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Chapter 1
“Good morning, Miss Moore.”
Isabelle stirred when she heard a voice invade her sleep, and then the sudden noise of the curtains being opened made her jump. Cracking her eyes open, she saw the bright sunlight coming in. It was far too bright. Isabel groaned and pulled the sheets over her head.
“Arnaud, do you have to do that? It’s too bright and too early.”
“It’s not too early. It’s just gone eight in the morning.”
“That’s too early,” Isabelle grumbled. She rolled onto her back and slowly lowered the sheet, getting used to the bright lights now transforming the room. “Would you lay my clothes out? And please don’t talk, Arnaud. You know I hate mornings.”
“Yes, Miss Moore.”
Her maid began to move around the room, selecting and picking out the various garments Isabel was meant to wear. Isabel didn’t think she would be leaving the house, so she didn’t really care what was laid out for her. They weren’t expecting guests. Nobody was going to care what she wore.
Normally, Isabel would be enthusiastic and help her maid find the right dress. But lately, she just had no motivation, no appetite, no lust for life. There was just nothing.
Ever since her father’s death, nothing was bringing any source of enjoyment. Not even the smallest of things.
“Your belongings are ready, Miss Moore.” Arnaud appeared at the side of the bed, her brown hair already falling out of her cap. “Would you like me to ask Cook to prepare a breakfast tray for you?”
“Not today, Arnaud. I’ll try and get downstairs.” Isabel sighed. “Mother would want to see my face and know that I’m alive and well.”
“Lady Dunley will be happy to know you’re joining her for breakfast.” Arnaud nodded at the foot of the bed. “Would you like some help, My Lady?”
“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself.”
“Very well.” Arnaud bobbed a curtsy and walked away. “If you need anything more, just let me know.”
Isabel didn’t reply. She just felt a little uncomfortable with her maid right now. Arnaud was an efficient woman. Very cool and collected and appeared to be very patient with Isabel and her eccentricities. Two years in the service of Viscount Dunley and Arnaud had had to get used to being a part of a family that wasn’t considered conventional. Her family in Brittany had to be in despair.
Isabel didn’t get up immediately. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Not too long ago, she had been one of those people who was up as soon as daylight peeked over the horizon, and she had so much high spirit as she went about her morning chores that it made her mother groan.
Lady Dunley wasn’t used to such spritely behaviour at an early hour, even with her daughter. She prepared to take her time and slowly get herself into the mood that would be considered a decent disposition. Isabel had been more like her father, up and going before she had even opened her eyes.
Her father. Isabel felt a stab of pain in her chest as she started thinking about her father again. He had been her inspiration, a person she adored. They had been close, Viscount Dunley appreciating Isabel’s little hobbies and activities.
They could talk for hours about the smallest of things that would make her mother confused and sit there with a blank expression. Isabel often didn’t notice the time once she started talking about the new animals she had found on the estate or was looking after in the orangery.
Now that wasn’t going to happen. Not anymore, after Viscount Dunley died when his carriage overturned on a stormy night six months ago. The track had been muddy, and the horses had been slipping. It had taken a random rock in the ground and one of the horses to collapse, and the carriage flipped.
Her father had died on impact. So had the driver. The footman, seated on the back, had been thrown clear and was lucky to live with a broken leg and fractured collarbone. He was now recuperating in his room at the top of the house.
Isabel felt cold remembering the moment a soaked and bedraggled man had come to the door and told her and her mother that their father was dead. It hadn’t really sunk in until his body was brought back and placed in his bedchamber, the servants preparing it for the funeral. That was when it slammed into Isabel, and she had gone into hysterics. Her father, her hero, was gone. He was never coming back.
She hadn’t been able to leave her room since without breaking down. Eventually, she had shut herself away from everyone, barely appearing for meals, sparingly, even then. Isabel had tried her best, standing beside her mother at the graveside during the funeral. But even then, while she tried to support her distraught mother, Isabel couldn’t focus.
Everything she looked at seemed to remind her of the viscount. She ended up sobbing over the smallest of things and just couldn’t stop once she got started. She had to hide away, keep away from anything that could set her off.
But Isabel knew she couldn’t stay in her bedchamber forever. It wasn’t healthy, and her mother did need her. Majorie Moore, Viscountess Dunley, had been with her husband for twenty years, and they had been a loving couple. Isabel had hoped for marriage in her future much like this, a rare moment where the husband and wife married for love rather than financial gain. Now she felt selfish for hiding herself away and not thinking about her mother.
She needed to make an effort to help her mother.
Finally rolling out of bed, Isabel got herself dressed, managing to tie up her corset on her own and getting it to a state where she could breathe. God, she hated corsets, but her mother had said she needed to wear one and be a little more ladylike. Isabel could certainly do without one.
She took a look at herself in the mirror. Not too bad. A decent, simple lavender dress that functioned well enough, but no gloves. Isabel hated gloves; it was difficult to pick up animals and search for smaller creatures when wearing them. They were only for special occasions, in her mind. Her blonde hair was long, and it was fiddly to put up, so Isabel simply pinned her hair back at the temples to keep it out of her eyes. Again, no one was visiting, so she didn’t need to look perfectly presentable.
With mourning, the family hid away from everyone until their time had ended and they could enter Society again. Six months after her father’s death, Isabel was allowed to come out of mourning, but her mother had another six months.
