Lady Garvey had not been aggrandizing when she said that they were entertaining a great deal just now. It was early June, and many of the Garveys' friends were temporarily returned from Town to rusticate at home for a little while before drifting on to their usual summer watering holes. For the Garveys, whose mismanagement of their finances prevented them ever visiting Town, the early summer weeks were the highlight of their social year. The very first evening of Isabella's return, Sir Edwin was holding a dinner party in honour of his wife's birthday.

At first, it seemed that Isabella would not be invited — there were efforts even to move her on to Aunt Lydia's before the day was out — but while her mother was complaining about the settings and her father was fretting about the number of poussins, Arabella had violently taken the opposite course and insisted on Isabella attending.

"I simply can't bear to lose my darling sister again so soon," she said sweetly. "She must stay a night or two at least, Mama. She must come to the dinner party. I am sure everybody will be so excited to see her."

Though Isabella was in no hurry to leave so soon, she was a little shy of the prospect of a dinner party.

"I have nothing to wear," she protested.

"I'll lend you one of my old dresses," Arabella said. "So you needn't be afraid of embarrassing us. But wear your hair very plain, for I will have white pearls in mine."

Isabella had nothing to put in her hair anyway, for her companionship and nursing of old Mrs Phillips had been unpaid, and her pin money, when she got it, barely stretched to the occasional ribbon, let alone pearls. But Lady Garvey, who could never refuse Arabella anything, conceded with a sigh.

"After all," she said, "the neighbours might think it queer if she were to leave again so quickly."

Edwina settled the matter. "If you're here for the afternoon," she said, "you might as well help me sort the linen closet."

Isabella made no protest. She thought if she made herself really useful, Edwina or her mother might want her to stay. As they pulled out the bed-linen to examine it for stains and threadbare patches, Isabella asked Edwina about Mr Locke.

"It has gone very bad, hasn't it, Arabella's marriage?"

"I don't believe it ever was very good," Edwina said. "She never could abide him, though she took great care before it was settled not to let him know it."

"Why on earth did she marry him then?"

Edwina shrugged. "She wanted to marry money. She will tell you that Mother pushed her into it, but no one ever could make Arabella do anything she didn't want to do. No, she saw her chance to make her fortune, and she took it."

"And Mr Locke? Was he in love with her?"

"Until their wedding night, I believe he was."

"That poor man."

"He had fair warning, if he'd but the wit to see it. All he had to do was look in a mirror and ask himself what she saw in him."

Isabella shuddered at the callousness of Edwina's tone. "Is he so unhandsome?"

"Quite monstrous really — he had smallpox as a child, and his face is covered in the scars."

"He cannot help that!"

"No more, I suppose, than Arabella can help finding him ugly for it."

Isabella folded a sheet in silence, her heart troubled. She loved Arabella better than all people on earth, but she was not blind to Arabella's faults. To marry for money, despite all contrariness of heart, was a selfish, cruel thing to do to someone else. And a cruel thing to do to yourself too, Isabella thought, for it meant that you could never truly be happy.

"It seems a great mistake for them to have married," she said slowly. "If she cannot love him, and if he is cruel to her. He is cruel, as she says?"

"Odious," Edwina said pleasantly. "He has a vicious tongue and a savage manner, and he behaves the worst to Arabella, whom he hates the most. But I see no mistake in it. I tell you, there are no two people on earth more deserving of each other than Mr and Mrs Locke."

It was a philosophy Isabella could not support. Her tender heart ached for Mr Locke, who had married for love only to find he had not got it, and for her sister, who had married for money and sacrificed all else.

By the time they were done sorting the linen, it was past five o'clock. Edwina stood up, brushing dust from her skirts, and announced she was going to get dressed for dinner. Isabella realized that Arabella still had not given her the dress she had been promised — and that of the two best dresses she had brought with her, the one she was wearing was crushed and dusty, and the one in her valise was overdue for laundry.

Nervous that perhaps Arabella had forgotten about it, nervous too of Arabella's temper, Isabella went down to the hall where on the entry table she found a letter addressed to her sister and took that up to Arabella's bedroom as a pretext for the interruption.

There was no one there, and Isabella would have retreated if her eye hadn't been caught by a dress laid out across the bed. It was as delicate as a sugar confection, all cobwebby silver lace and teardrop beading over a deep rose undergown. The sleeves were so insubstantial as to be mere whispers of silk, and the neck came down so low that Isabella wondered how it would ever hold her in — for she thought that this was the dress Arabella had picked out for her.

She dropped the letter on the bed and picked up the dress so she could hold it against herself in the looking glass. It was the perfect colour to bring out her complexion and colouring. Her hair and eyes looked darker against it, rather than the rather middling, difficult brown they truly were. For the first time in years, she saw herself not as a drab companion but as — well, as a pretty young lady, even if the expression about her eyes was a little terrified at the thought.

There was a noise at the door, and Arabella's maid entered.

"Oh, ma'am, I didn't know as you were ready yet," she said. "Should I start with your hair?"

Before Isabella could explain, Arabella herself appeared behind the maid, clad in a silk dressing gown with her hair loose and damp across her shoulders. When she saw Isabella, she scowled.

"What are you doing!?"

The maid darted out of the way as Arabella strode forward and snatched the dress from Isabella.

"I — I came to see you," stammered Isabella. "There's a letter for you from Mrs Sempell. And you said you'd lend me a dress."

"Not this one! Where's the letter?"

"On the bed."

Arabella picked it up, slit it open with a forefinger, and scanned it. Her scowl did not lessen, but Isabella was almost sure she was relieved. She looked up at her maid.

"I'll dress in ten minutes. Go away until then."

"Can I borrow a gown?" Isabella asked, keen to press on while she had the chance.

Arabella, despite being angry, was not entirely unfair. She flung open her wardrobe and stared at the piles of clothes within before extracting a snuff-coloured lump of cloth and holding it out towards Isabella.

"Here. This should do. It makes me look pasty."

It made Isabella look pasty too, but it was far nicer than anything she owned, and she felt almost pretty when she came down to await the guests. Arabella, in her deep rose and silver, was more than pretty. She was beautiful. She was in high spirits tonight too, laughing and chattering and being pleasant to everyone. She even spared the time to compliment Isabella, before they went into the dining room.

"Why, Sister," she said, as she passed on a gentleman's arm, "you make that dress look the very thing."

It was compliment enough to make Isabella's cheeks burn with pleasure, despite her own opinion about the dress, and as she trailed into the dining room — last, on the left arm of Mrs Sempell's poor cousin — she felt confident enough to remark to him that it was rather a crush tonight.

He looked at her, astounded. "We are but eight pair, Madame."

"I mean, it's rather a crush — for me. I've not been to such a large party in — why, ever."

She was seated by the same young man at the table, and, despite her gauche beginning, found him rather charming. His name was Charles Haythorn, and he was down from London, staying with Mrs Sempell before he went on to Bath. His conversation was neither deep nor warm, but he admired her dress, the food, the room, and the company in a genuine and pleasant manner.

Towards the end of the second remove, Isabella noticed him staring somewhat towards the high end of the table, where Arabella sat, the pearls softly glinting in her hair. He noticed Isabella watching and smiled.

"I was struck by the likeness between the two of you," he said apologetically. "You are very alike for sisters, are you not?"

"We are twins, did you not know?"

"Ah. Of course, that explains it." He drummed his fingers on the table. "She did not tell me she had a twin," he said, more to himself than to Isabella.

Not long after, Lady Garvey rose and the women retired to the drawing room. Arabella sat down immediately next to Isabella and made herself pleasant.

"You had all the luck," she said spiritedly. "I was stuck between that odious Admiral Aston and Harriet Kingston's father. On the one side, no talk at all, and the other, more talk than I cared for. Heavens, the way he talks about it you'd think he won the battle of Trafalgar single-handedly! Now, tell me" —she took Isabella's hands in her own— "what was Mr Haythorn talking to you so busily about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular, though he was very pleasant. He thinks our mother's taste in china very good, and he said he likes this dress."

"Of course he does." Arabella patted at the snuff-coloured muslin. "Funny, it looks so much better on you than it ever did on me. You must keep it."

The pleasure of that gift and the compliment that came with it was almost enough to dull the pain that, immediately after, Arabella abandoned Isabella and turned her power to charm upon the rest of the room. But her power to charm was great indeed, and the conversation moved along at such a ready pace that, when the men joined them, the women thought it was almost too soon.

There was an interval of coffee, and then Lady Garvey suggested they break up for whist. Isabella thought herself very lucky to end up a table with Mr Haythorn, even if she had to also contend with Edwina and the dull Admiral Aston. Edwina was too efficient to be a good card player, for she snapped at any mistake on the part of her partner or of her luck, and so games with her were never pleasant.

Mr Haythorn, who was her unfortunate partner, seemed to find it trying. In the break after the third set, he made his apologies and said he needed some air. Edwina, who never liked to be without activity, was quick to inveigle the next table into a game of vingt-et-un instead. Isabella, who was afraid of such a fast and chancy game, contented herself with standing behind Edwina's shoulder and watching.

At length, Isabella grew bored and, thinking she would not be missed, took the opportunity to slip away from the drawing room and meandered hopefully towards the terrace. Mr Haythorn had impressed her with his manners and attention and looks. Perhaps Isabella was too easy to impress. For the past six years she had had precious little masculine company except for Mr Phillips and his wandering hands, and the elderly vicar and his wandering mind.

As she opened the door to the terrace, she heard voices and stilled.

"You know I love you," Charles Haythorn said.

Isabella peered cautiously out. On the terrace, Arabella stood encircled by Charles Haythorn's arms, her head resting on his shoulder.

"It's impossible," Arabella said. "My husband—"

"—God damn him!" Charles kissed her, violently. "Why, I must have you — no matter the consequences!"

"Charles! It cannot be!"

Arabella raised her head, and Isabella caught the glint of tears under the moonlight. Heart pounding, she stepped back into the hall before either of them could notice her.

*   *   *

Over the week that followed, Isabella watched her sister and Charles Haythorn very carefully. She was anxious on Arabella's behalf. It seemed imperative, not only that no one should discover the secret, but also that Arabella should not lose her heart to Mr Haythorn.

Perhaps it was already too late. Though she never publicly betrayed any tenderness towards Mr Haythorn, in private, Arabella let slip dark hints about her feelings to Isabella.

"Locke," Arabella whispered to Isabella one day after Mr Haythorn had called, "would be cruelly jealous if he saw how I talk to Mr Haythorn — Mr Haythorn is such a good friend of mine, but Locke has such a bitter mind."

Or, one time, after returning from a ball to which Isabella had not been invited:

"When you marry, be sure you marry for love, and not because Mama wants you to marry — she will, you know, if she thinks you have the chance. It is what she did to me."

From these and other hints, Isabella gathered that Arabella had seen her on the terrace that night after all, but Arabella never explicitly broached the matter, and Isabella dared not be the one to do so. She could only sit back and anxiously watch Arabella for signs of love. It was almost a relief when Arabella's visit drew to a sudden close — a letter arrived on the ninth of June saying that Mr Locke would return to London on the tenth, and wished for Mrs Locke to be at home to welcome him. Arabella read it aloud at the breakfast table without comment or expression. Sir Edwin grunted his comprehension of the matter, Lady Garvey burst into tears, and Edwina got up to see to the arrangement of packing and carriages, leaving half a boiled egg uneaten behind her. Isabella, though relieved that Arabella and Charles Haythorn must now part ways, felt a shadow pass over her; she knew that it was only because of Arabella's insistence that she had been allowed to stay here so long already. Once Arabella was gone, Lady Garvey would have no compunction in sending Isabella off to nurse Aunt Lydia.

After breakfast, Isabella trailed after Arabella into the drawing room where Arabella lay down on a couch and played with her hair. Isabella had thought the news of her husband's return would depress Arabella, but she seemed unconcerned by it. Perhaps she was not in love with Charles Haythorn after all.

"I'm bored," Arabella drawled. "Do tell me that story about Mrs Phillips again, Issy, it is so very diverting."

"Which one?" Isabella said obligingly.

"The one about the kipper."

"Oh yes, the poor old woman ate her kipper and then forgot she had eaten it. She so looked forward to her kippers, you know, but the doctor would not allow them more than once a week. And so we had a whole week of trying to explain to her that she had eaten her kipper that week already. And then we realized it was the cat who had eaten her kipper after all."

Arabella gave a shriek of laughter. "But it is the way you tell it, so naturally — I could never tell a story like that."

Isabella's cheeks warmed with pleasure. She was not often complimented.

"You must have had so much fun in the country," Arabella said.

"I imagine you would have found it very dull. There were no balls, few dinner parties, and very little good company."

"It's London that's dull. Always the same people, the same sort of talk. Stupid, I should call it. I have had more original conversation this past week than the past year."

Isabella was not foolish enough to think Arabella referred to her own conversation; it was Charles Haythorn Arabella was thinking of.

"It is a great pity that you are not happier with your station in life," Isabella said gently. "You have a great deal that many would be thankful for, Arrie."

"I do not have love." Arabella sighed. "No. Of the two of us, it is you who ought to be the happier, Issy. I can never love while I am married, and you one day may marry for love. You have hope."

"Is there no chance," Isabella said hesitantly, "that you could not come to love Mr Locke?"

Because it would be better, Isabella thought, if Arabella were to forget Mr Haythorn, and fall in love with her husband, no matter his pock-scars. Better for poor Mr Haythorn, and better for Arabella too. Best of all for Mr Locke, who must, Isabella believed, still love his wife.

But Arabella shook her head. "You do not understand. Every action he takes, every word he speaks, he seeks only to wound me. I cannot love a man who treats me in such a way — and he, he would never love me."

Isabella was silent, her heart troubled.

Compounding her guilt, Arabella said heavily, "I'll miss you when I leave. It's been so nice having you again."

"I— I might come," Isabella said. "I could come, if you wished. I could live with you, and not Aunt Lydia. I might be able to help you, with Mr Locke."

Arabella's eyes flew open and she made a strange sound, almost a sob, but not quite. Isabella could not understand it. Then Arabella turned and buried her face in a pillow.

"I wouldn't do that to you," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "Now, leave me, do."

Isabella left, drifting idly from the house in a long, pensive, unhappy walk that ended in the village, where she cheered herself up a little by looking in the window of its one mercery and haberdashery shop. There, she felt a touch at her arm and turned. Charles Haythorn was looking at her.

"Arabella?"

"No," Isabella said. "I am Isabella."

He flushed. "I'm sorry. I thought you were Ara— Mrs Locke."

"But everybody makes that mistake." Isabella found herself charmed by Mr Haythorn's manner even now, and smiled. "Even our mother."

"But you are so alike, of course." Mr Haythorn fell into pace with Isabella as she started to meander back home. "Tell me, is Arabella coming to Lady Kilpatrick's ball on Monday?"

"No, she won't be. She is leaving tomorrow morning." Isabella felt the need to add, "Her husband arrives in London tomorrow afternoon."

Mr Haythorn's face fell at the mention of Mr Locke. "Of course. She is at his beck and call."

They walked on in silence the rest of the way. Isabella had the feeling that Mr Haythorn wanted to ask her something, but did not dare. At the road to her house, Haythorn stopped.

"Look, I don't want to come in — but will you give Mrs Locke a message from me?"

"Of course."

"Tell her — tell her I want to talk to her tonight — just to talk — under the pear tree at ten. And don't tell anyone else — you wouldn't, would you?"

"Of course," Isabella said, taking pity on him. "It's alright, I understand. I'll tell her."

"You do, I can see you do." Mr Haythorn shook her hand, his eyes downcast and strangely bright. "Thank you. I'll never forget this kindness."

__

A/N: I don't think I've ever written a character as naive as Isabella before. Quite the change after writing Laura.