“Dear Isabella,” Eleanor began, purposefully mimicking what she felt was Lady Kendrick’s tone of voice, “I am excited that this will hopefully be the last time we exchange letters before the club’s commencement. I would like to thank you again for accepting this old lady’s request and doing your best at it. I cannot wait to see you tomorrow.”
Eleanor lowered the paper dramatically. “How wonderful!”
A smile tugged at Isabella’s lips. She tried to hide it, but the delight bubbled up anyway. The thought of the club, fully realized, doors soon to open, ideas finally set into motion, sent a flutter of anticipation through her chest.
“Would you like to write back to Lady Kendrick?” Eleanor asked, folding the letter neatly. “I can write it for you!”
“No, dear. That won’t be necessary, but thank you,” Isabella replied, still smiling faintly. “She shall see me soon enough. A reply would hardly reach her before I arrive tomorrow.”
As Eleanor placed the letter on Isabella’s dresser, a light knock sounded at the doorway, followed by the entrance of Mrs. Harry,the housekeeper. She dipped in a small curtsy. For a woman in her late fifties, Isabella still found her quite beautiful with her lithe frame, mahogany hair, and smooth skin that barely showed even the slightest wrinkle.
The housekeeper’s kind green eyes shone with affection as she addressed them both. “Dinner is prepared and served in the dining hall, my ladies. Your presence is requested.” She dipped respectfully again in a curtsy, almost making the tight bun atop her head bounce.
“Thank you, Mrs. Harry,” Isabella said, rising from her chair, dusting the charcoal remnants off her hands.
Eleanor stood beside her eagerly, and together, they left the room to go to the dining hall where their parents and brother awaited them.
The dining hall glowed warmly beneath rows of flickering candles. The scent of roasted herbs and fresh bread drifted through the air, mingling with the faint perfume of sandalwood. Hints of decanted red wine complemented the appetizing smells of what promised to be a delicious dinner.
Isabella’s father sat at the head of the table, his expression softening with warmth as his eyes met hers. She returned it, wondering why he had that look in his eyes.
Isabella took her seat between Eleanor and Christine, smoothing the fabric of her evening gown as a footman poured wine into her glass. She had changed for dinner before starting her sketch, butshe was pleased to note that the care she had taken had paid off. Not s ingle spec of charcoal was to be seen on her garments.
Her father cleared his throat, drawing the table’s attention.
“My dear Isabella,” he began with a proud smile, “I’m quite proud of you. You have always possessed a vivid imagination, thus I had no doubt the presentation would be effortless for you. I’m glad you’ve taken up this venture with Lady Kendrick. You two seem to be getting along quite well, so I trust you will be on your best behavior tomorrow.” He beamed with pride.
Christine laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh, allow her some credit, my love. Isabella can hold her own against the ladies of the ton far better than you or I ever could. She is sharp-minded and perfectly capable. You should know that better than I, considering you sired her.”
Eleanor beamed proudly at her sister. “She is the most capable sister in London!”
“Thank you, Ellie,” Isabella chuckled, affection blooming as she squeezed her sister’s hand beneath the table.
Henry, too busy focused on the meal before him, simply hummed in agreement, saying nothing more. His plate was overloaded with roast beef, vegetables, and sauces. It amazed Isabella how young men could put so much food away without gaining so much as an ounce.
Isabella felt her heart soften, and she could hardly keep from smiling, even later as she lay beneath her soft bedding, the gentle glow of the bedside candle casting warm shadows across her chambers.
Her hair spilled across her pillow in curls, and she sighed softly as the silence of the night settled around her.
Tomorrow.
The word alone seemed to shimmer in the silence.
She turned onto her side, hugging the cover lightly. For a week, she had poured every thought, every creative spark, every bit of daring into the plans for the club.
And at last, tomorrow, people would finally see what she had been working on.
The sketch she completed earlier rested on her bedside table, but even with the distance, Isabella could imagine every line of it, every curve, every small symbolism she’d sketched that made it what it was.
A thrill rushed through her chest, light and warm, at the thought of the simple sketch leaving her room and entering the world, and Isabella pressed a hand against her heart as though to steady it.
Then she closed her eyes, but she could hardly wait.
Yet, as sleep gradually pulled her under, her last waking thought was a quiet, shimmering realization:
At last, something in her life felt entirely and wonderfully hers.
I might see him again.
