Now, the earl had gone so far as to mortgage the estate.
If there had been any advantage to her circumstances, it was that they had shaped her plans. She would not be one of those flighty women who leapt into a marriage without rational thought. She had made firm decisions about her future and would not be swayed from them.
Isabel did not wish for temporary security or the illusion of doing well, but for permanent and unassailable security. She wished for the sort of substantial base that could easily withstand a husband who gambled, or tenants who did not pay, or a fire burning down the house. In essence, a base that could stand solid and immovable, unperturbed by the cold winds of fate.
There were several components needed for that sort of security—plentiful money already in hand, a long-established title of suitable elevation, deep societal connections through marriages down the generations, and at least one estate of vast acreage.
He, whoever he was, would have a serious interest and unparalleled skill for managing his estate. The result would be no scrimping and no terror of the future.
She would, someday, live in comfort. She would be warm in winter. She would have new clothes each year. She would preside over a plentiful table and be carried about in a well-kept carriage. There would be no leaks in the roof.
Every door would be open to her and she would be able to afford to walk through them.
Her older sister had not done so. Margaret had married the first gentleman willing to take her on without a dowry. As poor Margaret had not had many choices in the neighborhood, she’d married a squire.
Her sister had initially set her cap on the Earl of Bertridge, their closest neighbor, but that had gone nowhere. Margaret was a capricious and giggling sort of personality, and the lord was reserved and serious. He had never seemed to know what she was talking about.
Now, Margaret would never starve, but the squire had been a decided settling.
Isabel had long vowed she would not settle. Her family’s pedigree, if not their finances, was one of the best in England. Sherefusedto settle, and she had prepared herself as best she could to be worthy of the idea.
She had even considered following in Margaret’s footsteps and setting her cap on Lord Bertridge, though she found him unaccountably stiff. But then, he’d come home from Brighton married and so that idea came to an end. Initially, she’d almost wished she’d gone forward with it, as the new Lady Bertridge had somehow managed to loosen up the lord. Over time, she’d got to know Caroline, seen them together often, and it began to be more clear how the loosening up had come about. They were a well-suited pair—Lord Bertridge’s off-putting seriousness had been softened and he had been much improved by his lighthearted wife.
As for who else in the neighborhood might be considered…there was nobody at present.
Now, she hurried down the stairs to the dining room. It was not prudent to be late. The offerings would not be generous, and her father would plow through it all were she to come in after the set time. She had gone to bed hungry on more than one occasion from just such a circumstance.
She passed by Rogers, their old and decrepit butler who had likely not been paid in a year. Isabel was certain he only stayed on because he did not have the money to leave. The footmen were long gone and Isabel only vaguely remembered having such servants in the house. There was no housekeeper, nor cook. A woman from the village brought in the meals and a lone stable hand took care of what was now their lone horse.
Over the years, even the tenants had left one by one. It had been impossible for them to stay on, as every time the earl was short of money, he raised their rents.
Isabel, herself, attempted to keep the house in some sort of order, sweeping corridors and dusting the drawing room, though she would never admit to it outside of the family. Her efforts did not result in much, the house was vast and she was only one person with a dust rag and broom.
She found her father already in his place at the head of the table. “What?” he said, pointing at her as she sat down. “A duchess, don’t you know? Off withher. Arranged!”
Isabel did not have the first idea of what her father meant, nor did she often. It was as if whole thoughts and ideas occurred in his head but promptly blew apart and arrived in fractured pieces.
As Rogers limped in with the half of a cold chicken that would be their dinner, the earl slid a letter toward her plate.
She picked it up and unfolded it, very afraid it was from some creditor or other who was threatening something dreadful. The various people owed money had long lost whatever courtesy they might afford an earl.
There had been many such letters and the earl liked to hand them over as if she could make them stop coming.
Though, this time her father had mentioned a duchess and they had not yet been dunned by such an elevated personage. What had he got himself into?
My dear Lord Somerdon—
Though your last letter was not entirely clear, I will indulge myself in presuming that you are agreeable to the plan. Lady Isabel will be under my and the duke’s protection, gaining entrance into all the finest houses in London.
I was able, through consulting with my duke, to understand one of the passages you wrote. He is certain you say you cannot be put to the expense of a wardrobe. Put that fear aside, my lord! It will be my honor to bring in my own modiste and outfit Lady Isabel as becomes an earl’s daughter.
As well, the duke is sure that the last paragraph you wrote relates to your carriage being in disrepair. All difficulties are smoothed and I will come myself to collect Lady Isabel on the 9thof this month.
I look forward to seeing you then,
Theodosia Stanbury
“Father,” Isabel said slowly, “what are these arrangements?”
