Dear Louisa,
I am disappointed to inform you that my happy life here at Wintercrest has drastically changed in the last few days.
As you might have expected would happen, Lady Lydia came to visit the duke’s household along with her mother. Though I find her mother to be a very kind, charming lady, it is with a sad disposition that I must confirm your earlier sentiments of Lady Lydia.
To make matters worse, she is clearly here with only one purpose in mind. That is, to win the affection of Lord Bellfourd.
Lady Wintercrest and Lady Cunningham are all too eager to try their hand at matchmaking, as I suppose any mother would be.
I thought that perhaps my dislike of Lady Lydia might be, at first, clouding my judgment of the lady and that perhaps I saw things not really there.
However, I was assured that this was not the case when, just yesterday, Lady Abigail came to join me in the garden in the early evening.
She told me that while Lord Bellfourd was taking Lady Lydia out for a ride in his curricle, they happened to see little Jackie and me leaving the small family graveyard outside of the estate chapel.
You see, I take Jackie there at least once a week on our afternoon walks to lay some flowers at her father’s grave.
According to Lady Abigail, Lady Lydia asked Lord Bellfourd if he was aware that I was taking the child to the family’s private cemetery.
When he said he was not, she went on and on for several minutes about my presumptuous behavior to do what I will with the child without the permission of the household.
Lady Abigail then confirmed to me that she too found Lady Lydia utterly ridiculous.
I do feel terrible on behalf of Lady Abigail. Surely, if the Marquess does end up attached to Lady Lydia, I would not be far from out of employment, but Lady Abigail will be out considerably worse than me.
She fears greatly that if Lord Bellfourd decides to marry Lady Lydia, she will have lost a second brother. Between this and her father’s ever-worsening health, I fear she couldn’t stand it.
I did my best to assure her that it was very much too soon even to consider such notions. That being said, however, I cannot help but share in her apprehensions of where this path is currently leading.
It may not even end up being the choice of the Marquess to make. With his father gravely ill and the dukedom at stake, I feel that Lord Bellfourd is being pressured to take on a wife and secure the line of succession.
Lady Lydia, though we both know has many character flaws, is the daughter of an earl and a very likely match for Lord Bellfourd.
We both know that arrangements in such situations have not to do with feelings of the heart.
I have grown to care for the whole Wintercrest household, more than I ever thought imaginable. For this reason, my heart is breaking at the thought that Lady Lydia may very likely be the new mistress of the manor.
I hope, for the sake of Jackie and Lady Abigail, and not my own, that this will not be the case.
Your friend always,
Isabella
Isabella finished her letter and, grabbing her hat and bonnet, prepared to take it into town herself.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon and Isabella rather enjoyed the idea of walking to town, something she had only done a few times since coming to Wintercrest.
“Where are ye off to?” a voice called out to Isabella as she entered the servants’ dining hall.
Isabella recognized it instantly as that of Betsy. Isabella turned to find her friend sitting alone at a table finishing a very late luncheon.
“I’m going to town to drop off a letter to post. Can I get you anything while I am there?” Isabella asked her friend.
“Well, actually if you dinna mind terribly. I do have an item or two I was hopin’ to get but have been avoidin’ goin’ myself, of late.”
“You have?” Isabella said coming to sit by her friend with concern. “Has something gone wrong with your Mr. Johnson?”
“Only that he isn’t my Mr. Johnson.”
“Oh Betsy, I’m so sorry to hear that. I know you were truly taking a liking to him.”
Isabella reached out and took Betsy’s hand in compassion.
“Ach, nothin’ to fret about, I suspect,” she did her best to wave off the hurt.
“If you don’t mind terribly, please tell me what happened. Perhaps I could help in some way.”
“I dinna think much can be done about it. One day I was walkin’ to market, and Mr. Johnson wasna waitin’ as usual. I dinna think much of it till I saw him at market walking next to Sally.”
“Oh, that rake!” Isabella said with venom.
“Aye, well it is what it is,” Betsy resolved herself. “I haven’t been able to brin’ myself to go to market since that day, though.”
“And you shan’t ever again, if you don’t want to. I will happily get any things you may need,” Isabella said with the heart of a true friend looking out for the broken-hearted.
Isabella walked to town with her letter in a basket that also included a short list from Betsy. The only item that she had absolutely needed to get was some fabric. Her cousin was turning sixteen in a few weeks, and she hoped to make her a lovely dress as a gift.
Isabella only paused once on the road, as she made her way to town, to look along the fencing of a house she thought might belong to Mr. Johnson. But with none, save some chickens, out and about she could not determine much.
She stopped to post her letter first and was surprised to find that she had a message in return. It was from Mr. Jenkins, her late father’s lawyer, and probably the only one who knew of her employment beyond Louisa.
Isabella tucked the letter safely into her basket and went on her way to the small mercantile shop. The dress that Betsy was planning to make for her cousin was a cream cotton in a flowing design for what she explained was a Scottish tradition on All Hallows’ Eve.
She said that, though she and her family were good Christian folk, like many of those rich in their Scottish heritage in these parts, they participated in the druid tradition of Samhain that night.
A grand bonfire would be built, small children would dress as ghosts and little people, to blend in with the ones said to be free for one night. The maidens of the village would dress in white and dance around the fire.
Though it seemed a bit wild and strange to Isabella, in all honesty, it didn’t seem to differ much from its counterpart of the Mayday celebration. Thinking of Betsy there with her cousin, as they danced and warded off the evil spirits while commemorating the memory of their long-gone ancestors in the pure white gowns, Isabella decided she would try her hand at gifting one to Betsy as well.
Isabella had, after all, made the dress for little Jackie’s doll. Though she had never done more than mending and embellishing garments in the past, Isabella figured it couldn’t be so difficult to make one. Probably just a doll’s dress only larger.
She picked out the simple cotton fabric that Betsy asked for, then, using her own wages from employment, Isabella purchased a cream-colored cotton fabric and a matching lace overlay. Isabella was determined to make sure Betsy was the most beautiful maiden at Samhain. Then Mr. Johnson would regret his decision to show his affection elsewhere.
Isabella was so excited for her scheme and surprise for Betsy, that she scarcely noticed much as she made her way back home. It was because of this that she was taken on by a great shock when a horse seemingly appeared from nowhere right behind her.
Isabella turned, frightened, and fell to the side of the road, basket and all following her to the ground. Immediately, the Barouche with the Wintercrest emblem on the side came to a halt.