Isoline woke up to the sound of porcelain clattering outside her door. She rushed over and threw the door open as Bess was trying to slink silently down the hallway after depositing a tea tray.

“Bess!” Isoline whispered harshly. “What is happening?”

Bess hesitated, but then she crept back toward Isoline. “The mistress has ordered us not to attend to you,” she whispered, her eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching them. “But we couldn’t let you starve, so I brought you a little something. Please don’t let Lady Payne know.”

Isoline reached out and squeezed Bess’s hand in thanks. “I won’t. Thank you so much. But why is auntie so angry with me?”

Bess shook her head. “We don’t know exactly. It has to do with Mr. Dracoia, but…” She seemed unsure of how to proceed.

“But…what?” Isoline asked. “She gave us her blessing. Why is she angry now?”

Bess twisted her arm free from Isoline’s grip and backed down the hall. “I don’t know. I can’t say…”

“Well, which is it?” Isoline demanded.

Bess turned and ran down the hallway. Isoline picked up the tea tray and took it into her room. It wasn’t much—toast with butter, a boiled egg, tea quickly growing cold—but it was better than nothing. She devoured the food and hoped Bess would be able to bring her luncheon as well because she knew the bit of breakfast wouldn’t last long. She kept the tray in her room because she didn’t want Bellamira to catch a glimpse of it in the hallway and know the servants were feeding her. How absurd! Had she really ordered them to not even bring her food?

As she paced the room, she replayed the last scene with her aunt over and over in her mind, trying to understand why her aunt had gotten so angry. It clearly had to do with the painting and Auberon. But why? Auberon had done work for Bellamira before. She was his practically his patron. It must have been because the painting was of Isoline. But…what of that? She thought her aunt had grown quite fond of her. She thought that she was Bellamira’s heir. And Bellamira had given Auberon permission to call on her. She also already had a portrait of Isoline. Why was she angry over this new one?

Perhaps something had changed. For some reason, Bellamira no longer cared for Isoline or she no longer wanted Auberon to court her. Or perhaps she had changed her mind on both accounts. But again, Isoline was left with the question of why? Bellamira had said nothing to Isoline to indicate she was in any way displeased with her or Auberon. But something had to have happened. Something perhaps behind the scenes. Something Isoline had not been privy to.

She walked to the window and shivered as she took in the grey sky. She pulled a wrap around her shoulders to block the coolness that was seeping into the room. She walked over and stoked the fire, but she was out of firewood. If the servants were not attending her, the fire would soon go out and the room would get frightfully cold.

No, she could not allow that to happen. Isoline dressed herself as best she could and slipped on her shoes. She still had a key to the other rooms, and all of them had their own fireplace and stock of wood. She would simply sneak into the other rooms and pilfer the logs for her own use. She had no idea how long she would be banished, so she would take as much as she could find.

She opened the door to her room and stuck her head out into the hallway. She was surprised to hear complete silence. Usually by this time of day, the servants would be busy on their work throughout the house and could be heard cleaning, going in and out, and chattering from secluded corners. But now, the house was so silent it was as though it was empty. She realized she would have to be extra cautious. It would be too easy for her to make a noise that would alert Bellamira that she had left her room. As she entered the hallway, she pulled her door mostly closed, but not enough to click the latch. She went all the way to the end of one of the hallways, the most secluded door she could find, and carefully, quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside.

The room was like all the others—dark, unused, full of dust, and housing stacks of paintings. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the low light, opting not to open the curtains as she didn’t plan to be there for long. She shook her head at the monumental task that still lay ahead of her in cataloging the paintings if she and Bellamira ever returned to the task. If she was Bellamira’s heir, what would she do with them all when she inherited the estate? It was wrong to leave the paintings locked up where no one could appreciate them. She would have to contact a museum in London to ask for advice about what to do.

She made her way over to the fireplace and found a stack of logs in a basket nearby. She grabbed the logs one at a time and piled them in the crook of her elbow, but she screamed when she felt the legs of a spider on her hand. She dropped the logs and dusted herself off of any residual spiders, webbing, or dust, then cursed herself for making such a racket over just a little spider.

She went over to the window, throwing the curtains back and taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. Light raindrops pelted the window and a gentle thunder rumbled in the distance. From this window, she could see the stables and the vegetable garden. Usually, even on a dreary day, the stable hands should be busy tending the horses and mucking out the stalls. But today, like the house itself, not a soul could be seen.

Where was everyone?

Even if the lady of the house was irritable and her companion shut in her room, the rest of the house should continue to function. It was as though the entire estate had simply been…turned off, for lack of a better phrase.

Isoline’s despondency was changing into irritation and nearing on anger. Why should she be locked up? Even if Bellamira was angry with her, she deserved to know why. And why hadn’t Bellamira told her plainly whether or not she was the heir? Why the secrets? Everyone seemed to know everything about Isoline’s life and future except Isoline. She would almost prefer to being banished, forced to find her own way in the world, than live in such a state of uncertainty at the whims of everyone around her.

Why couldn’t she determine her own life?

She sighed and shook her head. She knew why. It was because she was a daughter. A niece. An unmarried woman. Her life was not her own but belonged to other people. She had no choice but to live by their whims until she married—then she would be subjected to the decisions of her husband. That was the way of the world.

She stomped back over to the firewood, leaving the drapes open, and kicked at the logs and basket to make sure any linger spiders knew to bugger off. She then picked up the logs and quietly made her way back to her own room. She piled the logs on top of her dying fire and worked it until warm flames were once again roaring.

She then went to two other rooms and pilfered the logs there as well, just to make sure she wouldn’t run out of wood anytime soon.

Satisfied with the temperature of her room and the pile of firewood she had accumulated, she pondered what to do next. She decided to go and have a look at Auberon’s painting of her. Something about the painting had infuriated her aunt and lead her to this situation. If she looked at the painting again, more closely or with a more critical eye, perhaps she could find out why her aunt was so angered by it.

Once again, she slipped out of her room and down the hallway to the room she knew the painting had been locked in. It was the same room where she had found the rental contract for Auberon’s ancestor and the paintings of her and a young Bellamira.

She entered the room and carefully closed the door behind her. The room was quite dark, as the curtains were drawn and the storm had grown even more grey. She could not see where her painting was, so she went to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. The muted light fell on the desk. Isoline then remembered that Auberon had told her he didn’t have copies of the rental contract and was unsure of his legal standing with regards to the land. Isoline opened the drawer and pulled out the papers with great care. She didn’t know which ones were relevant, so she decided to take all of them. If Bellamira decided to evict Auberon from the cottage, maybe these papers could help him lay some claim to it. After all, his family had been living there for over a hundred years. That had to give him some right to stay even if the landowner wanted him gone. Isoline was far from an expert on land rights, but perhaps Auberon could consult an attorney. After collecting all the papers in the top drawer, Isoline then checked the side drawers. She didn’t find anything that looked legal, but her eyes fell on a stack of letters that were secured with a ribbon. As she picked them up and turned them over, she saw only two names. On the front, they were addressed to Bellamira. On the back, they were signed from, “Your Beloved.”

Isoline gasped. They must have been love letters. But from who? From what Isoline had gathered, she married young, her husband was cruel, and she was soon after made a widow who never remarried. It seemed unlikely to her that Bellamira would have had a lover anywhere in that timeframe. After all, she had been a widow for more than sixty years. She could have freely remarried decades ago. Unless the lover was a married man.

She looked at the door, as though checking to make sure it was still closed even though she had no reason to think otherwise. She knew she shouldn’t open the letters, but she couldn’t help herself. What if the answer to Bellamira’s loneliness, sadness, and surliness toward Isoline was hidden here in these old letters?

She placed the stack of letters on the desk and carefully untied the ribbon. Her heart raced and her mouth was dry. She wasn’t sure if it was the fear of doing something wrong or the anticipation of reading something salacious. Perhaps it was both. She opened the first envelope and pulled the letter out. It was yellow with age and crinkled when she unfolded it.

Isoline’s heart froze in her chest as she read the signature. She read it again and again.

Auberon.

Auberon.

No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be her Auberon. This man wrote of seeing her on her wedding day seven decades ago. Her heart began to slowly beat again as she began to make sense of what she was reading. She opened the folder where she had collected the rental contracts and found a signature from the Auberon who had signed them. With a shaking hand, she compared the two. They were the same.

Of course. It wasn’t her Auberon who wrote the letters, but his grandfather or great-grandfather. The first Dracoia who had come from Romania and rented land from the last Earl of Payne.

Isoline had to stifle a laugh. What a cheeky devil! Auberon’s ancestor was carrying on a torrid love affair with the wife of his landlord! It was a delicious story, good enough for a novel! But after the earl died, why did they not marry? It would have been a scandal, yes, but they were clearly in love. Isoline read the next letter.

Dragă mea, Isoline repeated to herself. She wondered what that meant. It was probably a term of endearment in Romanian. She would have to ask Auberon what it meant.

She then noticed the repeated mention of dreams in the letters, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was any meaning behind them. Did Bellamira have dreams the way she did? She had never mentioned her dreams to her aunt. If Bellamira ever spoke to her again, maybe she should mention them to her.

Isoline started to feel guilty about reading the letters. She shouldn’t have pried into something so personal. She placed the letters back in their envelopes and tried to tie them back together, but the ribbon snapped, it was so old and delicate. She left the letters on the desk and decided she would bring a ribbon from her room to tie them with. She could have just put them in the drawer and hoped no one would be the wiser. After all, the letters had been there untouched for years. But it felt wrong to not try and put them back the way she found them.

As she headed toward the door, she then remembered that the reason she had come into the room was to look at her painting. At first, as she looked around, she didn’t see it. But now she saw a painting sitting on the floor, facing the wall. She picked it up and found that it was her painting. She sighed as she looked at it in her outstretched arms. It was incredible. So lifelike! Auberon was a truly gifted painter. He could be famous if he tried. She looked around and tried to decide where to put it. Her eyes fell on the other painting of her, the one from several years ago. The one sitting next to the painting of a young Bellamira. She removed the old painting of her from the stand and replaced it with Auberon’s.

Her breath caught in her chest.

She suddenly realized that not only did she and Bellamira look the same, but the art style was identical! The color palate, the brush strokes, even the dress they were wearing—everything was the same!

But it wasn’t possible! Auberon couldn’t have painted the painting of Bellamira. He wasn’t old enough. Perhaps Auberon learned to paint from whoever painted Bellamira’s portrait.

But then she recalled the signature on her painting. And on the rental agreement. And the love letters. Her heart froze.

They were the same.

She knew she had seen Auberon’s signature on her painting before. And now she knew where from. She hesitated, but she knew she had to check Bellamira’s painting. She had to know if they were painted by the same man.

She held her breath as she stepped forward and bent over to get a closer look at Bellamira’s portrait. She saw it, clear as day.

Auberon’s signature.

She gasped and stepped back. The window to the room flew open as a sharp, cold, wet breeze filled the room, scattering the love letters and the rental documents.

“Oh no!” she yelled as she tried to collect the papers from the floor. She picked up as many as she could and then ran to the desk to shove them into the top drawer before they were lost.

“What is the meaning of this?” Bellamira demanded.

Isoline looked up, and she felt ice in her veins. Bellamira was standing there in the doorway, her face hard as iron. She bent down to pick up one of the letters that had flown free, the first one Isoline had opened.

Isoline stood stone still, waiting for Bellamira’s reaction. Bellamira pulled the letter out of the envelope, read it, and her face softened. She held the letter to her chest and lowered her head. Isoline thought her aunt was about to cry, and she started to move toward her from around the desk, but as soon as Bellamira looked back up, any hint of sentimentality was replaced by rage.

“How dare you!” she yelled, crumpling the letter in her hand and flinging it to the ground. “You sneak around my house, going through my things!”

“Aunt,” Isoline tried to say. “I’m sorry. I was just so scared—”

“Scared?” Bellamira asked, but clearly not wanting an answer. “What do you have to be scared of? Have I not taken you in? Given you a room? Food? Clothes? And this is how you betray me? By rifling through my personal things?”

“I’m so, so sorry, aunt,” Isoline tried again. “But I just—”

Bellamira stomped over to Isoline and gripped her by the wrist in a grasp so strong, Isoline was shocked into silence. Bellamira then dragged Isoline out of the room and down the hallway.

“Auntie,” Isoline pleaded. “I’m sorry. Please, just talk to me.”

“I’ll speak to you no more,” Bellamira said as she opened the door to Isoline’s room and shoved her inside.

Isoline lost her balance and fell into the room. Bellamira slammed the door closed, and Isoline heard the click of the lock. She banged on the door.

“Auntie!” she cried. “What is happening? Why did you lock the door?” She shook the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Just stay in there until I’ve decided what to do with you!” Bellamira shouted through the door, then Isoline heard her steps retreat down the hallway.

“Wait!” Isoline called out. “Come back! Don’t leave me! Auntie! Bess! Talbot! Anyone!”

But there was no reply, and soon the house was once again as silent as before, save the rain on the window and Isoline crying.