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making the space bright and
cheery. She tried to hum a merry tune, but an overwhelming sadness clung to
her. Try as she might, she couldn’t banish the feeling. Although she’d had several
months to come to grips with the devastating death of Mr. Condiff, it continued
to pain her that she had never known that he was her father while he was alive.
It would have changed everything for her.
    A father.
    It was an alien concept for her,
one that had never crossed her mind before. To pine for
either a father or mother. For as long as she could remember, she’d been
here with Georgette and Mr. Condiff. She thought she’d never know who her own
father was, but now that she did, she regretted that she would not have the
opportunity to know him better. It would have helped her understand his mood
swings, had she learned the truth earlier, but that wouldn't happen now. It
seemed ironic that she’d found and lost her father within such a short span of time.
It was over so quick. One short letter was all she would ever have of her
father.
    And what of her mother? Was she
still alive? Did she still reside in London? Did she ever think of her, or
wonder if Isabel had survived infancy? And what of Isabel’s status? Was her
mother aware that she would be raised to be Georgette’s lady’s maid instead of
as a gentleman’s daughter?
    Too many questions with no one left
to answer any of them . That was Isabel’s world. She
had no choice, and resigned herself to never knowing the identity of her
mother. It was clear from her father’s letter that it would remain a deeply
buried secret.   Now that he was
gone, who was left to tell her? She could not dwell on it. It wouldn’t be good
for her, and she certainly didn’t want to upset Georgette any more than her
sister already was with the loss of her father. Tomorrow they’d be heading to
London, and that was something she could look forward to and be happy about.
    She folded the blue cotton day
dress and placed it in the trunk. Before she picked up the next dress to pack,
Georgette came into the bedchamber. She saw her sister look at the chair in the
corner where a few of Isabel’s dresses were laid out. “Hi, Georgette. Do you
need something?”
    Georgette pointed at the chair.
“Isabel, please don’t pack any of your dresses in that chest.”
    Isabel’s mouth fell open, hurt
written across her face. “Pardon? I don’t have a chest of my own. I didn’t
think you’d mind if I packed a few of my own pieces in with yours. I know
they’re not as pretty…”
    Georgette rushed over to her and
clasped Isabel’s hands in her own. “No, dearest. You misunderstand me. I have
plenty of day dresses. There’s enough for both of us and no need for you to
bring your more simple ones. You’re a gentleman’s daughter and should be
dressed as such. I don’t want anyone to mistake you for a maid, that’s all I
meant.”
    Isabel exhaled, relief flooding
her. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were ashamed of me.”
    Georgette shook her head. “Never.
Don’t ever question that. I love and respect you most highly. We’re both the
same size and many of my dresses haven’t been worn very often. There are
plenty, and if we need more, we can have them made for us.” She began to help
Isabel with the packing by gathering up petticoats, stays and stockings.
    Isabel resumed her folding.
“Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to London. I’ve never been to the city, and
daresay that I’m getting excited about it. Can you believe it’s finally
happening?”
    “Yes, although I’m not looking
forward to the long carriage ride. It will take us most of the day to get
there,” Georgette said.
    “I’ll pack us a basket of food.
What do you think Mr. Ingham would prefer?”
    A smile lit up Georgette’s pretty
face. “Believe me, anyone who has tasted your bread will be most satisfied. Do
we have any cheese left?”
    “Yes, just enough for the trip. Can
you finish folding the dresses while I