Chapter 5

5

After their drive together in the park, Bella’s friendship with Lord Brooke, which had appeared to be flourishing, cooled a little. This was because Bella—who felt she had let down her guard with him more than was prudent—began limiting her interactions with him. She had to protect not only her real identity, but also her heart, and she had to avoid intimate conversations with Lord Brooke if she was to accomplish both. So while she still danced with him at the occasional ball, she forced herself to decline his other invitations, even though she dearly wanted to accept.

She couldn’t congratulate herself that she had fooled him as to her reasons, however. On one morning call, after she’d told him she was otherwise engaged and couldn’t ride with him the next day, he gave her a quizzical look and she was forced to drop her gaze for fear he read her too well.

“Poor Lady Belle. Did I rush things?” he asked softly. “How gauche of me. Perhaps I am the clumsy one.”

She looked up at that, and was relieved to see he hadn’t appeared to take offense at her refusal, as he was smiling at her. But perhaps she shouldn’t have rejoiced too much, as his smile was a knowing one. It was as if he fully understood what she was attempting to do and believed that it would be just a matter of time before she dropped her defenses.

So, in a further attempt at protection, she made other, safer acquaintances. And one friendship in particular was progressing at a rapid pace.

This was with a Miss Adams, whom Bella had met in the ladies’ retiring room the night of her very first ball. The young lady had looked so scared and out of place that Bella had spoken encouragingly to her, not realizing that such encouragement would cause the lady to follow Bella around like a devoted puppy. Whenever Bella was not dancing, Miss Adams was by her side. This meant that Miss Adams was the recipient of quite a few dance requests from gentlemen who had not been fortunate enough to secure a dance with Bella. Which would have been an excellent reason in itself for her to strategically place herself at Bella’s shoulder.

However, Bella quickly discovered that poor Miss Adams, or Catherine, as she insisted Bella call her, was not crafty enough to devise such a ploy. She reminded Bella of Issie in that she was ill at ease among strangers, and bullied by a strong-willed female. The female in her case was a Mrs. Mullins, a hired chaperone, who was quick to encourage her protégé to pursue a friendship with Lady Belle, the most popular young lady of the social season.

Because of Catherine’s resemblance to Issie, Bella couldn’t resist the urge to mother Catherine as well, and she soon felt the same fond protectiveness toward her as she did her cousin.

But even though she reminded Bella of Issie in character and situation, she was nothing like her in appearance. Catherine was round where Issie was thin, olive of complexion where Issie was pale, and had dark eyes and hair as opposed to Issie’s pale blue eyes and light brown hair. Catherine also seemed to be in robust health, and romped about the ballroom in a manner that made her chaperone wince at the indelicacy, and caused Bella to smile at seeing her new friend enjoying herself.

Bella was glad, too, that Catherine was not as opposed to outdoor exercise as Issie was and, since Bella had turned down Lord Brooke’s invitation, she made plans to ride with her new friend in the park. It was during this excursion that Catherine told Bella why it was she admired her so much.

“You’re so sophisticated; you have such presence, while I’m a complete fraud,” Catherine said, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes in a gesture that would have made her chaperone shudder.

Bella winced at the word “fraud,” but from Catherine’s expression, it was obvious she’d intended no irony. “I’m not sure I understand. In what way are you a fraud?” Bella asked.

“Promise me you won’t tell,” Miss Adams said, looking over her shoulder to ensure their privacy, as if someone could have possibly snuck up and eavesdropped on a conversation that was taking place on the back of a moving horse.

“I promise,” Bella said, smiling a little at Catherine’s dramatics, as they reminded her of times when she and Issie had sworn each other to secrecy over some childish indiscretion.

“Our family’s fortune comes from…trade,” she said, before again sweeping the vicinity with a fearful glance.

“How shocking!” Bella said, smiling broadly to make it obvious she was joking. But apparently it was not obvious to Miss Adams.

“I know,” she said sadly. “Mrs. Mullins made me swear never to betray my origins. When asked I’m to tell people I’m connected to the Adamses of Hampshire. They are a very genteel family, who would not even think of involving themselves in manufacturing. And it’s not a lie, we are very distantly connected, though I would not call us a branch of the family. We are more like a twig.” She paused, swallowed, and said quickly, as if she could not bear to conceal the truth: “Really, more like a sprout. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you—Mrs. Mullins says if it became known, no decent man would marry me—but I felt I could trust you with my secret.”

“Of course you can, but I do not feel you need worry unduly over such a thing. You’re a very kind and amiable young lady, and those are the qualities a true gentleman will be looking for in a wife.”

Catherine appeared flummoxed by this statement, and it was the only time her eyes did not glow with the unconditional adoration Bella had grown accustomed to seeing directed at her. But after a moment the confused furrow on Catherine’s brow disappeared and she smiled at Bella, the admiration returning to her gaze. “That’s easy for you to say; you probably can’t even comprehend what it’s like for the rest of us. You’re ‘ Lady Belle .’?” She pronounced the title reverentially, as if Bella were the Queen of England.

“So I am,” said Bella, with a sigh.

Of the many gentlemen Bella had met since coming to London, there were two whom she would occasionally accept invitations from, as she’d taken a liking to both, and felt neither was in danger of mistaking a casual friendship for anything more. She also did not feel her own heart was in danger, as she did when around Lord Brooke.

The first, Mr. Charles Peckham, was only a year or two older than Bella and was also enjoying his first London season. She felt sure he was paying court to her because it was the fashion to do so, and not because he had any serious intentions. He was a cheerful, portly young man who dressed in the prevailing style that season of high cravats and extremely tight-fitting breeches, jackets, and waistcoats. This had the effect of emphasizing his plumpness rather than the opposite, and his buttons always looked to be under great strain. So it was no great surprise when on one occasion while he and Bella were dancing, the inevitable occurred and a button popped off.

The button was made of mother-of-pearl and was part of a matched set, so Mr. Peckham was extremely loath to lose it and spent the rest of their dance trying to locate it, to the detriment of his dancing, which was not of the highest caliber under the best of circumstances. Bella, who was at first embarrassed to have her partner keep her consistently off-step, eventually saw the humor in the situation, and began matching his steps as he looked for the button, improvising along the way. But when Mr. Peckham finally found the button and bent to retrieve it, she realized a disaster was bound to occur when the next couple turned and tripped over his hunched figure. And perhaps the next couple after that, and so on. In an attempt to avert the catastrophe, she called Mr. Peckham’s name and begged him to rise. However, either he could not hear her over the music or he was too slow to respond, and Bella winced when the debacle she’d foreseen inevitably occurred.

Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt and Mr. Peckham retrieved his button. And, while that set came to an abrupt end, the next began after only a slight pause. (Though a few of the unfortunate dancers who had collided with Mr. Peckham had to leave the floor in order to check the integrity of their own buttons or laces, or both.)

Bella had hoped Mr. Peckham would learn from this experience that he should change tailors (or at least change the measurements his tailor was using), but this did not appear to be his primary concern. After he’d made what apologies he could and escorted Bella from the floor, he turned to her in dismay. “?‘Pon my soul, I did not know what to do. If I hadn’t picked up the button someone might have tripped on it,” he explained earnestly. Bella thought to herself that a man’s stationary, crouching body was a much larger stumbling block than a button, but was too kind to express that aloud. “And, of course, I had those buttons designed specifically for this ensemble.” He waved a hand proudly over his outfit, obviously inviting Bella to comment on it.

“They match your pearl stickpin very nicely,” she said, and this satisfied him for a moment and he smiled, before the realization of the extent of his faux pas finally began to penetrate.

“I beg your pardon; that was inexcusable of me. It must have been quite…” He couldn’t think of the appropriate word and took a deep gasp of air. Bella wondered if the tightness of his cravat was affecting his ability to breathe, or possibly preventing the flow of blood to his brain. “You’ll probably never dance with me again; I made such a fool of myself,” he said, with a hangdog expression. And Bella, who should have also learned a lesson from the mishap, heard herself saying: “Nonsense, I’d be pleased to dance with you again, Mr. Peckham.”

When he beamed at her in response, she was happy she’d been able to cheer the poor fellow. But when he requested another dance that same evening, she was even happier to be able to tell him truthfully that her card was full.

Still, when he wasn’t losing his accoutrements and turning the entire dance floor topsy-turvy, she found him enjoyable, undemanding company.

The second gentleman she’d allowed into her inner circle was totally different in appearance and character. Sir Roger Mann was taciturn and serious, and older than most of her suitors, as he was in his mid-thirties, at least. Like Mr. Peckham, she suspected Sir Roger had no real interest in marriage, especially since he’d reached such an advanced age and was still a bachelor. But though he didn’t say much, what he said was always to good effect, and the few words he did use could usually surprise a laugh out of her. He was also a careless dresser, though somehow appeared more stylish than poor Mr. Peckham, who was so very à la mode.

After the incident with the button, her next dance was with Sir Roger, who offered to take her for refreshments instead. “I imagine you’re peckish after your dance with Peckham,” he said, straight-faced, and Bella, suppressing a giggle in case Mr. Peckham was still within earshot, said that she was not at all hungry, but that she was quite thirsty. While they were in the refreshment room Miss Adams appeared at her side.

“There you are,” she said triumphantly, as if Bella had purposely hidden from her and Catherine had accomplished a great feat in finding her. “I was so concerned for you. How dare Mr. Peckham treat you in such a manner. He caused such a spectacle! I hope you refuse to dance with him from this point forward. Perhaps you can claim your card is full, since it would be impolite to refuse outright.”

“It was unfortunate, but ultimately no real harm was done,” Bella said in soothing tones, as Catherine seemed much more upset than she was herself. “Sir Roger, you are acquainted with Miss Adams, are you not?” She knew that he was, as she had previously introduced them. But Bella was unsure if he recalled Catherine’s name and wanted to give him a hint. She also wanted to divert Catherine’s attention from Mr. Peckham.

The two exchanged a bow and curtsy and murmured each other’s names, but before any more conversation could take place, Lord Brooke entered the room, also in search of Bella.

“It’s our dance, I believe, Lady Belle,” he said, and Bella agreed that it was, and turned to thank Sir Roger for the refreshments. He merely nodded in response but, seeing Catherine’s dark eyes turned upon him in hopeful expectation, asked her to dance with him. The foursome left the refreshment room, Bella and Lord Brooke walking ahead of the other couple.

“You will be relieved to know that I tested the integrity of all of my buttons in anticipation of my dance with you,” Lord Brooke murmured to Bella.

She giggled, but quickly became serious. “Poor Mr. Peckham,” she said, “is he never to live this down?”

“You’re quite generous to be worried about him. Most ladies would be angered by the incident, and rightly so.”

“Well, I am not one to fly up into the boughs for such a paltry reason as that,” Bella said. As undignified and gauche as Mr. Peckham’s behavior had been, Bella felt it paled in comparison to some of the vices that were tolerated among London society’s high-class members. She’d come to realize that manners were prized more than morality by this elite group, and found their outrage over such innocent missteps hypocritical. At times she felt she’d gladly retire her position as “Lady Belle” when the season came to its end, she’d become so disillusioned with the so-called nobility.

But moments later, as she waltzed with Lord Brooke and his dark, intelligent eyes peered deeply into her own as if he could see beyond the false identity she’d assumed and into her very soul, she perversely wished the season would never end.

“You seem too good to be real,” Lord Brooke said as they danced.

Bella’s heart leapt at his words, but it calmed as soon as it occurred to her that he was merely responding to her remark about not becoming upset at Mr. Peckham, and she was able to answer him in a steady tone. “Because I forgave Mr. Peckham? If you must know, I feel sorry for the man, though you must never tell him I said so. However, if you pulled such a stunt on me, I’d be less inclined to forgive you so readily. But then, I could never envision you acting in such a way.” In contradiction of what she’d just said, she had to suppress a giggle at the mental image her words had conjured up of Lord Brooke bumbling about the dance floor in search of a button.

“How very interesting,” Lord Brooke said, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “Should a man seek to inspire pity in a woman, then? It sounds a terrible fate to me, though it did cause you to grant Mr. Peckham forgiveness, which makes me think perhaps there are advantages I’d never before considered. But would a woman seriously consider the suit of a man she pitied ?”

Bella paused to consider his question. “Some women would, perhaps. It does lead to a softening of emotions. Perhaps in time it would deepen into affection.”

“Would you marry a man you felt sorry for?”

Bella considered for the first time what her life would be like if she were married to Mr. Peckham, whom she found enjoyable company, but only because his antics did not reflect on her. At least in her opinion they did not, as she was not his relation, or his wife. But if he were her husband? That would be a far different matter. “I highly doubt I’d ever marry a man I pitied. I think it would be difficult to have the…proper respect for such a man,” Bella finally answered.

“Then I suppose I should be glad you don’t pity me,” Lord Brooke said with a smile. And it was so devastatingly attractive, that smile, and had such a dangerous effect on Bella, that she felt she was the one who should be pitied.

The next day was the one appointed for the Ackermann’s excursion, and once again Bella felt Issie might be a little too worked up. Bella tried to calm her before the doctor arrived to escort them, but gave it up as a lost cause, and hoped the increased excitement would be beneficial for Issie’s health rather than the opposite.

The doctor had arranged to come at three o’clock, which Bella thought was an ideal time, as the day’s callers had already come and gone, and hopefully the members of the ton would be on the strut in Hyde Park or dressing in preparation for their evening’s activities. She supposed it didn’t matter who saw her and Issie together—other than Lord Brooke, who might recognize Issie if he saw her again—but she wanted to avoid having to make any unnecessary introductions. She hated hearing herself presented as Lady Isabelle, and it would only increase her unease to have to introduce Issie to her London acquaintances as “Miss Grant.”

She wondered if it would have been wiser to have chosen a more obscure location for Issie’s first public outing. While Bella hadn’t yet been there herself, she had heard Ackermann’s was extremely popular with the crème de la crème of London society, who felt their presence at this emporium of arts and culture proved that they were just as refined and sophisticated as they purported to be.

Rudolph Ackermann had immigrated to London from Germany to work as a coach-maker before deciding he’d prefer to make prints and publish books instead. He opened first a drawing school and printshop before expanding into the “Repository of Arts” at 101 Strand, their destination that afternoon. At this shop one could purchase paintings, artists’ supplies, caricatures and prints, as well as books, many of them illustrated.

Bella and Issie had only become aware of Mr. Ackermann after coming to London, as Lady Dutton had a subscription to his popular periodical: The Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufactures, Fashions and Politics . Bella’s favorite parts were the fashion plates and the illustrations of interior decoration and furnishings. Issie was interested in the literature, of course, but she also had a talent for sketching, which she hadn’t indulged in since her mother’s death, and Bella hoped a visit to Ackermann’s might encourage her to take up this activity again.

The doctor arrived at the time promised, and the three of them left in Lady Dutton’s coach, which Bella had secured permission to use. Dr. Jordan was not wealthy enough to keep a carriage, and Bella did not want to put him to the expense of hiring one. Issie, never having had to think about money, had not even considered these details. Bella reflected again on the unusual upbringing that Issie had experienced, one where she’d been both spoiled and deprived. If Issie were to follow the doctor’s advice and break out of her self-imposed isolation, Bella thought she would greatly benefit not only physically but emotionally as well.

Dr. Jordan appeared ill at ease during the drive, as did Issie. Bella thought both were probably uncomfortable spending time together outside of their professional relationship. So Bella bore most of the conversational burden. The trip seemed interminable for that reason, though Dr. Jordan eventually began pointing out some of the sights from the window as they neared Ackermann’s. One interesting sight was the newly constructed Waterloo Bridge, just completed the year before.

“It was called ‘the noblest bridge in the world’ by the Italian sculptor Canova and cost a million pounds to build,” Dr. Jordan told them. “Perhaps we should descend from the carriage, in order to see it better,” he suggested, as very little could be seen of it from their vantage point. Bella thought Issie might worry about the crowded streets or the strenuous walk, but she uttered not a word of protest. The doctor called to the coachman, and when the carriage stopped, he stepped out. He then assisted Bella to descend by giving her his arm, but when Issie prepared to exit, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her down, apparently concerned the descent would be too much for her. Issie was, in fact, breathing heavily, but Bella did not think it was due to poor health. She appeared very flustered to find herself, even briefly, in the doctor’s arms.

After releasing Issie, he held out an arm for both her and Bella to take, but it was obvious his primary concern was for Issie, and he took slow steps through the crowded streets, positioning himself slightly in front of her as if to protect her from any buffeting by the crowds.

Bella thought it was a good thing Issie had worn a poke bonnet that day, as it functioned almost like the blinders worn by a high-spirited horse, and prevented her from being overwhelmed by the large number of people. Or maybe it was the doctor’s presence that accomplished it. Whatever the reason, Issie was surprisingly calm in the few minutes it took the doctor to find a more isolated location with a view of the bridge.

It was a mild spring day and the river glistened in the afternoon sun. The Waterloo Bridge was as glorious an architectural accomplishment as it had been reputed to be, and its arches and columns provided the perfect frame for the skyline of London that rose up behind it. When Bella saw the trembling smile on Issie’s lips, she realized Issie was experiencing the same joie de vivre that she was. If so, it was probably one of the first times in Issie’s life that she hadn’t experienced such a thing vicariously, through the pages of a book.

“I can understand the sentiments Wordsworth expressed about the city much better now,” Issie said softly to the doctor, referencing their former argument about the virtues of London and tacitly conceding the point to him, and he smiled at her in response.

Bella felt somewhat de trop, but since she couldn’t disappear she remained as quiet as possible, while the doctor pointed out London landmarks to the surprisingly eager young lady at his side. When he gestured at Somerset House, which was not far from where they stood, Issie’s expression became almost reverential.

“I have read—that is, is it true that the artwork of the Royal Academy members is on display at Somerset House and it is open to the public?”

“It is. It opens every year on the first Monday in May. Just yesterday, it so happens,” the doctor replied.

Issie turned impulsively to Bella. “Oh, Bella, is it possible we could go there, instead of Ackermann’s? I’ve always wanted to see an exhibition there.”

Bella was so happy that Issie was enjoying herself—that she was fully engaged in an activity instead of lying morosely in bed—she would have agreed to go on a tour of Newgate Prison if Issie had desired it. “I’d be delighted to visit the Royal Academy,” Bella said. “We can always visit Ackermann’s another time. That is, if the doctor agrees it wouldn’t overtax your strength. I imagine it’s more strenuous an excursion than the one we’d planned.”

Both ladies turned to look at Dr. Jordan in silent inquiry, but he did not immediately respond. He had an expression of indecision on his face, and Bella assumed it was because he was concerned about whether Issie had enough stamina for such a thing. “The stairs to the main picture gallery are quite steep, and it’s a very extensive collection. Even I was fatigued at the end of my last visit,” he said, and Issie’s face fell, but she nodded in resignation. Her woebegone look was very affecting, however, and it appeared Dr. Jordan was unable to resist it. “Then again, there are benches if you find it necessary to rest, and we could always leave if you become overtired,” he added, and Bella felt he was in danger of spoiling Issie as badly as she did.

They made their way there in the carriage, even though Dr. Jordan and Bella could have easily walked the short distance to Somerset House. Neither wanted to squander Issie’s limited strength before they even began their tour, and there was still a staircase to ascend.

When they arrived the doctor insisted on paying their admission, a shilling each, though Bella paid an additional shilling to obtain a catalogue of the works currently on display.

She was shocked at the length of the catalogue: sixty-five pages! But after they’d entered the Great Room and she saw the stacks upon stacks of paintings, covering every inch of the wall from floor to (very high) ceiling, she was no longer surprised at the length of the brochure.

Bella had been so pleased at Issie’s interest in touring the Royal Academy she hadn’t even considered the fact that there was bound to be even more of the fashionable set present there than there would be at Ackermann’s. She was also too engrossed in keeping a concerned watch on Issie when they first arrived to think about anything else. Bella knew Issie’s anxiety around strangers was real, and the rooms were extremely crowded.

However, the poke bonnet was again proving to be a handy contrivance, as it was narrowing Issie’s gaze to the painting in front of her and blocking the hordes of people from her sight. And the doctor was also quite helpful; if Issie became anxious he would instruct her to take deep breaths, then distract her attention by pointing out a notable piece of art, all while shielding her slight figure from the crowd with his own.

Bella breathed a sigh of relief and felt she could finally shift her own attention to the exhibit rather than her cousin. She stepped a few paces away in order to look more carefully at a painting titled The Gossip . It was then that she realized she was receiving attention herself.

“It’s the Lady Belle,” she heard a gentleman say, and a few heads swiveled in her direction.

“Lady Belle,” she heard again and ignored it. Then someone said: “Bella.”

She turned in surprise when she heard her name, her actual name, and saw that it was Lord Brooke. He smiled ruefully when their gazes met and stepped closer. “I beg your pardon, I know that was impertinent of me, but I wanted to distinguish myself from the rest of your admirers.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment and made a dismissive gesture, but he didn’t appear to see it. “Who accompanied you here?” he asked, with a frown of concern. When Bella turned to look for Issie, she saw that she and Dr. Jordan were no longer standing nearby, but were both seated at a bench in the middle of the room. Bella realized that it looked as if she were completely unchaperoned.

“I’m here with my cousin,” she replied, and then wished she’d thought of something else to say, as Lord Brooke would naturally ask to be presented to her.

“Your cousin? Then her health has improved?”

“Somewhat. Though I think this visit may have been a little too much for her. She is resting at the moment,” Bella said, waving a hand in the direction of the benches. She did not think his memory of Issie was so strong that he would recognize her as Lady Isabelle from thirty feet away, and really, only the back of her bonnet was visible. But she did not want him requesting an introduction, so she turned frantically to the nearest painting and stepped toward it before she even had time to see what it portrayed, she was so intent on distracting him. “This piece is quite interesting,” she said.

Then she blinked, as she found herself confronted with a large painting of scantily clothed women—nymphs?—cavorting on the seashore. On either side of it hung portraits of various noblemen’s favorite pets: a terrier, a spaniel, and a staghound named Darling, and Bella didn’t know if it would make the situation better or worse if she pretended to find one of the animal pieces “quite interesting” instead of the one she’d accidentally chosen.

But before she’d had a chance to pivot to another piece—which would have been a difficult maneuver to attempt, anyway, given the size of this particular artwork—Lord Brooke had moved to stand beside her and was staring appreciatively at the canvas.

Bella decided to say nothing more, as it could only get her into further trouble. So she waited in silence, and finally Lord Brooke commented: “Somehow I don’t think your mother would have approved.”

A sudden vision of Lady Strickland’s reaction to this image of young, barefooted women with their legs extending out from under their diaphanous frocks caused Bella to let out a gurgle of laughter. She quickly put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, but it was too late.

“I beg your pardon for laughing, but she thought it scandalous to even pronounce the word…” Bella felt foolish, but lowered her voice to a whisper before saying: “…‘leg’.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lord Brooke asked.

Bella rolled her eyes at him. “You heard me.”

He smiled. “I’m glad that you are not as easily scandalized as the late Lady Strickland. I am sure she would never call this painting ‘quite interesting.’?”

Bella stifled another giggle and quickly looked down at the catalogue in an attempt to regain her composure. “This is number fifteen, Fairies . And the painter is H. Howard.”

Lord Brooke looked over her shoulder at the listing, and she could feel his breath tickling her neck. When he spoke, she couldn’t suppress an involuntary shiver at the low voice so close to her ear. “It’s based on a scene from Shakespeare’s Tempest, ” he said, and proceeded to read aloud:

That on the sands with printless foot

Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him

When he comes back.

“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds beautiful,” Bella said, turning to look at him. She hoped he wouldn’t think her ignorant, especially as she was sure Issie would have been able to quote the next line back to him, and Bella couldn’t even recall what The Tempest was about. Apparently, barefooted fairies. But it didn’t appear she’d disgusted him with her confession, as he was smiling warmly at her.

“It’s not my favorite of Shakespeare’s plays, but it seemed to prove inspiring to this artist,” he said, turning his attention back to the painting. “Neptune is the god of the sea, and so Prospero is encouraging the fairies to chase the tide as it comes in and goes out.”

Bella turned to study the painting as well, and now that she’d grown accustomed to the bare legs and décolletage, she did find that there was something enchanting about the artwork. The flowing dresses and draperies, and even the gracefully extended limbs, gave it a feeling of being in motion, as if the subjects were dancing in the moonlight.

But she was ready to move on to a different piece of art, and not the pet portraits, adorable as Darling indubitably was. “Which is your favorite painting of the collection?” she asked.

“I have not yet seen them all, but I am partial to Turner’s latest,” Lord Brooke said, offering Bella his arm and leading her to another, even larger painting.

It was difficult to wade through the dozens of people gathered around it, and Bella assumed this one was a favorite of many, not just Lord Brooke. She was not surprised, as she knew Turner to be extremely popular. Somehow Lord Brooke made a way for them through the crowd, though a few times Bella found herself holding on to his arm more tightly than was proper, and twice she was pushed against him almost as familiarly as she had been during their first encounter at St. James’s Palace. She had the fleeting thought that if she was supposed to be protecting herself from becoming overfond of Lord Brooke, this was definitely not the way to go about it, as his proximity was having quite an effect on her.

But she quickly assuaged her conscience by reminding herself that this meeting had come about through no fault of her own while she was selflessly acceding to Issie’s wishes, and so she was free to take whatever enjoyment she could from it.

Having made their way to the front of the crowd, Bella could now see the painting in its entirety, so she tried to ignore her reaction to Lord Brooke and turn her thoughts instead to assimilating what she saw.

The painting, The Dort Packet-Boat from Rotterdam Becalmed, stood out not only because of its size, as it was at least as tall as Bella was, but also because of the lightness and brightness of the work. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, and then felt foolish at the inadequacy of that statement. Though she supposed it was a slightly more intelligent remark than the earlier one she’d made, that the Fairies painting was “quite interesting.” It was a good thing she did not aspire to become an art critic. “The lighting…it’s amazing,” she said, trying again to express what made the painting such a joy to gaze upon.

Lord Brooke did not appear as if he had any fault to find with her conversation. “Yes, the lighting is remarkable. Especially in contrast to the darker works that surround it.”

Bella forced herself to look away from the painting and saw that directly beside it there was another huge painting, this one of the Duke of Wellington on horseback wearing a black cloak, posed against a dark and gloomy sky. It was a very impressive piece as well but, as Lord Brooke had said, its darkness was a stark contrast to the bright, luminous riverscape Turner had painted. She turned her attention back to the Turner painting. “Did he inscribe his name, there?” she asked, pointing to a log floating in the river.

“He did. Ingenious, is it not?” They stood for another minute looking at the painting in silence, and then Bella turned to take a longer look at the painting of Wellington.

“My cousin and I used to think it was so romantic, the story of him and Kitty Pakenham. You know, how his father forced her to refuse him when they were young, but then he came back and married her over a decade later.”

“You ‘used to’ think it romantic. You don’t any longer?” he asked.

“Well, from the rumors I’ve heard it doesn’t sound as if the marriage is a happy one.”

“I’m no authority on the subject, of course, but I think it a grave mistake to marry because one feels honor bound to do so, and it seems as if obligation, rather than love, is what led him to marry her.” They had both been looking at the painting as they spoke, but then Lord Brooke suddenly turned to look directly at Bella. “But that does not mean that the participants in a match contracted from duty cannot become sincerely attached to each other.”

He was staring meaningfully at her, as if his words held some special significance, and she felt foolish that she did not grasp what he obviously intended her to. Perhaps it was some bit of family history that Issie would have known but that Bella was unfortunately ignorant of. Had Lord Brooke’s sister made an arranged marriage that later became a love match? But before she could ask him for further explanation, she was jostled by someone trying to take a closer look at Turner’s painting, and she realized that people were beginning to become annoyed at her and Lord Brooke.

He must have reached that conclusion at the same time she did, because he smiled at her and said: “We should perhaps give up our place to others not so fortunately situated,” and led her away from the painting.

Though Bella dearly wanted to continue strolling through the gallery rooms with Lord Brooke as he showed her glorious works of art and read poetry in her ear (as there was more than one painting inspired by verse), she realized that Issie was probably looking for her, so she told him that she must return to her party.

“I will escort you. It really is not safe for you to flit about such a crowded place alone,” he said, and looked around at the men surrounding them with such a fierce frown that many of them instinctively stepped back, even though Bella was sure they were just standing innocently nearby and had not the slightest intention of accosting her.

“I can see my cousin from here,” Bella said, and hoped that was in actuality Issie’s bonnet that she could just catch a glimpse of, “but I appreciate your concern, Lord Brooke. Thank you so much for showing me the Turner painting; it’s spectacular.”

And so saying, she walked quickly away from him and over to Issie’s side. Thankfully, it was Issie, and after reaching her, Bella turned back to look at Lord Brooke. Seeing that he was standing where she’d left him and still looking in her direction, she gave him a smile and a nod, and he nodded in return. And then the crowds came between them and blocked him from view, and she had a sudden premonition of the future and the inevitable separation that was destined to come.