Chapter 2

2

“Have you gone mad, Issie?” Bella asked, and immediately regretted her harsh words when she saw Issie wince in response. However, Bella did feel her remark was justified, as Issie had just told her she was far too ill to go to court and had begged Bella to take her place and assume her identity, while being presented to Her Royal Highness, the Queen of England !

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I just cannot do it!” Issie said.

Looking at her as she lay in bed, Bella had to admit that Issie appeared very ill indeed. She didn’t have the strength to rise and was trembling uncontrollably.

“What exactly is wrong?” Bella asked, in a much kinder tone. “Should I send for a doctor?”

“No, please don’t. I don’t want to see anyone. I’m very weak, and I’m having palpitations,” Issie said, clutching her chest. “I have this awful feeling that if I kneel in front of the queen I’ll drop dead like my mother did.”

“At least your legs would be covered,” Bella said, as the court dress had the most ridiculously long train she’d ever seen. But then she chided herself for making inappropriate jokes when Issie was in such a sad state. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how it’s possible. We should tell Aunt Lucretia that you’re ill and ask if your presentation can be postponed.”

“No! I can’t postpone it. I’ll feel even worse if I have to live in dread of doing it again at a later date. I just need it to be over and done with.”

Bella continued to argue against the idea, but seeing that her cousin was sincerely agitated and she was looking weaker the longer Bella refused, Bella finally capitulated to Issie’s request.

“Thank you, Bella. I’ll never forget this,” Issie said faintly, before sinking further down into the pillows and closing her eyes.

Bella told herself that Issie had better not forget it, because it was the most selfless, terrifying thing she’d ever agreed to do. Only daughters or wives of peers were invited to make their presentation at court, and if it was discovered that she was there impersonating her noble cousin, Bella couldn’t even imagine what the consequences might be. Also, she’d seen Issie’s presentation gown, and it was an unwieldy monstrosity. Bella wouldn’t be surprised if the thought of having to wear it was what had sickened Issie.

The presentation was that very day, but Bella still had four or five hours before she had to leave the house, as Issie had sent a maid to Bella’s room to awaken her before dawn. Bella reflected that, although she had initially been annoyed at being awoken so early from a sound sleep, it was a very good thing she had been as she would need every spare minute to get into the dress and its many accoutrements.

There were very stringent rules about court dress, and Queen Charlotte’s guests were required to wear the hooped skirts that were the custom in her youth. But as the waist had been allowed to rise in deference to current fashions, the dresses were oddly bell-shaped, the bodice looking disproportionately small in comparison with the ballooning skirt with its long train. Bella wondered if it was in an attempt to offset this strange silhouette that the headdresses were so very large, as one of the other strict codes of court attire was that every lady was required to wear feathers in her hair.

As she was being helped into her hoops and dress, Bella wondered what the servants thought of her and Issie’s odd behavior. It was Bella who had been presented to them as Lady Isabelle that first day, but it was Issie who had been fitted for the dress, and now Bella was the one wearing it. And the ramifications of this were soon plain to see, as the bodice, which had been tailored for Lady Isabelle’s slighter figure, looked positively indecent on Bella.

“I’ll take the dress off, and we can sew some lace on,” Bella suggested, and Nancy, the maid who had been helping Bella dress, looked at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses.

“Beg pardon, miss, um, milady,” Nancy said hesitantly, obviously unsure how she should address Bella, before giving up on any form of address and continuing her protest. “It took us a good half hour to get you into it. We don’t have time to be starting all over again.”

“Then sew the lace on while I’m wearing it,” Bella suggested. Nancy was hesitant to do this as well, as the bodice was so very tight it would be easy to prick Bella with the needle in a very sensitive location. But finally, after Bella insisted, Nancy put in one or two stitches while stuffing the lace down the front of the dress as best she could, and Bella reflected on the fact that Nancy might not know her true identity, but she was now extremely familiar with her anatomy.

Nancy went to retrieve Issie’s jewels, returning a few minutes later with a box that contained a diamond necklace and diamond chandelier eardrops. Bella had mixed feelings when the maidservant clasped the jewelry around her neck. On the one hand, she was relieved she was going to have something to cover the vast amount of exposed bosom (as the lace had helped very little), while on the other hand, she was extremely anxious over the thought of wearing a fortune in jewels that did not belong to her.

But it was now time to meet Aunt Lucretia, and Bella found her attention fully occupied with trying to accomplish something she thought she’d mastered when she was two years old: walking. Nancy was at her side to help carry her train, but between the hoops and the feathers, Bella had a very difficult time negotiating the stairs. She couldn’t see her feet at all, something she’d never before realized was a necessary part of the walking process. She found herself descending crab-like, holding very tightly to the railing with both hands and stepping sideways one tentative foot at a time.

Aunt Lucretia had been waiting in the drawing room and did not emerge into the front hall until Bella was at the very end of her performance, so Bella was greeted with smiles and compliments instead of exhortations to hurry.

“You look stunning, my dear,” said the woman who couldn’t see her. “Absolutely stunning.”

Bella realized she probably did look good to someone who was nearsighted and saw her as a great blur of white and pale pink satin, sparkling diamonds, and fluffy, waving feathers. So she thanked Aunt Lucretia and smiled at her, though her smile quickly faded when the butler opened the front door and she realized she now had to maneuver herself into a carriage.

Bella wasn’t very impressed with St. James’s Palace, but it could have been because the exterior, with its dark brick facade and imposing turrets, reminded Bella of a prison and she already felt like a criminal, impersonating her cousin as she was. King Henry VIII had built the palace for Anne Boleyn, and their intertwining initials were still to be found inscribed above at least one of the many fireplaces. Thinking of the former queen’s disastrous end made Bella wonder if the universe was trying to warn her about what happens to scheming young women who bring themselves to the attention of royalty.

The interior of St. James’s Palace was far grander, and Bella preferred it over the exterior; especially the queen’s drawing room with its crimson velvet window hangings, high ceilings, and tapestry-covered walls. At first, she found it odd that the room was almost empty of furniture, but then she remembered that no one was allowed to sit in the presence of the queen. And perhaps it was just as well, because Bella had had enough difficulties seating herself in the carriage.

After they entered the room, Aunt Lucretia exchanged greetings with some of the ladies present before introducing Bella to them. Bella hid her face behind her fan and said as little as possible during these introductions, and then thought about what a poor impression she was making as “Lady Isabelle.” Still, it was better that London society think Issie was awkward and shy than accuse her of being someone else entirely when she finally began going out. And Issie was somewhat awkward and shy.

However, the longer Bella had to wait for her presentation, the more nervous she became. She suddenly remembered that Aunt Lucretia had told her (during the lecture she’d scarcely listened to) that she was to back away from the queen after she curtsied, as it was not permissible to turn one’s back on royalty. Bella began to think she had to have some practice, as she had difficulties walking at all in her present costume, and couldn’t even imagine attempting to walk backward .

Bella was able to slip away from Aunt Lucretia’s side, first into a hall and finally into an antechamber that was empty. Or so she thought. But the annoying headdress with its feathers and dangling lappets must have interfered with her peripheral vision because, when turning to look behind her to make sure no one had seen her leave, she collided quite forcefully with a gentleman.

She found herself plastered to his chest with his arms around her, as he had instinctively clasped her to him in order to prevent her from falling. She was very grateful for this, as she had struck him so hard that she felt a little out of breath and unsteady on her feet.

But her dizziness only worsened when she finally raised her head and saw his face.

“I beg your pardon,” Bella said, blinking up at the gentleman. She had a dazed impression of warm brown eyes in a tanned face looking intently into her own, but her senses were overwhelmed by the feel of his firm chest pressed against hers and his hands on her bare arms above her gloves, so that she was unable to make a rational judgment about his appearance. Her irrational judgment was that he was devastatingly attractive, and she had no desire to step away from him in order to view him from a distance and form a more objective opinion.

Lord Brooke, who had been leaving St. James’s Palace when this woman appeared from nowhere and hurled herself into his arms, did the gentlemanly thing and claimed responsibility for the mishap.

“It was my fault entirely,” he said, even though he was still unsure how he’d come to be holding a frilly and fluffy, not to mention sweetly scented and rounded, young woman.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the lady replied with a smile. “I think these feathers must share some of the blame, don’t you?”

Lord Brooke returned her smile, even though the thought that he must now release her was starting to cause him a degree of regret. As he reluctantly stepped away, he was struck by a chilling draft. His chest, even though well covered by a waistcoat and jacket, felt bereft without her bosom pressed against it. Still smiling, however, he agreed with her that the feathers were gravely at fault.

“I’ve never even seen an actual ostrich, have you?” she asked him. “Yet there must be enough feathers in the queen’s drawing room to coat a dozen of them, as well as a few egrets. I had never before considered it, but it must hurt when they’re plucked, poor things.” Her eyes grew wide as an even more horrific thought occurred to her. “You don’t think they kill—”

He hurried to interrupt before he was forced to answer that particular question. “I assume you’re here to be presented to the queen?” She nodded in response, her feathers bobbing. “Then you should probably return to the drawing room, you know. It would cause a minor scandal if you weren’t there when your name was called.”

“Would it? I see,” the young lady said. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to return.”

She looked up at him with a wistful smile, and he wished he could tell her that she did not have to return after all, that she could run away immediately, with him, preferably. He wasn’t sure what her specific fear was, but hoping to dispel it, said, “There’s no need to worry. It happens very quickly, once they call for you. The queen might ask how your family does and send her regards to one of your relations, but it will all be over before you know it.”

“As long as I don’t trip over my skirt while backing away. I’m not very skilled at maneuvering in this .” She made a graceful wave of her hand, gesturing from her chin to her feet to demonstrate what she was talking about, so that Lord Brooke allowed his gaze to follow where he had been keeping himself from looking. Court dress was somewhat ludicrous in his view, with its overly festooned hoop skirts and feathered headdresses and lappets, but the diamonds she was wearing around her regal neck were crowning one of the most splendid sets of bosoms he’d ever seen.

Lord Brooke rather desperately returned his gaze to her lovely face, but any relief he felt was to be short-lived. “Would you mind if I practiced my curtsy?” she asked. “I would hate to stumble and fall in front of the queen. And I didn’t have the opportunity to practice as much as I should have.”

Taking his silence as agreement, she suddenly swept down in front of him. “Well?” she asked, peeping up at him through one of her feathers.

“Bravo,” he said, and put out a hand to help her rise, while nobly averting his gaze.

“That’s very kind of you, but you shouldn’t help me. I must practice the most difficult part: my exit,” she said, and she backed away from him slowly, biting down slightly on her full bottom lip in an expression of intense concentration, which caused Lord Brooke to focus his concentration on her mouth. This did not do anything to elevate his thoughts, though at least the temperature seemed to be rising, and he no longer felt the least bit chilled.

The lady had successfully backed a good ten feet away from him before she stopped, looking at him with one slightly raised eyebrow.

“That was excellent. Very graceful,” he commended her, and her face lit up in response.

“I’m sure you’re flattering me; I’m probably about as graceful as a pouter pigeon, but thank you,” she said. “And now, unfortunately, I must go back.”

She gave a little wave of farewell and he held up his hand as well, though he was unsure if he was returning her gesture or asking her not to go. But she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared and he was left standing there with his hand held out.

He spent a moment wondering if he should leave as he’d intended, but decided instead to follow the young lady, his curiosity too great to allow her to disappear without learning her name. He made his way to one of the chambers that overlooked the queen’s drawing room and scanned the crowd. He finally caught sight of “his” lady standing beside Lady Dutton. Even though her face was mostly hidden by the fan she held in front of it, there was no mistaking the dress, or that figure. He wondered how it was that she had been able to converse so openly and comfortably with him with no hint of shyness, when she was apparently so unnerved by her presentation that she had run from the room and was even now hiding behind her fan.

The fact that she was accompanying Lady Dutton should have given him a clue as to her identity, and thus he should not have been as surprised as he was when the Lord Chamberlain announced her name.

“Lady Isabelle Grant.”

“Good God,” said Lord Brooke, and immediately left the palace.

Lord Brooke had last seen Lady Isabelle more than five years ago, shortly before his mother’s death, when Lady Strickland had paid them a visit with her daughter in tow. Isabelle had been thirteen, perhaps fourteen; he could not remember exactly. She had still been a child, however, and he realized that the last stage of growth before adulthood was one of major transformation. Even so, he would never have recognized her as the woman he’d just met. Five or six years ago she’d been a pale ghost of a girl, extremely shy, and had refused to even look at him, staring resolutely at the floor her entire visit. He couldn’t remember her saying more than a few words, and those were spoken in a whisper. He was convinced her mother was to blame; Lady Strickland had been so very domineering he had felt that Lady Isabelle would never be allowed to exert her own personality, or even develop one.

Therefore, the vibrant, animated creature he’d collided with in the halls of St. James’s Palace was a shock to him in more ways than one. Now that he knew her identity and he was removed from her actual presence, he was beginning to doubt his impression of her. Could it be that her physical beauty had made her seem more captivating than she actually was? He would not be the first man to be taken in by an attractive facade.

But he hadn’t imagined her open, confiding manner; her engaging smile; her sparkling charm. He’d observed none of these characteristics, or even the potential for them, when they’d last met. How had Lady Isabelle developed into such an enchanting creature?

Of course, she hadn’t recognized him, either, and he had changed far less than she had, as he had been in his early twenties at their last meeting. So perhaps memory wasn’t the most reliable standard for judgment.

Still, he felt there was a definite mystery about the Lady Isabelle. And he was just the man to unravel it.

As soon as Bella returned from the presentation and had changed into a more comfortable gown, she rushed into Issie’s room to see if her condition had improved. She was disappointed to find her cousin still in bed.

Issie looked up anxiously at Bella’s entrance and asked, “How did it go?” at the same time Bella asked, “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Bella said, while Issie simultaneously answered: “Terrible.”

“No one suspected that you were not me?” Issie asked.

“I don’t see how anyone could have. Though they probably think you very strange indeed, as I spoke in monosyllables and kept my fan in front of my face the entire time.”

“I care naught what they think of me. I doubt I will ever meet any of them.”

“What do you mean? Aunt Lucretia said now that I, meaning you, have been presented, she is going to start taking me, I mean you, on morning calls. And apparently there’s a musical concert in two nights, and an opera the night after that, and oh! You’ve been invited to a ball!” Bella said, thinking this information would give Issie something to anticipate and assist her in making a quick recovery.

Issie shuddered and put her hands over her face. “I can’t do it, Bella.”

“Then we must tell Aunt Lucretia that you’re ill and send for a doctor.”

“I doubt a doctor will be able to do anything for me. I am definitely not capable of embarking upon a round of social activities,” Issie said with a distasteful grimace, as if she were being offered some fish that was off.

Bella sat on the bed next to her cousin and took her hands in hers. “Issie, are you sure that you’re physically incapable of these things, or is it merely that you don’t want to do them?”

Issie looked up at Bella, her eyes watery. “I am not lying to you, Bella. It’s true that I don’t want to participate, but neither am I well enough to do so even if I did want to.”

Bella looked sympathetically at her sickly cousin. She herself was very healthy, and it saddened her to see Issie in such a state. Issie finally broke the silence to say, somewhat hesitantly, “Bella, what if…you continued to take my place?”

“What? That’s a nonsensical idea. I only went today because it was just this once, and I knew how much money had been spent on that ridiculous dress and how disappointed Aunt Lucretia would have been if you’d cancelled. And there is something to be said for getting the whole thing over with, as you mentioned. But I have no intention of masquerading as you for the rest of the season.”

“But…why couldn’t you? Whom would it hurt if you did so? Operas and concerts and balls are all things that you would enjoy, and ‘Arabella Grant’ would never be invited to hobnob with high society. This would be your opportunity to experience things you’d only dreamt of. Just think, too, how pleased Aunt Lucretia would be if she believed she’d given me the come-out she’d promised my mother. She’d be so disappointed if I told her I can’t do the season, especially after she’s spent a fortune outfitting me in new clothes.”

“Yes, Issie, what about those new clothes? We’re not exactly the same size, you know. I was mortified to appear in such a tight-fitting dress today.”

Issie waved her hand as if this was of little importance. “You’re a very good seamstress, Bella. You can alter them to fit or get one of the maids to do so.”

“But Issie, you forget why Aunt Lucretia is doing this in the first place: to find you a husband. I can’t marry someone in your place; I have no intention of posing as you for the rest of my life! And even if I temporarily agreed to it, I would attract so much attention when the extent of your fortune and family connections were known that the gentlemen would rush to court the lady I was presumed to be. What if I received a proposal of marriage? Any man would be rightly incensed to be presented with an entirely different woman at the altar.”

A faraway expression appeared on Issie’s face, similar to when she was engrossed in a book. “Like Jacob and Rachel,” she murmured, and Bella realized her cousin was no longer paying her any attention, that she was lost in her imaginings of a couple she’d read about.

“Yes, but that happened in ancient times. We live in a more advanced age, and no one substitutes one woman for another on her wedding night.”

“But Bella, haven’t you ever wondered how their father got away with it? Did Jacob not look at Leah’s face at all while they were… you know,” Issie said.

“I do not know, and neither do you!” Bella said. And then was surprised to find herself laughing. Issie chuckled softly as well, and Bella was relieved her cousin wasn’t so ill that she had lost her sense of humor. “At any rate, I think you’ve made my point. Think of how angry Jacob was when he was tricked into marrying the wrong woman, and all the problems that resulted. I cannot pretend to be you. You must participate in your season so that you can find yourself a husband.”

“I don’t want a husband!” Issie protested. “If I’m not well enough to go to a ball, I’m certainly not well enough to get married! I wish you would consider helping me, Bella. We are to stay less than three months, and we are more than halfway through the first one; surely, you could stave off proposals of marriage for a mere two months more. It would solve all our problems, and I could find enjoyment through your enjoyment.”

Bella sighed. “I promise to think about it, but only if you promise to see a doctor.”

“Very well,” Issie agreed, with a sigh of her own.