Chapter 2

Chapter 2

September 2nd, 1810

Dear sister,

You are sorely missed here. Grace inquires after you whenever I am over visiting Simon, and I have little updates to give her. Aside from Aunt Nellie's rather brief missive detailing your arrival and safe settling in her Irish manor, there is no news of you.

I can only surmise, from our shared bond, that your silence means you fell into a perilous situation on your journey across the sea. Did you encounter some foul pirate or sea captain who, upon hearing your sharp wit, decided to take your hands for his collection? I can think of no other reason why you would not have written by now.

Yours,

James

***

September 30th, 1810

James,

You know perfectly well that there was no sea captain, and if there had been I would have taken his hands, not the other way around. I feel well-equipped for such a feat of brutality after reading that novella you slipped into my chest for the ride over. It is good that Father and Mother did not see it. No doubt they would have considered it too gruesome for a young lady of my standing.

I have not written because I am miserable, and I do not wish to bore you with my misery.

But you asked, and so you bring this upon yourself.

Ireland is terrible. Aunt Nellie is fastidious in her attempts to make me better. She wants to change my wardrobe, the way I eat, the way I stand, and the way I talk. She wishes to reform so much of my nature and character that I wonder if it would be easier to simply swap me out for another girl entirely.

It rains here all the time. Come bring me back to London.

Bella

***

October 16th, 1810

My dear Lady Isabella,

There. I have signed my letter most properly for fear that it will be intercepted by that ogre of an aunt who has taken charge of your upbringing. Your brother was over to see mine the other day, and told me all about the ways in which your aunt is trying to change you. Please don't change too much. You will always be Bella to me.

It is dreadfully dull here without you. Mother says I am spending more time focusing on what a lady ought to focus on, by which I assume she means I have shown a propensity for the pianoforte now that I am not so distracted from my practice lessons.

But I would rather be in the park with you watching you scale a tree any day. I am afraid I am a rather dull girl when you are away. I find myself doing needlepoint and flipping through poetry as though I was any other simpering lass in London, whereas you would have encouraged me out onto some adventure or other if you were here.

Is it true that you tried to run away from your aunt's home? I heard it from Simon, who heard it from a friend. See, even now you are causing little ripples of delicious gossip in the ton. I shall ask James about it when I see him next.

Tell me everything about your world. I miss you terribly.

Your own,

Grace

***

October 18th, 1810

Bella,

I should not be hearing about your runaway escapades from Simon! I'm your brother, after all. Apparently, his friend knows a friend of Aunt Nellie's in Ireland, and told us that you made it all the way to the wharf before Aunt Nellie found you and convinced you to come home.

Tell me, what exactly was your plan? Father and Mother would certainly have taken one look at you and sent you back on the next ship.

I wish I could bring you some comfort, though. If you had to run away, it must mean that you are miserable indeed, as you claimed in your last letter. I hope you find something to enjoy over there, and I will try to visit you soon.

Everyone here is quite excited about the upcoming season. Simon is making waves with some of the prettier girls, although that's nothing new. Father says nothing will come of it, since all Simon's flirtation won't shift him from the position of second son. The girls may all like him, but their fathers won't. That's what Father says, but I disagree. Simon is a good friend, and an honorable man. Any woman worth her salt will see that in the end.

For my own part, I haven't found anyone to catch my fancy. I should, though. I can see how nervous it makes our parents that the heir is not yet settled. They would be happy with any titled woman, regardless of whether or not she was pretty or kind or witty. I'm weary of it all.

James

***

November 1, 1810

James,

I did try to run away, but I was largely unsuccessful. I don't think my heart was really in it. You're right, Mother and Father would just send me back again.

Aunt Nellie is not all that bad, in her heart. She seems kind enough, just so serious all the time and strict about what I do. I feel I never do anything right. I am stiff when I should be graceful and eager when I should be restrained. They will never make a lady of me.

Please give the enclosed letter to Grace when you see her. Aunt Nellie does not wish me to correspond too often, and so I have taken to tucking some letters into others.

Bella

***

November 25, 1810

James,

Why have you not written me back? A full month with nothing from either you or Grace seems dreadful indeed. It is dreary going into the depths of winter, when I am not even permitted the freedom of the misty moor, without your words to bring me comfort.

Tell me of London, and of all the silly girls chasing after you and Simon. I am in dire need of distraction.

Bella

***

January 3, 1811

James,

Now I am truly despairing. What sort of brother leaves his sister without correspondence for such a long period of time, and through the holidays! I was forced to endure a rigid Christmas party at Aunt Nellie's side, preened out like a peacock in a fancy silk gown that made it hard to breathe.

The whole affair seemed as though it was fashioned for torture, and when it was done, I could not help thinking about last Christmas, when you got me that little wooden music box as a present and we made ribbon chains for the tree. Tell me what the house is looking like now, and what it looked like at Christmas.

I received a strained letter from Grace a while back, but she seemed as though she was concealing something. Tell her that if she has fallen in love with some young lad in for the season, she should be more sensible. We are still girls, after all.

Bella

***

January 29, 1811

J,

Now I am angry. You have gone silent, and so have Mother and Father, not that they were ever true fonts of knowledge. Tell me what I've done wrong this instant. It's cruel of you to ignore me this way.

B

***

February 11, 1811

Lady Isabella,

No doubt you are surprised to receive post from me, even though I know I promised you letters when you left London last fall. In truth, I hardly thought you'd expect to hear from me with all the letters James wished to send.

It is on his behalf that I write. Please, prepare yourself. He wished me to break the news to you—not Grace, and not your parents. They are all overcome at present, and unable to do the information justice.

Bella, your brother was taken ill this winter. At first it seemed a passing sickness, but it took a dreadful turn one night and by morning he had passed. His last words were for you. I was at his bedside, and he asked to see you instead. I do not think, in the heat of the fever, he remembered that you were across the sea from him.

I am broken-hearted to be the one to convey this news to you, but I must. James was my dearest and truest friend. He was a man unlike any other, and the world is a worse place without him.

I asked permission to travel to you in person with this news, but your parents did not think it best for you to be distracted from your current duties and requirements. While I might disagree with their reasons, I will not disobey. In the absence of my company, please accept my correspondence. This time, it is not lightly given. Feel free to write to me with any questions you have about James, and I will do my best to answer.

Grace sends her love. She is at present too overcome to write, but that will change soon. I saw a litter of unsent missives on her floor when I went to visit last night, and believe she wishes to write…only she cannot find the words.

Simon

***

March 20, 1811

Lady Isabella,

I have heard nothing from you since my last letter, although your Aunt Nellie responded quite kindly that the news was received. She says you have taken on the proper mourning and are keeping to yourself.

I imagine the last thing you wish to do at present is write to your brother's friend, when in reality you are missing your brother more than life itself, but I wish to remind you that I am here in the event that you should need my friendship. I have always viewed you as a sister. If anything so heartbreaking were to happen to Grace, I would wish her to have solid companionship and comfort.

Simon

***

March 28, 1811

Simon,

James would never have called me Lady Isabella.

Bella

***

April 8, 1811

Bella,

Ah! She lives!

It is good to know that my letters have not fallen on deaf ears after all, even if it is a travesty to cause a poor mail carrier to travel all the distance from Ireland to London for the sake of delivering a single sentence.

I have noted my mistake in calling you Lady Isabella and shall henceforth call you Bella. This is, of course, how I would have referred to you in person, but a letter feels as though it requires something more formal, does it not?

Please tell me how you are doing, if you can spare the ink.

Simon

***

April 13, 1811

Simon,

Did you know that it is not ladylike to weep, or to show overdo emotion? There is a very proper list of dos and don'ts that I am to adhere to per Aunt Nellie's requirements. I must dress the right way to show enough sadness for James' passing, but not to seem too dramatic. I must appear below-stairs whenever sympathetic visitors come to call, even when I want to scream and throw things at their heads. I must speak of James enough, but not too much.

I must not cry. It ruins my complexion.

I don't know who to speak to about him. It is ghoulish that he should be taken from me while I am in this terrible place, when I could not give him a proper goodbye.

I am furious with Mother and Father for sending me away. I am furious with James for getting sick. I am furious with you for writing me about it.

I shall never recover, and I do not wish to.

B

***

April 24, 1811

Bella,

If you do not know who to talk to about James, look no further than myself. If you wish to cry, or scream, or throw things, just slip away to a room and do thusly. When you see me in person again you can even hurl something at my head. I am very light on my feet, and likely no damage will be done.

Did James ever tell you about the time we found a frog in the creek behind my family summer home and squired it back to London for a bit of fun with his tutor? It took some effort to keep the poor thing alive, but we managed it well enough, and the pay-off was tremendous. Mr. Grant was always going on about how we should conduct ourselves with propriety and grow up to be gentlemen deserving of the titles that had been bestowed upon us.

During one of these long talks, we slipped the frog into his desk and waited. I suppose we just wanted it to jump out and surprise him. Unfortunately, it was damp enough to ruin a manuscript he had been working on for years with a collection of short and dreadful love poems dedicated to a "Miss M."

I was a bit chagrined, yes, but for the most part I thought the joke had gone over well enough. Not James. He insisted that we apologize to Mr. Grant and confess the harm we had done. After taking the three strokes of cane upon his hands, he encouraged the flustered old man to undertake the writing of poems again.

He was far too good-hearted for pranks, I think. You were always a bit better at mischief, if I remember correctly.

S

***

May 6, 1811

S,

I'm not sure if I should be horrified or flattered by your comment that that I was always better at mischief. But you are right about James. He had a good heart.

That's why I did half the mischievous things I undertook, after all. I just wanted to make him smile. I wanted to make him laugh.

I suppose I also wanted to make my parents angry, but that is neither here nor there. I know you told me that story to make me feel better, and I'm afraid it did. I wonder when I will stop feeling guilty for smiling. Your letter is the first thing that has made me smile since James died, and that makes me want to burn it.

B

***

May 11, 1811

B,

James would not begrudge you a smile. If you are holding yourself aloof from such pleasant emotions because you think it honors him, you are wrong. He would hate the dismal rules of mourning your aunt is inflicting on you. Go on, Bella, smile every once in a while, and trust that James is smiling too.

Grace said she received a letter from you last week. I'm glad you are both writing again. She has been inconsolable without you. I tell her that you will return soon enough, but I admit it does seem like a long time to wait.

I saw your parents at an event last night. They seem quite happy with your current situation, although they are still grieving the loss of James. There is some cousin or other who shall inherit in his stead. Though, this seems to give your father no lack of anxiety. I hope that his fears shall be assuaged in time. For now, he is still the earl, after all, and there is no need to concern himself overmuch with the future.

What are you learning over there in Ireland? Have they made you into a fine young lady yet?