Page 13 of Revisit the Past (Society of Swans #3)

T he fresh air of Bainbridge, perfumed with the scent of early summer blooms, should have been a balm to Isabel’s soul. As she trudged up the front steps of Woodruff Hall, Isabel knew it would not be so easy. Papa had advised her to reflect on her own wants and needs, but all she wanted and needed was Caleb.

She could not begin to fathom what would happen next or how she would heal from it. She had not fully healed from the last time, though she had tried to pretend otherwise.

Would Caleb always leave her behind in his plans?

“Dearest, would you like me to have a tray sent to your room?” Papa called after her.

Isabel glanced over her shoulder to find even absentminded Lewis and little Maria watching her with pity. All she could manage in response was a limp wave of dejection, which she repeated inside the house to every servant who inquired after her needs and health, some with genuine concern.

By the time she’d reached the family wing and her stinging eyes landed upon the door to her quarters, Isabel ached in every muscle from the effort of maintaining an upright posture. The many hours of travel over bumpy roads surrounded by her family and sleeping in unfamiliar inns had not helped. Finally, she arrived in the welcome solitude of her bedroom. She could attempt to make sense of this all in private.

Only she was not alone, not exactly. On the middle of her four-poster bed sat a letter.

Mind, spirit, and body exhausted, Isabel dragged herself the last few steps across the large room and slumped against one of the posts, loosely wrapping one arm around it. Heart hammering with its last vestiges of energy, breaths coming in shallow and ragged, Isabel perched on the edge of her bed. Slender fingers slipped across the smooth cream blanket and gripped the folded sheet by the corner.

A purple swan, just as she had expected. Of course, she’d also recognized the handwriting after scrutinizing her first letter for so long that the entirety of the English language had ceased to have any meaning. Something about that swan in the wax always made the mystery feel more tangible.

Isabel swallowed against the tears building in the corners of her eyes and in her throat and opened Lady Swan’s second letter. The more she read, the blurrier her vision became as the tears sprang forth. Though she could only bear to read it once, a particular line lodged itself into Isabel’s mind immediately.

“ Just when the challenges seem insurmountable, the clouds may break in the most spectacular and unexpected way. Begin looking to the future instead of clinging to the past. History will only repeat itself if you allow it. ”

Tossing the letter to the other side of the bed, Isabel allowed herself to tip over and land amongst the blankets with a muffled thump . She turned onto her side and burrowed her hot, sticky face in the soft fabric.

“ History will only repeat itself if you allow it. ”

Those words swam before Isabel’s tear-filled eyes as she lay curled up on her side, deserted and miserable, in a bed that suddenly felt too large.

Yes, Isabel had allowed history to repeat itself. It had been a dreadful mistake. She had all the proof of that fact right here in the burning pain and confusion that lanced through her, scorching hot and frigid cold by turns. It was all too familiar yet somehow even more potent than before.

Lady Swan may have known much, but clearly, the information regarding the Earl of Murfield’s travel plans had escaped her notice. If the matchmaker knew that Caleb had already arranged to leave, surely, she would not be so irresponsible as to delude Isabel into thinking that any hope remained.

Unless, of course, Lady Swan had come into some other, more recent intelligence…

After some unknown time, Isabel managed to push herself back up into a seated position, not quite upright just yet. She glanced to the window. The light streaming in was golden, heavier. At least a few hours of wallowing and wondering must have passed.

With another great effort, she forced her legs to support her, then carry her across the room to her writing desk in the alcove. It had not been so terribly long ago that she had done this very same thing in her room in London after receiving Lady Swan’s first letter.

How much had happened since then! How much her feelings, once thought to be immovable, had transformed in such a short time! In the end, Isabel may yet discover that none of it had been worth it. She pulled out just two sheets from the drawer and dipped her pen in its inkwell.

If she had learned her lesson last time and remained committed to her material goals, she would not have found herself in this position. She would not have been forced to wonder where she stood with the man who would be her husband. A tear fell to the page before she could stop it.

Despite all the time and effort she put forth into expanding her mind and knowledge, Isabel had still allowed herself to be fooled. Not once, but twice.

And here came Lady Swan—not once, but twice—attempting to fill Isabel’s head and heart with nonsense that should have been done away with years ago as a youthful fancy.

Another tear dropped to the paper with a whisper-soft landing. This time, she could not bring herself to care. It did not matter. These letters would be short, just a few lines. She could write around the wet spots.

Her dearest friends, the ones who had known her all her life and knew the intimate details of her particular situation, would no doubt be obliged to side with Isabel now, no matter how tempting it had been to abandon logic in favor of whimsy and romance. She only wished Mercy, Ellen, and Clara could join them in Bainbridge as well and complete their circle once more.

To Isabel’s relief, her sweet lady’s maid did not linger or raise too much alarm at her mistress’s state when she answered the bell and collected the letters. These past few days, Byrd had been especially tender in Isabel’s care without suffocating her in it.

Alone once more, Isabel forced herself to pace while she awaited responses. While the movement was helpful for her body after days in a carriage, it did little to improve her spirits. Just as Isabel had begun to wonder if she would in fact be hearing from either Lydia or Felicity today, Byrd’s familiar knock sounded at her door.

“They have finally written back?” Isabel demanded as she swung it open herself.

The older woman took a startled step back and shook her head. “No, miss. They are here. Well, they are in the foyer. Swinton sent me to inform you when they spied Mrs. Harrowsmith and Mrs. Wheadon coming up the drive.”

For the first time in what already felt like years, Isabel’s heart pulsed with a flicker of true relief. “Thank you, Byrd. Please show them up.”

“To the drawing room, miss? Would you like tea sent in as well?”

“To my quarters. But yes, a tray of tea and sandwiches, if you would.”

Surprise flashed through Byrd’s eyes before she nodded, curtsied, and hurried down the hall. Isabel waited in the doorway. When her friends appeared at the top of the stairs, a small smile worked its way onto her lips. She rushed toward them, her eagerness to crush them in an embrace increasing with every step.

Until something in Lydia’s arms caught her eye. Isabel slowed, unable to remove her gaze from the bundle of blankets. Just for a moment, all her own concerns disappeared, almost as if the clamoring of her muddled thoughts might somehow disturb that peaceful slumber.

“Is this…?”

Lydia beamed a grin that Isabel had never before seen on her friend’s naturally stoic features, her blue eyes brimming with joy.

“This is our little Miss Mary Harrowsmith. Would you like to hold her?”

“Very much so, but first let me look at you,” Isabel replied, turning to her other friend.

Felicity, too, glowed with an inner happiness that was like nothing Isabel had ever experienced. Even the golden curls framing her face, now fuller than her twin’s and beautifully soft, seemed to shimmer. She rested a hand on her protruding stomach, draped in silk folds of rich red.

“I must look a little different since you last saw me.” Felicity chuckled before grimacing and rubbing at the lower curve of her belly. “Apparently, this one wishes to make its presence known to you—and to dance a quadrille upon my insides.”

The other woman took Isabel’s hand and placed it in the same spot. Half a breath later, she felt the swift bump of a tiny foot or fist, surprisingly forceful. Her smile widened.

“I would expect nothing less of your child. But I pray for your sake that the next one tends more toward your husband’s temperament. Come, both of you.”

A moment later, the three friends settled into chairs in Isabel’s room with a platter of refreshments. Their newest addition stretched and yawned in the protective cradle of Isabel’s arms. Her eyes widened in wonder as she cooed incoherent syllables at the darling girl and brushed her impossibly soft, dark hair with the tips of her fingers.

“Being a mother looks well on you, Lydia,” whispered Isabel over Mary’s perfect, drowsy face. “And it shall look just as well on you in a few months, Felicity. My heartiest congratulations to you both!”

The eldest of their group, the first of them to embark upon all these strange, terrifying, incredible journeys, watched her daughter from her seat under the window with pure pride. Felicity wore a similar expression as she smiled down at her round middle, absentmindedly stirring her tea.

“Thank you, dear Isabel,” replied Lydia without removing her eyes from Mary. “But I must ask, why has your family returned from London almost a month sooner than we were expecting you?”

“Careful, Lydia,” said Felicity with her characteristic teasing smirk, “or Isabel may be in danger of feeling that you are not utterly thrilled to have her home, as I am, naturally.”

Lydia pursed her lips at Felicity. “Of course I am just as thrilled to have Isabel here. You were the one who would not stop suggesting increasingly unlikely and bizarre explanations during our walk here.”

“Such as?” Isabel demanded. A giggle attempted to start in her throat. She had missed these two and their often contradictory dispositions dearly.

“Oh, something or other to do with a duel. At least Mary was sound asleep in her pram at the time. She is far too young to be hearing of duels,” Lydia grumbled, though she could not hide the glint of humor in her eyes.

Felicity laughed aloud, uninhibited. She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Atticus has recently introduced me to a new author of adventure novels. Each one contains at least one dramatic duel, which help quite effectively to distract me from the less pleasant aspects of this condition.”

“I also required distraction from my back pains and swelling feet around your time. I must admit I am happy to be done with those days for a while,” Lydia added with a shudder.

“But Lydia is correct,” Felicity continued. “We were both quite shocked to receive your summons and curious to discover its meaning.”

Isabel deflated. It had been too easy to lose herself in her friends’ lives and cease thinking about her sorrows for a moment. Lydia set down her teacup and reached for Mary, palms up. Isabel carefully transferred the baby back to her mother’s arms.

Adjusting Mary’s blankets around her tiny form, Lydia resumed her seat. “Lord Murfield?”

“And our old friend, Lady Swan.” Isabel reached to the writing desk beside her and picked up the letter. “I know both of you will be inclined to agree with her, but I fear that she is unaware of the most recent developments.”

The married ladies exchanged a concerned glance, their expressions growing more severe as Isabel explained the Season’s events from the beginning, including much that she had been unable to fit into her frequent letters to Bainbridge. They shook their heads in disbelief as Isabel’s chronological retelling reached the morning of the Abbotts’ sudden flight from London.

“This is odd, indeed,” mumbled Lydia, instinctively swaying back and forth to maintain Mary’s restful state.

“Based on your recent letters, I would never have guessed Lord Murfield to be capable of this, not a second time,” Felicity added with a scowl that seemed equal parts confused and angry.

Muscles suddenly heavy, Isabel allowed her head to hang. “If he could manage it once, then he shall always be capable of managing it again…clearly. Papa certainly thinks so.”

“Dear Isabel,” Lydia said with a sympathetic sigh. “I am so sorry you have been burdened with this, and that we could not have been nearer to assist you through it.”

Isabel quickly shook her head and swatted at the tear that had sprung to the corner of her eye.

“Neither of you is to apologize for that. But do not attempt to agree with Lady Swan’s recent encouragements simply because you are converts to her abilities.”

“I suppose you cannot blame us,” Felicity replied with a light chuckle, patting her stomach. “And this from a woman who, just a year ago, abhorred the very notion of romance! I should like to think, especially after my own experience, that Lady Swan takes extreme care with her encouragements and would not steer you toward the possibility of despair.”

Lydia gave a subtle nod of agreement, careful not to jostle Mary. “Both Felicity and I reached similar points, remember? Lady Swan is wise in ways we cannot see—and may never discover. Nor does life reveal the nature of its unfolding until the precise right moment. Your moment may yet come.”

Isabel looked down at her lap and twisted her napkin in her hands.

“Perhaps she simply made an error with me. Perhaps Papa is correct. The past contained every clue I needed to predict this outcome, yet I was too foolish to see the truth.

“Besides, what will he think when he learns I am gone? He may be relieved that he’s been spared from facing me himself. Or angry that I have done the very same thing to him that caused so much bitterness in my own heart.”

“In either case, he would not be deserving of you,” stated Felicity firmly before softening. “Of course we only want your happiness, Isabel, and will continue including it in our daily prayers…when I do not doze off before I finish mine. You know you shall always have our support.”

Such sweet words coming from Felicity in particular began to stir Isabel.

Lydia nodded her agreement. “Whatever happens, you are stronger than you know and will find a way to make a happy life. Time will prove it.”

Bittersweet gratitude formed a lump in Isabel’s chest. They were right. Isabel prayed she would come to feel that with greater certainty in the coming days. Even if she never found happiness with Caleb, she would always have her precious friends and family. She would cling to that pinprick of light with everything she had. It had been the only thing to keep her afloat before.

A thud and voices raised in alarm downstairs caused the three ladies to jump. Mary released a heart-wrenching wail. Her mother immediately sprang to her feet, bending at the knees in a gentle bounce as the baby wriggled to free herself of her suddenly unwelcome blankets.

“Wait here,” Isabel commanded before quitting the room. She had not made it halfway down the hall before a maid scurried up the stairs at the other end. “Louisa, what was the cause of that commotion just now?”

The girl, likely a few years younger than Isabel, struggled to hide her smile. “A few rather unexpected guests have just arrived downstairs. Of course, I cannot be sure I heard rightly about the one, but my eyes are convinced…”

Isabel’s brows furrowed. “Who has arrived?”

“Lady Ainsworth, your friends Miss Reeve and the Misses Gardiner, and two gentlemen. They say one is an earl , miss.”

A rush of air swept past her as Maria raced toward the stairs, her governess following at as brisk a pace as she dared.

“Come back here at once, child!” snipped the woman.

“ Please , Miss Oakley, I wish to see some of the guests,” Maria whined over her shoulder. “Tell her, Isabel! Tell her that French can wait until the guests have gone!”

Isabel did no such thing. Her mind was too blank to do anything but force her to follow.