The evening continued for Isabella in a memorable sort of way. She stayed at the Marquess’ side for most of the night and even danced to a few folk songs that she knew from public balls.
Though the attendees knew clearly that it was the Marquess at the festivities, they treated him as one of their own. It was the greatest gift bestowed upon the Lord of Bellfourd to once again feel at home as he had in his naval times.
Finally, as the night began to wind on, Isabella thought it is best that she return home and retire for the night. After all, she still had a full day of lessons with Jackie on the morrow.
“I will walk with you home, then,” Lord Bellfourd said. “Let me just stop at Mr. Johnson’s barn to collect my horse.”
“Mr. Johnson?” Isabella exclaimed.
“Yes,” Lord Bellfourd said, a little confused by her excitement. “He is the tenant that works the land we are on.”
“Oh, to be true,” Isabella clapped her hands gayly, perhaps a little too much so after the sweet fermented cider she had earlier. “That would be the elder Mr. Johnson and he has a son about Betsy’s age.”
“Well, I would say that Alden is a bit older than Betsy, but yes.”
“Oh Christian,” Isabella said taking his hands. “That is so wonderful.”
“It is,” he said with a little laugh, enjoying Isabella’s giddy behavior. “Why is that you have taken a liking to the chap.”
“No, don’t be silly,” Isabella said hooking her arm in his and encouraging him to take her with him to the barn. “Betsy has been sweet on him for some time. He was sweet on her too, but then for some reason, set his eyes on another.”
“I wanted to make the dress for Betsy so that she could show that scoundrel, Mr. Alden Johnson, that he had made a grave mistake.”
Lord Bellfourd took possession of his chestnut steed from a much younger boy who was dozing away in a soft pile of hay in the barn. Isabella couldn’t help but smile as she watched Lord Bellfourd place a shiny new copper in his hand.
They walked on in silence down the road for a short while.
“Is that the only reason you made Betsy look so nice tonight?” Lord Bellfourd finally asked.
“What do you mean?” Isabella inquired from the other side of the horse that walked between them.
“I just mean, you dressed her all up as a fine lady. Perhaps you hoped that Mr. Alden would do more than regret his change in affection.”
"If by that you mean, see the true value in Betsy and fall hopelessly in love with her? I suppose, yes. I am a romantic at heart, after all.”
“You are?” Lord Bellfourd said, but seemed to think this over. “You know it doesn’t matter,” he finally said.
“What doesn’t matter?”
“What she wears, how she looks. If he truly loved her, he would see beyond the physical and love the girl inside. Outward situations matter little compared to the condition of the heart.”
Isabella felt the conversation turn to something with a much deeper meaning.
“That is quite a nice thought, Christian, but there is always more than just that simple statement to consider.”
“And what would that be?”
“Well, the feelings of family members, for one,” Isabella blurted out with obviousness.
“It is a silly thing if you ask me, to stake one’s own life’s happiness on the sensitivities of others. Certainly, that is no way to live.”
“You are saying you don’t think we should feel any attachment to our family. That each person, upon the age of adulthood, should turn from those who loved and raised him and care not for how his affections might affect them.”
“I don’t suppose I would put it quite that dramatically,” he said with a smug grin catching Isabella between the horse in the soft moonlit night. “But no, I don’t think a person should base his own happiness on what others, even his family, might want of him.
“Do you suppose,” he continued, “if your father knew of Mr. Smith’s proposal to you, he would have wanted you to take up such an arrangement?”
Isabella thought this over. Truthfully, her father, though loving and giving of every want, rarely spoke an opinion on the matter of marriage. She wasn’t sure if her father would have been for such matters so as to benefit his company, or against it, in support of her refusal.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Alright, but let's just say, for argument’s sake, that he wanted you to marry his business partner and, in fact, wholeheartedly endorsed it. Would you have married him then?”
“No!” Isabella blurted out without thought, as she often did when overcome with emotion.
“Precisely. Certainly family’s, and even societies’, thoughts and opinions matter, but in the end, we each live our own lives. We should all be allowed to choose who we will spend the rest of our lives with, no matter her status.”
Isabella felt Lord Bellfourd’s eyes on her and she couldn’t bear to look at him, for fear of giving away her own feelings.
“Well then,” she said, lightening the mood, “I shall congratulate Betsy heartily on the morrow for stealing away the Marquess of Bellfourd’s heart.”
Lord Bellfourd gave into unrestrained laughter at Isabella’s proclamations, much to her satisfaction.
They walked the remainder of the journey in contented silence. Isabella walked with him to deposit the horse in his own stall, and then, together, they walked into the main foyer of the manor. Parting at the opposite stairwells, Lord Bellfourd bowed politely and bid Isabella goodnight.
Isabella could scarcely sleep despite the late hour. If the festivities were not enough to keep her alert, the cryptic words spoken before parting the company of Lord Bellfourd certainly were.
She had long since admitted to herself that she felt an attachment to the Marquess. Never in all her life would she expect him to do the same. Such a thing surely couldn’t be allowed.
She replayed the night's events over and over in her head as she lay awake under her quilts. Constantly, she second-guessed if she saw more than there was. But then, Lord Bellfourd's words came back to her:
‘We all should be allowed to choose who we will spend the rest of our lives with, no matter HER status.’
Had he meant Isabella when he uttered that phrase? Isabella certainly wanted to let herself hope so, but also feared to allow such excitement to grow inside her.
She stayed awake pondering these things till she could see the dim early light of the day breaking. Despite her need to ready herself for the day's tasks, Isabella finally drifted off to sleep, with thoughts of Lord Bellfourd on her mind and in her heart.
“Isabella? Isabella? Are you not well?” broke through the haze of what seemed like only a few seconds later.
It was Lady Abigail sitting at the side of Isabella’s bed, her youthful face drawn with worry.
“Why? What's going on?” Isabella said, surprised at how hoarse and dry her throat felt.
“Betsy came to get me. She said she came this morning with breakfast, but you were not awake. When Mrs. Murray informed her that you had not left your room to attend Jackie she thought you must be unwell. She came to me straight away. Are you ill?”
It was clear that Lady Abigail asked in true concern.
“No,” Isabella said softly, still attempting to get her bearings on the preceding night and following morning.
“My goodness, what time is it?” Isabella said, shooting up in her bed, now coming to her senses.
She instantly regretted such movement as her head began to swirl most painfully.
“You are ill,” Lady Abigail instead. “I should have the doctor fetched for.”
“No, please don’t. I will be alright shortly,” Isabella said, eyes closed as she rubbed her temples. She was willing the massive pain to leave her body. “It must have been that cider. I had far too much of it.”
Lady Abigail squealed with glee and made a little bounce on the bed. It produced another moan of discomfort from Isabella.
“Oh, sorry, dear, but does that mean that you went to All Hallows’ Eve last night?” Lady Abigail could barely contain her excitement.
“Yes. After I gave Betsy her dress, she insisted I come along.”
“Oh, did she look fine in her new dress? You must tell me every moment of it.”
“Of course, but first I must see to Jackie,” Isabella said, struggling to rise again.
“Absolutely not!” Lady Abigail said with a firm hand pushing Isabella back down. “You are not well enough. Mrs. Murray will happily look after Jackie for the day, and Christian and I will take turns entertaining her.”
Lady Abigail stood and propped up the pillows behind Isabella in a motherly fashion.
“You stay right here and rest. I will have Betsy send up some cold water and broth. You don’t move a muscle out of that bed until your head is much better.”
Isabella smiled weakly at her dear friend.
“And perhaps when you are feeling up to it, you will share with me every moment of your night.”
“I promise,” Isabella responded happily.
She wondered, however, before she drifted back to sleep if she should tell Lady Abigail every moment. For instance, the fact that she spent almost the whole of the night with her brother.