Chapter 3

Four years later, Ireland, 1815

The horse surged beneath Bella, churning along the open space of the moor in a burst of wind and spirit. It was as close as she came to freedom these days, riding on horseback. She had agreed to everything Aunt Nellie required of a proper lady mounted upon a steed—riding attire, her legs properly arrayed in a side-saddle, a bonnet upon her head—but she had gathered enough skill over the years to make such annoyances minimal. She could still ride like the wind, even side-saddle. She could still feel the open air take her breath away.

At the bottom of the hill, she reined in hard, turning her horse homeward through the orchards at a trot and then a walk. By the time she reached the stables, she could breathe easily again, the adrenaline fading from her veins. She slipped off the horse and walked inside, stepping into her aunt's drawing room as the morning sun filled it with warm, golden rays.

"Good morning," she said, smiling at her Aunt Nellie.

The older woman was arrayed in one corner of the room, dressed in layers of lace that climbed up her neck and ended in a strict collar beneath her perpetually lifted chin. Her greying hair was tucked primly back into a bun, and atop her head, a duster was pinned tidily in place.

"Good morning," she said, surveying Bella's appearance. "I see that you've been out riding. Heavens, child. You ought to go up and change before they serve tea."

Bella put a hand to one of her escaped strands of hair and tucked it behind one ear. "It was windy today."

"And you were likely riding raster than was necessary," her aunt corrected her. Aunt Nellie was sharp enough to see through Bella's excuses, but she was not unkind. Her eyes were warm with affection as she nodded at a nearby letter on the stand. "And Miss Lyndon has sent you a letter. You may take it upstairs with you while you change for tea. I have something rather pressing to speak about when you return."

The headstrong girl who had come to Ireland five years earlier would have run over to that letter at once and snatched it up, greedily devouring the contents and rereading every word. Bella was no longer that girl. She smiled at her aunt and walked carefully across the room to the letter, picking it up and tucking it away with a small bow of her head before making her way back upstairs.

She could hardly remember the Bella she had been before Aunt Nellie, before her separation from her family and friends, and before James' death. Her time away from London had changed her in more ways than one.

In her room, she plucked the bonnet from her head and tossed it aside, changing into a pressed white linen gown that had been left by her lady's maid on the bedspread. Bella could have waited for the servant to appear and assist her, but the fine little buttons and confusing stays did not overwhelm her as they once had. She fashioned the garment on with steady fingers, slipped into a pair of silk shoes, and brushed out her long dark-blond hair.

The woman looking back at her in the mirror had left behind the awkward angles and sharp gangly limbs of a child for a slender form, high cheekbones, and an elegant expression. She pinned her hair back from her face in a simple fashion—more than that she could not manage without her lady's maid—and pulled out a few loose curls to frame her bright blue eyes.

Aunt Nellie said she had grown into a pretty woman, after all, but Bella could not believe as much. Certainly, she had become more polished, and could pass easily as a fine lady of London, but she did not consider herself beautiful. Her parents' ridicule still rang in her mind after all these years, reminding her that she was no beauty and must rely on propriety alone to propel her into the center of society.

She left her toilette and walked back to the window for better light as she opened Grace's letter. The sight of the return address, so familiar, made Bella's heart ache. There was a time, years ago, when she received letters from two people at that home, but now she could only ever expect Grace to write, and that happened with less and less frequency.

My dear Bella, the letter began, I hope this missive finds you well. As I mentioned in my last letter, the plans for my upcoming Season are in full swing at last. For the most part, I find all the excitement to be quite enjoyable, but it feels empty without you here. Shouldn't we be starting our Season in concert?

She had a point. Bella wondered why she had not yet heard from her parents. She was a girl of nineteen now, and fully fit to handle the pressures of her first Season. If they waited much longer to introduce her to society, she would be considered an old maid and tossed to the first old viscount who was willing to take her.

There was a time when all this would have angered Bella and driven her to some show of drama, but such times were long past. London held too many ghosts for her now. She knew she would have to return one day, but she wasn't sure she was ready.

Grace's letter spilled into a variety of paragraphs detailing her preparations and the latest gossip of the ton. The letter was long, and on occasion made Bella smile, but she did not overlook the glaring absence in the text when it came to a close. There was no mention of Simon.

She folded the letter carefully and set it aside, trying to force away the feelings of anger and disappointment that came with thoughts of Mr. Simon Lyndon. Don't dwell on him, she scolded herself. He is not worth it.

She met Aunt Nellie downstairs and took a seat across from her as the maid brought in a tray of tea. Aunt Nellie nodded for Bella to go ahead and serve it herself, as she had been taught, and she complied.

Years ago, a simple morning tea ritual like this would have reduced Bella to tears as she tried to sit up straight, make easy conversation, manage the heavy pot of tea, keep her chin tilted at an attractive angle, and smile with just the slightest curve to her lips. Now, these things came naturally to her.

"It was brisk on the moor today," she said, making the sort of light conversation Aunt Nellie liked to hear from a young woman. "I found it quite invigorating."

"I wondered if you would regret leaving your cloak behind," Aunt Nellie answered, taking the cup and saucer offered her.

"Not at all," Bella assured her, watching a cloud of cream bloom in her dark tea. "Brisk, but not unpleasant."

"Isabella, I've something to speak with you about," Aunt Nellie began. She drew herself up quite straight, as though she was sitting with her back against a wooden rod. "I received a letter from your parents yesterday. I would have shared the contents with you earlier, but they required some thought on my part."

Bella took a sip of her hot tea, letting the familiar floral taste reassure her. Her parents never wrote her personally anymore, choosing instead to communicate their wishes through her aunt. She had long since given up any feeling of bitterness around this arrangement. Bitterness makes for a sour companion, Aunt Nellie always said, and a lady cannot afford to appear disagreeable. She must find ways to account for the failings of those around her.

"How pleasant," Bella answered at last. "What news of London?"

"Very little of London, but quite a bit regarding our mutual future," Aunt Nellie said. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "They have determined that it is time at last for you to return to London. They are happy with my reports of your progress, and rightfully concerned that you will miss out on some excellent opportunities should you wait another year for your official introduction into society."

Bella almost dropped her teacup, but training stopped her. She felt suddenly flushed, and there was a buzzing sound in her ears. "Go back?" she asked. "To…to London?"

"Yes of course," Aunt Nellie said briskly, "where else? That is where your family lives, is it not?"

Not all of them. She had not seen her family home since James…

"I don't understand." She invoked the phrase Aunt Nellie suggested when trying to stall for time. "This all seems rather sudden."

"To me as well," her aunt smiled kindly. "For they have asked me to accompany you back to London. I would not have minded a bit more warning so that I could close up the house here properly and update your wardrobe, but as it is, my steward will have to tend to things in Ireland and I will find you a tailor in London as soon as we arrive."

Bella nodded calmly, even though inside she wanted to scream. After all this time, and all their silence, her parents were snapping their fingers and calling her back to their side like a hunting hound. She was not ready.

"My dear," her aunt said gently, as though noticing Bella's silence for the first time, "is something amiss? I thought this news would make you happy. It has been so long since you were in London."

Bella felt a little breathless. "Nothing is amiss. I am only taken aback, that is all. I did not expect this news to come so suddenly"

"For my part, I think it is a bit overdue." Aunt Nellie looked at her carefully, with a calculating expression that made Bella feel as though the other woman saw right through her. Aunt Nellie was always very careful not to criticize Bella's parents, but it was apparent that Aunt Nellie thought Bella's exile had been too drawn out.

Bella set her cup down carefully, and crossed her hands in her lap. "What do I need to be ready, Aunt? Shall I begin packing at once?"

"Your lady's maid will tend to most of that," Aunt Nellie explained. "Although it is helpful if you give her advice and direction along the way, I'm sure. But dear… there is nothing else you require to be ready for the Season. You have come so far since you first arrived in Ireland. You are a fine lady now."

Bella nodded.

Her aunt smiled. "I wish you wouldn't look so frightened, dear. This is going to be an adventure. You shall get to see Miss Lyndon again, and all your other companions. You will be the jewel of the Season, I am certain, returned in high style with your beauty and your elegance to speak for you."

"Thank you, Aunt," Bella said, forcing a smile. The thought of Grace was indeed a relief, but it reminded her of Simon. If she was to see Grace, then there was always the possibility of running into Simon as well, and that would not be pleasant. Perhaps I shall be fortunate, and he will be away on business in the Continent, she hoped. "I am not frightened. Only thoughtful. I want to make my family proud."

It wasn't until after she left the parlor and slipped back upstairs to her own chambers that she let herself feel the weight of the moment for the first time. London. The thought of going home made her hands feel suddenly sweaty with anxiety. She could hardly remember her parents, nor the place she had left behind.

Memories for her were muddled moments, textures, and sounds. She could feel the bark underneath her hands as she scrambled up the tree, remember fragments of the harsh words her parents had thrown her direction, and smell, as if from a great distance, the pipe smoke on her brother's clothes.

Everything else about London had come to her through Simon's letters, and then, later, through Grace's. Bella sat down heavily on the end of her bed, looking out the window at the greening hills of Ireland and wondering how it had come to feel like such a home to her. She had despised the moors when she first arrived, despised them as vehemently as she had despised Aunt Nellie's harsh rules and requirements.

But after James' death, Ireland had become increasingly familiar to her, a place of safety and predictability in a world that seemed to her suddenly dangerous. Aunt Nellie, though strict, was kind. She knew who she was there.

In London, nothing was certain.

"Lady Isabella." There was a crisp knock on the door and, after Bella bid the servant enter, her lady's maid appeared. "I've heard the news, my lady," the woman said brightly, dropping into a quick curtsy. "Your aunt has sent me up to begin laying out your things. It will take us a few days to finalize the packing, but I want to get a start if there are things that need pressed or laundered."

"Thank you," Bella said, rising from the bed and gathering her wits about her again. "Shall we go through the wardrobe first and determine which dresses I ought to bring with me?"

The servant looked confused for a moment, and then said gently, "But, my lady, you'll be bringing them all." She paused and added, "You're moving to London for good now, aren't you?"

I am, Bella realized, nerves skittering as the news sunk in at last. I'm moving to London for good.

his mind. "A very long time ago."