Fated Love - Deluxe Version

Chapter 2

2

Isabel

“As long as I don't bend over or take a deep breath, I shall be the perfect image of grace and elegance at Lady Adina’s birthday party," Isabel concluded as she turned from the mirror to face her friends and her maid.

"If ye get too uncomf'table come back an’ I'll loosen it up a bit more," her maid said.

"Why didn't we buy new costumes for this party?" Isabel tugged yet again at the top of the bodice of her burgundy dress cut in the medieval style which was her costume for the night. Heaven forbid anyone thought her vulgar because of the abundant display of flesh above the gold piping on her bodice. She regretted not trying the dress on before leaving town, but there was nothing to be done about it now, especially as the bodice had already been let out twice before. There wasn’t enough material remaining to let it out again.

"Because there wasn't enough time to have new ones made," Penelope said. "We didn't learn about Aunt Adina's desire for a costume party until right before we left. Mother suggested these as we wear them at least once a year, and haven't yet this year."

"Ugh," Isabel muttered on a huff. "I think I've grown since I last wore it. It feels like I'm coming out of the top of this square bodice."

"I've seen worse. Remember what Miss Amity Childers wore at the Ambrose masque," Charlotte said. "I swear each time she took a deep breath every man within twenty feet of her got a peek at the crest of her nipples."

"I feel… too exposed now," Isabel said. "It is definitely the last time we go as the Fates, unless I can get another dress made."

"Do that after we return to London," Charlotte said, pacing impatiently in front of the bed in the room Isabel was assigned in Lyden for the duration. "Now, come on, we've hidden in here long enough." Her cream-colored gown swished as she swept toward the door. Charlotte extended her hand to Penny and added, "Your mother went downstairs ages ago."

"I'm not hiding," replied Isabel, "I'm trying to decide whether or not to change dresses."

"No changing dresses," Charlotte said. "I've been listening to the carriages arriving for the past thirty minutes. My room faces the front drive, if you’ll recall."

Penelope pressed her fist into her abdomen—a sign, Isabel knew, of her increased nervousness over her meeting with Mr. Santiago now that they learned the gentlemen had arrived from Isabel’s maid. "I'm not so sure I can—,” Penny began, only to be cut off by Charlotte.

"You can," she said. "We have a plan, remember? And Doctor Gowrey is looking forward to dancing with you. He said so! Didn't he Isabel?"

Isabel stepped away from her maid, finally ready to go below. "Penny," she said, "we will be with you the entire time. You will not be alone with Mr. Santiago at all, unless you want to be." Isabel would make sure of it. That man would never again have the opportunity to charm his way into her heart as he had the year before.

"You cannot hide in your room the entire month," Charlotte added. "Even if we went with your mother next week—assuming she is still going to Edinburgh now—we cannot hide. That is the worst thing you could do."

"Yes," Isabel said. "It tells him that you still mourn your relationship.” Isabel wanted to tell her dearest friend how much she admired her strength and composure in the face of dealing with her cousin Olivia, and now the arrival of Mr. Santiago. But, if she told her now, Penny might think Isabel was just being nice. She loved Penny, and her friend was handling this pain and heartbreak with far more grace than Isabel would if she were in the same position. Isabel, unfortunately, had inherited her mother’s passionate nature, and struggled with it occasionally when there was something she felt strongly about.

"You're right," Penny closed her eyes as she pushed back her shoulders and breathed deeply.

Isabel reassured Penelope once more that she and Charlotte were going to be with her, supporting her through the entire first meeting with Mr. Santiago, and beyond if necessary.

"Thank you both," Penny smoothed invisible wrinkles in her blue skirt with her trembling, gloved hands. "We have a plan." She nervously repeated the words spoken a hundred times in the past thirty-six hours. "I will not let him back into my good graces. He does not exist for me anymore."

"He does not," Charlotte stated.

Linking arms with Penelope, Isabel wished she had a portion of her cousin's boldness and confidence. All she had was good manners.

"There is another gentleman here with the earl, not just Mr. Santiago and Doctor Gowrey,” Isabel said trying to think of the name of one of the men Miss Gordon mentioned. “Evidently Doctor Gowrey has a twin brother here as well. Your cousin is a chatterbox. She stopped by my room on her way below to see how much longer we would be."

"Doctor Gowrey is handsome and very nice," Penny whispered. And, he was the maternal cousin of her step-cousin, the earl, so her father might not disapprove of a match—if it ever came to that.

Isabel found the doctor interesting and easy to talk to. “I sat next to him at dinner last night and he is incredibly intelligent and well-spoken, not just handsome.” They moved toward the door, on their way down to join the others at the party. “He also is a man very comfortable in his own skin. I look forward to continuing our conversation on children’s health issues in dense urban areas.”

Isabel stopped as she passed her reflection in the cheval mirror. Looking at the tops of her breasts exposed above the bodice, she again got the urge to cover herself. "Are you sure this bodice is not too daring? This isn't London, and I'm concerned—"

"For the final time, Isabel, you look wonderful, and that dress has always looked good on you." Charlotte stopped short of the door, her hand about to grasp the knob.

"Here," her cousin handed her one end of the cord and Penny the other, taking her position in the center as one of the three Fates, holding the cord of someone’s life. On Penny’s costume, she wore a tiny pair of sewing scissors connected to her gold belt, representing the cutting of the cord at birth. Charlotte’s golden belt was actually representative of a measuring cord, representing the length of life. Isabel was the center. She was the middle, representing life itself. She was also the shorter of the three standing between two tall ladies. When Isabel asked about it Charlotte said, ‘That’s because life is short.” Her cousin gave her a grin and a hug. “Like you.”

“We are going to have a wonderful time tonight,” Charlotte said. “There are no society or gossip column writers here. It's a small affair, with no one from London. Just locals, so there is nothing to worry yourself over. Besides, your guards are on the premises."

"They're not just mine. They are here to protect you both also," Isabel replied.

"Aye," Charlotte glanced at Isabel and smiled reassuringly. "Pity the poor soul who tries anything foolish towards us."

Isabel squeezed Penny's hand. "That includes Mr. Santiago."

Penny gave them both an apprehensive glance. And, not for the first time tonight, Isabel felt a riotous flutter of butterflies. It had been so long since she felt nervous because of an event, but for some reason tonight she couldn't seem to shake this sensation. She had to though, for Penelope's sake. She gave her cousin a wan smile. "You heard Papa. He would not allow me to come without them."

"There's no one here that is going to attempt to abduct you, ruin you, or play false with your heart," Charlotte reassured. "And, as Aunt Beverly has said, we should consider this as being among extended family and their select guests. Besides, knowing your father," Charlotte gave Isabel a wry, knowing look. "I'd be willing to bet he knew the guest list before he gave his approval."

"Right," she replied. "I shouldn't worry over the little things like the décolletage of my dress." Why then did her voice quaver and her heart race? Was there some message in this sense of foreboding she felt? Something she should be heeding?

A tug on the cord she held and Charlotte’s annoyed voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“Let’s go, Isa!” her cousin whispered, “You’re slowing us down.”

Isabel finally walked through the door and crossed the threshold into the hallway. The trio met a liveried footman at the corner where the hallway of family bedrooms met the portrait gallery. He then guided the ladies through the long corridor with its heather green carpet, to the floral-carpeted portrait gallery.

As they walked through the gallery toward the main staircase Charlotte continued. “We are going to have a wonderful time tonight. We will dance with as many gentlemen who ask, and we shall enjoy ourselves. Understood?”

Isabel nodded. They went down the wide sweeping staircase which led to the main foyer, and from there toward the great hall. Even though she was excited about the night ahead, that strange sensation from a few minutes earlier still reverberated through her. She’d have to think about it further—but later.

They followed closely behind the footman, deeper into the ancient part of the castle, beyond the tapestries depicting medieval scenes of life in a small village or bailey, to the great hall. It appeared they were the last of the arrivals as no one else waited to be announced.

Isabel heard violins playing a lively folk tune as they neared the place where everyone had gathered. She shivered again with Penelope and Charlotte at her side. It wasn’t because she was cold, rather it was that pressing sense of foreboding again.

Charlotte thanked the man escorting them and gave their names to the butler who stood at the entrance to the great hall, a massive room which on this night doubled as the ballroom decorated with an autumn hunt theme. He called out their arrival and they descended the three steps down into the sea of well-coiffed heads.

Within moments of the announcement, those heads turned and became faces, some smiling, some curious. A few familiar, most not.

"I thought this was to be a small affair," Isabel said to no one in particular.

"Compared to London, this is small," Charlotte replied. Her cousin led her and Penelope into the crowd, as they held on to the gold cord which was one of the many mythological depiction of the fates—Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.

Penny had gone silent upon entering the great hall. As they moved through the crowd, Charlotte turned back and said to Isabel, "We must find Aunt Beverly and Lady Adina first, to give them our apologies for our late arrival, and have her make the introduction to the earl if he's here."

The three of them greeted several of Lady Adina's neighbors they'd met the day before at a tea hosted by Lady Edgar at her mother’s home, the neighboring estate of Brynfeld. After arriving on Thursday afternoon, Lady Beverly had wanted to take Friday to rest from their travels, except they learned Thursday night of the Friday afternoon tea Lady Adina’s daughter-in-law had arranged. So as they moved through the pockets of meandering guests, Isabel smiled at everyone who acknowledged her, even those that didn't appear familiar.

As they pressed through the crowd of people Charlotte said, "You would think for as tall as she is and with her bright blond hair, that finding your mother wouldn't be so difficult, Penny." They stopped as her cousin again scanned the room. "I see them now," Charlotte led the way to the other side of the hall without crossing the dance floor where dancers promenaded down two perpendicular lines in a country dance.

From Isabel’s vantage point as they made their way through the crush, she could now see Penelope's mother standing upon the dais, looking for them as well, she was sure. Aunt Beverly wore an ocean-blue satin gown that matched her eyes, with one shoulder bare in the style of a Greek goddess. The belt which appeared to hold all the material in place was an icy silver. The color combination and the design was very flattering on her. The dress was one of her Aunt Beverly’s own designs and made by Madame Anjevine, whom Aunt Beverly knew personally.

Lady Adina, Countess of Rathcavan, dressed as Mary, the Queen of the Scots, in a royal purple velvet dress, and stiff white collar around her neck, her gray hair was covered with a wig of short red curls, under a wimple and veil that covered her neck and shoulders. Of all the portraits Isabel had seen of the queen, Lady Adina came the closest to replicating the image of her.

Their hostess held court from the center of the dais, as Aunt Beverly took her seat to the countess' left. Lady Edgar sat to the right of the countess, dressed as Venus, and next to Lady Edgar was the earl's half sister, Miss Olivia Gordon, as Marie Antoinette, with a tall powdered wig and abundantly exposed cleavage to lend authenticity to her outfit.

Candlelight glinted off Miss Olivia's shimmering milky-white complexion. Evidently the powder she used contained flecks of silver, making her look ethereal in the candlelit great hall. Isabel almost hated her perfect form and skin. Almost. Because Isabel suspected Olivia was, as Penny had warned them the afternoon they'd arrived, a manipulator. A beautiful manipulator. One who looked bored to tears seated up there next to her aunt.

Lady Adina nodded in recognition of their arrival as she was now deep in conversation with a servant standing behind her.

"We're glad you ladies are feeling rested enough to attend the party," said Lady Edgar. "The gentlemen arrived about an hour ago, and will be down as soon as they change into more appropriate clothing. Dinner will be at ten, followed by more dancing."

Isabel suddenly found herself standing next to Olivia who had apparently risen from her seat with the older ladies. "I love to dance," Olivia said. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do.” Though she likely would not be doing much tonight, no matter how much Charlotte wanted her to. She just arrived and already wanted to tug the top of her bodice up again, but that would be ill-mannered. Heaven forbid someone wrote about her behaving so crudely.

"Does Lord Glencairn enjoy dancing?" Olivia stared out onto the dance floor, where Marcus was dancing a reel with a red-haired young lady who was more than just passably pretty. Isabel got the impression that Miss Olivia Gordon was perhaps a bit jealous.

"I believe so, yes," Isabel replied honestly, wondering what was going on with the two of them. If the girl had any hopes of finding a husband, she needed to overcome this tendency toward fixating on one man to the point of obsession. This was the conclusion Isabel had arrived at that very morning while being forced to tolerate breakfast seated next to Miss Olivia, and later in the afternoon in the salon where they greeted some female visitors who’d arrived early.

Olivia was beautiful. And, according to Lady Edgar, would have no problem finding a husband in Edinburgh if “that Spaniard doesn’t marry my dear girl.” So Miss Olivia had no reason to be jealous of Marcus dancing with another young lady.

Olivia had an elegant, if youngish face, with eyes of dark, crystalline blue that perfectly matched her gown. The gown was flattering on her slender figure, with panniers exaggerating the span of her hips, as was common back in the day of Marie Antoinette. But even with the panniers making her hips appear wide, it was obvious her waist was equivalent to the span of a butterfly's wings—or so it seemed to Isabel, who was blessed with enough abundant natural hip, waist, and bust to share with all her friends. How many times had she wished she could give the excess away!

Miss Gordon seemed quiet, almost shy, tonight. Nothing like the girl she met two days earlier, and sat next to at dinner the past two nights. Isabel thought perhaps it had to do with the fact that Mr. Santiago had returned. And if Isabel wasn't mistaken, in his absence Miss Olivia had discovered a tendre for another man—her brother.

She would have to have a talk with Marcus about this. If there was an understanding between Miss Gordon and Mr. Santiago, then as a gentleman Marcus would have to step aside. While she and Marcus did have two younger brothers, she couldn’t let Marcus jeopardize the succession to their father’s title, and that meant dueling. Not only was it illegal, he could be seriously injured or even killed.

Isabel sighed silently, watching all the dancers moving across the floor. She wished she was one of them. She wanted to dance, but not with some clumsy lordling so deep into his cups that he reeked and bungled his footing. Isabel wanted someone as tired of the social games of London society as she was.

If only she could be so fortunate as to find a good man to marry. Isabel was beginning to think, after four seasons fending off men who were desperate only for her dowry or political connection to her father, that there were no men interested in her. She'd met scores of men each season, but after three-and-a-half-years and four seasons out in society, she'd yet to meet one who intrigued her beyond a few minutes’ conversation.

She was deep in her own thoughts when she heard her name. Glancing up at Lady Edgar, Isabel gave her a smile hoping to show she'd been listening.

"...Of course, on the last weekend, we will have a ball next door at Brynfeld. My mother and sister-in-law will certainly invite all their friends and family as well."

Lady Edgar chattered on about the arrangements for that party, then added, "As soon as my nephew enters the hall, I shall drag him over to make you all acquainted. Penelope was just saying she, too, would need an introduction as she has never met my nephew either. Imagine that! She's been a member of the family for… well, forever, and she's never met her own cousin."

Isabel held Penelope’s hand, knowing her friend wanted to get away from Lady Edgar and her chatter, especially as it pertained to Mr. Santiago’s arrival with the earl.

Lady Adina called Charlotte over and the four began to discuss horses, like veterans of the field. Even though she, Charlotte, and Penelope were all much younger than the countess, because they shared the passion of all things equine, it was like having an instant friend—one who wore turbans and had much more experience with fox hunting than the three of them combined.

“Girls, I shall have your opinion on my stables after next week's rides.” Lady Adina said. “Though I have greatly reduced the breeding of my working hunters, I still supervise the breeding of the remaining sale stock and training of all my personal horses, and still ride out several mornings each week—though it is a quieter ride I seek now."

She leaned in close to the three of them. "I very much enjoy running with the hounds, just not as frequently these days, for I fear the years have caught up with me. Lately, I find the cold and damp weather make my joints ache."

Charlotte, Penelope, and Lady Adina continued talking about the recent wet weather and how it might affect the upcoming hunts, and Isabel nodded and smiled when she thought it was appropriate. While she listened to their conversation, Isabel became mesmerized by the dancers—men and women, some in costume, some not, on the enormous dance floor moving in time to the music. Lady Adina, seeing the interest she had with what was happening on the dance floor, said, “It sounds as though a lively polka has started. You ladies should get out there and dance, even if it is just with each other.”

Taking the clue to go and mingle, the three of them stepped off the dais and walked away, still holding the cord that connected them—birth, life, and death. They moved toward the back of the ballroom, stopping once to greet an acquaintance from town who was visiting his family in the area.

"Time for champagne." Charlotte caught the eye of the appropriate footman, the one bearing the tray of crystal flutes filled with the bubbly drink. When they each had a glass, they raised them in their small circle, "To good weather and even better hunting," said Charlotte, raising her glass.

"To strength," Penny said, her voice stronger than it had been all night. "I'm going to need it." She motioned to where Olivia hung on Marcus' arm, headed to the dance floor. The young miss turned those enormous pools of sapphire, and rouged bow lips, up to Marcus.

Isabel groaned. She really needed to have that talk with her brother soon, before anything truly… irreversible grew between those two.

"Isabel?" Charlotte prodded. "What is your toast going to be?"

"Can I wish that my brother not make an enormous mistake with some fickle lass?"

"No," her cousin said. "It has to be your wish for you for this month."

Isabel thought a moment, then raised her glass. "To a quiet time in the country." Penelope and Charlotte shook their heads in bewilderment, and she felt the need to justify.

"Well, as I see it, we have just come out of the worst season ever. And after what we've been through, if I'm going to wish for something, it's going to be a quiet month. A whole month where I don't have to read another society column that has me entertaining yet another offer of matrimony without my prior knowledge— either with a man I know, or one I don’t."

"Right," said Charlotte. "You might as well tell the Times and the Gazette to just cease publication, because making up stories about you seems to be their favorite pastime of late.”