?”

“Yes, dear, I am afraid so. I had already been through so much that I just did not feel as if I was ready to jump into another relationship.”

Lilly felt her heart sink. So there goes your last excuse. She had been hoping that there was a slim chance that this woman had seduced John against his will. But now that she knew better, there was no point in dwelling on it.

“I have one more question.”

Mrs. Jackson said, “Please, ask.”

It was the question that had been burning Lilly’s mind ever since she learned that there had been another woman who bore her husband’s child. It had been on her lips during the entire meeting. It had been in her head at night as she lay down to sleep, and had haunted her in her dreams every moment. She knew it was against all propriety to even pose the question, but that logical thinking was unable to override her burning desire—no, her intense need to know the answer. She had no idea if the woman would even answer the question—as was her right—but she had to at least try. So, she gathered her courage, and said, “Mrs. Jackson. I must know one last thing.”

Mrs. Jackson waited.

Lilly took a breath. “Please, kindly do me the honor of telling me this: did you intentionally allow yourself to become pregnant?”

Chapter   18

Adding Fuel To The Fire

Adding Fuel to the Fire (Chapter Eighteen)

“Mother! You did not ask Mrs. Jackson that question! How could you?”

Lilly’s face reddened. In a quiet voice, she said, “I know, dearest. I have no idea what I was thinking at the time. All I could see was my own hurt and humiliation, and I was so caught up in the situation with the pain of your father’s death, that I just was not considering this woman’s feelings; merely my own.”

Isabella said, “Well? What did she say? How did she react?”

“That, my dear, is the interesting part.”

“Excuse me?”

Lilly would not be swayed. “Yes, you heard me correct. Did you allow yourself to become intentionally pregnant?”

“Wh… why would you ask me such an improprietous thing?”

“If it were you, would you not want to know the same thing? By your own admission, you pined for children all during your marriage. You seem to be a decent enough woman, and if you are of society, as you say, then you would know the horrible stigma that would follow one being with child and without a husband. So, kindly tell me, did you allow yourself to become pregnant in hopes of keeping Mr. Audley?”

By now, John junior was beyond livid at having to watch his mother go through so much stressful discourse, and he moved from his chair toward Lilly. But Mrs. Jackson waived him off. She began to pace around the room while she attempted to search for the words that would cause Mrs. Audley the least amount of pain. “By your own logic, yes, I would know what stigma exists for unmarried women, so would that not be gravity enough to sway me into avoiding it? I am not even certain you are listening to the words you are speaking.”

Lilly remained silent.

“Very well. I was not going to take it here, but obviously you have forced my hand. Mr. Audley convinced me to have a child, in hopes that it would be a son—an heir—the heir you were unable to produce.” She waited.

“You are lying!” Lilly hissed. “Do not assume such familiarity that put you in a position of presumption on situations you know little to nothing about.”

“Well! Well said, Mrs. Audley. I am impressed with your command of language. But for all your metaphors and syntax, you have precious little insight into who I am or what I am about.”

“Well, then why do you not enlighten me?”

Mrs. Jackson took a step back. “Mrs. Audley. I took a large chance by bringing my son here to meet you, in hopes that we might be able to lessen your suffering and the severity of your situation, but all you have done since we arrived is intentionally invent quarrels. I am nearly at the end of my tether.”

Lilly took a step toward her. “My, how very clever you are. Using deflection to steer me away from the question that still remains on the table: did you intentionally allow yourself to become pregnant?”

“YES! YES I DID! ARE YOU HAPPY?”

The silence was intense. No one in the party dared move or they risked breaking the strange spell that the ejaculation had cast.

Finally, after many minutes, Lilly was the first to move—she turned toward the far window. John junior sat down in the nearest chair, nearly in shock.

Mrs. Jackson continued to stand where she was, unable to believe what she had just proclaimed. In a soft voice, she said, “I do apologize, Mrs. Audley. It appears that this situation is more intense than any of us realized” At that, she also sat in the nearest chair and absently began nibbling on a left-over blackberry tart.

Finally, it was John, of all people, who spoke next. “Ladies, if I may speak. Mrs. Audley, I appreciate the situation in which you find yourself, and I know it is supported by unresolved anger. But with all humility and respect, that does not give you the right to interrogate my mother as if she were a prisoner suspected of murder.”

Lilly never turned to face him and continued her silence.

He continued. “And mum, I know you—I have known you all my life, and not a better woman have I ever met, or will ever meet. You are kind-hearted and sensitive to others. But that does not give you the right to flaunt Mrs. Audley’s husband’s indiscretion in her face.”

Mrs. Jackson started to protest, but John silenced her. “You would be lying if you declared that you were not just a little pleased at being able to proclaim that it was your decision to have a child, so please—for the sake of everyone here, do not insult our intelligence by trying to paint this in some other light.”

As Lilly listened to the young man speak, she was stricken at how alike he was to her John. His voice had similar qualities, his narrative was very much like John’s, and the way he was able to cut through available hyperbole and get to the underlying heart of the matter nearly dropped her to her knees. She suddenly realized that in having the boy around, she missed John a little less, but made her feel as if a part of him was still with her, and he was—in this tall, articulate and erudite young man. How foolish she had been in trying to alienate him, all so she might feel less insecure about her own situation and pain. “It appears I owe you both an apology.”

The two turned to face her.

“I have just realized that I am alienating the only two people, besides my daughter, who truly understand what pain I feel at the present, and I apologize for making it more difficult for you just because I was hurting and chose to remain in that pain.”

Without a word, Mrs. Jackson rose to her feet, walked straight to Lilly and wrapped her delicate arms around Lilly’s neck, and as they stood there, the two bonded through heavy and painful tears. Many minutes after their embrace, John also joined them, with tears in his own eyes, and the three found themselves grieving over the man who changed and injected turmoil into each one of their lives. It was quite a turning point for all three.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in deep conversation, with periodic laughter from all. And in fact, as the hour grew later and later, Lilly offered the use of her guest rooms so the Jacksons would not have need of traveling after dark.

“So after breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Jackson gave me much more than I had wanted or even thought I needed, and as they were leaving, we exchanged contact information with plans of enjoying each other’s company in the near future. Of course as they were heading out in their carriage, we were all crying tears of grief, sorrow, happiness and yes, even pity. I know that I have missed them since that very unusual meeting.”

Isabella could not believe it. “Mother, I will say this: you continually amaze me. You were in the perfect position for justified anger and hurt, and what do you do? You turn the other cheek, show this woman compassion that she does not deserve, and you end up making new friends in the process.” Izzy sighed. “I fear I will never have your capacity for compassion.”

Lilly smiled. “Dearest, please—no parades for me. I am, after all, a bit older and wiser than you, but that did not come automatic. I had to practice compassion; like most everyone. And I am not ashamed to admit, I have made my share of mistakes along the way. But, I have also learned some valuable lessons as well.”

“I wished that I had been there to meet them.” Suddenly, the truth of the matter hit Isabella. “Oh, my!”

“What is it?”

“I have a brother! It never occurred to me before, but I have a brother.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Isabella hesitated. “Well, I suppose I have never been in the position to give it much regard. On the one hand, I like the thought of having someone, even though they live too far away to be truly in our lives. But, again, I must admit I relished being an only child.”

Lilly smiled. “Well, as you have rightly pointed out, they live too far away for you to feel threatened.”

“Mother? May I ask a silly question?”

“Better than anyone,” said Lilly, as she laughed at her own joke.

Izzy ignored it. “If the Jacksons helped us with sustenance, then why are we nearly broke and having the house repossessed?”

“I feared you might ask me that. Unfortunately, I do not have an answer for you, dearest. I have the plain, unadulterated truth. And that is this: it simply was not enough to sustain us. I have made cuts where there really should not have been any, and done my best to make the money last as long as I could, but with the price of things being as high as they are, and going up every year, I just was not able to keep us from losing our home. Will you, or can you ever forgive me?”

“Mother, it was not your fault; at least from what you are telling me. I have never seen you intentionally squander money on unnecessary things, or otherwise make bad investment decisions, so I do not believe I have the right to fault you for that.” Izzy stopped speaking and furrowed her brow.

“What is it?”

She remained silent.

Lilly prodded again.

This time, in nearly a whisper, laced with pain, Izzy said, “Why did Father not love us enough? Why did he have to betray us this way?”

This had been one question Lilly had asked herself many times, and like Izzy, had never been able to come up with a viable answer that was enough to ease her considerable pain. “Isabella, I can say with all certainty and veracity, that I truly do not know.”

While Izzy believed her mother, still, she had nagging suspicions that Lilly was not telling her the entire truth of the matter. “But you were married to him for many, many years. How could you not suspect? I mean, did he not take many trips in which he was gone for long periods of time?”

Lilly started to feel uncomfortable at her daughter’s line of questioning. “Yes, Isabella, your father took many trips—that is what he did. He traveled all over for business. Philanthropy was his number one hobby. Why are you asking me this now?”

“Because, it just does not make sense to me that someone could be married to another person for a long period of time and not suspect unusual behavior”

“But that is just it: there was no unusual behavior He never acted as if his heart were straying to another when he was with me. He always returned when he said he would, he was always there for you when you needed him, and for that matter, he was always there for me when I needed him. He never, ever did anything to make me think that his attentions were engaged elsewhere.”

“But, did you not suspect something was amiss when the bank account was less than it was supposed to be?”

Lilly was getting more agitated by the minute. “Isabella, I never had access to our accounts. That was your father’s job. He always assured me that he was taking care of us, and taking care of the business of the family. He never, ever gave me reason to pause where that was concerned. Why would I have questioned your father’s motives when I had no justifiable cause to do so? And for that matter, what gives you the right to question my motives and actions, when I have made sacrifice after sacrifice for the sake of your happiness? How dare you question me after everything I have done for you!”

Izzy was now also livid. “Excuse me, but I believe I have every right, when everything that I have ever known has flown in the face of change, deceit and mistrust. Try and put some of that famous compassion to use right now, and understand my position. I leave for college after my beloved father passes away, thinking that, aside from his passing, I will have a loving mother and wonderful home to which to return, when in actuality, I return to a darkened, saddened home that is now being repossessed by the bank, a town full of former close acquaintances who are busy trying to tell me that I am now poor, and a mother who has done nothing but scheme, lie and cheat me of my dignity, all in the name of trying to protect me. And you have the unmitigated gall to stand there, and tell me to my face that you have no part of blame in this sickening melodrama. And then you ask me who I am to question you? My, how you have changed since living as a widow. Apparently, your skills at relating to people have been in sharp decline over these recent years, for the mother I used to know would have never resorted to lying and cheating just to protect her own daughter.”

“Well, that is where you are sadly mistaken, for I have never been in this situation prior to now, so if I could not predict how I would behave, then you certainly are no judge of that outcome.”

Izzy stood. “So that is it, then? That is all you have to say on the matter?”

Lilly stood her ground. “It is.”

“Very well then,” said Izzy, as she began exiting her bedchamber. “It appears we have nothing more to say to each other.”

“For once, we are in agreement. Where are you going?”

“As I said at the beginning of this conversation, I do not believe I owe you any kind of explanation, and if I did, do not believe that I could produce one that would tame even your doubts. It appears my first misgivings about you and your role in the demise of our family were indeed, correct.”

“Excuse me?”

Izzy stopped short of her door and turned. “You heard me, mother. As soon as I found Father’s journal, I knew in my heart that you had to have played some kind of role in this entire matter, and it appears that I was correct.”

“This is your pronouncement of me, based on the little I have shared with you? And what? All because I was not able to recognize the signs of an adulterer?”

Izzy turned, exited and called back to her mother, “I do not wish to hear anymore. I need air. Right now I cannot stand the sight of you.”

As the emotional torrent of the day’s storytelling hit Lilly, she suddenly slumped to the floor, unconscious, with Isabella already downstairs and out the front door.

Chapter   19

Up To No Good

Up to No Good (Chapter Nineteen)

It was long after dark when Isabella returned to the quiet house. How strange that the place is so dark and empty. I wonder where Mother is? Perhaps she is wrecking havoc in someone else’s life. But when she entered the second floor, she knew immediately that something had happened, for there were servants milling around Lilly’s room, some talking in hushed tones, others in excited fashion. Some were filling water pitchers, and others were just standing idle, shaking their heads as if in pity. Izzy ran to Elizabeth and said, “Elizabeth, what is it? What has happened?”

Elizabeth turned to face her. “Oh, Miss Audley, I am so glad you are returned!” She threw her arms around Izzy’s neck in a most improprietous fashion and the tears streamed down her face.

Izzy could hardly pull Elizabeth from around her so as to comprehend what she had been sobbing into the side of her neck. “What is it, woman? Would you kindly stop that blithering and tell me what has happened?”

“It is your mother. She has had another heart attack.”

Izzy felt her body turn to stone. She was unable to move, and was having her own difficulty in breathing. This proved to be true once Elizabeth noticed her distress, and immediately led her to the nearest chair where she had a scullery maid fetch a pitcher of cold water for Izzy’s face.

“Miss? Please. You are as white as the linen. I will fetch your mother’s doctor.”

Izzy put down her cup of water in time to tell Elizabeth that she would be fine; she was just in shock. “W… w… will you tell me when it happened? How?”

“I am afraid I do not know all the intimate details, but it appears as if it happened shortly after you left the house this evening for your walk. I found Mrs. Audley slumped on your floor when I went in to ask if you still needed further help in choosing your gown for the Ball. She was already passed out by that time, so we rang for Dr. Davis post-haste and he wasted absolutely no time in arriving. He is currently in there with her now.”

Izzy swallowed hard. “So, what is her prognosis? Does anyone know?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I am afraid not yet. I believe he is still in there doing another examination, administering medications, trying to get her stable. He is not yet sure whether she will again need to be hospitalized.”

Izzy was now certain this had to be some horrible, unending nightmare. How could she have left her mother alone in that state on that final note, knowing full well she had just shared intimate details of her first heart attack? She felt a hot tear trickle down her cheek and felt more ashamed than she had ever felt before. She was falling apart before her own eyes, and she felt completely powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, Dr. Davis exited her mother’s room and walked directly to her.

Izzy stood to face him. “How is my mother, Dr. Davis?” she said in a whisper.

Dr. Davis smiled and put both hands on her shoulders to steady her. “She will be fine, Miss Audley. She has had only a mild episode, and I have her sedated right now to allow her body time to rest. Will you walk with me?”

He maneuvered Izzy away from the well-meaning but prying ears of the staff. They found two more chairs near the end of the hallway and sat down. “Miss Audley, I need you to be honest with me about something.”

“I will do what I can, doctor.”

“Has Mrs. Audley been under any sort of stress lately?”

“Why do you ask?”
“Because, most of what she has undergone is nervous exhaustion. I just have a suspicion that she is dealing with some sort of upheaval in her private life that she has decided not to share with me, and if I am treating the whole person, then it is imperative that I know exactly with what I am dealing.”

Izzy looked down at her feet and hesitated.

“I assure you, Miss Audley, your confidences will remain with only me,” he said. “But I do need to know anything that will help me better understand what it is your mother is facing, and how I can best treat it.”

Izzy sighed. If she spoke it out loud, then that would mean it was real, and she did not feel as if she were quite ready to handle that, but, for her mother’s sake, she would face it. “Yes, you are right. Mother has been under a great deal of stress, almost since her last episode, and I am just now finding out about it because she kept it all a secret from me.”

“What is that?”

“Oh, I could die of embarrassment!” said Izzy, with tears stinging her eyes.

Dr. Davis patted her paternally on the hand and urged her to continue.

“It started just shortly after Father passed. Mother found out from her attorney that the inheritance we thought he had left for us, would now go to an unknown heir apparent somewhere in Connecticut.”

Dr. Davis stiffened. “Oh. I see.”

“Yes, it is horribly shameful. Father had an indiscretion that resulted in the birth of a son, and due to the Law, the inheritance went directly to him—my half-brother.”

“So it left you completely destitute?” Dr. Davis could not hide his mounting concern.

“Well, it would have, if the boy and his mother had not been so benevolent to us.”

“I am afraid I do not understand.”

“Unbeknownst to me, Mother had agreed with her attorney to set up a meeting with these people. They rode down from Connecticut and met Mother here for high tea one afternoon, and according to what Mother shared with me today during her re-telling of the tale, they all got along rather well and so the two spent the night in our guest rooms and left by coach the next morning. But not before the woman gave my mother more money than what she had wanted, expected or thought she needed.”

“Well, is that not a good thing?”

Izzy nodded. “It would have been, except that apparently Father had run up some debts surrounding this woman’s existence, so not only did our country home need to be sold to cover some of them, but not more than a few days ago the bank sent collectors from the Fairtown Savings and Loan and they began repossessing some of our most prized possessions. Apparently, the next step is to foreclose on our home.”

“But I do not understand. If this woman gave you more than your mother thought you needed, why the stress with the bank?”

“I guess when the attorney set up the meeting, he said the amount of debt was so extensive, that no amount of money the woman would give us would be enough to stop foreclosure. And Mother being Mother, gratefully, although with much embarrassment, accepted whatever help was offered to us and decided she would deal with the repercussions when the time came.”

Dr. Davis shifted in his chair. “So tell me, Miss Audley. When did you find out about all of this? Were you aware of it as it was happening?”

“Certainly not, doctor! Mother did not tell me any of this until today when I pressed her on the issue. I was not even aware that she had suffered a previous heart attack until a little while ago! I was livid, and unfortunately, we quarreled. I am afraid this is all my fault.”

“How would any of it be your fault?”

“Because, I accused her of evil things that I knew I should not talk about. I was not here when she had to deal with the most of this stress, and therefore I could do nothing. But today, it was entirely my fault that she is now lying in that bed, possibly dying and I do not know what to do to help her!” By now she was crying and Dr. Davis pulled her close and let her cry on his benevolent shoulder.

After a few minutes and many tears later, Izzy was cried out and pulled back.

Dr. Davis said, “Would you like to see her now? I can only let you stay for a moment, and she will probably be asleep, but I know you wish to see her.”

Izzy nodded as she rose from her chair and made her way to her mother’s room, Dr. Davis guiding her with one hand steady on her shoulder.

Lilly, while clearly asleep, looked ashen gray and Izzy felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Do not be concerned. That is from lack of oxygen, but we have her on a heavy flow of O2 right now and that will soon dissipate. It looks much worse than it is.”
Izzy was grateful for his kindness and explanation. “May I walk over and sit with her?”

“Certainly. I will be right behind you if you need me.”

Izzy tiptoed to the bed, as if Lilly’s health lay in the floorboards beneath her feet. She sat down softly on the bed’s edge, and placed a hand on top of Lilly’s, and was stricken at how cold she felt.

Dr. Davis intercepted again. “That is normal, Miss Audley. Her circulation is not where we would like for it to be at the present time, but there is nothing to be concerned about.”

Izzy turned her attentions back toward her mother, and stared at her. She marveled at how old Lilly suddenly looked—not like the lively, spry spitfire that she encountered earlier this afternoon. There, for the first time, she noticed the deep-set wrinkles edging her eyes; the laugh lines outlining her pale lips and her poorish skin quality. Lilly looked so stricken and ill that Izzy nearly had to tear her gaze away for fear of bursting into tears, and right now, she realized, she must be strong. If for no one else, then for her mother’s sake. And that is something that she just did not trust herself to be. She was disappointed with the way she had handled this whole matter, and truthfully, wondered what other thoughtless mistake she might make in order to make the situation and stress levels worse.

And just as it occurred to her, Dr. Davis interrupted with the same thought. “Miss Audley, you do realize that while your mother is recuperating, you will have to take her place in matters of the home.”

Izzy felt panic rise without warning. It was a foreign feeling, for she had never really felt anything akin to anxiety before now. What would she do? She had no experience at running a household—in some ways her mother had seen to that. With Lilly constantly wanting to protect her from harsh realities that the world had to offer, it stunted Izzy’s maturation. In times just as this, it left Izzy void of any coping skills with no idea how to step up and take control. But that must be what she needed to do now, more than ever. In Izzy’s mind, it was time that she grow up and stop the childhood, foolish fantasies of men in regimental uniforms asking her to balls that did not matter to anyone now. She would have to begin thinking of how to pay out weekly salaries to staff, where money for food would come from, and where they would go once, and if, there was to be a foreclosure. She knew of no immediate family in the area, and so that left them clearly on their own, and with the way their so-called friends now regarded them since the news of their situation had spread, she knew they could not count on any of them for support. She sighed. It truly now was just she and her mother. And the one woman she needed to guide her with grace through this most trying time, was lying in front of her in her fighting for her life.

“You are right, Dr. Davis. I must step up and take my rightful place as the temporary head of this household. I have no idea how I am to begin such a daunting task, but I know my mother would at least want me to try. She has already done so much for me, that now it is naturally my turn to repay her kindness and do what I can. It seems my days as a carefree, childish college girl are over.”

“I would not go that far, missy,” said a groggy Lilly.

“Mother! You are awake!” said Izzy.

Dr. Davis moved her out of the way so he could examine Lilly. “There you are. Are you in the habit of scaring me twice in one lifetime? If you are, then I must rescind my invitation for dinner once you are up and around.” He smiled at her, and she smiled weakly back at him.

Izzy took note of his comment about dinner. Was this yet another thing that Lilly had failed to mention? Was she interested in this handsome doctor now standing over her, worried about her health, and if so, was she hiding this from Izzy too, so as to spare her hurt at the outside chance that she might think it cheating on her dead father? She could not help but feel anger well up again at the endless ways this woman had chosen to deceive her, and all under the guise of protecting her. Izzy quickly excused herself and sat down in the hallway in a failed attempt to calm down. She forcibly reminded herself of how frail her mother had looked only moments ago, and allowed this to tame her anger. It was a useless and rotten emotion that produced nothing good, and she would have to learn to curb it where her mother was concerned. Perhaps they would never see eye-to-eye on matters of child-rearing, but that did not mean Izzy would or should consciously allow herself to remain angry at Lilly for extended periods of time. No. I have more important matters that require my immediate attention, and I cannot be cluttering up my mind with useless anger that solves nothing. She felt a tear roll down her cheek, and as she lowered her head to get her handkerchief, she noticed black boots parked directly in front of her chair, and she looked up.

“Is there anything I may do to help in this time of need, Miss Audley?” said Mr. Whentworth.

Before she could stop herself, she rose from her chair, threw her arms around his neck in such a fashion as to make a spectacle out of the both of them, and began crying openly into his neck.

But before Mr. Whentworth could respond, they heard a yell coming from Lilly’s room. It was Dr. Davis. “Dear God, someone get the nurse, quickly!”

Chapter   20

There's No Beauty Like The Winter Rose

There’s No Beauty Like The Winter Rose (Chapter Twenty)

By the time the party reached Lilly’s room, Dr. Davis was waving everyone off. “It is fine, it is fine. She had a spasm but we were able to get her to relax. I have given her a stronger sedative and so now hopefully, she will rest through the night. I am going home now to rest myself, but I will be back first thing in the morning.”

The next statement he made directly to Mr. Whentworth. “I want you to stay here with the Audley women tonight and make sure they have everything they need. If there is any change in Mrs. Audley’s condition, I want you to send for me immediately. Do you understand, young man?”

“Absolutely, and I would have stayed whether you asked me or not. Do not worry, it is all in my charge. Try and get some rest.”

Dr. Davis and his nurse promptly left, and the servants were all sent back to their stations, except for Elizabeth, who gladly agreed to stay and be Lilly’s particular companion if she should need anything during the night. Elizabeth was simply happy to be needed.

Next, it was Izzy’s turn to receive her orders. Thomas said, “I want you to go downstairs to the parlor, and wait for me there. Go.”

Izzy did not dare contradict him, so forceful was his mandate, so she went downstairs and waited as she was told.

Once Mr. Whentworth made sure Elizabeth had books to keep her occupied, and made sure Lilly’s fire was built up and roaring in the empty grate, he made his way down to the kitchen. He promptly put in a late-night order of tea and light refreshment, then made his way into the sitting room where Izzy dutifully waited. He quickly built a fire, and soon they were sitting in the warm orange glow, sipping tea and feeling stronger much fortified.

Finally Izzy spoke. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping where I am needed.”

“No, really. What are you doing here? How could you have learned about mother’s attack so quickly?”

“Sometimes, Miss Audley, you forget just how small this town really is. I have a friend who was at Dr. Davis' home when he got the call that your mother had collapsed. As soon as I heard, I rushed right over to be of service, for I knew you would be in no condition to think clearly.”

“I thank you for having such incredible confidence in my ability to handle stress.”

Mr. Whentworth was immediately put out at her reply. “Why do you constantly insist on being so independent as to put off people who care about you? Why are you hell-bent on doing everything yourself?”

“Because I do not relish being a woman who is so weak that she cannot do anything for herself.”

“Hmmmn.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it seems to me, that if this were truly your intent, then you would not allow Elizabeth to remain in your employ. You would take care of getting your own dinner, your own bath and changing your own clothes.”

He watched as Izzy’s face turned twenty shades of red, and he could not clearly discern whether they were for embarrassment, or pure anger.

Izzy remained silent.

“What? No tongue-lashing full of daggers?”

“I will not give you the satisfaction.”

Realizing that this was a difficult time for all, and that he probably should not have taken such delight in needling Miss Audley for sport, he apologized to her. “I should have realized that you were probably in no condition to verbally spar with me this evening.”

Izzy softened. “Thank-you. And I am sorry for getting my ire up. I just finished telling myself not to do that any longer, and here I am messing it up again! I am afraid I am hopelessly flawed.”

Mr. Whentworth smiled to himself. “You need not worry of your flaws, Miss Audley, for they only add to your charm.”

Izzy tried to ignore the butterflies that his statement invoked, by changing the subject. “I think I will go upstairs and check on Mother.”

“Your mother is sleeping, and if anything happens to her during the night, Elizabeth is capable enough of letting us know. She knows I am in for the duration and that you will be here as well.”

“Yes, of course, you are right.”

An unsettling silence fell upon them, until Mr. Whentworth broke with a jarring question. “Miss Audley, how did it happen?”

Izzy wheeled about to face him, to search for any hint of folly in his eyes. When she found none, she knew he was serious. Now, all she needed to do was decide whether or not to answer him. And if she chose to, how would she approach it? Did she want him knowing the full extent of their hideous secrets, or just the ones he learned from his horrid sister? Then again, she did not ever peg Mr. Whentworth as a gossip—that sport he left to the women in his family. So, could she really trust him to listen without inferring judgment? She was emotionally drained, but felt as if it would be good to have someone in which to confide. One thing was certain: it was tiring being a lone ship, always passing others in mid-stream, but without any contact of value. She used to rely on the wisdom of her father to help her navigate the waters, and now that he was gone, she had turned, possibly too much, to Lilly.

She suddenly felt very alone and cold, in spite of the warmth of the grate. This homecoming had been nothing like she had pictured, and now that her fantasy had been interrupted with a good dose of reality, she had no idea how to handle it. Her shoulders were aching from holding so much tension, and she noticed for the first time that evening, that her head was pounding with a migraine. She grabbed her temples and began to massage them, but that did nothing. Without warning, tears began streaming down her face and try as she might, her body, under its own power, began racking with heavy sobs. She did not care who heard her, and she was crying uncontrollably.

She faced the far wall so Thomas would not see her, but he certainly heard her and walked up behind her. He whispered, “Miss Audley… ” and gently put both hands on her shoulders. When she did not pull away, he slowly turned her to face him, searching her face. He saw traces of pain that had been there for many, many months, and needed this very release. He had seen this in her before, but never felt comfortable enough with their relationship to offer advice on the matter. But tonight—at this very moment—things were different. Isabella was no longer fighting him, and he pulled her quivering body close to his, enveloping hers with his strong, yet gentle arms. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder and cried even harder, unable or unwilling to stop the flow of tears. Mr. Whentworth spoke softly to her, telling her all would be well.

She never once fought him. Inside his arms, she somehow felt like she was meant to be there; like it was home, and the more she cried, the better she felt.

After nearly ten minutes, she began to relax and the tears started to ease. Now she was quiet, but still nuzzled into his neck, and he continued to simply hold her like a child who needed comfort. She pulled back and whispered, “I do apologize, Mr. Whentworth.”

He did not let her from his grasp. “There is no need to apologize You have needed to do that now for a very long time.”

She stared directly into his eyes. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I am not that stupid.”

The response caught her off-guard and she let out a very hearty laugh that caught him up as well, and they both enjoyed the sunshine after the storm.

“Mr. Whentworth?”

“Yes, Miss Audley?”

“Do you realize that you are still holding me?”

“Do you realize that you have not tried to pull away?”

Suddenly, Izzy felt very shy and lowered her eyes so he could not look directly into them.

But he was not to be swayed. He took a hand, hooked it under her chin, and gently lifted her face back to his. Her eyes had always captivated him—pulling him into their hypnotic spell when he had no wish to be there—but tonight, he knew this was the only place he wanted to be. When she again did not fight him, he saw this as his chance—something he had wanted to do since that hot August night so many years ago. Slowly, he lowered his face, and brushed his lips gently against hers, testing her response. When she still did not pull away, he moved in for a full kiss, and Izzy freely reciprocated.

She had never kissed someone who had been so gentle. Each time his lips lightly brushed hers, her heart beat a little faster. She was suddenly powerless to stop her arms that wrapped around his strong, wide back, and she could feel herself melting into him, and it had been everything she had hoped.

He pulled back and looked her in the eye, searching her face for any sign of resistance, and when he found none, he took his left hand and gently caressed her cheek, while the right hand brushed back her hair. But even this joyous pleasure was not enough to deter him from tasting her lips again, and this time, he felt himself full of passion that he had locked up for so many years.

Izzy was also feeling pent-up desires that she had wanted to feel, but she told herself that society would frown upon that sort of interaction. With that thought, she pulled away.

“What is it, Miss Audley? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it is not that. We should not be doing this.”

Mr. Whentworth playfully looked around the room. “I do not believe there is anyone here to attest to anything different.”

“Do not tease me. I mean, you are with Miss Hastings now, and while we are not intimates, I still will not do that to a friend.”

Mr. Whentworth chuckled. “Miss Audley, Miss Hastings and I are simply friends.”

“But, I saw… ”

“That is what I had been wanting to tell you all this time. I was escorting Miss Hastings as a favor to her mother, that is all.”

“What? So you mean, you are not involved?”

“Not at all. I am still very unattached at the moment.”

This news made Izzy’s heart glad, but she was still confused. “Why would Mrs. Hastings request that you escort her daughter? I do not understand this.”

“As I explained in the note that you never received, Miss Hastings had been seen around town in the presence of some questionable company, unescorted, and Mrs. Hastings panicked, afraid that their societal standing was now in jeopardy, as well as their family’s reputation. So, when she explained this and asked me if I would mind, of course I could not say no.”

At the mention of society, Izzy suddenly realized that if she were to allow things to progress any further with Mr. Whentworth, as badly as she wanted them to, she would be unwittingly putting his own family’s reputation at risk. She broke from his embrace and walked to the fire, her back to him.

This concerned him. “What is it, Miss Audley?”

Should she share with him in earnest why she wanted to protect him from the dangers of their entanglement? She knew Mr. Whentworth well enough to know that if she shared this, he would simply protest, call her silly, and push for the relationship. He would not be thinking clearly—not about his family, not about society and not about the future of his own reputation. She had to finally admit to herself that she cared for—maybe even loved—this man, and because of that fact, she must protect him from himself at whatever cost.

She feigned a yawn, and put her plan into motion. “Mr. Whentworth, I know you are tired, as am I. I believe I am going to kiss my mother good-night and then retire to my room. Will you be gone by morning?”

Mr. Whentworth was clearly confused at this new turn. “Miss Audley, I am afraid I do not understand. I thought we were finally moving forward in our relationship. I thought that was what you wanted.”

Izzy felt the pain in her chest, but continued with her deceit. “Mr. Whentworth, I appreciate you coming to help our family. You are so very sweet and kind to have offered. But to be honest, I will be returning to Radcliffe shortly after New Year, and I will not have the time to become involved in a relationship with someone who has certainly not been trustworthy in the past.” She wanted to cry right there at knowing how those words would hurt him.

“Oh,” said Mr. Whentworth. “I see. We are back to that again, are we? Fine.”

Izzy could see his jaw clenching, but yet he held his tongue in an impressive manner. “So you are upset?”

“Of course I am not. I am, by no means, an idiot. If you are not interested, then you are not interested. I risked my dignity by kissing you, and you have handed it back to me on a stick. It is not like you shot a member of my family. It was a silly little kiss,” he lied, as he sat down on the settee.

This surprised Izzy. “Oh. Well. Good, then. We are in agreement. Perhaps when I return from University we can see how things go?”

Suddenly, Mr. Whentworth felt very tired. He had played this game of cat and mouse with Miss Audley far too long, and frankly, he was tired of her making a fool out of him. When would he finally stand up for himself? “Miss Audley, do not wait. You have made it very clear how you feel, and I have no intentions of waiting for you. Let us just be adult about this and move on, shall we?”

Izzy felt the pain in her chest. She had not expected him to just give her up this easily. She had been convinced he loved her and had been in love with her all this time. Had she been wrong? If she did not fight for him, she knew full well what she was giving up. Mr. Whentworth had been the only man she had ever wanted to love, or allowed herself to become involved with, and she was not certain, at her advanced age that she would ever meet another man even close to his upstanding character or gentle spirit. She knew in her heart, that if she let him go now, she would spend the rest of her life alone with her mother, living in the poor house, regretting every moment of her decision.

And yet, she realized that she loved Mr. Whentworth so much, that she could not possibly ruin his reputation by allowing him to become involved with her, just so she would not have to spend the rest of her life alone. Was there any hope of them meeting on common ground and making this impossible relationship work?

“Mr. Whentworth, I… ”

“… think nothing of it, Miss Audley. It is over and done. And now, I think I will retire to your guest room. I assure you I will be gone at first light, and I will not bother your family again in the future. Do send word on your mother’s future condition, if you would not mind.” He tipped his hat to her and exited the room.

Izzy felt very foolish, sullen, and panicked. When he exited the room, she felt as if he had ripped out her heart and taken it with him. She suddenly realized that there was no way she could live without this man! My God! What on Earth have I just done?

Chapter   21

The Sword Cuts Both Ways

The Sword Cuts Both Ways (Chapter Twenty-One)

Isabella did not have fitful sleep that night. One ear was trained on her mother’s room across the hall and Elizabeth’s non-existent footsteps, and the other was on any possible movement from Mr. Whentworth down the hall, but the night remained quiet. Except for her constant tears. She knew in retrospect, that she had done the right thing, but that did not make the pain of it lessen. She was certain she had loved Mr. Whentworth since that August night he had left her waiting. She had been so excited to attend that silly dance, so certain had she been that the evening indicated a strong possibility of a future relationship between the two. But, he never showed, and she had to dismiss him from her heart, much like she was having to do now. Why had she allowed herself to be embraced by him? She could still feel his lips against hers and smell his cologne—he filled up every sense she had and was overtaken by the essence of him. From the time she had been a little girl, she knew that this was how she had wanted to love; allowing it to fill up every part of her being.

And now, she had let it slip away. No, she had given it away, and for what? All so she could spare him from disrepute? Looking back on it now, hours later, it hardly seemed to make any sense. She nearly had herself convinced to get up and knock on his door, when Elizabeth knocked on hers.

“Miss Audley? Will you come quickly?”

The edge and anxiety in Elizabeth’s voice made Izzy jump from her bed. Dressing quickly in her robe, she followed Elizabeth the few steps across the hall into her mother’s room. As soon as they entered, they saw Lilly sitting upright in bed, yelling at the top of her lungs and crying. Izzy tried to make her way to her mother’s side, but as she did, a body from behind blocked her way, and she found herself face-to-face with Mr. Whentworth for a second time that night. He was kneeling at Lilly’s bedside, cooing to her like a child, assuring her that everything was fine.

Izzy turned to Elizabeth. “What happened?”

“I had just checked on her, saw she was resting peacefully, sat down to read and started to drift off when she awakened me with her screaming. I was not able to calm her enough to find out what the matter was, so I came to get you as soon as I could.”

Izzy turned toward Mr. Whentworth. “What is it? Is she having another attack?”

Without turning to face her, Mr. Whentworth continued to concentrate on Lilly, but said to Izzy, “She has had a nightmare. She is beginning to calm now.”

He had been right. With the presence of others in the room, Lilly had calmed nearly immediately upon their arrival and was again drifting back to sleep.

Izzy let out a long sigh. “I am so thankful for that.”

Mr. Whentworth said, “Yes, we are lucky it was just a dream.”

He rose from the bed and turned to leave without looking at her, but Izzy touched his left arm and he stopped. She whispered to him, “May I see you outside, Mr. Whentworth?”

He motioned for her to go before him, and they went into the hall, so as not to be overheard by Elizabeth, who was now sitting back next to Lilly.

Out in the hallway, Mr. Whentworth motioned for Izzy to sit in the hall chair and he stood in front of her. He finally looked at her, but did not speak.

This made Izzy uneasy—she was already feeling anxious about seeing him again so shortly after their last meeting. She thought perhaps she might have been able to escape this entire evening by not seeing him in the morning before he left, but that was not to be, and now she had to deal with those consequences. His body language was clearly telling her that he was only humoring her request, and that made her all the more anxious, which caused her to hesitate, which made him all the more impatient.

“What is it, Miss Audley?”

Izzy had never heard his tone so lacking in affect—if it were a substance, it would have dripped icicles.

She cleared her throat and began. “Mr. Whentworth, I think I owe you an apology.”

This seemed to pique his interest. “Really? Pray tell, what for?”

She cleared her throat again, if only to buy time. She then realized she had not thought this plan through. But, she continued, hoping the right words would come. “I believe I owe you an apology for hurting you the way I did earlier. I am deeply sorry for that.”

His posture returned to his previous attitude. “Oh, think nothing of it. I was not hurt by you. I do not know what gave you that notion.”

Izzy half-smiled to herself. “Mr. Whentworth, please. Are you wanting me to believe that after a kiss such as the one we shared, that it was all from the heart of someone who was clearly uninterested? Really, Mr. Whentworth. I am not that naïve.”

He nervously shifted his weight. Suddenly, he grasped her left arm, and said, “Come downstairs with me now, woman.”

Her demands and screeches of, “Mr. Whentworth, let me go—you are hurting me,” went completely ignored and once in the sitting room, he sat her down on the settee across from the fire, which was now nearly out. He now noticed the pronounced chill in the air and wrapped Izzy with a blanket that he retrieved from the corner cabinet. He sat down in the chair next to her.

“Mr. Whentworth, I demand that you tell me why you have dragged me downstairs like some rag doll?”

“Calm down, Miss Audley. Your privacy was my first intent. I did not want Elizabeth to overhear us, or to wake your mother. She needed her rest. However, now that you bring it up, yes, I will admit I am a bit frustrated by your games. Those, I did not expect.”

“Games? What are you talking about?” Her face burned hot.

“Do you not think I am smart enough to know at what you are playing?”

“If you want me to know of what it is you speak, then you had better begin explaining.”

“Fine. Play coy. I had nearly forgotten how good at it you can be.”

“Did you intentionally bring me down here to berate me and pick a quarrel? For if you did, I can use my time much better getting needed sleep.”

He took a deep breath. “Miss Audley, I know.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat. “I am sorry?”

“You heard me: I know.”

“Know what?”

“I know what you are doing, and it is not going to work. Oh, I will admit that when we parted earlier, I had every intention of walking out of this house, never to be seen or heard by you again, and I was fully content with that decision when I retired.”

“So then what are you on about?”

He smiled. “I sometimes forget that you forget how well I know you; oftentimes better than I know myself.”

She waited for him to continue.

“You are transparent, Miss Audley. Your heart is too big so as to be invisible. I saw right through your motives. I saw how you changed as soon as you began enjoying our kiss. And I knew exactly why that change had occurred.”

Izzy’s lips were now dry and she had to forcibly control the shaking in her voice. “Please tell me, then, for I do not know.”

He smiled again. “Keep pretending you have no idea what I am talking about. That is fine. I am a patient man and can spar with you for hours. You know this.”

Again, she sat silent, for fear of giving her heart away.

“As soon as you realized that my entanglement with you might spell the certain ruination of my family reputation, you pulled away from me like hot coals. I will confess, at first this hurt me, for it took me a while to realize what it is you were doing.” He then moved closer to Izzy, kneeling on the floor in front of her, just inches from her left ear. “But as I lie there in that bed, unable to sleep for thinking of your sweet lips and your own desire, it occurred to me that you were trying to protect me.”

His nearness was intoxicating. She noticed that his ascot was missing with his shirt collar hanging open, down to about the second or third button, and she could see his skin glistening from sweat in the moonlight, which now shined through the open curtains. Her heart began dueling with her head, and she feared she would not know what to do. She had been fighting the idea of him for so long, that now that he was hers for the taking, she felt powerless to control her urge to accept. And with this war waging itself in her head, she dared not speak. To be safe, she stared straight ahead into the dying fire. If he insisted on speaking to her at this distance, then he could carry on the conversation without her.

He continued in a whisper, near her ear. A part of him liked toying with her, for he was confident that she would eventually give up the running and accept their fate. “Miss Audley. Allow me to assure you, that my acquaintanceship with you will no more hurt my reputation than robbing a bank. My family has been well-established in this community for many years, as you well know, and while I am no braggart, our family’s fortune has us firmly ensconced into society. It would take a major incident worthy of hanging to knock us from that perch.” He eased back to search her face before he continued.

She continued to stare, now praying it would be over soon so she could keep her dignity. He was getting harder and harder to resist and this scared her.

However, he seemed to sense these feelings in her, and again leaned closer. In a throaty whisper, he said, “Miss Audley… ” Before he finished the thought, he allowed his lips to gently brush against her left ear for just a second, and he smiled to himself as he heard her unwillingly gasp. He then eased back so as to face her again, and this time he stared at her until she looked him in the eye. There in the blue serenity of the moonlight, he said, “Miss Audley, I am so in love with you, and have been for all these years.” She opened her lips to respond, but before she could, his mouth closed upon hers and soon they were intertwined again, tasting the other’s lips and falling into one other; melting. The embrace lasted for several minutes, each freely exploring the other, heads filled with proprieties fighting hearts filled with desire. When the kiss came to an end, finally, he pulled back to look at her face, without letting go of her. “I only ask you one thing.”

She swallowed hard to remove the cotton that was building in her throat, and said, “What is it?”

“Tell me that you love me, too.”

Her heart flipped. This, if she were to be honest with herself, was the one thing she had wanted to tell him for so long. She found herself fighting a losing battle, however, between her head’s logic and her heart’s emotion.

He saw the battle etched clearly on her face, and intercepted, determined not to let her get away. “Miss Audley, look at me.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, realizing that if she were not careful, she could easily loose herself. “Yes?”

“I want to be here for you, in a way no one has ever been her for you before. You have spent your entire life trying to be the daughter your father wanted you to be, and you have clearly succeeded. But think of this: in all the years we have known each other, I have never seen you with anyone else in a serious way. You always seem to come back to me. And while we are laying everything bare at the moment, I will tell you that I have also never been with anyone else, except as mere friends. I always come back to you. Do you not see? It has been our destiny that we end up together since we were young. Frankly, I do not know anyone else head-strong enough to handle you. So will you please stop the reasoning in your head for a moment, and think about what would be best for both you and your mother right now?”

Izzy heard the shock come out in her voice. “Mr. Whentworth, are you about to say to me what I think you are about to say?”

Mr. Whentworth thought about it for a moment, and then smiled. “Why, yes, I think I am. Miss Isabella Elizabeth Audley, will you make me the happiest man on Earth by saying that you will marry me and become Mrs. Isabella Whentworth?”

Chapter   22

Tell Me You Will

Tell me you Will (Chapter Twenty-Two)

Before she could discern what she was feeling, hot, wet tears streamed down her face, and she was smiling—wider than she had ever remember smiling. She threw her arms around Mr. Whentworth’s neck solely on an impulse, and allowed herself to be enveloped by his warmth and sensitivity. Suddenly the stress from the relationship with her mother, and from losing their fortune as well as their home melted away in his embrace and she truly never wanted to leave.

She was so caught up in her soaring spirits, that she had not noticed that Mr. Whentworth had suddenly pulled away and was looking her in the eye again.

“So? Am I to assume that your answer is yes?”
And with that, reality hit her in the face again. Thoughts fill her head over where they would live, what she would do about finishing University, and even what his family would say, for she knew after the encounter with his sister, that their opinion of her was not favorable.

He put his finger to her lips and said, “Sshhhh. All will take care of itself within time, if you will only put my heart out of its misery and tell me now: Will you marry me?”

She could contain herself no longer. “YES, Mr. Whentworth, I would love to marry you!”

The last few days for Izzy had been sheer bliss. While she and Mr. Whentworth had both agreed to wait to begin making formal announcements until Lilly was stronger, still, Izzy was content just knowing that she would soon be spending the rest of her life with Mr. Whentworth, and at that, she could not have been happier. The logical portion of her brain said she needed to worry over logistics, such as where they would live—for she still had not the courage to share with him the eventual fate of their home—but more importantly, how they would break the news to his mother and sister. That was one affair to which she had not been looking forward, and one of which Mr. Whentworth promised to spare her. She hated the thought of him having to face those barracuda women alone, but knew between the two of them, at least he was the one most equipped to handle them. He insisted on telling them alone, but they both agreed it would be best after they shared the happy news with Lilly first.

She had been gaining her strength little by little. At least her spirits had been improving. Dr. Davis had made several return trips to check on her progress, and because of this, Izzy secretly wondered if perhaps he had another motive in visiting her mother so often. She also wondered if Lilly had enjoyed the visits as much as Dr. Davis seemed to, for after each one, she would laugh and find herself in high spirits. It heartened Izzy to entertain the notion that perhaps her mother had found a love interest in the handsome Dr. Davis. And comely, he was, indeed. Standing an impressive six-foot-four, with broad shoulders, mounds of dark, curly hair and the slightest hint of gray near his temples, one’s first impulse was to stare at his square jaw and imagine themselves wrapped in his strong arms. He had a toothy grin that seemed to light up the room. Oh, women noticed the handsome doctor as soon as he made his entrance! And why not? He had been a widower for nearly ten years, and besides their medical background, both he and Lilly shared this fact. At least she has a confidant her own age, thought Izzy, and this made her heart glad. As close as she and her mother enjoyed being, Izzy knew there were just some matters of the heart she would never be able to share with Lilly, as much as she wanted to.

Mr. Whentworth had also been spending an increasing amount of time at the Audley home, and while this would normally spark rumors all about town, this time, those who inclined themselves to loose talk and gossip were only speculating of Mrs. Audley’s condition and that Mr. Whentworth was likely visiting so much to help the two women.

Izzy realized that she was fine with them thinking this, but then realized the problem in keeping secrets lay within herself. Each time she popped her head in to check on Lilly, she found herself in such healthy spirits that she automatically wanted to share her joyous news with her best friend. Through her entire life, she had always had the friendship of her mother, and shared with her every new piece of news she owned. Now she was finding it difficult in keeping a secret, but out of her love for Mr. Whentworth, she was determined to do it.

That afternoon while sitting in the sunshine of the sitting room, Izzy realized that this evening was the annual ball.

“Mr. Whentworth, were you not going to be Miss Hasting’s escort to tonight’s ball?”

He did not look over his paper. “Um. No. With our recent change in circumstances, I had decided that perhaps it better if I did not give anyone the wrong impression. Besides, your mother may need me.”

“I think that is severely myopic of you.”

This response surprised Mr. Whentworth greatly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, only this: you had already made a promise to Mrs. Hastings that you would serve as her daughter’s escort. From what I am hearing, Rachel is not doing any better than when we bumped into each other at the café, and while it is true there has been no love lost between us recently, still, I would feel much better about the situation if you would simply keep your word and be her escort.”

Mr. Whentworth looked up from his paper. “I am surprised at your reaction, but pleasantly so.” He then leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.

She blushed. “Mr. Whentworth, she is my cherished childhood friend. I would be devastated if Rachel's actions reflected poorly on her family.”

“But what about you? Who will be your escort?”

Izzy furrowed her brow. “I am not sure I will attend.” She walked over to the window and let the warmth of the sun kiss her face.

“Ah.”

She turned to face him. “Do you mean something particular by that?”

He smiled. “Only that you are obviously wrapped up inside your own logic again. You think too much, Miss Audley.”

She smiled. “My father used to accuse me of that very thing. But in this case, I truly think it is warranted.”

“Oh! I understand now! You will be too jealous in seeing me on the arm of your best friend. Well, that much I can understand,” he teased.

“Oh, you understand nothing. Really. But in all seriousness, anyone in this town not living beneath a rock now knows of our circumstances and fall from social grace, so I am not even certain they will allow me entrance, in spite of the fact that I now have an invitation.”

“As you say, you have the invitation. That means you have the same right to be there that anyone else does.”

“The other consideration is my mother. If you are gone, then I am not certain that I should be as well.”

He nodded. “I agree. However, I think I heard Dr. Davis say earlier he would be coming to sit with your mother later, so really, there goes your last excuse.”

Izzy did not smile.

“What is it, love?”
“There is one more thing.”

“Yes?”

Should she tell him? What would he say when he learned that the bank had already repossessed most of their personal possessions, and this meant that she truly did not have a gown fit enough to wear to such a function? You might as well go ahead and share with him all that you know, for he will find out sooner than later. He may take it easier coming from your lips.

She sighed, walked him back to the settee, sat down with him, and began. “Mr. Whentworth, I am afraid I have something of a rather personal nature to share with you, and to be honest, it is not pleasant. In fact, I am embarrassed beyond belief that it has happened at all. But more so, that I have been unable to stop it.”

Mr. Whentworth became alarmed. “Dear me! What is it?”

“There was a reason that my mother had her attack, and it was my fault.”

“Miss Audley, I am sure you are mistaken.”

“No, Mr. Whentworth, I am afraid I am not. You see, the day before Mother collapsed, she and I were in the most horrific argument. Truly; we have never in our lives fought like that.”

“What was it over?”

“That is the embarrassing part. For you see, it was over Father’s journal.”

“How could that tear you apart?”

“Well, it was not so much the actual journal, or even what he said in its entries, so much as what he did not say.”

Mr. Whentworth waited for her to continue.

“I had gone upstairs while Mother was at hospital that morning, and decided to decorate the house for holiday. It is so depressing here without any decorations, and you know, Christmas has always been our favorite time of year. Well, when I got in the attic and saw the boxes of decorations, I was immediately side-tracked by the bookshelves, and one book in particular.”

“Mr. Audley’s journal.”

Izzy nodded. “I began to read it, and soon I was wrapped up in his pages. I was happy to hold something so personal from my father, but also alarmed from the beginning, for they alluded to a dark secret that, if known, would tear our family apart. But yet all throughout the book, he never explained what it was. The more I read, the more enraged I became, and so in a fit of anger, I threw the book. That is when a letter fell from its back cover.”

“A letter?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Whentworth could see the pain beginning to build on Izzy’s face, and gently placed a hand over hers.

She continued. “In the letter, my father had written to another woman and declared how much he missed being with her, and that he loved her very much. My father had an affair.”

Mr. Whentworth’s mouth dropped open. “Miss Audley, are you certain this is what he meant?”

“More than you know, Mr. Whentworth. I had just found the letter when Mother returned from hospital, and she saw me standing with it in my hands when she entered the attic. That is when the trouble began.”

“Trouble? I do not think I am following.”

Izzy became agitated. “Oh, Mr. Whentworth! Why will you make me say it out loud? All through Father’s journal, he felt so guilty for what he had done to his family, but I was not able to make the final connection. You see, my mother knew of the affair. She also knew why Father did not leave us our inheritance.”

“Miss Audley? I am now truly confused. What do you mean, he didn’t leave you your inheritance? You are clearly not in the poorhouse yet. So I do not understand.”

Izzy sighed. “Mr. Whentworth, the Law of Primogeniture.”

“But I… ” and suddenly it dawned on him what she meant. “Miss Audley, are you certain?”

“Unequivocally. Residing at this moment in Connecticut, I have an eighteen-year-old half-brother named, of all things, John.”

“I am truly stunned,” he whispered.

“Thank you.”

“But, and forgive me, what does this have to do with your mother’s attack?”

“I did not understand why we had no money when I found the letter. I did not know I had a brother. And so I am ashamed to admit, that I reacted to my first impulse, and that was to blame Mother for simply squandering all of Father’s hard-earning money! I am so guilt-ridden I can barely stand it. It is what we had been quarreling over for the two days leading up to Mother’s attack.”

Mr. Whentworth continued to listen patiently.

“And all this time, thinking she had been sparing my feelings, Mother had kept this incredible secret from me. I do not think she thought through what might happen if I found out by accident, which I did.”

“Because of the letter.”

“Well, not only that. Even on my first night in town, I ran into people who kept apologizing to me, saying they were sorry that it happened, give best wishes to your mother, that sort of thing. I thought they were all just mad, but as it turns out, they knew about our fall before I did… ” She bit her lip, unsure whether to add this final bit. “Even your sister, Thomas. She invited me for tea the day after I arrived, and in your drawing room she informed me that we were now indigent, and that letting me know was her duty, and allowing it to come from a friend was her only motive in telling me. I was so horrified, I fainted.”

Mr. Whentworth was now on his feet. “Are you telling me that my own sister was the mouthpiece for this bit of unconfirmed, rogue gossip?”

Izzy felt as if she might cry but she held herself together.

He was now livid and began to pace.

This scared her. “Mr. Whentworth, please! Calm yourself.”

He did not hear her. “I cannot believe that out of all the stupid things my sister often does, this could be on her agenda. How dare she! I am going to have a talk with her right now!”
He moved swiftly to get his coat, but Izzy stopped him. “Please! You cannot tell her I said anything to you!”

He turned to face her. “Are you daft, woman? Why would you now protect her? I have grown up with this woman, and while she has her good points, she can also be a plain cow when she wishes it. I will not have her address my fiancé in such a manner! Please, let me go.”

“But that is just it,” said Izzy, now pleading. “If you mention this to her in your present state, then one of two things will happen: you will be so hurt by her actions that you will then let the new of our engagement slip, or you will be so angered by her actions that you will alienate both your sister and your mother, and you do not need that.”

This seemed to appease him for the time, for he sat on the settee again. “How? How could she do such a horrendous thing?”

“Dearest, I have had to let it go. She will soon be family—that is, if we continue to go through with our plans after I am done sharing everything—and we must protect that. If I have learned nothing else from my recent row with my mother, then I have learned that.”

Mr. Whentworth put his arms around Izzy’s neck and drew her to him. He had never felt so betrayed by anyone in his life, and was not certain as to how to process it all. “Wait. What do you mean, if we continue to go through with our plans after you are done sharing?”

Isabella pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Mr. Whentworth, there is something else, and I am afraid you are not going to like it.”

Chapter   23

A Most Embarrassing Predicament

A Most Embarrassing Predicament (Chapter Twenty-Three)

“Bloody hell! You mean there is more?” Mr. Whentworth was now shouting.

“Please, do not swear, love. I am afraid your shouting might awaken Mother,” Izzy said as gently as she could.

Mr. Whentworth sat back down. “I am being selfish. Please, continue.”

“Dear me. I am not sure how to proceed with this, so bear with me, please.”

Mr. Whentworth could now feel his heart in his mouth, so high was his anxiety. What in the world could she have to tell him that would cause so much stress? He noticed that Izzy looked incredibly pale and moved to fetch some water from the dry sink.

But she stopped him. “No, sweetheart, please. I am fine. Just let me get this out, for it burns the inside of my head having to think about it.”

He returned to the settee and waited.

“As it turns out, there was another secret that mother had been keeping from me, again, in hopes of sparing my feelings. Which in turn, resulted in another reason for our row, which resulted in her attack.”

“What is it?”

“I truly do not know how to break it to you, except to just blurt it out and hope the pain will be brief. Mr. Whentworth, in addition to losing our inheritance to another family, it appears that we now have lost our home.” There. It was done. She had said it.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, when Mother met with Father’s probate attorney shortly after his death, he informed her that the small pittance that the Jacksons wanted to graciously share with us, would not be enough to allow us to keep our homes. That’s why Demesne Hall was immediately taken over by the Jacksons, and Capriolé has been foreclosed upon. It appears we have six days from tomorrow to be out.”

Mr. Whentworth opened his mouth to speak, but Izzy waved him off, wanting to continue.

“In addition to the foreclosure on the house, apparently the bank now has legal rights to remove some of our personal items. The same afternoon I found out about Father’s journal, the Fairtown Savings & Loan sent over uniformed men and they began removing things: rare edition books, the crystal, some silver, tapestries, paintings, and… ”

“Yes?”

“And even some of my gowns.” She was now crying, and felt foolish for being so blatantly superficial.

“Oh, darling, I do not know what to say.”

She wiped her nose on his handkerchief. “I know. I do not expect you to say anything. But, now it is all out in the open. Every sordid detail. And now you see why I simply cannot attend the ball. Simply put, I have nothing to wear.”

She had shared much information with him, indeed, and he found himself now pacing the room while she continued to sniff and sob. What had happened? Why was it taking so long for the bank to get this over with? And with tomorrow being Christmas, there was simply no way to contact anyone to expedite the paperwork. No one would be in the office until the day after tomorrow. He had been so careful to make sure every piece of paper had been in place before the start of this. So why had it taken them this long to complete the job? He found the more he paced, the angrier he became. His job now depended on the expediency with which this simple job was accomplished, and if he could not even prove he could handle one transaction, then how would they ever trust him with future assignments?

Izzy was done sniffling and looked at him as he paced. She could sense a change in him—she could now see the agitation and how angry he looked. What was wrong with him? Then it dawned on her. Of course! Mr. Whentworth also worked at the Fairtown Savings & Loan. An “Oh my Lord” escaped her lips before she could stop it, and he wheeled to look at her.

“What is it?”
Horrified, Izzy could only stare at him agape while the realization sank in. “You,” was all she could say.

He was not seeing her connection. “Dearest, I do not understand. What is it?”

She gained enough composure so that she could now confront him. “It was you. Why did I not see it before? I guess love really is blind.”

He moved toward her to comfort her, but she immediately took a step backwards.

This shocked him and he stopped. “Miss Audley? What is the matter with you?”

“How could I not make the connection? You were the grand master behind this entire plan, were you not? Of course, I see it all now. The brand new talent at the local bank decides to impress his employers and mock his love interest at the same time, by being the officer in charge of his childhood friend’s home’s foreclosure. It is too clever!”

“Miss Audley, I… ”

“… do not interrupt me, Mr. Whentworth. I fear you have done enough. So, let me sum this up so as to make sure I understand it all.”

He cut her off again. “You understand nothing, Miss Audley.”

His terse tone shocked her into silence.

“Now if you will kindly rest from all the jumping to conclusions that you have been doing, we can get to the bottom of this.”

She would not be swayed. “Right now, you will have nothing to say that would sway my opinion of you and your unscrupulous dealings. In fact, I think it is time that you leave my home; or at least, while it is still my home.”

“Miss Audley, again, you are misunderstanding.”

“No, for the first time I see it clearly. Just tell me this, Mr. Whentworth: did you have a grand laugh at our expense? Was it worth everything you have put us through, knowing my mother was so very ill?”

Now he was no longer sure she had moved from rhetoric to actual questions and he remained silent until he knew for sure.

“How long have you been planning this intrigue? Since my return to town when you and your pack of idiot friends decided to knock me into the snow? Oh my goodness. You knew exactly who I was then, did you not?”

He continued to wait for what might be his turn.

“Well? Are you going to sit there and be dumb, or are you going to answer my questions?”

“Oh, is it finally my turn to speak? I was not sure, what with all the rhetoric being spouted.”

His audible anger unnerved Izzy—very rarely did Mr. Whentworth lose full control of his temper, but he certainly seemed to be on his way to doing so now.

“Please forgive me for saying so—no, forget that, for I do not care if you forgive me or not. I will simply say it anyway. Never have I met another woman who has been more full of her own ego, than you!”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are so busy making hasty judgments and faulty conclusions based on incomplete or false information that there is clearly no room in that gorgeous head of yours for truth! You exasperate me, Miss Audley. You accuse me of things I would never consider doing, all because of your inability to draw a straight line from one piece of reliable information to the next. In fact, you even refuse to listen to reliable information! And for what? Do you actually enjoy being persecuted? It seems to me that you are not happy unless you think the entire world is planning a group ambush against you, and to be honest, it is wearing me out. I do not know how to cope with it any longer! I have tried to be nothing more than a constant in your life, because yes, I will be honest—I had been hearing rumors long before your arrival, but I did not wish them to be true. Then, on the off-chance I might be right, I decided that my love for you all these years could be a shining light in your ever-darkening world.”

When he took a breath, Izzy began to speak but he silenced her.

“What do you do with that love the first time you are faced with information that might need further explanation? You dump it back in my face like a dog’s vomit, freely impugning not only the character of myself, but also of the women I love—my family. Perhaps you are right in that the obstacles that now lie between us are causing too much of a chasm to be overcome. Perhaps I, too, have been blinded by love to see what has been in front of me this entire time; that your newfound drop in status could be too much for us to overcome. Perhaps I had wanted this to work between us so badly that I was not allowing anyone to give me reliable information when they had it.”

“What information?” croaked Izzy, now near tears.

He ignored this. “I did not want to listen to both my mother and sister’s counsel the day after I had tea with you. They both were trying to tell me that a man of my means and breeding should be careful in my attachments, for not everyone’s motives are laced with altruism.”

“What are you saying?”
“That perhaps you knew all along about the demise of your family’s fortune, and you, the great opportunist, saw a perfect opportunity in me to rebuild your family’s reputation and fortune. Is that what you were thinking of when you agreed to be my wife?”

Izzy was now livid. “How dare you! Let us not forget that it was you who did the asking. You kissed me first, and you proposed marriage to me. How insolent you are to suggest that I could even do such an unscrupulous thing! I have never been accused of such heinous charges in my life, and I certainly have better things to do than hear more of it from you. I think this would be a good time for you to leave.”

And just as he realized she was probably right, he turned to go, but not before she stopped him.

“And another thing. Just so there is no future questions about my thoughts on the matter, I will tell you straight out, that I never once believed your motives with Miss Hastings to be so pure. Even when we were in school and there were times that you and I would have a row, you had a propensity for immediately turning to Miss Hastings in your hurt, then you would come running back with your tail hanging like some scolded dog when things between us improved. So go. Have a wonderful evening with your Miss Hastings. In fact, have a wonderful life with your Miss Hastings, for I wish to never see you again!”

As he turned to leave, she picked up the nearest crystal vase, and hurled it at his head.

He rounded on her and in two steps closed the gap between them, and without thinking grabbed both her wrists to keep her from hitting him. Instead of speaking, he was now just inches from her face, and he took the opportunity to stare deep into her green eyes. So close was he to her, that he could smell hints of her perfume, which always made him crazy with desire.

She continued to struggle; he continued to stared.

This disarmed Izzy, and soon she stopped struggling. For endless minutes, the two inescapable lovers stared at one another, both unsure what to say or do next.

Finally, Mr. Whentworth broke the spell with a whisper. “That is fine, Miss Audley. I will be happy to accompany Miss Hastings. She has always been more receptive and willing than you, anyway.”

At this, Izzy broke a hand free and swiftly used it to slap his left cheek.

But he was unfazed and did not move. “Miss Audley, you are incredibly predictable. And do you know what? I find predictable very boring.”

Before he could move, she slapped him again with more force.

Still, he did not move.

“You do realize, that hitting me more often will have no more effect.”

This encounter was so strange to Izzy, that she was uncertain as to what to say.

“Now. I am going to leave in a moment because I need to get myself ready for the ball. It will be a pleasure to escort Miss Hastings. And truthfully, without you there to bother us, I will be able to freely dance with her as much as I like. Besides, in as much as I can remember, she loves to dance and freely show affection. She has no problem with frigidity.”

Izzy hit him again, and this time he let her wrist go in order to grab his stinging face. He did not say a word, and promptly exited their home, while Izzy crumpled into a heap in the sitting room where she wailed uncontrollably.

Chapter   24

Do, Come Dance With Me

Do, Come Dance with Me (Chapter Twenty-Four)

Twenty-minutes later, Isabella was accompanying Dr. Davis to her mother’s bedchamber, explaining to an astounded Lilly that she had changed her mind; she would be attending the evening’s ball after all. She dared not share her previous encounter with Mr. Whentworth, for if Lilly knew the two had been engaged, then quarreled, then declared to never see the other again, she was certain it would set Lilly into another attack—this one possibly so severe that she may never recover.

So, the story Izzy told her mother was that she had simply changed her mind and with the state of their affairs, was certain that a night out of the house would be good for her spirits. Luckily, Lilly was in high spirits—probably from her caller in Dr. Davis—and therefore Izzy was certain that she could have suggested anything to her mother, and her mother agree.

After making sure Dr. Davis would be with Lilly all throughout the evening, Izzy made her way across the hallway to her own room, where she began scouring through the left-over dresses, in hopes of finding something suitable to wear that would not get her laughed out of the ball. She was on shaky-enough ground and did not need to be an overt cause for further scrutiny. As she eyed each of the gowns she had left, she felt her heart sink, certain in the knowledge that nothing in her wardrobe was suitable for the evening’s festivities. Just as she was thinking of giving up this daft idea, she remembered that she had not yet unpacked her steamer trunk from her return trip! She located the trunk against her wall and yanked it open. There, on top of the pile of dresses, was a shimmering scarlet-colored gown with unusual gold trim. It would be perfect. She had worn this very gown just last winter at Radcliffe’s own Christmas ball. And while none of the gentlemen at the dance were obviously Radcliffe students, she had met some very nice young men. Nothing had resulted between any of them, but she had thoroughly enjoyed herself that evening.

She pulled the gown out of the trunk and began smoothing some of its creases, quietly cursing herself for not having aired it out before now. But when she brought the trunk to her room, she had no idea that in the near future, she would need to wear one of the gowns because would have no clothing left. She laughed out loud. The thought of taking one’s own clothes to settle a debt seemed ludicrous.

She sensed the lateness of the hour, which spurred her into action. She rang for Elizabeth and began unwinding her head full of braids. She hated having to keep her hair locked up in piles on top of her head. She had always believed that a woman’s beauty lay in the crowning glory that was her hair, and it was simply unfair of society to demand that only a husband be allowed to revel in its beauty. This was another reason Izzy hated society’s rules.

But, now was not the time to dwell upon such things. She had little time to ready herself and get to the hall across town. She would need to requisition Charles and her carriage, so after Elizabeth had tied her into her corset, she rang for Charles and had him pull the carriage round to the front steps and wait for her there.

An hour later, she had kissed her mother good-night, said her good evenings to Dr. Davis, and made her way down the front steps of Capriolé as a beautiful, wet snow began to fall. It was now dusk, and the blue washed thoroughly washed over the town, painting the newly-fallen snow a serene thallium hue. As the carriage strolled through Fairtown’s streets, Izzy could hear her heart beating in her chest, and shifted nervously in the hopes of quieting the organ, but to no avail. This seemed to unnerve her even more, and now that she had time to think, she began to examine her motives for running out on her mother on Christmas night, to brave the cold, to brave another heavy snowfall, and to attend a function where she was undoubtedly not wanted.

Now that the carriage settled into a gentle stride, Izzy was alone enough with her thoughts to allow them to wander back to Mr. Whentworth, and the horrible row that had occurred between them earlier. How dare he assume either I would not wish to be there, or that I would not be wanted! This thought burned her face with anger. Another thing she could not understand, was if he truly meant that he would form an acquaintanceship with Miss Hastings now that they both began to question whether becoming engaged had been a good idea. She wondered how a person would ever know if their true love would last forever. Marriage was a gamble, this was true. And how couples had been able to remain married and faithful to the other, sometimes for over fifty-years, was always a source of wonder to her. After all, her parents had been married for over twenty-five years, and look how happ…

She stopped before ruining her face with tears that would not end. With the distractions with Lilly’s attack and the unexpected turn of events with Mr. Whentworth, she had not given herself time to process everything regarding Father’s indiscretion.

But, one life disaster at a time. She needed to concentrate on what she would do when she saw Mr. Whentworth on the arm of her best friend. Perhaps dancing the night away with every available bachelor who proffered a hand would teach him to trifle with her heart. Or would she simply never look in their direction? Perhaps he had made a gross underestimation in tipping his hand to her, for now that she knew his true feelings, she knew what a source of power this was for her. For, if the truth be known, this was the only reason she had decided to attend—in hopes of making Mr. Whentworth jealous. She giggled. Perhaps she knew him better than she originally thought. While she had never considered herself to be overtly attractive, she was never in want of a decent suitor, unless she chose to the contrary. And in now knowing the depth of his love for her, her confidence in her ability to keep his affections rose with each passing second, and soon, she could not wait to walk into that ballroom and let the show begin.

She did not want to think, however, of the reception that awaited her from her female acquaintances. She had no way of gauging the reception, since she had no clear confidant awaiting her there. This proved to unnerve her even more. It used to be Rachel. The two had been inseparable. What a blessing to have another friend who would always support you. But sadly, she no longer had that with Rachel, and she missed her terribly.

Then as the carriage rolled by The Blackberry Patch Café, her thoughts unwillingly strayed to the day she saw both Rachel and Mr. Whentworth. I simply cannot wait to see the looks on both their faces when I walk into that ballroom. I have just as much right to be there as they do!

The carriage suddenly lurched into a hole and tossed her forward, thus jolting her from her daydreams. She could feel her anxiety pitching higher and nearly asked Charles if he would return the carriage home, but as she thought of this, she realized that if she did not put in an appearance, then it would give Mr. Whentworth the satisfaction of knowing that he was able to affect her, and she was determined, no matter how painful the initial experience, to never allow him that.

Soon, the carriage pulled into the cordoned area for other carriages, and Charles helped her out. She could hear the music through the open windows, and with the orange glow of nearby torches illuminating her way, she could feel some of her anxiety quiet as the holiday spirit began to overtake her. She was not certain, but the band might have been playing an old Celtic Christmas carol, with enough energy to provide for a decent dance.

Her pace quickened as she rushed to get inside and investigate the festivities for herself. After the doorman checked her invitation, she was shown into an inner foyer, where an attendant took her wrap. The deeper into the expansive mansion she went, the warmer the temperature became, what with the hundreds of bodies and fires built up to great heights in the massive fireplaces.

Within minutes, Izzy found herself standing in the doorway to the great hall. So overcome with its stately beauty, she only peeked into the room, too frightened to enter. She had never seen the Aitchison home before, but had heard wonderful things about its architecture and history. One of the oldest lineages in New York, the Aitchisons had come to prominence by 1860 with their old money from the gold-rush in Melbourne, Australia. With that sort of affluence, one soon discovers they have more friends than they knew.

But the Audleys never sidled up to anyone based on their wherewithal. John Audley had taught his family this, for he would have none of it. And yet, the irony is that because of his brains and smart business-dealings, it brought the Audleys to their own circumstances of prominence, and soon found others attempting this with them.

Finally ready to face whatever happened, she gathered her courage and entered. Just as she did, she heard someone yell, “Look! The Audley girl has dared show her face here!”

The band stopped playing and every person in the room turned to face her. Suddenly overcome with embarrassment and extreme heat, she felt her head begin to swim and she crumpled to the floor.

Chapter   25

You Have No Right

You Have No Right (Chapter Twenty-Five)

In a normal situation, a crowd would have gathered in curiosity, especially with a person of important social standing. But in this case, seeing as how it was Isabella Audley, no one wanted to taint their own reputation by running to her aide. The band’s instruments remained quiet, and people all around the room continued to stare, yet no one made a move to help her.

Finally, it was Mrs. Aitchison who ordered some of her staff to help Isabella from the floor. They carried her to an awaiting settee in a small room off the main ballroom. Then Mrs. Aitchison ushered everyone out and sat next to Izzy while putting a cool cloth on her forehead.

A few minutes later, Izzy came around, completely confused about where she was or what had just happened.

“You do not remember a thing?”

Izzy shook her head, all the while wondering who this beautiful and kind creature was before her.

Mrs. Aitchison must have read her face, for she volunteered the information.

“I do not believe we have been formally introduced. I am Mrs. Aitchison,” she said.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Miss Isabella Audley,” said Izzy, returning a smile.

“Yes, I know who you are,” Mrs. Aitchison said.

Izzy was not sure how to respond to this, but she smiled, and waited for Mrs. Aitchison to continue.

“You are a beautiful girl. I have heard many good things about you.”

Izzy could hardly contain her surprise. “Oh, my; thank-you for your kindness. I have heard wonderful things about you and your family as well.” She studied the beautiful woman’s face and was amazed at how young she looked. She knew she had to be at least her mother’s age, but she did not look a moment over thirty. She noticed her smooth skin, and discerned that she must take extra care to keep it so young. Izzy only hoped she would look this good when she was in her mid-forties. Her delicate features were made prominent with her blonde hair swept off her face. Her lips were stained with a pink that only complimented her skin tone, and the ivory gown served to enhance her delicate complexion. All of this together, created a huge affect on Izzy.

“Are you hungry, dear?”

With all of the day’s exciting events, she had to admit that she was now feeling the full effects of not having had a meal, and nodded her affirmation to Mrs. Aitchison.

“Come. Let us get something proper into your stomach.”

As Izzy and her companion made their way back to the ballroom, Izzy noticed to their left a huge and inviting banquet table. The table was at least twenty-five feet in length, covered in neatly-ironed white linen fabric. Every few feet, there were candelabras made of gilded brass that supported thirteen long, pristine white tapers. In-between each candle stand, there were large crystal vases with fresh arrangements of a combination of imported red gladioluses, white American Beauty roses, and a most vivid green ivy. The colors together were quite stunning, and fitting for the time of year.

She was amazed at the delectable food available. There were large honey-glazed hams, roasted pheasant, wild duck, pans of smoked salmon, green salads, bowls of cooked vegetables of all varieties, steaming loaves of home-made bread, hand-churned butter and pots of delicious jams—blackberry; strawberry and peach. Then, at a smaller side table were the mouth-watering desserts: ten varieties of iced cakes; fruit cobblers; pies and the wonderful seasonal favorite, plum pudding. Then on a table over were the drinks: hot and spiced teas; coffee, and pitchers of ice-cold milk and water.

All-in-all, it was a superb spread like nothing Isabella had ever seen. But as she admired the finery, she noticed a low rumbling from her stomach.

“Dear, if you are hungry, feel free to fix yourself a plate. No one will mind,” said Mrs. Aitchison.

Izzy was not convinced. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I am now not so sure that it would be a good idea if I were to partake.”

But Mrs. Aitchison had already moved toward the meats and was inquiring of Izzy’s choice of pheasant or salmon.

Izzy’s attention drifted to the details in the ballroom, and she was duly impressed. She noticed the expansive Christmas Fir, directly across from her and beyond the dancers. With the twenty-five-foot ceilings in the ballroom, the tree’s height nearly touched the ceiling. It was covered in hand-blown glass ornaments, German tinsel, and long white tapers, which only served to add more heat. Red velvet bows had also been tied to many branches, adding the right amount of holiday color.

As she continued to sneak peaks she began to notice the exquisite gowns of the other ladies present, and soon became self-conscious of her own clothing, although, it had been a very smart and fashionable design choice when she had it tailored a year before. But now, here, standing next to some of the most affluent and influential people she would ever meet, her gown looked pale; tired; like it belonged to the daughter of a politician with no money for current trends. Her heart sank. Perhaps Mr. Whentworth had been right in suggesting, in no uncertain terms, that she remain as far away from tonight’s festivities as she could.

As she turned, she saw Mrs. Aitchison standing in front of her with a full plate and a cup of cold tea, and she followed her companion back into the smaller room.

Mrs. Aitchison handed Izzy her plate and cup once she was situated on the settee again. “You looked as if you were on the verge of starvation,” said Mrs. Aitchison in a soft voice.

So, this was it! This was the reason she had been so kind to Izzy. She was offering me nothing more than pity. I feel as if I could die!

But before she got the chance to drop from embarrassment, a group of sniggering girls walked through the settee room and stopped in front of them. One of them said, “Is that not last year’s gown, dearest?”

Izzy was so shocked, that she froze with her mouth open, and before she knew it, she had dropped her entire plate onto the beautiful tapestry, spilling her food everywhere.

It was Mrs. Aitchison who intervened. “Martha, I do believe you have spoken out-of-turn. I think your mother is looking for you, now run along.” When Mrs. Aitchison turned to face Izzy, she noticed Izzy was now staring down at her plate. “Do not worry about the mess, Miss Audley.”

One of the Aitchison staff was on the scene with utensils for cleaning before Izzy knew from whence they came. As her instincts took over to bend down and help the staff clean up, she felt a soft hand on her left arm from Mrs. Aitchison, and when Izzy looked up, she saw the woman shaking her head in a discreet ‘no.’ Izzy complied.

But it was too late; her actions had been spotted by the group of girls that had lingered, and they began to laugh and talk behind their hands. Izzy looked to Mrs. Aitchison for support, and the woman picked up on Izzy’s distress without hesitation.

She grabbed Izzy’s left elbow and walked her to the head of the banquet table, where they again began choosing foods for Izzy’s plate.

But this time, Izzy’s hands shook so badly from her last faux pas, that she could not hold the plate steady and feared she might drop it.

Again, Mrs. Aitchison intervened and handed the plate to a very handsome male attendant, and instructed him to follow them to the settee in the small room.

When they were situated, Mrs. Aitchison sat in the available chair next to the settee and sipped her spiced tea, but did not speak.

Izzy took this as her chance to enjoy the delicious repast before her, and so she therefore wasted no time in sampling everything.

As Izzy ate, Mrs. Aitchison chatted lightly about varying topics of interest—none too specific or heavy-handed, but enough to ease what could have been an awkward silence, and for that, Izzy was grateful. She was also too hungry to comment, but Mrs. Aitchison did not seem to notice, nor did her conversation seem to suffer from lack of intercourse.

Finally, when Mrs. Aitchison saw that Izzy was nearly done with her meal, she turned to Izzy. “Miss Audley, may I broach a topic of a most delicate nature with you?”

Not certain as to how to respond, Izzy swallowed the last of her tea so quickly that she nearly choked. She stared in silence at the woman to her right.

“Please, do forgive my impropriety on this most precarious topic. But I wanted to inquire of your mother’s health. Is she well?”

Izzy let out a slow breath of relief. “Oh, my, yes. As a matter of fact, she is doing much better as of this afternoon. Her doctor is with her now. He is certain she will be out of bed within a matter of days. I will tell her that you asked about her.”

“Yes, please do send her my compliments. Of course, I am sure you know that word of it has spread through this town like a disease.”

Izzy nodded. She also secretly wondered at what other news had spread like a recent disease, but dared not ask.

“Which brings me to my next question.”

Izzy now knew she was not breathing—almost like watching an oncoming carriage as it is about to hit you, without being able to do anything about it except hold your breath as it does.

“Please forgive my intrusion, but you are a smart girl. I know that you are aware that most people have been unable to talk of nothing else but your recent misfortune.”

Izzy continued to listen.

“And to be honest, that is what I wish to speak with you about as well.”

Now Izzy was thoroughly confused. What could this woman possibly have to say to her on a most private matter? She did not even know this woman except by reputation. She wanted to scream obscenities; tell her to leave their family business alone. But, she was a woman of gentility and privilege—even though she warred with that disparity constantly—and knew better. She had to guard whatever reputation she had left. So, she deferred to the older woman and allowed her to speak her mind, while she remained silent.

“Miss Audley, do forgive me, as I know it is not exactly my place to lend commentary on a most fragile situation, but I thought perhaps my council might help.”

Izzy was now painfully aware of her throat and how it was suddenly full of cotton that had not been there only moments ago.

Again, Mrs. Aitchison, proving herself to be an incredible clairvoyant this evening, motioned for an attendant to bring another cup of tea for Izzy. Once the tea was delivered and Izzy’s throat hydrated, Mrs. Aitchison continued.

“May I speak frank with you, Miss Audley?”

Izzy only nodded. Did she have a choice?

“It has been my experience, that when one encounters a situation that will test their mettle, if not handled with the proper amount of propriety that it deserves, then one can find themselves in a worse situation, if they are not careful.”

Again, Izzy’s confusion kept her from speaking, but her attentions rapt. She had absolutely no idea what this woman’s point could be.

“What I am trying to say, Miss Audley, is that while yes, we did send you an invitation to this celebration—of course, during a time when things were better off financially for your dear family—and we are most certainly glad to have you here, I think, in order to salvage whatever reputation you and your dear mother may have left, it might behoove you once you are done with your meal, to slip quietly out the back entrance.”

Izzy stared in complete disbelief.

“I know you will agree that it is best for all concerned. And please, do send my best wishes and compliments to your mother.”

Chapter   26

Surely, You Jest!

Surely, You Jest! (Chapter Twenty-Six)

When Izzy was finally able to regain her voice, she could hardly think of where to begin, so livid was she. So, to dissipate some of that anger, she rose from the settee and began to pace; almost as if circling prey before striking.

Mrs. Aitchison could clearly see that Isabella was shaken, and with her many years in high society, had enough propriety about her to keep the situation contained.

“Miss Audley, please understand. I am thinking only of your safety, and to spare your family any further hurt.”

Izzy dared not look at her, for right now, if the circumstance had allowed it and the law permitted, she would have certainly put a hot poker between the woman’s eyes. How dare she? Who does this woman think she is?

As Izzy continued to pace, she suddenly realized that if she were going to put in an appearance for Mr. Whentworth’s benefit, then she would have little time to do so before being ushered to her carriage by a burly, one-armed man who would not care one whit about her present circumstance (or his teeth), or her reasoning for lingering. She decided to proceed at this from another angle.

She turned to face Mrs. Aitchison, but allowed the woman to speak.

“Dear Miss Audley, I so apologize for the awkwardness in which we find ourselves. And I want to assure you that I am fully mindful of your present pain, and for that, I do offer my most heartfelt sympathies. I hope you understand.”

Izzy tried to calm the screaming voice inside her head. She gained control of her shaking before she began. “Mrs. Aitchison, do forgive my behavior. As you can well understand, I have been very pressured of late. My apologies.”

Mrs. Aitchison’s smile was genuine. “My dear, think nothing of it. I do understand.”

“May I ask one favor of you before I have to vacate your lovely home?”

Mrs. Aitchison considered her request carefully before nodding her approval.

“Seeing as how this is my first time in such a superb mansion, and with my impending fall from societal grace it is most certain that I will never see another place as grand as this, might I possibly take a quick stroll through your lovely home?”

Mrs. Aitchison looked as if she were going to turn down the request, but Izzy was quick-witted and intercepted.

“Oh, I do promise, ma’am, that I will keep to the walls while walking; I will not be ostentatious. I would like to see the few friends that I do have here before needing to leave with my tail tucked.” She gave a weak grin to imitate mocking her own reasoning.

“Well, I suppose if you are discreet and do not call attention to yourself, there would be little harm in your having a quick tour.”

Izzy sighed in relief. “I cannot thank you enough for your kind benevolence, Mrs. Aitchison. I must admit that I have looked quite forward to this evening for a very long time, and just the chance to view your home in its seasonal splendor is more than I could have hoped.” Izzy was certain her reasoning was sound, and her delivery convincing. She awaited a response.

Mrs. Aitchison seemed almost coy and Izzy was certain she saw her blush.

“You are too kind, Miss Audley,” she said, as she rose to face Izzy. “It is certainly a shame that society would dictate that one must break all ties with another simply because their economic circumstances had changed for the worse. Frankly, I have never understood this idea.”

Izzy was surprised by this. “But, and forgive me for prying, I would think with your family’s standing and wherewithal, you would gladly uphold the rules of class, for the protection of your family’s reputation and security!”

She nodded. “Yes, you are correct. I do have that to consider. However, I also do not have to like it. Perhaps that is why I can say that I feel a kinship with you. I think I see a lot more of myself in you and your spirit than I originally cared to admit.”

Izzy had to smile at this. “Is my disdain for the rules that obvious?”

She laughed. “Oh, my dear, you could never hide it. It is engrained too much within you. In that regard, your father and mother have raised you very well. I truly admire your character. You will make some man a wonderful wife one day.”

Izzy’s face clouded at the thought of her previous row with Mr. Whentworth that day.

Mrs. Aitchison discerned the matter. “I am sorry, Miss Audley. Is this, too, a result of your change in circumstance?”

Izzy was now too emotional to do anything but nod her head.

Mrs. Aitchison nodded in confirmation, but remained silent as she walked.

Izzy, now overcome, sat back down on the settee. “We were engaged only this afternoon.”

Mrs. Aitchison wheeled to face her. “Oh, Miss Audley! How wonderful… wait. You said you were engaged. Would you mind if I ask what happened?”

“No, I suppose not. It was my fault, of course. I was simply not being sensitive enough of his feelings, that is all.”

“Is that what he said you felt?”

“I am afraid I do not understand.”

“Well, it has been my experience that a man, in order to save his own reputation and heart, will convince his partner that whatever argument ensued between the two of them, was most certainly her fault. I have seen a lot of self-doubt in that regard between two people.”

Izzy considered this. “Yes, you are right. But in this case, I do think it was my fault.” Izzy continued to retell the story in great detail.

Mrs. Aitchison sat riveted. When Izzy was finally done, Mrs. Aitchison leaned back onto the cushion of her settee, and shook her head. “Dear, I suppose, if we are to be honest, there might have been a way for you to have presented your opinion in a more genteel fashion. But Mr. Whentworth needs to realize that you are under an incredible amount of strain, with heart flutterings and nerves, and this is not an easy thing for a woman to have to go through alone. He certainly could have been more supporting of you in that regard.”

“The only thing I could tell you with certainty right now, is that he is out there, in your ballroom, on your dance floor, on the arm of my best friend, who apparently does not care a thing for my feelings, either.”

Mrs. Aitchison stroked her hair. “You poor dear. How terrifying your future must seem to you at the present moment. Is there anything I might be able to do for you right now?”

Izzy shook her head. “I cannot think of anything. Except for my being able to walk around. I will confess, that was my motive for wanting to not leave so soon. I just feel that I cannot give Mr. Whentworth that sort of satisfaction.”

“Mm. I agree. And what of Miss Hastings! Is the story he told you actually true? Has she wrapped herself up in the wrong sort?”

“I wish I knew. She used to share everything with me. And now, the only thing she shares is my affections for Mr. Whentworth.

Mrs. Aitchison’s eyes seemed to dance. “Perhaps there is something I can do for you. But we have to work quickly.”

For the next few moments, the two new intimates literally had their heads together, chatting in staccato bursts, and very excited hushed tones. After ten minutes, the women had settled on a plan of attack, and they were both very happy with its results.

The ballroom’s dance floor found Mr. Whentworth deep in concentration on a set of drawn, red-velvet drapes leading into a tiny room just off the location of the banquet table. He was certain he had seen Miss Audley enter there a while ago, but so far, he had not seen her exit, and had to admit that he now found himself concerned.

This did not make his companion for the evening in the least happy, and Miss Hastings took the opportunity to tell him her feelings on the matter. “Mr. Whentworth, are you unwell?”

He turned from his daydream to address Miss Hastings. “I assure you, lovely lady, all is well. And what of you? Would you like a cold drink, now that we have been dancing so long?” He was now looking for any open excuse he could find in order to position himself closer to that little room.

“As a matter of fact, sir, I am quite thirsty; a cold drink would be superb. I will accompany you to the banquet table.”

“No!” His reply was so quick that it startled even him. “I mean, no thank-you, Miss Hastings. You need to sit and cool yourself. Do not be troubled with handling the crowd. Wait right over there, and I will return presently with your drink.”

“Thank-you, so much. You are a kind soul. I will be just over here.”

He did not wait to make sure she arrived at her designated chair before he was striding with purpose to the banquet table. He quickly poured two glasses of iced spiced punch, but set them down on the edge of the long table in order to move closer for a better vantage point. He now knew there were people in there, for he could hear whispering, but, much to his chagrin, could not make out what they were saying, or even if one of the persons was, indeed, Miss Audley.

Suddenly, someone approached him from behind. “May I help you?”

Mr. Whentworth turned quickly, and found himself face-to-face with Mrs. Aitchison. He cleared his throat.

“I meant no intrusion.”

She said, “And you are?”

He took her hand, and bowed slightly in greeting. “Do forgive me; I am Thomas Whentworth, III. So pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Ah, Mr. Whentworth! Finally, we meet at last. I have heard so many wonderful things about you from your dear Mother.” She smiled.

“All good, I hope,” he said, with a devilish grin.

“Most definitely. Your mother is quite proud of you, and for good reason. Are you enjoying your time here at the Ball?”

“I am, thank-you for asking.”

“We have quite a few attendees; it truly is wonderful.”

“Looks as if it will, again, be the social event of the season.”

“Do forgive me for asking, but was there someone you were seeking earlier at the curtain?”

Mr. Whentworth was certain he could feel himself blush, so unexpected was the question. Flustered, he had to invent a suitable answer that would not give him away. “Oh, no, not really—I just thought I had seen a friend enter and was going to offer my greetings.”

Mrs. Aitchison’s face brightened. “Excellent! Tell me who it is, and I will tell you if they have arrived.” She fought the urge to laugh.

Again, Mr. Whentworth felt flustered and unsure how to answer. “Oh, no one in particular.”

“Hmmn. Are you certain? I mean, it seems rather silly to follow someone to a room, if you are not sure you do not know them, and they are no one in particular, would you not agree?” She was loving watching him squirm.

He laughed an uneasy laugh. “I suppose you could be right. Well, do excuse me, but I must deliver these drinks to my companion. So nice speaking to you.”

But his hasty exit was thwarted. “Mr. Whentworth, please accompany me, now.”

Her voice was so stern, he dared not argue, and found himself winding his way through the great mansion’s hallways and corridors until they exited into a back garden. It was generously lit with flaming torches, and the orange glow cast ghostly shadows across the snow; each one of them dancing to the flicker of the flames.

They continued down a cleared path, passing enormous containers of winter plants along the way. Mr. Whentworth attempted to inquire of their whereabouts, but she remained silent and continued to walk.

Finally they entered a clearing, guarded on both sides of its entrance with low brick walls and large cedar trees.

Just beyond the wall, his companion stopped. She turned and pulled one of the torches from the holder on the wall, and handed it to Mr. Whentworth.

“Will you kindly tell me what I am doing here in the snow now? My companion… ”

“… will be just fine, I will see to that.”

“But you do not even know her… ”

“I do, and she will be fine. Right now, there is someone waiting to see you.”

“Who? Why? I do not understand.”

She smiled. “All will be revealed in time, Mr. Whentworth. Do have a good evening,” and she turned before he could say any more to her.

He felt a little foolish at standing in a snowy garden on Christmas night, holding a single torch and never knowing in a lifetime who he was ordered to meet, but, he honored the wishes of Mrs. Aitchison and began looking around for this awaiting stranger.

He walked slowly forward, unsure of his footing, but while searching his surroundings for any sign of life. The garden was breathtaking, even in the dark. Directly in front of him was a large, concrete garden fountain, that, in spite of the cold, continued to trickle and provide the most soothing tinkling sound. The torches around it shone brightly into the water, and their reflection lit the way so he could see more clearly. He continued around the fountain and deeper into the unknown, all the while periodically holding the torch in front of him to light his path. Just as he was convinced that he had been sent on a wild goose-chase, he heard the snow crunch behind him, and he turned.

There stood Izzy, looking most delicious in her white winter wrap and muff. She was smiling at Mr. Whentworth, but did not move or say anything.

At first his heart leapt at the sight of her, but then he reeled himself back. Why should he subject himself to more of her intrigues as happened earlier today? He decided to stay aloof and he turned from her.

She remained still and did not move.

This unnerved him, and he finally turned back toward her. “Woman? What are you doing? And why will you not say something; anything?”

She had to admit that she was enjoying watching his anxiety a little too much. She whispered to him, forcing him closer. “Mr. Whentworth, I owe you an apology.”

He was so stunned he snapped up to look at her face, searching for any signs of deceit. But when he found none, he said, “Why would you apologize? You were certain you had done nothing wrong.”

“I was also certain a large portion of what happened earlier could have been blamed on both of us.”

He considered this. “Yes, well, I suppose you could be right about that.”

“Oh, I am right—there is no question. You certainly could have told me what you hinted at, if you had truly wanted me to know. But instead, you quarreled, and you made me cry.”

Mr. Whentworth lowered his head in shame. “Miss Audley, you are entirely correct. I did cause you pain with my childish behavior, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry.”

Izzy stepped closer to him. “And what are we going to do about it, Mr. Whentworth?”

He could clearly not stand anymore, and took a step closer to her. “Oh, Miss Audley, I love you so much!”

The two embraced in a ravenous kiss, fully impassioned, since they were certain no one would be watching them in the solitary garden, and wasted no time in repairing the evening’s earlier damage.

Suddenly, Mr. Whentworth pulled back from Izzy, and proclaimed, “But wait! We simply cannot do this!”

Chapter   27

At Day's End

At Day’s End (Chapter Twenty-Seven)

Izzy looked him directly in the eyes. “What do you mean, Mr. Whentworth?”

“Miss Hastings! I am her escort for this evening! I cannot abandon her, I just cannot do it. I will not.”

Izzy calmed him. “Ssshhh, my love. All is taken care of.”

Mr. Whentworth studied her face for an answer. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

Izzy draped her arms around Mr. Whentworth’s neck. “Oh, dearest, trust me when I say, Miss Hastings will have all the attention she deserves very soon.”

Back in the great hall, the dance was in full swing again, and the room was full of merry-making and laughter. Of course, it was also not without its share of gossip. Many of the young ladies, too bashful to dance, or without proper escorts, entertained themselves with bits of gossip about their neighbor, or other acquaintance. And invariably, the topic would always return, no matter what group it was, to the Audleys and the sudden, rash appearance at the ball by Miss Isabella Audley. How dare she? Why does she want to further discredit her family’s poor reputation in this manner? Why would she want to behave thus?

That evening, there was certainly no lack of speculation as to the circumstances of the Audleys.

And at the front of it all, was none other than her most intimate friend, Miss Rachel Hastings.

“Oh, please do not think me unkind. I have it on good authority that Miss Audley was simply too embarrassed to attend this evening’s function, especially once she found out that Mr. Whentworth had asked to be my escort! That is correct—he asked me. Oh, dear me. I was more surprised than anyone when he approached me about this evening. What a dear, sweet soul he is!”

“But where is he, then?”

Miss Hastings looked around. “He went to retrieve us a cold drink—he will be returning shortly. I am sure he was distracted by some old acquaintance. You know that everyone who is anyone is here tonight. Oh, how very exciting!”

Again, her eyes scanned the crowd, but upon seeing no sign of Mr. Whentworth, she could not allow concern to show; not especially to her adoring peers who were captivated with her every word.

“So, Miss Hastings, do you think you will continue seeing Mr. Whentworth after the ball?”

Miss Hastings was more than happy to answer. “Most certainly! Mr. Whentworth has implied that he would like nothing better than for us to become intimates. In fact,” and she said the next part behind a gloved hand in a whisper, “I would not be surprised if an understanding were coming forth any day now.”

The crowd of awe-struck girls enjoined their proper responses of oohs and aahs, and Miss Hastings found herself to be completely in Heaven. Perhaps, it was an audience she had needed all this time, rather than a male companion to make her feel such complete happiness.

The group of girls continued to speculate.

“I heard that she could not find an escort.”

“I heard that she was unable to garner an invitation to begin with!”

“Someone told me that she had hurled horrible accusations at Mr. Whentworth when he informed her he absolutely refused to accompany her to the dance.”

“Is this true, Miss Hastings?”

“Yes! Is it true? Please, do not keep us in suspense.”

Just as Miss Hastings was about to respond, she heard an unfamiliar voice join in. “Yes, Miss Hastings, do not keep us in suspense, please.”

Miss Hastings turned, and standing before her was Mrs. Aitchison.

A gentleman to Miss Hastings’s right and Mrs. Aitchison’s left, did the introductions, and each of the ladies bowed their expected curtsy to the other.

After the pleasantries, Mrs. Aitchison said, “Miss Hastings, would you take a turn with me around the hall?” Without giving Rachel the opportunity to answer, she had grabbed Rachel by the elbow and was leading her away from the crowd, all with a smile.

When the two women neared the banquet table, they stopped, as Mrs. Aitchison informed the attendant that she would love a cold drink. When Rachel refused the drink proffered her, Mrs. Aitchison took a long sip from her drink before continuing.

This cool and easy demeanor from the woman began to unnerve Rachel and she felt her weight shifting from one leg to the next.

Mrs. Aitchison, however, seemed not to notice and continued to drink until her glass was empty. She thanked the attendant, and then turned back to Rachel. “So, Miss Hastings. Tell me. Are you having a nice time?”

Rachel swallowed hard before choosing her words carefully. “Yes, I am. You have a lovely home.”

Mrs. Aitchison smiled, but ignored the diversion. “So tell me, dear. Did you come alone?”

Rachel was glad to talk of Mr. Whentworth and happily volunteered the information. “Not at all! I am here with Mr. Whentworth. In fact, he was just here, retrieving a cold drink for the both of us.” She began scanning the crowds for his face, but frowned when she could not find him. “Well, that is strange. He was just here. I wonder to where he has retreated.”

“I am certain I saw him in the garden earlier. Would you like for me to take you to him?”

Rachel brightened. “Why, yes! That would be lovely.”

Meanwhile, in the garden, Mr. Whentworth and Isabella were still embracing, enjoying their reunion.

“Promise me, dear Miss Audley, that you will never depart from me again.”

Izzy, too happy to argue, agreed.

He brushed a lock of her chestnut hair from her face, and she closed her eyes in pleasure.

“Just think: when we are married, I will be able to touch and kiss you anytime I wish.”

“Is that so, Mr. Whentworth?”

He nuzzled her cheek, and whispered into her ear, “It is, and you will have no say in the matter.”

Her spirits soared. “I do not believe I will want to contradict you.”

Realizing that the hour was getting late, Izzy reluctantly pulled back from him, and he groaned in displeasure. “I know, sweetheart, but I must discuss something with you, for I have but little time.”

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

“Is that not how our last row began, nearly getting my head crushed with one of your crystal vases?”

“Oh, that. Think of it as training for keeping your sharpened wits for when we are finally married.”

Her response was so unexpected, he had to laugh out loud.

Afraid their impending guests may hear them, she immediately shushed him. “Please, listen to me. We have not much time before they arrive.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dearest, I am afraid Miss Hastings has been deceiving you all this time.”

He stopped cold and listened. “Go on.”

“Well, it appears, as I have learned, from a most reliable source, that she has been tricking you into spending time with her.”

He could not contain his shock. “How did you find this out? And from whom?”

“Well, upon my arrival this evening, I bumped into Mrs. Aitchison. At first she was kind and benevolent, and then she asked me to leave, which left me livid, until the topic turned to you, accidentally, and then the matter was set. Suddenly, she did not care how society dictated that she should treat me—her only concern was in listening to my tale of how we have been in love for all these years, and stubbornly denying it. When she asked me why I was not presently with you tonight, I explained about Miss Hastings’s circumstance and in you offering, as a favor to her mother, to be her escort so as to protect her family name and reputation, as well as for Miss Hastings’s safety. It was then that she told me some very interesting news, and I learned the truth of the matter.”

“Please! Do tell me! What have I been missing?”

“As a matter of fact, it happened this way… ”

The two continued talking in hushed tones, and five minutes later when they heard footsteps coming closer in the crunching snow, Izzy had conveyed the whole of the matter to him.

Mr. Whentworth agreed to keep a calm head so their little intrigue would do its trick and then hide out of sight until the proper time.

Within seconds, two figures from the direction of the house emerged from the shadows and into the glow of the torches Mrs. Aitchison was on the left, and Hiss Hastings on the right. When Rachel saw Izzy, her face lit up and she feigned interest. “Miss Audley! How wonderful of you to make it! Oh, I was so afraid that you might not be able to attend, and well, we have been missing each other in public so often, that it is just so good to see you.”

When she moved toward Izzy to offer a hug, Izzy stood still and coldly accepted, but did not move to return it.

Rachel, however, did not even notice and if she did, she was not calling attention to it. “I am afraid you just missed Mr. Whentworth, however. He wanted to make sure I was well taken care of, and so escorted me back to my chair along the dance floor while he went to get us cold drinks. But when I return to the hall, I will tell him that you sent your best.”

Izzy stifled a laugh. “Well, that is very kind of you. Are you having a good evening, then?”

“Oh, my, yes. He has been the most attentive companion, checking on my welfare, never wanting to leave my side—unless it is just absolutely necessary. All in all, the perfect gentleman.”

Again, Izzy could hardly contain her mirth. “Well, that truly is wonderful, Miss Hastings!”

“Now, it is Rachel. You know that. Since when did you feel the need to become so formal with your best friend?”

Izzy had to ignore this. “So, tell me. Do you think you will continue seeing Mr. Whentworth after the ball? It seems to be all that anyone is presently discussing.”

Rachel, not wanting to appear to have given this too much forethought, pretended to think heavily on this before answering. “Well, that is a good question. My first instinct is to err on the side of caution and say possibly, but then why be disingenuous about all of it? I can say with certainty, that, if all goes as planned, then an understanding will be forthcoming any day now. Are you not excited for me? Is it not the most heavenly of news?”

Izzy was so stunned at how far she was willing to carry her charade that she could barely continue. “Really! Do tell. My, you must be getting on very well then, for you to have gotten this close this fast. Do you not think that rather sudden?”

Rachel was quick to defend. “Not at all! Why should two people dawdle when their feelings are so obviously strong for one another?”

Izzy allowed a slow smile to form. “Yes, I do believe I agree with you, entirely.”

Rachel leaned in closer. “But do not think for one second that I will leave my most cherished friend out of my wedding plans for a moment! I would be so honored if you would be my maid-of-honor.”

“My, what a generous offer, Miss Hast… Rachel. I will have to check with my friend before I can tell you for certain. Oh, dear, what do you think? Should I be Rachel’s maid-of-honor?”

Mr. Whentworth appeared from behind a nearby Cedar tree, and when Rachel saw him walk to Izzy’s side and put his arm around her waist, she let out a gasp.

“No, dearest, I am afraid I just cannot authorize that sort of activity. I am certain you understand,” he said, while giving her a light peck on the cheek.

Rachel could not close her mouth, and Mrs. Aitchison, watching everything in silence, was enjoying the sight so much she wanted to laugh out loud herself, but remained composed.

“What is the meaning of this? Mr. Whentworth, what are you playing at?”

“Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Hastings?”

“Again, I demand to know what is happening here? Why have you been here in the garden when you should have been in the dance hall with me?”
“Because, Miss Hastings, Miss Audley was in the garden. I stay where she is.”

“But, you are my escort! How could you?”

“How could you, indeed!” Mr. Whentworth now allowed his seething anger to show for the first time. “I agreed to be your escort for this week and tonight only as a favor to your mother, and this is how I am repaid.”

“What are you on about, Mr. Whentworth? My mother had absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“That is where you are mistaken, and blissfully so. You engineered this entire situation and let on that you had no knowledge of any of it—that it was all the idea of your mother. How quickly you forget how people in this town talk, Miss Hastings.”

“What do you mean, they are talking? Will someone explain to me what in the name of Lucifer is going on?”

“What is going on, Miss Hastings, is that you managed to soil your own reputation by carousing with every eligible infantry man in New York when you failed out of college and tried everything you could to cover it up so your family would not find out. What you failed to realize, Miss Hastings, is that Mrs. Aitchison’s son is one of the men you caroused with and you were not aware of it. You had no clue that each evening after you went home, William would come home and tell his mother all about your intrigues. So, tonight when Miss Audley bumped into Mrs. Aitchison by accident and they began chatting, that is when the whole of the truth came out. So, Miss Hastings. What do you have to say for yourself now?”

Chapter   28

With A Vengeance

With A Vengeance (Chapter Twenty-Eight)

Without warning, Miss Hastings lurched toward Izzy with her fist raised, and before Mr. Whentworth could stop her, she was pounding on Izzy with all the fury in her. For the innocent bystander, it was quite a sight: all those bustles and silk, rolling around on the ground. It was not long for Mr. Whentworth to peel Rachel from off Isabella, and he stood behind her, holding both of her arms while she continued to rail against Izzy, Mr. Whentworth, Mrs. Aitchison and her own mother. At this point, she no longer cared for propriety, and could only see her anger and being avenged.

She sneered at Izzy. “What gives you the right to even be here this evening? I made sure you did not receive your original invitation until it was too late to respond, and I was convinced you would never humiliate yourself by accepting mine.”

Mrs. Aitchison spoke for the first time. “I gave her the right to be here. It is my home, after all. I also gave you the right to remain here after I found out just at what game you were playing. I could have easily had you thrown out and laughed out of society, but I reconsidered after hearing everything you have put Miss Audley and Mr. Whentworth through, and decided that perhaps the revenge to be had was theirs and not mine. You may thank me later.”

“I owe you nothing,” spat Rachel. “Do not think that I was out unescorted all those nights; I was with your son. It takes two, and he was more than a willing participant.”

Mrs. Aitchison held her anger. “I am certain you are right. What man, in his right mind, refuses a woman who throws herself at him?”

Rachel had no comment.

“I do not feel the need for revenge, Mrs. Aitchison. In spite of how my once cherished friend has treated me, I am still of the thought that you don’t repay evil for evil. No. Unfortunately, Miss Hastings has planted enough seeds of depravity, that she will soon reap their benefits without my having to lift a finger,” said Izzy.

Rachel continued to struggle against the grasp of Mr. Whentworth. “Is that what you think will happen? My dear, cherished friend, you are mistaken. For how quickly you forget that I am not the one who is now poor. You may gloat all you wish about having found out my motives with Mr. Whentworth, but in time, you will be alone, living in the poor house, your poor mother slaving in a factory and you washing clothes for me.”

At that moment, the men who were previously summoned by Mrs. Aitchison appeared behind her, and Mr. Whentworth handed Miss Hastings over to them. He then went and stood at Izzy’s side.

“I do not believe that will ever happen, Miss Hastings,” said Mr. Whentworth. “For you see, my family is very well-to-do, and for as long as I am alive, Miss Audley and her mother will never be alone.”

Now being restrained by Mrs. Aitchison’s aides, Rachel continued to struggle. “Stop dreaming, Mr. Whentworth. I do not even know why you two are together. I made sure to steal your note to Miss Audley from her post so she would not receive your explanation of our time together in the café. With that note in hand, there was no way possible she could find out that you had apologized for hurting her. And what does your family’s wherewithal have to do with Isabella’s happiness?”

Mr. Whentworth chuckled. “It did not take that note, or lack thereof, to get us back together where we should have been all along. It took her mother nearly dying of a heart attack, and unless you planned that hideous event as well, you could not have foreseen that horrible tragedy as working toward a greater good in the end.”

For a moment, Rachel stopped struggling. “Your mother is ill? Please, tell me how she is. She was always so kind to me as a child.”

Mr. Whentworth began to speak again, but this time Izzy interrupted. “I was always kind to you as a child as well, and this is how you repay that kindness. We agreed long ago, that we would never allow a man to come between us, and what happens the very first time you are faced with the opportunity to social climb? Not only do you make poor decisions that nearly send your mother to an early grave, but you don’t have enough self-respect to protect your own reputation; and apparently, teaching me my place was just a bonus—you saw the opportunity and completely afforded yourself of it.”

“But your mother? Truly—how is she?”

“Honestly, I am no longer bound to share anything of my personal life with you. Unfortunately, you will simply have to gossip your way to the truth on that one, for you will get none of it from me. I loved you dearly, Rachel. I thought that perhaps we would be the attendants at the other’s wedding—even sometimes I dreamed of us getting married on the same day. Were all those years you simply pretending; a rouse?”

Rachel smiled. “You were always so oblivious, Isabella. Do you not think that people actually knew that your father had a marital indiscretion on your mother?”

Izzy was so stunned she knew not what to say.

Rachel took advantage of the silence. “It is true; no need to appear so stricken. People in this town have loose lips; you know this.”

“Yes, but I have never engaged in malicious gossip! You know that.”

Rachel laughed heartily. “Does that truly matter? All it takes is a scullery maid full of her own bile and hatred and suddenly, your news is all over town like last evening’s wash.”

“Are you saying that one of our housemaids leaked the news?”

“No. I am saying sometimes you are just too naive for your own good, dear Isabella.”

Izzy sighed. “After all this time, you would think you would know me better than that. You know how I have always despised societal rules. Imposing class systems on people should be outlawed. Honestly, I think they were created by those weak-minded individuals who had no other way to elevate their societal status than to impose some noxious rules that keep those down who are less fortunate and under-privileged.”

“Oh, please. Spare me the self-righteous speech. You have availed yourself of those rules any time it seemed to suit your purpose. Was it not your father’s recommendation that got you accepted into Radcliffe, a school that I was not able to attend because I did not know anyone?”

Izzy gasped. “Is that what has your bun in a knot? That is the reason for this attack? All because I got into Radcliffe and you were unable to? I had no idea you could be that petty, Rachel. For the record, my father had absolutely nothing to do with my acceptance. I was not a legacy. He had wanted to attend Harvard, but his family was not affluent, so he had to choose a different school. And look at you now—you have failed out of a lesser school. I doubt you could have remained as a student there anyway. So blame me all you wish, but this is your undoing.”

Izzy had to take a breath here, because she was now so worked-up that she could no longer think straight.

Mr. Whentworth noticed, and decided to finish. “By the way, Miss Hastings, did we tell you our most happy news?” He paused to let it sink in.

Rachel’s head jerked up and the look of panic on her face was unmistakable. “What news?”

“Why, Miss Audley has agreed to be my wife.”

“What?” she said, screeching like the devil. “Are you completely insane? No! It cannot be! You simply cannot be taken in by this lying, cheating whore!”

Before he knew it, Mr. Whentworth had moved toward Rachel with a raised hand, but was able to calm himself in time. He spoke his next words softly. “Miss Hastings, you will take heed to never, ever let me catch you speaking that way to my fiancé again. For the next time I do, I will not be held responsible for my actions. You are lucky this time.”

Rachel said, “Mr. Whentworth, please, listen to yourself. You will most certainly ruin your good name as well as that of your family’s if you continue this relationship with Miss Audley. Please! I thought we had something very special! Why would you choose to hurt me in this manner?”

“Do not talk to me of hurt. Have you not inflicted enough pain on those around you for the whole of humanity?”

Rachel lowered her voice to a whisper. “But… but… Mr. Whentworth, I love you.”

He was unmoved. “I hope that someday soon, you will be able to think again with a level and clear head.”

Mrs. Aitchison nodded to the men holding Rachel. They took her back to the hall to gather her things, and then escort her out, all to the tune of continued shrieks, cursing and screaming, “But you love me!”

When the field quieted again, Izzy looked up at Mrs. Aitchison. Her face was wet. “Dear, Mrs. Aitchison, how am I to ever repay you for your most generous kindness?”

Mrs. Aitchison smiled. “Repay me for what? Please. Think nothing of it.”

“Come, let us get you inside near the warmth of the fire,” said Mr. Whentworth.

Before they made their way to the house, Mrs. Aitchison added, “Would you allow me to do one more thing for you?”

“What is that?”

“I would love to announce to the guests at the party of your impending nuptials. Will you let me do that for you?”

Mr. Whentworth said, “Mrs. Aitchison, you have been so incredibly kind already, but if it is all the same with you, I think we would rather announce it to our families first. With today’s row, we were not even sure there would be a wedding.”

Mrs. Aitchison nodded. “I completely understand. Would you then allow me to host the wedding for you?”

Izzy was overtaken with emotion, and cried harder. “Oh, Mrs. Aitchison, that would be so kind and wonderful of you! But, there is still one little problem.”

“What is it, dear?”

“Well, as joyous a time as our impending union is, there remains the problem of our family’s status, due to our financial difficulties. Honestly, I do not think you will be doing yourself any favors if you associate yourself in that way with me.”

“Allow me to address that problem, my dear,” said Mr. Whentworth.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I need to speak with you about that in private.”

Assuring that the Audley carriage had been notified of the new travel arrangements, Mr. Whentworth made sure Izzy was situated comfortably in his carriage, and they headed towards Izzy’s home. In the carriage, Mr. Whentworth hastily explained his plan to Izzy, how long it had been in effect, and that they should immediately share this news with her mother as soon as they arrived home. Izzy was so grateful she could not stop crying, and soon became impatient to reach the house.

When they arrived, they went up to Lilly’s room, and was glad to see that Dr. Davis was still chatting with Lilly, and she was in most high spirits. She was also gladdened to see both Isabella, and Mr. Whentworth.

“Dears! Do come in! I have the most wonderful news for you!”

Both being intrigued, they walked farther into the room, with Izzy perching herself on the side of Lilly’s bed. “What is it, mother? What is the news?”

Lilly gently took Izzy’s hand in one of hers, and with her free hand took the hand of Dr. Davis. “Isabella, Mr. Whentworth, we wanted you to be the first to know. Dr. Davis and I are to be married!”

Izzy screamed. “Oh, mother! Oh, my! I am so… I cannot… are you sure? Oh, mother! Congratulations to you both!” She threw her arms around her mother’s neck and squeezed. She was also so overcome with emotion, that she lingered a bit and began to cry again.

Mr. Whentworth and Dr. Davis shook hands, and was amused at the loving site of the two intertwined on the bed.

“Dearest? Why are you crying so? This is a happy occasion!”

Izzy laughed. “I know! I am so thankful you met someone so wonderful!”

Mr. Whentworth could not contain himself any longer. “Plus, we have our own good bit of fortune to share. Dearest? Would you like to do the honors?”

Izzy nodded. “Mother, Mr. Whentworth and I are to be married as well! He proposed only last evening. We have been waiting to tell you before we told anyone else.”

Lilly began to cry and laugh at the same time. “Oh, my dear, dear muffin. I am so happy! And to you, Mr. Whentworth, it is about time!”

The entire room broke into laughter. “Yes, I suppose I deserved that,” said Mr. Whentworth, with great mirth.

Izzy suddenly stopped. “But mother! Something is not quite right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we had some other news to share as well, but now I am not certain how your news will affect that.”

Lilly said, “Well, dear, why not just say it, and then we will decide together if it has any affect.”

Izzy took her mother’s hand again. “Mother, where will you live?”

Lilly looked with deep love into Dr. Davis' eyes, and said, “Sweetheart, I will be living with Dr. Davis in his home.”

“But, mother, we had hoped you would live with us!”

“Isabella, what are you on about, dearest?”

“Oh, mother. Do you remember the person who came to the door the other night that upset you so?”

Lilly nodded.

“Well, as it turns out, Mr. Whentworth had put in paperwork to take over our loan on the house long before that gentleman was to deliver that note, and in fact, the memo had not yet crossed his desk informing him that he was not to deliver those papers to you. Mr. Whentworth bought our home so we would not lose it!”

Lilly stared incredulously at Mr. Whentworth. “Is this true, Mr. Whentworth?”

He grinned. “Yes, it is. I learned nearly a month ago of the state of affairs on your home simply could not allow anything to happen to either one of you. So, I put in the papers to take over the loan, and then I paid it off only a few days ago. The memo informing the foreclosure department, unfortunately, had not reached that gentleman’s office in time to stop him from delivering the horrible news, or in time to keep some of your things from being repossessed. Not to worry, however. Your things are safely sitting in a warehouse, ready to be picked up. In fact, I can have them delivered here tomorrow when I get back to the office.”

Izzy added, “That is why he was so upset last night when I shared the news of the repossession with him.”

Lilly became serious, and nearly whispered. “My dear, dear son-in-law. I just do not know what to say to you, or how to thank-you for your most generous kindness. I am truly humbled.”

“Just say that you will allow me to take your daughter’s hand, and all will be repaid.”

She smiled. “But of course! I am not daft enough to refuse a man such as yourself. But where will you two live?”

“To be honest, I had not considered that far,” said Mr. Whentworth.

“Well, I feel it only fair that now that you own this house, you should live here; raise your children here. Honor Mr. Audley’s memory by filling it with laughter and love again.”
Mr. Whentworth was smiling as he walked behind Izzy and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Madam, I think that a most brilliant idea.”

Chapter   29

All's Well That Ends Well

All’s Well That Ends Well (Chapter Twenty-Nine)

The next few days were a blur of activity and excitement. While Mr. Whentworth was not at work, he was at the Audley home, helping along the preparations for both impending moves. He had the Audley’s things transported as soon as was possible back to their home from the warehouse, and while he was in the process of also moving in his things, he and Dr. Davis were in the process of moving some of Lilly’s into Dr. Davis' home.

In the midst of the move, the two women were trying to plan their double-ceremony what would take place on New Year’s Eve; in two days. When she remembered, Izzy told her mother that Mrs. Aitchison had generously offered to host her wedding at their mansion, and when mother seemed so pleased, she also got the idea to inquire if Mrs. Aitchison might be up for a double-ceremony, as a surprise to her mother.

“Oh, Miss Audley, that is fantastic news! I would absolutely be thrilled to host both ceremonies for you! One is just as easy as two, and I love a party!”
And with that, the matter had been settled. With all the women had to do between now and the day of their moves, Mrs. Aitchison assured them that with her generous staff and plenty of time, she could easily handle the wedding—all the women had to concentrate on was getting there with their sanity.

And so it progressed. Boxes, bags and trunks were scooted, lugged and carried. And while he would definitely remain with Izzy, poor Mr. Puss was not settled in where he would live, as he was either constantly hiding behind a chair, or jumping from box to box. It was agreed that the tapestries, paintings and most of the furnishings would remain in Izzy’s new home (she could hardly believe she was to be its new mistress), along with most of the staff, who were more than grateful upon hearing the news. Lilly’s lady’s maid would be the only one accompanying her to the doctor’s new residence.

One afternoon, while scurrying to get things done, a horrific thought stuck Isabella.

“Mother! Mother, come here, please!”

Lilly entered the drawing room and inquired of the ruckus.

“Mother, it has suddenly occurred to me, that I have not chosen my wedding gown! Oh, mother, whatever will I do? I do not have time now to have one tailored for me.”

Lilly smiled. “Dearest, accompany me to my room, please.”

Izzy did as she was told, all the while wondering what surprise her mother had in store. There, already lain on the bed, was the wedding gown in which she had married Mr. Audley.

“I want you to have it for your own, if you wish.”

Izzy had never seen such a beautiful gown before. It closely mimicked the dress worn by Queen Victoria when she married Prince Albert in England. Since she had been the first to bring wearing white into fashion for one’s wedding, all those who were affluent enough to afford the tradition, copied hers. It was an off-the-shoulder gown of ivory satin and short sleeves, tied with blows on the arms and covered in antique lace. The bodice, also of satin, adorned with seed beads, glass beads and Swarovski crystals, fit snugly against the waist and flounced out into a full satin skirt, adorned with lace mid-way down and a flowing, long, lace train. Next to the dress lay the veil, which was entirely of matching ivory lace and adorned all throughout with delicate seed beads and crystals. It was so breathtaking, that Izzy could only stare.

Lilly had never taken the time to show her the delicate gown, but had often mentioned it. With Isabella’s schooling, however, there resided some doubt in Lilly’s mind as to whether Isabella would eventually settle down and find the right man, although she had always hoped it would be Mr. Whentworth.

And now, here she stood, with her daughter, all grown up, just about to celebrate the happiest day of her life with her. For a moment, a tear welled in Lilly’s eyes at Mr. Audley not having been there to enjoy this special, momentous occasion with his only daughter.

Izzy caught the emotion on Lilly’s face, draped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, and said, “He is with us in spirit, Mother.”

Lilly only nodded her agreement, too choked up to speak.

When Izzy pulled back, she said, “Mother? If you loan me your dress, then what will you wear?”

Lilly turned to a steamer trunk behind her, and pulled out a simpler, less ornate gown made of lavender satin, and trimmed with ostrich feathers. “Muffin, this is your special day. I have already spent half my life with the great love of my life, and so therefore there is not as much ceremony for me in this union. Oh, do not get me wrong! I love him dearly, and think that I possibly have for over a year now, but the true celebration of a wedding is for young people, just beginning their new life. You and Mr. Whentworth deserve every bit of happiness you can find.”

And so, it was set. Posts between the women and Mrs. Aitchison were exchanged in flurries, setting each and every detail so nothing would be left to chance.

And they were not the only ones concerned with everything running smoothly. Both men went shopping together a day before the wedding, and picked out the most perfect rings for their brides. After that detail had been taken care of, they then planned where they would take their trip for their honeymoons. It was decided that Dr. Davis and Lilly would spend three weeks in Paris, where she had never been, and that Mr. Whentworth and Izzy would spend a month in India. He knew Izzy’s father had been there on business many times, and therefore Izzy had always wanted to go. It was then decided that Izzy would finish out her last semester at Radcliffe and receive her degree during the next fall.

So it was settled: neither woman would be the wiser, although both knew they would be traveling to someplace special, as long honeymoons were a common tradition.

Finally, after much preparation, much discussion, and much activity, the day of the wedding arrived. At exactly three o’clock PM that afternoon, a carriage with a gray horse pulled to the front steps of Capriolé, and both brides, now fully attired and with bouquets, were helped into the awaiting carriage by Charles, who beamed with pride. During the drive to the Aitchison’s, a heavy, wet snow had begun to fall, and Izzy could not have been happier if she had tried. For, sitting next to her, was her gorgeous mother, and waiting for her at the end of that aisle was the love of her own life, Thomas Whentworth the third. She had to stifle a giggle at Mr. Whentworth’s description of how his family reacted when he shared the news of his impending nuptials.

“Let us just say, they were none too thrilled.”

“Oh, dearest, what did they do? Did they make it hard on you? Truly! Tell me what they said!”

“Well, sweetheart, they certainly tried. My mother could only focus on how marrying, and I quote, beneath my station, could only spell doom and gloom for us the rest of our lives, while Katherine could not stop reminding me that your only motive in your attachment was not in your love for me, but in your love of my deep pockets.”

“Oh, dear,” said Izzy. “And I was so hoping that Katherine would be my willing sister. Surely we are to raise our children together! What joy shall there be if they are enemies of us both? Dearest, are you certain… ”

And Mr. Whentworth silenced both her fears, and her mouth with a single kiss, thus putting the end to her protestations.

So today, on the day of their wedding, both Mrs. Whentworth, and Katherine, sat home, alone, refusing to support Thomas in this, the most important day of his life. Both he and Izzy were uncertain if they would ever truly support their union, but with how happy they currently were, at this point, neither one cared.

When the carriage pulled into the lot set aside for parking, Charles again helped each of the women down from the carriage, and escorted them, with pride, to the side entrance of the house, where an awaiting butler ushered them into a small room. Mrs. Aitchison had set this aside for the brides, and she was waiting for them when they entered.

“Oh, dear me! You both look so breathtaking! I think I just may cry,” she said, as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve.

Lilly protested. “Please, do not do that, or you will have me in tears, as well!” And the three women laughed and hugged much.

Mrs. Aitchinson said, “Mrs. Audley, did you realize you have some particular visitors?”

Lilly was nonplussed. “Who could it be?”

Mrs. Aitchison led Lilly to the heavy curtain draping the door, and Lilly peeked into the ballroom, now graced with many people. And there, sitting in the two end-chairs on the aisle side of the bride, were Mrs. Victoria Jackson, and her son, John. Just then Mrs. Jackson noticed Lilly at the curtain, and beamed her pride at Lilly.

Lilly smiled, gave a tiny wave with her finger, and allowed the curtain to swing closed.

At exactly three-thirty, Mrs. Aitchison had given the last of her well-wishes and left the two women alone so she could take her seat. She nodded for the harpist to begin, and the most beautiful chorus of Bach began to play, signaling the women that it was their time to exit the little room to begin their new lives.

Izzy took a deep breath. This had been the moment she had been waiting for since she had been a little girl. As a woman of the Victorian age, she had been taught that women are to marry, and marry well, and in spite of her dreams for a career as a writer, something society frowned upon but that her father encouraged, she had carried those dreams of marriage with her from the time she was old enough to know what the word marriage meant. Unfortunately, she had not been blessed with a sister in which to share this glorious day, but, looking to her left as she walked down the aisle, she could not have been happier in having shared it with her mother: the single most important woman in her life. She smiled at Lilly, who, she noticed, was smiling back at her. Izzy realized that for Lilly, this day was not only important for herself, but in being there for her daughter. The two had been through the most horrendous times of late, and here they were—sharing a joyous occasion, having come through it unscathed. For a time, Izzy was uncertain if their relationship would be strong enough to handle all that it had encountered, but she now realized she need not have worried. For when two people love each other the way she and Lilly do, and they are held together with bonds of love that strong, then nothing would, or could ever come between them.

The ceremony lasted all of ten minutes, and instead of retiring to Izzy’s home, as the normal tradition would have dictated, they, instead, remained at the Aitchison’s home, where there was room for plenty of dancing and lots of good food. Mrs. Aitchison had designated the little room the official place where Izzy could receive her guests in one corner, and Lilly could receive hers in another. After the spouses had shared their first dance, the brides retired to their room and awaited their guests.

As they chatted and waited, Izzy had remembered something that she needed to do before anyone interrupted them. She walked over to a bag she had brought with her, and pulled out a box wrapped in delicate paper and trimmed with gold, grosgrain ribbon.

She walked over to Lilly, sat down in the empty chair next to her, and said, “Mother, I wanted to give you this before everything became too hectic, and did not wish to forget before we left for our prospective trips. I meant to give it to you on Christmas night, but because of your attack and our horrible row, I had forgotten.”

She handed the box to Lilly, who smiled. “What is this, dearest? You did not need to buy me anything! I do not need a gift as long as I have you and Thomas in my life.”

Izzy smiled. “I know, mother, but as I was on my way into town my first evening here, I stopped at Mrs. Jenkins' Millinery to do some window shopping, and I saw this in the showroom, and simply could not resist getting it for you.”

Lilly, wanting to do more protesting, thought better of it when she saw the look of excited anticipation written on Izzy’s face. She did not have the heart to ruin that. So, she tore into the paper without any thought for propriety. There, laying nestled amongst the golden tissue paper, was the Burgundy velvet hat with the pale pink roses that Izzy had chosen.

Lilly carefully lifted the stunning hat from its box and turned it slowly, inspecting every inch, all while staring with her mouth open at the treasure. “Oh, Isabella, it is simply gorgeous! This must have cost you a fortune!”

“Not at all, mother. Quite reasonably-priced. I knew I wanted to bring you something special, and when I saw that, I knew that was it. And then earlier in the week, when you were complaining about not having a decent hat to save your head, well, I knew I had made the right choice. So, do you really like it?”

“Like it, I adore it! You must be the sweetest child anyone on the face of the Earth could have. I love you dearly, little one.”

A tear trickled down Izzy’s cheek. “And I love you as well, mother. You are the most important thing in my life, so promise me nothing will ever come between us again.”

Lilly was crying as well. “I promise, muffin.”

Later that evening, as both couples made their way into their new lives, each woman was given necessity to consider the events of the past week—seemingly long as it was—and in gratitude, were thankful for the grace that once again had smiled upon their family, saving them from a life of poverty, loneliness, and pain.

THE END

SECRETS

“Beware, for secrets will be your demise.”

As I sat surrounded on every side by glad merry-making and celebration, I found the repeated recollection of Margaret's discourse to be of great distraction, its truth cutting so deep that had I not taken notice of my bodice with my own eyes, I would have placed wagers on the spilling of my own blood, so real was the pain of it. In my blessed years of knowing her as my sister and closest confidant, I had never questioned her advice, and she gave me no reason to do so now. However, gray is sometimes not as gray as it is merely black and white. Choices are made.

But my thinking was interrupted by the steward.

“Fill your glass again, madam?”

“Yes, please, you are kind.”

He dared not meet my eyes, for to welcome such presumptive behavior on my part would undoubtedly raise questions as to my character, that old men such as Jackson Grant (sitting diagonally and to my left), who carried between their temples every register of the social scandals and mysteries that bubbled just beneath the surface of London's streets for the last sixty-years, would use to their future advantage, should the occasion ever afford itself. Which meant that the semblance of propriety took precedence, or else tongues would wag quicker than one could have quit the ballroom.

I ingested the burning elixir and closed my eyes in ecstasy.

I looked up, closely regarding the banquet hall. I surmised that the arrangements and decorations of the hall probably served a two-fold purpose: one, to numb the emotional upheaval that an unfortunate encounter with the indigent would likely produce, and two, to signify and aggrandize the season’s delights over the privation of the forgotten. The hall, illuminated with torches, was hung with curtains of deep Burgundy and gold rope, adorned with wreaths of the fir branches and bright red holly berries, which served as nothing more than a trite nod to the blood shed of Christ long ago; ceremony, really. Its long tables were bedecked with the finest imported silk from India, and a single, white rose was laid by every plate. Its silver and crystal shimmered first hence and thence in the refulgent candlelight from the dazzling candelabras that graced each table, casting an almost hypnotic glow all around.

I basked in its serenity, and in doing so, nearly missed the girl behind the bar. I had never seen such vacuousness in my day. Perhaps she appeared so striking because of the disparity of opulent dress with her simple, blank face. I was intrigued, yet I dared not approach, for she was merely common help, and especially on such a night as tonight, one would never consider compromising their station with such an act of impertinence. If one must associate with common help on any other grounds than to direct them in household duties, it was done surreptitiously.

She noticed my gaze and I looked away quickly, but not before a flash of recognition crossed her face. Had she spied me on a previous occasion?

I discounted it as I took another sip of the stinging liquid, and noticed the group of other guests that had been bidden to the festival, as indeed I had been. Occasions such as this called for the most expensive finery for the ladies, usually hand-tailored, and for the gentlemen, the taller the hat the richer his holdings. These were not merely social gatherings, they were annual testaments, and as is the habit of people thus afflicted, they gave their chief pleasure in exhibiting these miserable sores to any who would give themselves to the pain of viewing them.

Which then begged the question: Into which category did I fit? I know not in what truth the answer mattered, for did its disclosure have power to change my condition, or merely the perception of a change? Shifting points, nothing more. Scriptures hold that a double-minded man is unstable in all his ways, and at this very moment, I felt as one bestriding an invisible fence, for I indeed was in attendance, but not without bewildered conjectures behind discreet curtains. So I took another sip of my drink, and tried to swallow down my rising guilt.

I would, for now, however, ignore those that would undoubtedly seek to avail themselves of the opportunity that my own equivocation afforded, and concentrate on those guests closest in proximity to myself, beginning with my escort to my left. In all honesty, he would likely prove to be the most miserable visitant of the evening, and that is not taking into account his severe lack of oratory skills. He was a young man of fair skin, smooth cheek and unfashionable mien, his intolerable mounds of dark hair only augmenting the existing semblance of a complexion to that of a common chimney sweep; perhaps not of wood smoke, but merely that of his own pipe, which he took immense delight in during our most intense and heated seminars.

“Dearest,” he would say with yellowed-teeth clinched round its stem, “you and I are only involved in this most unholy of unions, because your father lacked a goat in his barn during our betrothal.” Then his face would shake with his self-made mirth while the smoke encircled it in ghostly patterns, as if mocking his dim-wittedness. I cannot say with any certainty that I loved my husband, for what truly is love? My supposition is this: it is nothing more than an accepted persuasion with too much import on the seeking of its end, like that of Pyrite—fools clamoring away at the imagination of the element, happy in their own ignorance, while the real gold remained illusive. Nay, I had made peace long ago that love did not exist—no, not for demimondaine like me.

This time pain was swallowed down with the amber liquid in my glass, and I made motion for the steward to return for another round. At that instant, I was espied by the prying eyes of Millie Willingham and heard myself pray that invisibility would strike me quickly, but not before she had me trapped on my right. She had news of the latest social confabulations, which, no matter their inherent subject matter (and tonight's just happened to center around everyone from the barmaid and the latest secret she shielded, to Mr. Jackson Grant and the results of his good fortune at the track), always seemed to hold within their address an urgency of conveyance that could never wait until the dessert course. After all, if one were bidden to a banquet such as this with its keen eye on etiquette and grand opulence, then should it also not hold that one be allowed to savor their pineapple cream without the possibility of interrupting one's own digestion?

To my left, conversations and speculations of the following spring's hunt, for the season depended upon Parliament, and Parliament depended upon sport, for sessions could not be held until the frost was out of the ground, and the foxes began to breed.

With my apologies accomplished, I took a turn round the room without my escort, which was received behavior for one succeeding the marriage market. In one of the side drawing rooms, a rubber of Whist was just ending, each participant sporting their surety of winning, and quite loudly, too, which raised a smile to my lips.

Back in the main ballroom, the Beau Monde were in rare form while attempting the steps of the Quadrille. As was customary, it opened each ball, but was a tedious chore to be got through while you were waiting for the waltz to begin, and a gentleman was advised to lay in a half hour's conversation while the figures were gone through. Even before my own coming out, I carried not the patience for it. I did, however, enjoy the waltz which always followed and was never reserved for only those familiar to one another. It is, in fact, how I met many of London's most affluent without raising suspicious eyes, which was, after all, the entire point of the social season—to better one's connections.

Before I could turn to make my way back to my escort, the waltz had begun, and Mr. Arthur Crawley pulled me into the constant, swirling movement of Beethoven's Waltz for Piano in E flat major: "Hoffnungswalzer", and I remembered how passionately fond of dancing I had been. I seemed to give myself up to it now as though the old days had come back to me.

Mr. Arthur Crawley had long been one of London's most sought-after bachelors, owing that, in part, to his purported seventy-thousand a year. I would not particularly ascribe the descriptive of "handsome" to him, but he had definite charm and charisma, which, in my opinion, were qualities quite capable of covering a multitude of sins.

"To still move with such grace of spirit as to make a gently sweeping flower in the wind jealous is a feat of which you should be proud, milady," he said.

I smiled coyly, for I knew how to play the ballroom games well. I confess, his sweet words of flattery charmed me (disingenuous as they were) for even in my days of courtship, I had never met with such attentions from one so distinguished and worldly. For you see, I was not any more winsome than my soot-stained husband; my lids were heavy with worry, last season's clothing tattered and drab which betrayed our slip in status—of which we worked very hard to conceal—and I had lost much weight from the taking of spirits. Verily, I reveal this with much shame, but it had become so necessary an evil for my survival that I found myself resorting to the unspeakable to afford its wont.

Which returns me again to Mr. Arthur Crawley. He plays a most important role in the events that transpired next, reader, for without even trying, he proved not only to be the knife, but the wound as well.

Immediately following the waltz, I turned to make my quick exit and return to my husband, who I am sure scarcely knew I was missing, but Mr. Crawley's behest to escort him to the other end of the ballroom was too accented to easily refuse, so I consented to avoid a scene.

"I will not say from whom I received the information," he whispered in my ear, once we were safely in the cloakroom alone, "but I will say the source was most reliable and one not given to feral facts."

I avoided his eyes, the familiarity with which this conversation was heading foremost in my brain. And while I cannot say that I was pleased with it, I can say in all honesty that it was a bed I made long ago, and now the only thing needing to be done was the lying in it.

With his left arm aside my head and the cloakroom wall to my right, I found escape impossible. As he began slowly moving his hand up my skirts, I felt the old pang of feverish hopes and fears die with each inch that his scaly fingers climbed. He avoided, most prudently, kissing me on the mouth (in case we were spotted) as he found his way quickly to my secret place and began working magic that I both welcomed and repulsed simultaneously.

It did not take long, and before I knew it, we had switched positions and I was now being forced to return the favor, his hand firmly and gruffly on the top of my head so that I could not move until the end result was finally achieved. This, too, did not take long.

With the act over and done, I stood to straighten my appearance, and as he handed me the usual expenditure of £2, I heard someone behind me. Turning, I found myself face to face with the self-same barmaid I had spotted earlier. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.

"Arthur? Wha… ? I don't underst… "

After uttering these words, she then realized the severe impertinence of addressing Mr. Crawley in the familiar and what that implied, so she bowed her head in shame and awaited his response.

Before he could give it, however, all suddenly came into clarity for me; everything Millie Willingham had been twittering in my ear earlier in the evening; the flash of recognition on the girl's face when our eyes met across the bar, and now the uncomfortable silence that hung between her and Mr. Crawley. I was no scholar, but it was apparent that the impromptu encounter between Mr. Crawley and myself came not only as a complete surprise, but obviously put the barmaid in a much uncomfortable and unexpected position, catching her completely off her guard. From her surprise, it was apparent that she had laboured under the misapprehension that there had been a previous agreement between the two.

I confess I suddenly became anxious and a bit amused at the anticipation of Mr. Crawley's response.

However, instead of remaining, as a true gentleman, to repair any damage that had been done to his social standing, he promptly bowed to me, brushed past the barmaid without so much as a look, and left me to clean up his mess.

For a long moment, she paced round me like a wild animal, unsure of how best to attack its prey, but remained silent.

I now found myself at an impasse: should I attempt to salvage what might be left of my social standing or admit my evil by confronting it head-on, thus ensuring my official ousting from London's top circles? On one hand, if I stacked the deck in my favor, I could almost assuredly ensure this commoner's silence in exchange for the remains of my reputation. On the other, however, I knew that my luck was not going to remain forever, and one unsuspecting day, my turpitude would surely find me out and properly chastise me. I wanted to make sure that today, however, would not be that day.

I sized up the mere child in front of me. Innocent eyes, common demeanour, no real future prospects for vocation or standing—as I knew Arthur Crawley would never give up being disinherited for a mere menial, since his own standing was more important to him than a maid, even if he were to find true love with her—so really, I knew I was the advantageous, and I proceeded thus.

"He does not love you."

Her look was of genuine surprise. "You may have seen the most intimate parts of his body, but you have no intimation of his heart."

"Pity—you almost sound as if you believe what you are saying," I said.

"What interest is it of yours?"

"You may have caught me in a disadvantageous position earlier, but remember your station—I am still your better."

She looked at the floor. "Yes, madam."

Now it was I that paced round her. "How will you support it on a mere chambermaid's wages?"

"What? How did you… "

"Dearest, news of this magnitude is hard to curb. You know how tongues do love to wag in this town."

Her face was now bright crimson and she steadied herself against a chair.

I walked in front of her and gently lifted her chin so she could meet my eyes. "Did you really think he would risk being disowned and the life he knows just to raise an illegitimate with a common servant?"

Tears streamed down her face. My first impulse was to reach for her with comfort, then I remembered that she knew of my own indiscretion, and that to show any signs of weakness would be death, and right at this moment, I needed to keep the upper hand. Quickly I devised a plan.

"I have a proposal that I am sure will catch your interest. Shall I share it with you?"

Drying her tears, she sat and nodded.

I knelt in front of her and put on the best face of concern that I could muster, and began to spin my web. "I think I have a solution. Forgive the directness of my question, but what wages do you draw from your current employer?"

"£4 per week, and I get room and board."

"Do you have any other family elsewhere?"

"No, madam, I am alone."

"Good. Here is what I propose. You leave your written notice with your current family, and come to my employ. We currently are in need of a good chambermaid," I lied, "so I will offer you £6 per week, room and board, and you may keep the baby. How does that sound?"

If I had not been fighting for my own survival at that very moment, I would have melted into a puddle by the sheer look of gratitude, relief and ebullience on that innocent face.

"You mean it, madam? I can keep my baby?"

"Most assuredly. Now, how far along are you?"

"Four months; my clothes are beginning to tighten."

"Yes, we haven't much time—you will be beginning to show soon, so we must act quickly to secure your seclusion."

She thought for a moment. "I can be out by next week's end if that is convenient."

"It is. But now I must ask one thing of you in return for my most magnanimous generosity."

"But name it."

"You must reveal to no one what you have seen here tonight. Is this agreed?"

She nodded. "Madam, with all due respect, I am in no position to be adjudicating another's erroneous judgment. Your secret is safe with me."

"I am so happy. For now we can be as sisters," I said, and feigned more concern as I sealed our pact with an embrace.

One week later, as I had hoped, she moved into our servants' quarters and joined the above the stairs staff, and began work. Since the matter of our home were my primary concerns, my husband dared or cared not interfere, so he scarcely noticed. And as she promised, she did not reveal my secret. Things were contained and life was back to normal.

Or, so I thought.

One night I could not sleep after a nightmare so I decided a visit to my husband's private bedchambers, for solace, was in order, but upon entering his room, I found him to be not there, his sheets unslept, and his grate empty of fire.

Deciding he had possibly stayed downstairs to read, I took my candlestick to guide my way to the study, only to find it empty.

I then made my way to the kitchen in the basement, thinking a snack may calm my nerves, but I was distracted by a noise coming from the maids' quarters, so I decided to seek out the source of the disturbance. As I drew closer, I noticed moaning coming from the new barmaid's room, and surmised at once that there must be trouble with the pregnancy. Perhaps she was at that very moment in the midst of a miscarriage!

I threw open the door, ready to help, and was met with the most horrifying spectacle: my husband was lying naked on top of the barmaid and both turned to me upon my entrance. But instead of remorse, both began laughing—not the laughter of the embarrassed, but laughter of mockery.

In my horror, I blurted out, "What is the meaning of this?"

My husband was now getting dressed, but the barmaid continued to linger in her nakedness in the bed, with a smile still on her lustful lips. "Do not deign to command an answer from me, you whore," she said.

I stood still, shock filling my body, unable to respond. I was unable to fathom what she was telling me.

She continued. "You thought yourself so clever that night in the cloakroom, devising a plan you were sure would serve a two-fold purpose: one, to protect your little secret, and two, to keep me under your thumb. What you did not know was that dear old Arthur Crawley owed me a favor That spectacle in the cloakroom was completely for your benefit, and as I predicted, produced the desired results. Knowing you were desperate to contain your blood stain, I surmised you would propose such a plan to protect one secret in exchange for another, and so you did. And oh, it was timely, for it was pure coincidence that my employers had, just that day, given me notice from my position when they had learned of my impending event. They did not want to be bothered with the shame about to befall their family."

I found my voice. "So, Arthur wasn't the father, as Millie Willingham reported?"

She laughed a chilling laugh. "Millie is a wonderful toy—she can never be bothered to check her facts before running to repeat them."

I began to gain understanding and became sick to my stomach. I looked to my husband for confirmation as my tears started.

"You could never give me what I wanted, dearest, and now I have a progeny on the way," he said.

At that moment I fainted, and when I came to, found myself in the local sanatorium. They had conspired against me to get me away so she could step into my place as mistress of all that had once belonged to me, and now they have left me here to die.

I am making record of these events on the slight chance and hope that after my demise someone will read and learn the truth.

I suppose, in looking back on all of it now, I should have heeded Margaret's words with more sobriety, for it appears that she was right, and I pass it along to you, again, dear reader: Beware, for secrets will be your demise.

A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

"Do go on, mama!" said Monica, clapping her hands. "You never finish your stories."

"Very well," said Mrs. Dickens. She tucked the blanket tighter around her daughter's rosy cheeks, for their old chambers, while the envy of many, carried winter's drafts in its cracks and sills. "Do you remember where I left off?"

"You were about to tell me the manner in which grandfather happened upon the idea for his now famous story."

"Ah yes, and here we go. Mind! This is the way it was relayed to me by my father, and you, should you have need, shall, hand it down by rote with much the same façon de parler.

"By the year of our Lord,1843, your grandfather's fame had spread throughout Europe and the Americas, his articles and essays appearing weekly in London's periodicals. He was never in want of a story idea, for he loved to take long walks through the city streets, and one would never need ask what it was his eyes saw during those walks, for the details would appear in print in his next work.

"However, just before putting his pen to paper to write his now famous story, a period of time in which no ideas came almost finished him. Nothing flowed; nothing sparked inspiration; no muse touched his shoulder lightly in honour of a fresh scheme. For many months this artistic vacuum continued, nearly sending your poor grandmother to take spirits, which, she could never do since the Dickens family had long been people of temperance… "

"Mama! Please! Do not torture me further by prolonging the tale!"

"Alright, done. It began on an unusually frigid night in November … ."

*****

Charles Dickens sat alone in his drawing room, staring transfixed into the flames, as if, by sheer force of his gaze, maintaining eye contact could draw the warmth from the grate. So caught up in his own thoughts, was he, that his wife's entry behind him went unnoticed.

"Will you spend yet another evening in thought," she asked, "deserting your one true passion, which is to write?"

He said nothing, but continued to stare.

"It happens to everyone, I am sure," she continued.

"Never to me," he said, with much melancholy. "I have made a decision: I will never put pen to paper again for as long as my days on this Earth remain."

Catherine had never heard such lecture from him before, and this news, while possibly nothing more than a plea for sympathy—even though her husband was not prone to it—rattled each sense to her marrow, and she decided it serious.

"I am sure you do not mean this, Charles. It will pass. You must give yourself time."

"Time? One word I have written not these past eight months. I feel as if the well of my very soul has been emptied, for I have nothing left. I have stood idly by, helpless as a newborn, watching the hearts of the thousands of homeless children, wanting for shelter as well as mercy, while many of them remain disabled from ordinary life, who seem to drift across the landscape of the nineteenth century, discarded and forgotten."

"That visit to Field Lane ragged school in Saffron Hill in September really rent your heart," Catherine said, almost in a whisper.

"And did it not yours as well? Pray tell me, why, in God's infinite wisdom, does He allow such rapacity—at the cost of such undeserved suffering? I tell you, I cannot bear it further." He returned his gaze to the fire once more.

"Are you unwilling to allow your pen to feel what your heart is incapable of articulating at the moment? The Charles I married was a radical to the marrow, and oh, my, what power that pen, which you are unwilling to wield, doth possess."

He sat in silence.

Catherine kissed his cheek, and said, "Dearest, retire. Rest will relieve your suffering's severity in the light of morning."

He merely patted her hand and let his eyes stray back to the fire.

Now it is to be said, as you have probably well guessed by now, that Charles did not have fitful repose that night, as he drifted off in that very armchair, and who of us can rest easy in a chair?

He had been asleep not one hour and twenty, when a loud thud startled him to an upright position. He looked around, but finding the drawing room empty of inhabitants other than himself, drifted off again, when a second thud interrupted. Again, a cursory examination of the room yielded nothing but Porkchop, the family tabby, who appeared unaffected by the sound, as cats have never been a worthy barometer for much, other than an empty food pan. Convincing himself that the wind had blown a shutter from the chambres loose, he again stared into the fire. A full five minutes passed before the thud sounded again, and this time, as it did, the flames of the fire rose to a height of three feet and their volume increased two-fold. Charles was unsure if he should run for water, but just as he decided to do so, a strange, ghostlike and grotesque face appeared among the roaring flames, freezing Charles in his seat. As he stared at the face, which was now staring back at him, he realized that perhaps he was still in his dream.

But spirits, being as they are, heard his thoughts and said, "No, Charles, you are not dreaming."

"H-h-how did you know my name?"

The spirit beckoned him with a boney finger. "Come."

Returning to his senses, he replied, "No. Whoever you are, I will not come with you, not for your whim or mine." But as he finished, his body was pulled toward the flames and he could do nothing to stop it. He could feel the heat enveloping him and finding his voice, began to scream, which seemed to amuse Porkchop, as she had never liked her master.

Just as Charles was certain that he would be cremated alive, he heard a whooshing sound, and felt himself falling; falling down a cold dark tunnel, with the spirit flying at breakneck speed in front of him. After what seemed like several minutes, he landed on a pile of straw in a strange field. Pulling straw from his hair, he rose to his feet and said, "And now that I resemble the family ox, I demand that you tell me where you have taken me."

"I am the Spirit of Regret."

"And I am Charles Dickens. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now what in the name of Victoria are we doing here in the dead of this wintry night?"

"You have a heavy heart."

Startled by this oblique response, Charles said, "Why, yes, I suppose I do. But did you really have to remind me of it in a deserted field? Surely my armchair would have sufficed."

Without another word, the spirit pointed directly ahead of them, and a barn suddenly appeared where there was none before. Intrigued, Charles walked through its open door and espied the scene. A young family—mother, father, and two small girls—were huddled in the corner of a cow's stall. They had no heat, no food, and wore only thread-bare coats.

"Spirit, what is the meaning of this?"

"Listen further," the spirit commanded.

"But daddy, how will St. Nick find us here? We do not have a chimney like we did at our house."

The father looked into his daughter's sweet face. "Do not worry, dearest, he will surely find us. He always does."

This seemed to content his daughter, and she curled her head on his shoulder, shutting her eyes and the cold of the world out with them.

The father looked at this wife imploringly.

She said in a whisper, loud enough for Charles and the spirit to hear, "Dear, you know how the Church feels about Christmas. Why must you continue to placate her fantasies?"

"The Church?" said Charles. "What does the Church have to do with it?"

"You have a deep heart for people in this most dead, most uncomfortable time of year, when they would suffer greatly from their poverty and the cold, yes?"

"Rightly so. If they have not hope, good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas Gambols to support them, they have lost the race entirely. Now, pray tell, what part does the Church play in this poor family's welfare?"

"All in good time," said the spirit. He waved the scene away with his hand.

Next, the spirit showed him a crowded street in downtown London, and this warmed Charles's heart, for he would never live anywhere else. But this London looked vastly different from the one he knew; there were no holly sprigs, no chestnut vendors, no shoppers crowding stores in hopes of finding the perfect gift, no fires for the homeless by which to warm themselves. In fact, it was a desolate and depressing place; the people in the scene appeared to carry nothing but contempt for their neighbor.

"Again, spirit, I implore you: what is the meaning of this?"

The spirit said nothing, but washed the image away, immediately replacing it with a new one. This was of his own drawing room. In the corner was a coffin, and standing over it, a much older Catherine.

"Spirit? Who is she mourning?" said Charles, his breath catching in his throat. A strangled cry escaped him as he realized who lay in the coffin.

The spirit pushed him toward the coffin, and the corpse that awaited him was more horrific than anything he could have dreamed to write about. For inside, staring back at him, was himself!

He let out a startled yelp and stepped back. "That cannot be me, spirit. Oh please tell me it is not. Importune and torture me no more. What have I done to set this course?"

"It is what you have not done that seals your fate."

"Then reveal to me what I have yet to do—and I will but do it, posthaste."

"It was your destiny from birth that you should be a great writer, but more than your amusing anecdotes and stories, that you should champion the less fortunate and indigent against the tyranny of avarice that runs so rampant in society today."

Charles steeled his eyes and refused to be swayed. "Did Catherine pay you to do this? I am not sure how you achieved it, but I know you must be one of her friends. Reveal yourself. I demand it."

"Numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas brings a brief season of happiness and enjoyment… . How many old recollections, and how many dormant sympathies does Christmas time awaken!"

"I still fail to see what I have neglected to do that would cause this to pass."

"You revealed to your wife, only hours ago, that you would never pen another story so long as you lived. I am here to show you, that the very next story you write, shall be the greatest champion for the cause you hold so dear to your heart."

"Nonsense. I am only a writer. What can my pen surely do that my radicalism has not?"

"Your pen can do exactly what your radicalism cannot, and that is bind the two together. Remember when your first manuscript was dropped stealthily one evening at twilight, with fear and trembling, into a dark letter box, in a dark office, up a dark court in Fleet Street?"

"I do."

"That young master Dickens wrote with zeal and passion. It was that passion that got your book into the hands of a publisher. And now that same passion shall be a voice for the voiceless; a bludgeon against the rich man's hobby, greed. The first scene you saw this eve was of a typical English family whose Christmas had been removed by the dogma of the Church. Without your story fueling men's holiday hearts, there was nothing to stop it from happening.

"The second scene was of the future streets of London, again—abiding in desolation because no story gave them hope.

"Now listen once more to the scene in your own drawing room."

A young girl approached Catherine, and with tears streaming down her face, she said, "Dickens dead? Then will Father Christmas die, too?"

The spirit wiped the scene away and stood silent.

After a long moment, Charles said, "Spirit, will my work have that large an affect on the people of London?"

"Sir, Dickens, your work will have that large an affect on the people of the world. Happy, Happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveler, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and his quiet home! But it will never happen, unless you write the story that has been stewing in your breast since September."

At that, the spirit transported Charles back through the tunnel, depositing him in the armchair from whence he had come. Charles opened his eyes. The hands on the clock showed him to be gone a mere five minutes.

"Catherine!" he bellowed. "Do you know not to where my quill and ink have retreated?"

"No, sir, and I assure you that waking the dead will have no more effect," she said, exiting her bedchamber

"Come here, you saucy wench," Charles said as he hooked an arm around his wife's waist, pulling her to his lap. Catherine shrieked and they both dissolved into peals of laughter.

"What has you in such good spirits, pray?" she asked.

"The world, my sweet; mankind, Christmastide, my ability to write. All of it. For a fire is burning in my belly, and I must needs quench it with ink. I must fulfill my destiny with paper. Lost friend, lost child, lost parent, sister, brother, husband, wife, I will not so discard you! You shall hold your cherished places in my Christmas heart, and by my Christmas fires; and in the season of immortal hope, and on the birthday of immortal mercy, I will shut out nothing."

"Know you what you shall call it, yet?" said Catherine.

"Aye. It will be A Christmas Carol to those with no song in their hearts."

*****

"And that, dear Monica, is how your grandfather wrote his famous story. Now, time for sleep."

"Mama? Do you know what I want to be when I grow up?"

"What is that, dearest?"

"A writer, just like grandfather, for it was he who kept the spirit of Christmas alive for all of us."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A child-prodigy in both fine art and music, Carla knew creativity would be a large part of her life. After finishing college with a BS in Trumpet Performance, an illness limited her trumpet time, so she fell back on her acting minor and began acting with a local theatre who wrote all their own original comedies. It was here she got her first taste of improvisation, and fell in love. Soon, she was studying with Second City in Chicago, as well as stand-up comedy. She was filming TV sitcoms, performing comedy at The Kennedy Centre in DC, and eventually was the first-call comedic actress for video work. While continuing to act, she was learning how to write effective comedy; began performing stand-up, and soon branched out into comedic fiction. She still performs regularly on-stage in plays, for video and film, improvisational comedy groups, stand-up comedy, and this winter will be touring her original one-woman comedy show. And the rest, as they say, is gut-busting, lung-popping, hysterical-head-aching comedic history.

Find her online:

The Official Web-Site for Carla René —future book releases, a schedule of upcoming live shows, and a bunch of crap no one cares about.

… And Another Thing! —Her official blog

Become a "Twit" on Twitter

Become a "Fan" on Facebook

Link In on LinkedIn

Get up in her Space at MySpace

Smashwords.com Author Profile

COMING IN THE SPRING OF 2011

COMING IN THE SPRING OF 2011

Jack Ryan O'Hanlan has been a life-long atheist, and unapologetic for it. Aside from his severe social anxiety disorder, OCD and claustrophia, he's led a relatively simple life.

Until he witnesses a mob hit one afternoon in a Boston diner and is forced to enter witness protection. When he's assigned to a small-town prison as the local Priest, where he's assured things will be quiet and uneventful, he's certain his stress is over.

Then he meets his smoking hot boss, Julie Weston, a devout Catholic who's engaged to a man she doesn't love. When a medical outbreak occurs at the prison and Julie becomes ill, Jack is forced to man up so Julie doesn't lose her job. And when she begins to question her long-held beliefs and finds herself falling for him, it's then that Jack realises he's in big trouble.

But just as he's certain the crisis has passed and he can resume his quiet, uneventful and safe life, there's a prison break, trapping himself, Julie and the self-aggrandizing and cocky Bishop Ted Macguire, his district's Bishop, together during lockdown.

And as if that weren't enough, it's during the lockdown that Father Jack meets an inmate who knows the mob boss that Jack had to testify against.

A Most Devout Coward is an all out comedy of epic proportions, throwing an anal retentive coward into the worst of situations with the worst of people, pitting this professional chicken against a graceful and devout Catholic, and a beligerant arse convinced that if he'd been born earlier in history, he could've done a better job at being Saviour than that deadbeat, Christ.

From the same author on Feedbooks

- Guns Don't Kill People...My Uncle Does (A Varied Collection of Short-stories Geared For A Man) (2010)

These short-stories vary from ghost, to horror, to military in nature, and are just perfect for the man with the short attention-spa...hey, a cookie!

When a mysterious illness attacks a community and the military families suffer, find out if Yancy will follow another blind order, or stand up for what's right, in Pocketful of Bullets.

In 1820, in a rural Tennessee community, a ghost of a suspected witch mocked and tortured one family. What did she demand when confronted? Only the death of the family's patriarch. Stone Witch is based on the real story of the ghost of Kate Batts.

Ever wish your insurance paid for you to completely smash into the car of the idiot in front of you? Road Rage casts a comic look onto what it's like to think you're not the one with the problem.

Currently now my best-seller! Find out why this book has been so controversial.

- Zen In The Art of Absurdity (2010)

In “Sounds Like...A Self-Portrait” we see Fern’s struggle to go for it with Rogers or not. But will her gas keep them apart?

“Road Rage” shines a light on all those crappy drivers--who are driving YOUR car.

“See Dick and Jane Beat The Hell Out of Jack and Jill,” is an all-out farce that writers everywhere will love.

“Sleep Walker” is the same story, told from 3 different points of view, with 3 very different stories emerging.

An exercise in writing purely horrible fiction is what “The Tokyo Kens” is all about.

Watch Delores have a controlled meltdown in “It’s All Just Water Under the Fridge.”

In the essay “We All Need Traditions,” Carla’s mother asked for a pink azalea for Mother’s Day every year. And every year, her dad would buy it, and then mow it down. Why they never got hobbies, we’ll never know.

“That’ll Be Seven Lipsticks, Please,” is an all-out mockery of Canadians. All Sam’s wife wants is a bathroom. All Sam wants is to find someone who speaks Canglish. Or Englanadian.

Even the suicide notes from avid shoe-lovers can be funny in “The Suicide Ranks.”

Find out why living in the south in the winter, and being married to a man who picks his ears with his keys is comic fodder in “Radio Shack, Earwax and Toilet Paper.”

And finally, “Justifiable Lack of Initiative” teaches us to celebrate our under-achieving, and see why a writer in search of his own writing space is driven to desperation by his wife in “Zen In The Art of Absurdity.”

www.feedbooks.com

Food for the mind

Table of Contents

Title

Chapter 1 - You Can't Go Home Again

Chapter 2 - And So It Begins....

Chapter 3 - Isabella's Angst

Chapter 4 - A Taxing Proposition

Chapter 5 - A Plan Is Hatched

Chapter 6 - When Society Comes To Call

Chapter 7 - Returning The Favor

Chapter 8 - If The Truth Be Known

Chapter 9 - Of A Most Traitorous Nature

Chapter 10 - The First Cut

Chapter 11 - When It Rains...

Chapter 12 - ...It Pours

Chapter 13 - Round And Round We Go

Chapter 14 - Christmas Eve

Chapter 15 - The Ball Arrives

Chapter 16 - Was It All A Dream?

Chapter 17 - The Confrontation

Chapter 18 - Adding Fuel To The Fire

Chapter 19 - Up To No Good

Chapter 20 - There's No Beauty Like The Winter Rose

Chapter 21 - The Sword Cuts Both Ways

Chapter 22 - Tell Me You Will

Chapter 23 - A Most Embarrassing Predicament

Chapter 24 - Do, Come Dance With Me

Chapter 25 - You Have No Right

Chapter 26 - Surely, You Jest!

Chapter 27 - At Day's End

Chapter 28 - With A Vengeance

Chapter 29 - All's Well That Ends Well

SECRETS

A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COMING IN THE SPRING OF 2011

From the same author on Feedbooks