After having fulfilled her obligation at tennis with Thomas, Isabella was engaged to spend the rest of the day with Sir Trenton. His first suggestion had been to take a walk in the formal gardens adjacent to the side of the house closest to the lake, where the view of both the house and the lake was obscured within the garden by the high boxwoods. They strolled along rather quietly and slowly, Isabella stopping to examine flowers and shrubbery out of sheer boredom and Sir Trenton digging with his hard wooden cane in the white stony gravel that lined the path. Isabella was even more constrained by the behavior of her companion, who was usually well possessed and somewhat proud. Now he appeared to her to be hesitant and self conscious, and she wondered what could have brought about this change.
Sir Trenton was a man of the country: he did not have a house in town. Instead, he had a small estate in South Hampton, where he spent most of his days hunting or relaxing with neighbors in the comfort of his well furnished stone home. He was the eldest of a family of four, consisting of all women, except himself, but he had no dependents due to his sisters marrying well and early enough that they had never become a burden. As of now there was no heir to the Trenton estate, and the family home where Sir Trenton abided would be given in time to his eldest nephew, unless Sir Trenton ever saw fit to marry, which he thought perhaps he did as he walked alongside this pretty young girl.
Sir Trenton was some twenty years older than Isabella was, and thus twice her age. He had medium dark hair and wore a medium sized mustache that made his eyes seem rather small and unremarkably brown. He was of a medium build and a medium height. Friends said he had a way of carrying himself that made him appear to be more than he was, but otherwise there was not much you could say in his favor physically. If asked how to describe such a man as Sir Trenton, Isabella would have said: "an average sort of man." Alex had given his private assessment immediately, and it was not half as kind: "a mean man." And, conversely, not good enough for Isabella.
"Isabella," Sir Trenton said, taking her gloved hand. "May I call you, Isabella?" She was shocked and feared that she knew what was coming. She was gripped by an urge to run as fast as she could out of the garden, but she could not will herself to speak or move any part of her body. The awareness of her growing color seemed to be the only sign she could give off. Sir Trenton interpreted her silence and seeming embarrassment as a sign of her innocence, which urged him to continue. "I believe that during these few days we have spent together, I have been able to make out something of your character…" he paused to tap his cane a few more times in the gravel and his gaze followed the action intently. He brought his head back up to meet Isabella’s visage. "Isabella, I believe that I would be very happy if you would accept an offer of marriage from me."
Isabella could no longer meet his eyes, but she managed not to pull her hand away. She had told herself that if Sir Trenton ever did make a proposal to her, she would accept, but now she could not find the words to do so. Finally, quietly, she whispered, "Sir Trenton, I am very much obliged by your offer, very much flattered, but I cannot accept your offer without some thought. That is, if you will grant me some time and not withdraw your offer in light of my request." Sir Trenton was somewhat taken aback and gave her back her gloved hand, but he was not truly afraid of a rejection. This, he considered, might be an indication of her feminine decorum or artlessness. She was either playing a part by not accepting him outright or she was honestly too shy to admit to her acceptance with due speed, and either way he found himself pleased the more he thought about it.
The New and the Old at the Lake
Isabella did not come down to dinner that night, having something brought to the room instead, because she could not face anyone after what had passed. But the next day she could find no civil reason to excuse herself from the foursome party to the lake. So, as the brightness of the day signaled that she had to leave her room, she pulled herself together and went to meet the Kentingtons and Alex. She made her way down the grand staircase and she found Alex was already poised in the foyer without the Kentingtons. He was leaning on an end table by the door, watching her make her way down.
"Good day, Isabella," he said attempting to sound lighthearted. She smiled warmly, wishing she could just tell him everything, wanting always to be able to share everything with him. "It appears that the Kentingtons are late risers. I had thought I would be the last." "Were you trying to miss us entirely?" he asked seriously. "No…no I was not." "Were you unwell then last night?" "I did not feel well, no." He took her hand, looking amiss, "forgive me. I’m very sorry. Are you better then? You should rest if you are not well." This was the Alex she knew. "I’m fine now, really, but thank you." Alex looked from Isabella up the staircase: the Kentingtons were descending and their private intercourse ended.
They reached the lake and no one else was yet around, as the general party preferred to either play at lawn tennis or go hunting. There were three boats tied to the deck that were only big enough for three people apiece. So, they decided to take two boats and divide up the two gentlemen so as to be able to row. They had no particular destination, but there was a small sand bar in the middle of the lake where they could take their afternoon refreshment that had been prepared for them by the kitchen staff.
"Miss Bloomingfield, may I claim you for this first ride, since we have not yet had a chance to discuss India as you requested?" Isabella threw Alex a look, but he was gazing over the lake, refusing to meet her eye. "Yes, of course…that is if your sister will be so good as to forfeit you for the time being." "Certainly," Miss Kentington said, blushing and looking up at Alex. The gentlemen helped their ladies into the boats and pushed off.
Normally, Isabella would have enjoyed herself, because Mr. Kentington was a very pleasant companion, combining enjoyable conversation and an easy manner. But the events of the previous day were weighing heavily upon her and she could not help herself from stealing glances toward Alex and Miss Kentington. She knew she had no right to be jealous, but she could not help herself, even though Alex did not seem to be showing any particular regard for the girl.
The luncheon on the small island was no improvement with Alex being more constrained than usual and Miss Kentington and Mr. Kentington seeming overly anxious. They finally finished and began to gather up their baskets. "Perhaps we should let Mr. Reginald reclaim his good friend for the ride back," Mr. Kentington said giving his sister a look that spoke something of his understanding of the situation. Isabella quietly chided herself for being so transparent during their boat trip. She wondered how much of his conversation she had missed entirely. Alex looked at Isabella with an almost blank face. He did not seem pleased with the new circumstances either. Finally he turned to Mr. Kentington, "I believe that your sister was my partner." Miss Kentington, following her brother’s lead, curtsied and took Isabella’s hand before placing it over Alex’s: "no, I insist. You are dear friends and should not be parted this whole afternoon. My brother and I are very much used to being thrown together. We shall enjoy ourselves quite as well." And without any more words on the subject, Mr. Kentington took his sister’s hand to help her into his boat.
Alex held Isabella’s hand as she gingerly stepped into the wooden craft, settling herself down on the bench facing Alex. "I had thought we might spend the whole of the day together and not exchange two more words," she said glancing out over the lake towards the house. "I find that I don’t have much to say to you anymore, Isabella." "I’m sorry for that, Alex. I never wanted to cause you any pain. I had no idea that this would all come about…especially with you here." Alex cocked his head at her. "What exactly are you talking about, Isabella?" She realized that her statement was clouded with her own personal knowledge of the latest private developments in her life.
"Nothing…" "No, you meant something, I’m sure. Do you mean you’d hoped that I’d never have to see all these men make love to you? I saw that coming, trust me. I’m sure my presence was the only thing that kept them at bay for so long." "Don’t be vulgar, Alex." "Who hasn’t made love to you this weekend? Now be honest. I’ve seen it on several occasions with several different men of varying sorts." Isabella only shook her head. "And do you care for these men? Have you already given away your heart." "Alex, please!" Isabella pleaded. "Who shall be the next man to make proposals to you? I can’t imagine it will take long" "Do you critique my conduct then?" Isabella’s voice trembled. "I only suggested that you are the type of demoiselle who does not remain eligible for long, once it is clear that she is available." "My eligibility, as you put it, is nothing new." "Truly?" Alex scoffed. "Everyone knew we were only friends, Alex." "Then why all of the sudden interest, Isabella? You can’t deny that this has been a very successful two weeks for you."
She leaned forward, coming within inches of his face. "I’ve seen a side of you this week that I don’t like Alexander Reginald." He looked down, unable to meet her face and let the oars drift at the side of the boat. "I don’t like it myself, God damn it." "Alex!" Isabella scolded. "I’m sorry, but I can’t help myself. I can’t help it that it enrages me to see you sitting with Kentington, dancing with Joseph Wheetley, and chatting with Trenton or any host of the other fellows that seem to be flocking to you. I’ve never had the need to be jealous before…I thought you were…secured." His eyes spoke pain and Isabella seized his hand.
"Alex, dearest, I’m not angry with you. I know you have every right to be upset with me, but I’m trying to do what in the long run will be best for the both of us. There shall be someone to ease your pain. You have many admirers." "Even if this were true, they would count for nothing compared to you, Isabella." "No, surely not. I find myself feeling very unremarkable in comparison with one lady very close by even as we speak." He knit his brows, "What? Miss Kentington? You can’t be serious, Isabella. She is just a child." "She is only four years my junior." "And twice that for me. As I said, you can’t be serious." "I’m very serious. It is obvious that she is taken with you." "Don’t even speak about it, Isabella. I don’t like discussing these things with you. We, of all people, should not be speaking like this." "Perhaps you’re right. But I have no one to talk to, Alex. No one at all now that I have lost you." "You haven’t lost me yet."
They were quiet for a few minutes, still adrift. Alex picked the oars back up. "You could always talk to Gerald, if you need a sympathetic ear. He cares very much for you, you know." They were drawing near the shore and Isabella felt tears rising against her best efforts to fight them. He stopped to pull out his handkerchief and put it into her hand. "I’m sorry, I don’t know what is wrong with me," she whispered as she dabbed at her tears. "I wish I could just never bring this boat to shore, dearest," he said pulling the oars harder, carrying them to the shore at a quicker pace than Isabella liked as well. The thought of just never returning to the real world brought a sob to her throat and then she did her best to compose herself.
Unburdening
Isabella returned to London with the Wittiers after two weeks had passed in what was supposed to be merriment. Meanwhile, Sir Trenton had business in the North to which he would attend, and upon his return he would apply for what he assumed would be Isabella’s acceptance. At the same time, Alex was traveling with Thomas to the Continent for a two month tour. Thomas had just graduated from Oxford the following season and this was Mr. Wittier’s gift to his son. Alex was Thomas’ chosen companion, who had spent a good time on the Continent with Gerald three years prior. The Wittier house was strangely empty without Thomas and the continued absence of Alex, who had previously been a fixture in the household.
"You’re rather quiet these days, Bella," Gerald said folding up his newspaper. The room had grown too dark in which to read and everyone else had gone to bed already. "I know it. I’m sorry. I’m very poor company. You’re probably wishing that I’d left you some time ago." She did smile warmly at her cousin though, whom she loved very dearly, wanting to please him. "No, I’m glad you are still with me…here in this house at all," he said raising his eyebrows. Isabella laughed, "you’re assuming too much, Gerald." "Am I?" Gerald paused, waiting for a response that did not come.
"Cousin, you know that you may always confide in me. I’m afraid you think my friendship with certain people makes that impossible." "No…no, I know you’re speaking of Alex and he is my friend as well. At least, I hope he is my friend." "Be assured he is your greatest champion." Isabella sighed, "too true I’m afraid. But what weighs on my mind does not directly concern him. I’m not sure that I should mention it, however." "Do what your conscience guides you to do then."
Isabella stood up from her chair and walked to the piano lightly pressing the keys to elicit only the slightest of sounds. Without turning she spoke: "Sir Trenton…do you know him, Gerald?" "Yes, but he is never much in town." "No, he prefers his country lifestyle." "How odd," Gerald said tossing the newspaper on the floor. "Sir Trenton has pressed me to accept an offer of marriage." Gerald watched her carefully, but she refused to turn.
"Are you asking my permission? Or perhaps my father’s?" "No, I have not yet given mine." "I see." "I don’t know what to do, Gerald," she said spinning around and coming over to take his hand. Gerald was concerned by the look she wore. "I had told myself that if some offer such as this came along that I would accept it, but when I was faced with the reality…I could not do it." "Isabella, forgive me, but this does not sound like a good start for a felicitous marriage." "Ah, you would say that," she said going back to collapse in her chair.
Gerald stroked his chin. "He is a good man, I believe. I’ve heard nothing but admirable things, but don’t accept him out of a feeling of duty…certainly not a duty to us…to my father. We are in no hurry to see you go." "No, I don’t feel that at all. But, I do I think I could attain a level of comfort in a life with him…if it was not for…" "Bella, sweetheart," Gerald said sitting forward in his seat. Isabella was about to spill the contents of her heart when there was a clamor on the stairs and both jumped up.
"What was that?" Isabella asked nervously. Gerald put out his hand to silence her and walked towards the doorway that faced into the main hall. Isabella followed, but when she stuck her head out in the hallway, she found no one but her own maid kneeling on the stairs with a fallen tray. "Oh, forgive me Mr. Wittier and Miss Bloomingfield. I’ve tripped!" Gerald hurried forward and helped the maid to her feet and then stooped over to pick up the items that had tumbled off the tray.
"Oh, you gave us quite a scare, Allison!" "I’m so sorry, miss. I was bringing up your night tray. I didn’t know you were still up and about. The house sounded so quiet." "You’re all right though?" Gerald asked holding the tray as the maid straightened herself out. "Yes, I’m fine! Just so embarrassed by making all this noise." "Don’t think on it again, Allison. And it is late. I should be in bed now." Allison took the tray back from Gerald and curtseyed hurrying up the stairs. Gerald kissed Isabella on the cheek. "Darling, sleep well and put your mind to rest for now." "Thank you, Gerald. You are too good."
