Free Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) by M. C. Beaton Page B

see,’ said Mrs Kennedy, taking Isabella’s altered gown out of a swathing of tissue-paper. ‘Now just let me help you into this and tie the tapes, so. There! Go to the looking-glass. Stand on that chair and you will get a full-length view.’
    Isabella climbed up on a hard-backed chair and studied her reflection in the glass over the fireplace. The gown had lost its lace overdress and now boasted a low square neckline. Lace now ornamented three deep flounces at the hem. But the altered line was elegant and simple.
    ‘I am so pleased with it,’ she said honestly. ‘We must beg more classes in needlework from you.’
    ‘Gladly. I have little else to do. Take off that gown and I will pack it for you.’
    Isabella slipped off the gown, thinking as she did so that none of the Beverleys until their fall would have dreamt of packing up a gown herself. The door opened and the viscount stood on the threshold. He had a brief glimpse of Isabella, standing in shift and flesh-coloured stockings and pink garters ornamented with rosebuds, before he hurriedly retreated.
    ‘Sure, now, it’s sorry I am!’ exclaimed a contrite Mrs Kennedy.
    ‘Why?’ asked Isabella, who had had her back to the door and had not seen it open.
    ‘I suddenly felt sorry for your plight,’ said Mrs Kennedy quickly.
    Isabella turned about so that Mrs Kennedy could refasten the tapes of her silk gown. ‘Do not worry about me, ma’am,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I am become accustomed to it.’
    When the viscount finally re-entered, after sending a maid in first to make sure Isabella was respectable, Mrs Kennedy flashed him a warning look to convey to him that Isabella was unaware he had seen her in her undress.
    He correctly interpreted the look but wondered if he would ever forget that beautiful sight.
    Dinner was a pleasant affair. The viscount encouraged his aunt to tell stories of how she had fared in the wars when she used to accompany her husband. Isabella listened, fascinated. It was all another world, a world of adventure and courage and bravery. Somehow, as Mrs Kennedy talked, the long, easy days of luxury at Mannerling seemed shabby in contrast. And yet, here she was contemplating marriage to Mr Judd so that she could recapture those days.
    She found the viscount pleasant to look at with his black hair, bright-blue eyes, and lightly tanned face, but in the same way as she enjoyed looking at a good portrait.
    They played Pope Joan after dinner, and then Isabella, looking at the clock, said in dismay that it was past midnight and she would be expected home.
    The yawning maid, Betty, was collected and wearily followed her mistress into the carriage, wondering whether the late hours required of a lady’s-maid were worth the honour of the position.
    ‘And how did you go, Betty?’ Isabella asked after she had made her goodbyes and they were on the road home.
    ‘Very well, ma’am. Because of my supposed position, I dined with the butler and housekeeper in the house-keeper’s parlour. Mr O’Brien, the butler, and Mrs Donnell, the housekeeper, are both Irish and rather free and easy in their ways. And yet they have great affection for the master.’
    ‘Did he bring them from some crumbling ruin in Ireland?’
    ‘No, miss, they did say as how Lord Fitzpatrick had a prime bit of property in Kilkenny.’
    ‘Then why did he move to England?’
    ‘He wanted more land, miss. He still has the house and estate in Kilkenny. The Fitzpatricks are a very old family, I believe.’
    ‘I wonder where Mr Judd’s family came from.’
    ‘Mr Judd is of the Somerset Judds, an old county family with a bad reputation.’
    ‘Indeed, Betty, I am sure that cannot be true.’
    ‘ ’Tis said Mr Judd do come from a long line of wasters and gamblers, miss.’
    ‘That’s enough, Betty. I do not listen to servants’ gossip.’
    ‘Beg pardon, miss,’ said Betty meekly and refrained from pointing out that Isabella had been asking all the questions.
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