Jaqueline’s small eyes lit up. Tugging on Isabella’s hand, she took her past the table and through a door that lead into a nursery. She collected some dolls and brought them before the fire at her nurse's feet, something she had apparently done on a regular basis.
Isabella followed along and took her place next to the child on the floor. While they played, they discussed where Jaqueline grew up and what she liked to do.
She was just five years old when her mother told her that she would be leaving France and spending time with her grandparents. She spoke lovingly of her mother, but from what she said, her mother seemed to be of a certain profession.
“Grandparents?” Isabella asked.
“Oh aye, Jaqueline is the daughter of the late Marquess of Bellfourd.” Mrs. Murray said not looking up from her work. “Lord James, God rest him, was an honorable man. I ken him since he was a young boy of twelve. He could be a bit free-spirited, but not any more so than others of his upbringing. Two years ago he came home from a hunting expedition that had taken a turn in the weather. He never recovered from it,” she finished softly.
“Papa?” Jaqueline asked softly of Mrs. Murray, only understanding a few words of what her nurse said. She nodded to the girl.
“Your Papa was a verra good man, lass; no kinder heart could be found. You see,” she said turning back to Isabella, “about a year after his passing His Grace received a letter from a Madame De’belmount of Paris. She claimed that Lord James had fathered a child by her and had been giving her a living. She asked that the child continue to be provided for, as she struggled to do so on her own. His Grace agreed under the condition that she be brought here and raised as a proper young lady.”
“What a kindness considering her…her…” Isabella didn’t want to say with the child present, whether she understood the words or not.
“I suspect that after the heartache of loss; you see, His Grace was verra close to his eldest son, he was hoping for a chance to have a bit of 'im back.”
“And certainly he feels blessed to have her here,” Isabella said, looking down at Jaqueline who was softly singing a French lullaby to her doll.
“Many of us do,” Mrs. Murray said without explanation.
It left Isabella wondering who wouldn’t be happy to have such a polite little girl in the household. She supposed that her parentage might cause some discomfort. She would never be considered a lady of the peerage, but growing in the duke's house and having an exceptional education, she would be a fine lady someday.
Isabella spent the remainder of the morning playing with the child asking her questions here and there to see what amount of instruction she had thus far. She didn’t expect much at the tender age of six but was surprised that the girl’s mother had spent every night reading to her from quite beautiful books.
She felt a pang of sorrow for this little girl who too had lost her mother, even if just by the separation of land. She couldn’t imagine having such happy memories with her own mother and then being forced to leave her.
“Have you written to your mother since coming here?” Isabella asked her in perfect French.
“Yes, Aunt Abigail is kind to me. She writes letters for me, and reads back what my mother sends me.”
Isabella was happy to hear that she was able to keep correspondence with her mother, at least.
“Soon, I can show you how to write your own letters and words and then you may write to your mother all on your own.”
Of course, Isabella knew writing fluent letters, even in French, was a way off for a girl of six, but it was at least the start of a goal they could make for her education.
“Miss Watts, I believe I hear footsteps. I suspect it is Mrs. Peterson coming for ye. It is mid-morning, and I am sure His Grace is ready for you now.”
Isabella stood and made sure her skirt was in proper order. Jaqueline came to hug her waist before she left. Already, in just a few short hours, this child was endeared to her.
Isabella was out the door just as Mrs. Peterson reached the top of the stairs, much to her surprise. Without many words, however, she merely turned around, expecting Isabella to follow. Isabella shook her head with a soft laugh. She wasn’t sure if she would ever understand the complexity of Mrs. Peterson.