Page 1 of Revisit the Past (Society of Swans #3)

April 1812

I sabel’s reflection sparkled in the tall mirror as she turned her round face from side to side. Sharp-green eyes examined every bejeweled and feathery detail as they caught the flickering candlelight. She took a step back, gloved hands brushing down the delicate, silver netting that overlaid her ivory gown, and nodded.

“Dearest, may I enter?” called a sweet, familiar voice from the other side of Isabel’s bedroom door.

“You may,” she replied. As the upper half of Aunt Matilda’s face peered in, Isabel swirled around with arms spread out at her sides, making an ostentatious display of herself.

The lady’s expectant smile transformed into a light laugh as she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her with a gentle click. The dowager countess’s diamond-and-amethyst tiara glimmered amongst the midnight-black hair she shared with Isabel and Isabel’s late mother.

“You shall be the star of Lord and Lady Lemmonbury’s welcome ball, my beautiful niece.”

She held out a hand and Isabel accepted, following along instinctively. Aunt Matilda turned her slowly as if in a dance.

“Are you prepared for another eventful Season?” Aunt Matilda prodded. She returned Isabel to her original position, nodding in satisfaction at the conclusion of her own examination.

Isabel’s hand slipped out of her aunt’s. Knowing the older woman would not mind her lack of decorum in private, Isabel shrugged and glanced down at the tips of her slippers poking out from beneath a hem embroidered in a silver feather pattern to match the feathers in her hair. The longest one drooped down and brushed against Isabel’s forehead.

“Aside from the notable absences of Lydia and Felicity, it will be a Season like any other, I am sure,” she answered with an unenthusiastic sigh as she quickly crossed to the chair in the corner and snatched up her reticule. Under her breath, with an equally unenthusiastic chuckle, Isabel added, “Unless another one of the girls receives a letter.”

“Receives what?”

Every one of Isabel’s muscles froze.

“Receives…offers,” she hurried, fumbling with her reticule and pretending to take particular care that its contents remained exactly the same as when she had last checked.

“Whatever the reason,” she continued in a nonchalant tone, “the tides of fate seem to have turned in my friends’ favors this past year. Perhaps the matrimonial blessings will continue this Season. Now, we really should be off before little Maria attempts to stow away in the carriage and sneak into the ball.”

Striding past Aunt Matilda toward the door, Isabel waved over her shoulder. She dared not look the other lady in the eye, lest she give away her and her friends’ secret to that knowledgeable gaze, made wiser by life’s experiences.

Though the Dowager Countess of Ainsworth was, in truth, Isabel’s senior by only ten years—being the youngest sibling on that side with two brothers between herself and Isabel’s mother—she had already lived a full life of courtships, love, marriage, and no small share of tragedy.

“Too right you are.” Aunt Matilda chuckled. Isabel listened for the soft rustle of the lady’s silk skirts as she crossed to join her niece at the door. Pausing, Aunt Matilda grasped Isabel’s hand and squeezed. “Whatever happens, I am sure it will be an exciting Season. They tend to find ways of making themselves so. Why else does the ton continue returning for this madness if not for the excitement that so often accompanies it?”

“Too right you are,” Isabel agreed with a laugh, relieved to have avoided suspicion. She locked her arm with her aunt’s and led them down the hall toward the stairs.

Isabel did not know what her chaperone and the only adult female relative in her life would think of some stranger contacting innocent neighborhood girls and sending them on wild hunts for romance, no matter how successful, nor did she wish to discover it. This was a mystery Isabel would not allow to be terminated prematurely…even if her active efforts at unmasking their anonymous matchmaker had understandably waned. She’d had more than enough to occupy her attention, what with the excitement and bustle of the past Season and the exhaustion of the ensuing period of recovery in the peaceful country, which had not been without its own drama.

She expected no such letter for herself. At least, she did not wish to be led down an imprudent path that would not ultimately align with her goal. Isabel had already delayed long enough and knew she must find a match for herself before Lady Swan might be tempted to intervene.

Perhaps this year, if one of her single friends did receive communication from Lady Swan, Isabel would renew her attempts to investigate. Between assisting Lydia and supporting Felicity last year, she had allowed herself to become too distracted from identifying Lady Swan. Besides, Isabel had yet to discover the correct method of interrogating someone to glean hints without exposing herself. Between her affable neighbors in Bainbridge and the tendency of rumors of any interest—including inquiries after a mysterious matchmaker—spreading like wildfire through the London gossip mill, it had proved too awkward thus far for much meaningful progress to be made.

In the foyer, they met with Papa, Lewis, and Maria. The youngest Abbott glared over her shoulder at her governess, who lingered in the corner, ensuring the older woman respected Maria’s right to see her family off for the evening and receive her deserved goodnight kisses. The animated little dear had argued quite effectively with Papa last Season, at just nine years of age, that she should be allowed that much if she was to be excluded.

“How pretty you look, sister!” cried Maria as she flew across the room. She threw her arms around Isabel’s middle and smiled up at her, eyes shining.

A stirring glow of appreciation for the girl settled over Isabel. Squeezing back, she planted a swift kiss atop Maria’s chestnut hair.

“Thank you, darling. If only I did not have to wait another eight years to see how pretty you will look on your way to a London ball.”

“See, Papa?!” Detaching from Isabel and rounding on a heel in one swift motion, Maria jabbed a finger at their father. “Isabel thinks I should attend Lord and Lady Lemmonbury’s ball! I shall only watch, I promise! And I will stay out of the way. Hardly anyone will notice me—”

“Heavens, see what you have done?” Lewis grumbled, his tall, slender figure perfectly framed by the front doors. “I would think you, of all people, would choose your words with more care. If you had, perhaps this one”—evidently amused, he jerked his head in Maria’s direction—“would not have learned how to prod and argue so effectively.”

A kind young man, though selfish in ways unsurprising of his age and sex, Isabel’s brother was always the most eager to be on their way to any fun event. Conversely, he became endlessly preoccupied with every last insignificant detail of his fashionable dress and dark hair—never without a healthy heaping of pomade—when it came time for the dull ones.

“Well, now, I believe it is time we said our farewells,” called Miss Oakley’s measured voice. From the shadows, the governess appeared beside her charge. “We mustn’t make your family late, Miss Maria.” She settled an appropriately firm hand on the girl’s shoulder, a few fine lines appearing around the corners of dark-brown eyes as she smiled politely.

“Goodnight, my love,” Papa said quickly as he rushed forward and took his youngest child in his arms, pulling her tightly against his portly frame. “I shall look into your room when we return, as always.”

Stumbling along toward the doors after Aunt Matilda, one hand clutched in the dowager countess’s, Isabel threw a promise over her shoulder of a thorough report on the ballroom’s glittering decor and fashions. Inside the carriage, while Papa, Lewis, and Aunt Matilda chattered with enthusiasm about whom they expected to see in attendance, Isabel ruminated on her own expectations of the Season.

Dark, London streets lumbered past her window, obscured by a layer of glass and the deep shadows of nightfall. Aunt Matilda was correct. Isabel could feel it in her bones, though even her naturally pensive mind could not comprehend why.

The Season would be an exciting one, indeed…starting this very night, perhaps.

Only when the family emerged into the merry bustle of the Lemmonburys’ ballroom and began lavishing their hosts in greetings and compliments did Isabel’s churning thoughts finally return to the present.

“Finally! There you are!”

Isabel spun around at the sound of Clara’s light, forever-carefree voice. A cluster of young ladies, resplendent in their finest gowns and brightest jewels, deftly wove around mingling guests and harried footmen toward the Abbott family from some unseen corner.

“Good evening, Lady Ainsworth, Messrs. Abbott,” said Mercy, just loudly enough to be heard over the music and chatter. She and the other young ladies quickly dipped into curtsies.

When Isabel glanced up at Papa, she found him already nodding his permission.

“Go along, then. But do not wander too far from your aunt’s watchful eye. Miss Reeve, Miss Gardiner, Miss Clara, wonderful to see you this evening.”

The gentleman gave a rosy-cheeked smile and subtly shooed both his children away. He never minded managing the greetings while the young people set about the all-important quest of making a memorable night for themselves.

“I know, Papa.” Isabel returned a fond chuckle of her own just as a familiar arm looped through each of hers. She was captured.

“May we borrow Miss Abbott?” asked Clara absentmindedly without waiting for a reply. She and Mercy turned Isabel around and began marching her toward the nearest sideboard.

“Enjoy yourselves!” Aunt Matilda called, quickly excusing herself from her brother-in-law to follow along after the girls at a comfortable distance and mingle along the way.

“You are beautiful, dear Isabel!” Clara squealed as they reached the farther and quieter end of the sideboard. The mountainous platters and towers of food afforded some privacy from the onlookers who sought entertainment outside of the dance floor. The younger Gardiner’s pale-orange hair and the complementary emeralds woven through it blazed bright under the chandelier.

“I have missed you so since we last saw each other in Bainbridge,” continued the youngest and most excitable member of their circle. “Tell me, what has been keeping you occupied since your family arrived in London?”

Laughing behind one hand, Isabel held up the other. “A moment of peace, I beg you. Or at least a moment to select some refreshments. I have not eaten a single morsel since breakfast, now that I think of it.”

“The lemon tarts are lovely,” offered Ellen quietly, her dark, doe-like stare darting to one of the trays piled high with pastries of all different flavors. “Come, sister, try one since you did not have an opportunity before Isabel’s arrival.”

Always happy to oblige the older girl, especially when sweets were involved, Clara wasted no time securing her own plate. She moved faster even than Isabel, plucking up every item her eager eyes landed upon. Despite their still-empty stomachs, the others could not help laughing at their friend’s innocent antics.

“Can you believe it is the start of another Season?” asked Mercy after they had each enjoyed a few delicious bites. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again, unusually restless, blonde curls bouncing. “It feels too strange with Felicity and Lydia still in the country…”

Instantly, Ellen abandoned her plate and came around to Mercy’s side, the one usually occupied by Felicity.

“You poor dear, you must miss your twin terribly,” Ellen cooed as she slipped an arm around the other lady’s waist.

Mercy, normally poised with quiet confidence, lowered her head. “I have never experienced a Season without Felicity next to me at every single moment.”

“Indeed, this shall be our first Season without our full ranks,” Isabel mused.

She brushed away the crumbs that clung to her silken fingertips. Perhaps that was the strange feeling that had plagued her in the carriage on the way to the ball—that feeling of different days to come.

Of course this year would be different with two of their number, both wed last summer, remaining in Bainbridge. Calm, steadfast Lydia was busy preparing to deliver her first child any day now while bold, energetic Felicity still struggled to navigate the unpleasant symptoms of her newer condition.

Isabel’s beloved friends were finally marrying and starting their families, turning to new chapters in their lives.

“Everything is changing so quickly…”

Mercy and Ellen nodded their agreement, both wearing small, bittersweet smiles.

“More change may be yet upon us! Who will receive Lady Swan’s letter this Season?” Clara wondered aloud cheerfully as she closed her eyes and inhaled the spring aroma of the floral arrangement beside her.

Just as their youngest member’s eyes and mouth opened again, most likely to expand upon her romantic notions, as she was wont to do, Mercy’s and Ellen’s gazes darted to something over Isabel’s shoulder by the ballroom doors.

Ellen squeaked, her hands flying to her cheeks. “You mustn’t look, Isabel!”

Isabel turned. Never had she regretted something so quickly. A strange feeling flooded her veins with boiling heat as her lips parted in unladylike shock.

Him .

The man once known to her as Mr. Caleb Smythe…her Caleb…now the Earl of Murfield.

A stranger.

His achingly familiar, deep-brown eyes pinned Isabel to her place. Or perhaps it was the waves of longing and disgust that crashed against each other within her heart that rendered her powerless to run.

The music and laughter and glamor faded away. He was far too close. How was he already so close?

The gentleman stopped at a respectable distance—the only respectable thing Isabel had seen him do. He lowered his head in a bow. His bright-red hair settled in subtle waves as he resumed his tall posture with a tight smile.

“Good evening, Miss Abbott.”

Just like that, as if nothing had changed, as if years had not passed, as if her heart had not gone numb with the effort of suppressing her pain, Isabel’s former suitor greeted her.