Chapter One
The carriage swayed side to side as it bounced down the bumpy dirt road. Isabella shifted uncomfortably in her stays. She could feel the springs in the seat that were worn from the many rides back and forth from their home to London for the season. The motion seemed to have relaxed her father and step-mother into a deep slumber. Her father’s mouth open with a symphony of sounds confirmed it. Her step-mother was also sleeping, but was as stern as she always looked.
Isabella wondered just how many rides the family coach had traveled over the years. She would have to ask her father when he woke if he traveled in this carriage for his first season. Maybe this was the seat that her late mother sat on, on the way to her new life. She never did make it back for a second season.
The passing grass was slightly frosted in the late March morning. She ached for their next stop so she could stretch her legs and breathe in fresh air. The sachets that her step-mother had hidden in her corsets were particularly nauseating. They had to be arriving at the next Inn soon. Her stomach seemed to agree in tandem.
With no real way to tell just how much longer they had to go, Isabella picked up her hoop and continued on the needlepoint design to embellish an otherwise plain handkerchief. She had been taught from an early age that idle hands mean an idle mind. Her nursemaid Heidi always lectured Isabella on the importance of doing something to show she was an accomplished lady. Normally she would have a book with her, but her step-mother forbade any books from leaving the library. Isabella needed to find a husband, and no husband wants a woman who reads too much.
The carriage slowed to a roll and Isabella could hear chickens and cows outside. There were a few children carrying heavy buckets for their daily chores and women clipping flowers from their front garden. Village life always had a romantic air to it to Isabella. The children didn’t have to sit for hours in the attic lecture room with a tutor. Having to do arithmetic problems over and over again. She just wanted to be free. She was never allowed to run and roam the family estate ever. These children were able to play.
Isabella disembarked the carriage carefully under unsteady legs. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her plain blue traveling dress and matching pelisse. The dress was a few years old, but that didn’t matter. It was meant for traveling, not particularly showing off.
Her father and step-mother emerged from the carriage before her and were already entering the Inn. The team of horses were taken to the stable to be brushed, fed and rested while the family took breakfast. She followed behind her parents and into the Inn.
The Inn smelled of freshly baked bread and tea. Her stomach rolled once again, wondering what time it was. She sat down at the modest table with her father and step-mother where they were brought a small assortment of cold meats and some pastries.
“What a lovely Inn, don’t you think Welton?” Her step-mother was the first one to break the silence. “Traveling always reminds me of our tour to Rome after our wedding.”
“Yes, my dear. It is a nice Inn.” Her father patted her step-mother’s hand that she had laid on his forearm as a sign of affection. He was not an overly affectionate man, but he tried his best to satisfy her step-mothers’ needs. “Isabella, what do you think of the Inn?”
“It is lovely, father,” she replied. “It is a beautiful day this morning. How much longer until we reach town?”
“We should reach town before supper. It will give you and your mother plenty of time to refresh before the courses are served.” She squeezed her hands together underneath the table. Every time her father referred to her step-mother as her mother, it made her want to scream
Her father pulled out his watch chain and checked the time. “My dears, let us leave and continue our journey to London.”
It wasn’t lady-like to sigh, so Isabella politely inclined her head and rose from the table. The trip is almost over, she thought. Soon, she would be able to take a break from being around her father and her step-mother and breathe.
The carriage pulled forward and they continued on their journey. Isabella pulled out her needlepoint and worked mindlessly. What would the season look like? Would she dance with many handsome men? Or, would they think she was plain and only the daughter of a Viscount? She knew there would be more eligible females drawing the eye of the men.
Isabella was not known for being a remarkable or striking beauty. Her face was symmetrical but otherwise plain. She was naturally fair, kept that way by not being allowed outside. Her pale blonde hair cooperated into the latest fashion, so her ladies maids never had any issue. Her figure was slim, if not a little heavy in the back area. But the one thing that made Isabella self-conscious was the fact that she had a small scar on her cheek near her ear from when she was a little girl.
The scar was a topic never brought up. Her father nor any of the household staff discussed it around her. Lord Welton, her father, had banned any mention of it after the incident. Isabella didn’t remember the event vividly and any time she tried to ask, her father shut her down. She did know, through overhearing the rumors of the staff, that it was caused by her mother.
That was the last thing that she had of her mother. After her mother passed, the house was cleared of her presence and Lord Welton married Lady Helene, now Lady Welton, exactly a year later.
Lady Welton was the sixth daughter, and youngest, of the Earl of Whitebourne. According to rumours, Lord Welton had to promise his prized stallion to Whitebourne along with an ample allowance of £300 annually to Lady Welton. Lady Welton was purportedly the favorite of the Whitebourne family.
Lady Welton was severely beautiful and aging had been kind to her. Her alabaster skin was untouched by the sun. She had cat-like eyes that were a brilliant green. Although she was beautiful, she was very serious. Her raven hair was pulled a little tighter than was fashionable, accentuating her slanted eyes and pronounced cheekbones.
Lord Welton, at the ripe age of 51, was 16 years her senior. It seemed an odd match, with his stout figure and greying hair compared to Lady Welton’s fashionable air. Isabella knew that her father’s valet put shoe polish in it to hide the signs of aging. He still was a handsome man and his grey eyes shone with passion whenever he was discussing his horses.
Painted portraits at the Welton estate showed that Lord Welton was most handsome in his younger years. Isabella’s favorite portrait was posed after he had finished his courses at Eton. He was sitting across a beautiful horse that was back on his hind legs. Her father looked fearless, in charge, and every ounce a gentleman. The portrait hung in the library, where she spent many hours reading and hiding from her stern governess.
Now, the three traveled in silence as they continued their journey to the London House. Her father wrote correspondence on the small table in the carriage while Lady Welton worked on a needlepoint of her own, carefully sewing delicate flowers into the fabric. Isabella looked out the window, hoping she would find a husband.
Isabella dozed off as the carriage bounced through the countryside. She woke up when she heard soft voices in front of her. Careful not to open her eyes, she pretended to sleep to hear in on the conversation between her father and step-mother.
“This better be her only Season, Richard. I cannot believe you do not already have someone lined up to marry her.” Isabella was surprised to hear her step-mother address her father by his Christian name.
“You know I’ve been trying,” he said through a long exhale. “I’m writing to a potential suitor now. He is a second cousin that unfortunately lost his wife giving birth to their first son. Lord Dunmore would be a comfortable match.”
Lord Dunmore? Isabella inwardly cringed. He was her father’s age. How could he even propose that?
“Yes, that would be a fine match for someone as plain as Isabella. There is no way she is going to draw the eye of anyone else. Write to him with haste. He shall be Isabella’s first caller, and perhaps her last.” Lady Welton sounded confident that was exactly what was going to happen.
Isabella’s mind raced as she thought about her future. What would their relationship look like? She couldn’t imagine being the wife of someone her father’s age. What would he expect from her? He already had a son, would he want more children?
Her thoughts spiraled until she fell asleep again, grateful to escape the reality that lied before her.
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When they approached the London house, Isabella felt a quickening in her heart. She needed a plan, and a quick one at that. The family always arrived early to the London House before Eastertide. The majority of the Ton would not arrive until the week before, so she had to have time before Lord Dunmore would arrive to call.
They walked up the steps to their London townhouse. The front was a lovely brick facade with neat and tidy windows. The house sat in the posh neighborhood of Berkeley Square. She knew, through her teachings on the family, that her grandfather won it gambling against a notorious rake who could not pay his debts.
Isabella had fond memories of her old grandfather. He always smelled of his pipe and a musky scent of leather. He wore a thick mustache till the day he died. She remembered the day her grandfather passed more than the day her own mother passed.
The great hall was impressive with pristine marble flooring and led to an impressive curled staircase leading up to the first floor. Paintings adorned the walls and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling.
To the right of the entry hall was the dining room. The dark mahogany of the table shone with a recent wax. The decanters all filled on the sideboard and the candles flickering in their holders. The room was warm and alight with the fire glowing in the massively carved marble fireplace. Above the fireplace, a large painting of Oakwood Manor hung majestically. The rolling green hills and proud oak trees paled in comparison to the striking architecture of the family’s estate. It had been in Isabella’s family for generations.
Behind the dining room, a small but serviceable library hosted titles that were fashionable. Her father would often retire to the library with his male visitors to drink port and discuss business.
Up the stairs and to the right was the first of two drawing rooms in the house. It was brightly lit and had a soft feminine touch with light filtering through the windows. This was the receiving room that her step-mother and herself would receive guests. Through that room was a similarly decorated room, but more suitable for a music room.
The second floor was home to the bedchambers, and Isabella sunk into the plush chair in her room by the fireplace. It was a couple hours until dinner and she had time before her lady’s maid, Matilda, arrived to help her change.
Her bedchamber was comfortable. Her soft pink canopy bed was plush. Her large armoire only held a couple morning dresses, a riding habit and two gowns. She had an appointment tomorrow with her step-mother to the modiste on Bond Street. They would have a fitting for their new wardrobes for the Season.
She started by grabbing a sheet of paper to write her dearest friends Lady Jane and Lady Madeline on their arrival to London. They would hopefully call on her tomorrow. They had plans to do in order to look their best for the opening of the Season. And Isabella needed to do everything in her power to catch a husband that was not Lord Dunmore.
Remembering that she had been traveling, Isabella decided to call for a bath. After a bath, she felt she could think better. What was she going to do?
