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France and Switzerland. They both sounded continentally posh if there is such a thing in my condition. When my head continued to visit the toilet bowl, I wondered how long I would be in this state. The prospect of traveling such a long distance made me queasy. Mother indicated that she would accompany me on the journey, no doubt to make certain that I didn’t get in any more trouble. After our arrival, she would return home leaving me in the care of a strange family.
As the weeks passed before our departure, I had started to feel somewhat better though struggled with fatigue. My thoughts frequently turned to the baby developing in my womb. As hard as I attempted not to become emotionally involved, I found it difficult not to love the child that I would never know. As I struggled with the myriad of emotions, sorrow seemed to be the one that overwhelmed me every day. Sorrow for my stupidity. Sorrow for my banishment. Sorrow for the baby I would give up.
My parents expected me to carry on as if nothing had gone amiss in the household, which apparently included dining with guests. The solicitor and his wife, whose parents would be my guardians for a time, had been invited to Kentwood. Mother instructed me to keep the conversation regarding my visit to a minimum, being careful not to give any clues to the footmen standing nearby. God forbid they should hear and carry the scandalous affair to the rest of the staff. Already I had surmised that Hazel had received a large bonus to keep her mouth shut regarding my morning sickness.
On the evening our guests were to arrive, I took particular attention dressing for dinner. I wanted to make a good impression regardless of my sinful state, but I knew that attempting to save face at this stage was a ridiculous ploy on my part.
As I stood in front of my closet deciding what to wear, my eyes glanced at a red silk dress with a lace collar that I had purchased on a shopping spree but never wore. Mother disapproved of the color, so I left the tags on it and shoved it to the side of my wardrobe. Perhaps I should have known better to dare and wear it for the evening dinner, but since the guests were obviously aware of my fallen state, what did it matter? I loved the silk fabric and dark red hue, so I removed the price tag from the garment and slipped into the luxurious fabric.
Afterward, my appealing reflection in the mirror stunned me. “Elle est une femme éhonté.” The French phrase drifted through my mind. “She’s a shameless woman.” Yes, and nothing could be done about it.
My hand glided down to my belly, reminding me of the miracle of life growing inside. Roger would never know that he would be a father. Frankly, I had not put it past him for having fathered a few children already. “Unspeakable rogue,” I grumbled, casting the blame in his direction to appease my guilt.
With red lipstick, painted red nails, and a scarlet red dress that marked my situation in life, I descended the staircase and joined my parents and guests in the drawing room. When I came to the threshold, I pulled back my shoulders and glided into the room with confidence. Thankfully, I restrained my amusement at the reactions my attire produced. Father’s mouth gaped open, Mother paled, and the guests looked flabbergasted. The hush lingered for several moments until I opened my mouth and spoke.
“Well, is anyone going to introduce me?”
Naturally, I glanced at Father since the dinner had been his idea. He quickly cleared his throat and shot an apologetic glance at the guests. The gentleman who stood near his wife appeared to stifle his amusement as if he understood my maneuver. Instantly I sensed camaraderie and smirked at him in return. On the other hand, his wife clung to his arm wide-eyed and looking offended. Glancing at Father to get on with the introductions, he finally spoke.
“Mr. Reginald Spencer and his wife, Catrina.” Father paused. “May I introduce you to my daughter, Isabella Jane?”
Slightly stunned he spoke the name Jane, I had no idea why he included my middle name in the introduction. Confident and unembarrassed over my choice of clothing, I nodded and smiled warmly.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“It is ours as well,” Mr. Spencer replied still sporting that sly knowing smile. The gentleman towered over his wife, and I estimated his height to be at least six foot if not more. His wife appeared timid and quite short, no more than five feet tall. Her head barely reached his shoulder. I thought them an odd match for one another, but who I was to make any judgments above love and marriage? After all, I was the ignorant and scandalous daughter standing before them without an ounce of common sense.
“I see everyone is enjoying a drink before dinner, but alas I am still underage, and Father refuses to let me have a taste of champagne.” Father flashed me a disgruntled look.
The awkward scene quickly ended when the butler announced dinner. My parents led the way, followed by the Spencers, and I trailed behind them as if I were the family pet.
After we had sat at the table, the aroma of the first course wafted toward my nose. I thanked the good Lord above, who I hoped hadn’t written me off as a hell-bound sinner, that my stomach had settled and I could eat. Being famished, I wondered if I would eventually crave odd food like ice cream and pickles.
Father and Mother entered into an idle chitchat with our guests, and I sat quietly observing between sips of my bisque. My mother’s eyes wandered over to me and gave me that look to sit up straight and not slouch. I complied with her request. It had been some time since I had been invited to the dining table with guests. Children weren’t allowed at formal dinner parties in our household. Since I was the only child, I often got shooed away and watched over by my nanny while they entertained. Tired of being left out of the conversation, I finally spoke.
“Mr. Spencer, could you please describe for me where I will be housed before I start finishing school?” I glanced over at the staff, hoping he got the drift not to mention the obvious. Not appearing surprised at my abrupt inquiry, he dabbed his lips with his napkin and gave me his undivided attention.
“My pleasure, Lady Isabella,” he replied. “They have a modest chateau on the outskirts of Lyon. It’s quite pleasant there, and I’m sure you will enjoy your visit.”
“Are your parents French?”
“No, they are English but retired there some years ago.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, thinking that I would be housed with a dull elderly couple. They probably have nothing to do, and I would be their entertainment. Frankly, the entire arrangement appeared suspiciously odd. I hadn’t asked Father how he came to this plan. Perhaps he sought legal counsel, and Mr. Spencer offered his parents up for the task. Unfortunately, I had been told by my mother not to ask questions and accept everything at face value.
“Do you speak French?” Catrina interrupted my thoughts, and I looked at her with surprise.
“Yes, of course, so language shall not be an issue, but if Mr. Spencer’s parents are English, I probably will have no need to use it very often.” They had probably received orders to keep me under lock and key until I gave birth but didn’t articulate it aloud.
“I’m sure you will have a pleasant holiday,” Mr. Spencer added.
Pleasant holiday? I nearly laughed but controlled myself.
“I will be traveling with Isabella to make sure she arrives safely,” Mother declared. “The hospitality of your parents giving me lodging for a few nights is deeply appreciated.”
“You will discover that they are warm and obliging. I’m sure it will be no trouble at all.” Mr. Spencer glanced at me while Catrina remained quiet as a mouse sipping her soup.
“Well then,” Father announced, “I’m glad that all is settled.”
Perhaps for everyone else, but I doubted that I would feel settled for quite some time.
****
ON THE DAY THAT WE departed, I gave my father a good-bye kiss on his cheek. He stood rigidly and did not embrace me with any affection. Guilt-ridden about my culpability in his obvious distress, I lowered my eyes.
“I am so very sorry for having brought shame upon our family.” My voice cracked repentantly.
“Come along, Isabella,” my mother ordered, tugging on my sleeve. “We have a train to catch.”
Father remained quiet, standing in the foyer. He watched through the open door as Mother and I climbed into the car with our suitcases stacked on top and tied to the back. With one last glance, I lifted my eyes to our home that I would not see for many years. When I looked back at Father, he had retreated out of sight.
“He will never forgive me,” I said, leaning back in the seat. “I don’t blame him.”
“Perhaps one day,” Mother said, patting my hand in reassurance. “When you come home, all will be forgotten and you can start your life anew.”
Forgotten. I had much to forget! Especially the child growing in my belly. As I continued down the road of pregnancy, I began to bond with the miracle of conception, wrestling with the terrible grief that I would bear when my child would be taken from me. I understood why, and part of me understood the need that this must be the way of things. Nevertheless, it drove a sharp knife into my wounded heart.
