Life in 1869 might not have been easy for some, but for Miss Isabella Swan, everything was perfect. She had beauty, brains, wealth, and status, as well as a budding romance with a most desirable bachelor. There was not one thing she was missing. But one terrible night changed everything. Isabella's world quickly became a dark abyss, sending her on a journey she never thought she would ever see. Finding the light again in the midst of a tragedy, no matter the person, place, or time period, is always the hardest thing to do, but as Isabella learned, it is the most important.
The girl with the lion heart will always fight for the light.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the songs I reference throughout this story.
"The only stars I see in the sky, they don't move me
'Cause they've all been dead for millions of years,
They're just light diffusing."
Chapter One
Deep green fields and rolling hills spread as far as my eye could see through the window of the carriage as it bumped slightly along the muddy road. The view was as constant in time and space as anything I had ever known: endless green fields, hills, trees, shrubbery, bits of muddy brown roads, and endless gloomy grey skies. The clouds this evening set a damp chill on my skin through my traveling cloak, even from inside the carriage. I spotted some sheep off in the distance, still and ever present like everything else. I loved my home in Yorkshire, but at times I wished the outside were as varied and interesting as the estates that decorated its landscape.
I ran a gloved hand down my thigh, over the smooth shiny purple fabric of my dress under my cloak, smoothing wrinkles I knew were not there, but something about the action was calming. Absentmindedly, I fidgeted with the small pearl buttons on my gloves and the small diamond pendant hanging around my neck as I watched for the approaching Laurent estate from the carriage window. The road was lined with trees, and the green fields in the distance were rapidly overtaken by forests. The smaller road leading to Sir James Laurent's estate finally became visible through the trees and shrubbery, thereby signifying the end of our monotonous journey. The silence in the carriage began to reach a deafening level, and I began to fidget with my hat in an agitated manner, hoping that I would not disturb it because I knew it was already perfect.
I thought of the last time I had been here, a welcome distraction from the dull journey, which was for a ball. Sir James threw a spring ball two years after he took possession of his father's estate and title after his father's death and invited just about everyone in the county. Within those two years, he had apparently remodeled several parts of the estate, including their great hall, gallery room, and library, as well as some landscaping on the surrounding grounds. The great hall was the only new room open for visitors that evening, but the splendor of it all was so breathtaking that no one minded in the least. The room was set alight by what felt like a thousand of the tallest candles, sending light to reflect on the mirrors and shiny metal surfaces in the room so that it all came to life with a warm glow. The softest colors bathed the furniture, and the flowers were all so light and delicate they could have been feathers in the rich crystal vases. Everyone wore their finest in anticipation of the event of the season, and the room itself was greatly rewarded; mixed in with the harmonious sound of the skilled quartet accompanying the dancers was the hushed sound of rustling organza, silk, and tulle, the soft tinkle of swaying pearls and jeweled pendants, and the rhythmic tapping of the dancers' fine shoes. Even in the equally exquisite dining room next door, the only sounds to be heard were the cautious clinking of silver on china, wine glasses chiming in countless ceremonial toasts for trivial but deliriously happy reasons, and a gentle hum of civilized and jovial conversation sprinkled with brief moments of delightful laughter.
Everyone was in high spirits from beginning to end, dusk to dawn, and the estate never once lost its warm sparkle, but rather it grew as the night wore on. Merry dancing gave way to feasting and drinking, drinking gave way to conversation, and, for some, conversation gave way to hushed clandestine meetings in empty corridors and dark garden pathways, sprinkling the air inside and outside of the estate with small bubbles of enchantment. I felt my face grow warm at the memory of my own clandestine meeting in an empty corridor, all hushed whispers and careful touches and shy smiles, followed by a rushed escape to the garden at the fear of being discovered, only to be pulled behind a large topiary, embraced within strong arms, and kissed with gentle soft lips. No one minded the chill in the nighttime air outside, or how everything was bathed in weak frost that twinkled in the light of the hundreds of lanterns on the garden paths. The warmth in our hearts provided the warmth for our bodies until the sun began its ascent at last and warmed the air with its own gentle morning glow. Everyone parted with sleepy eyes and bright smiles, all reluctant to leave that brief moment of heavenly gaiety, and all speaking of repeating that night again soon. It was, in a word, perfect.
I longed to relive that night, or live within that memory forever, and sighed, completely melancholy now. But of course nothing could compare to the ball I attended at Chateau de Chenonceau three years prior. The hosts were entertaining an Italian duke and his family, and all the country's elite attended and displayed their riches and lavish lifestyles, all hoping to meet the duke. As luxurious as that night was - complete with imported silk, grand family jewels, extravagant hats, an entire orchestra, a staff of servants to rival that of Versailles, a never ending banquet, dancing in the grandest of ballrooms, and prestigious guests - it was clear to everyone from the party's inception that the night was strictly business. The duke had his reasons for visiting, something about needing money for his military, and the nobles had their own reasons for attending, likely making an acquaintance with the duke and obtaining foreign connections. The exact reasons never interested me, as I was only sixteen-years old at that time, and I never needed a reason to attend a ball. Grand social events had always been a dream-like experience for me, and that ball was truly the grandest ball I had ever attended, shining with its own sort of perfection. Still, my heart yearned for its mate and the night a promise was made, overpowering my lifelong admiration of opulence and prestige.
"Sir James should really see to replacing those flowers in front of the house," my mother said, startling me out of my thoughts. "They are rather distasteful for such a dignified estate. They must be Lady Laurent's choice, seeing as how she has cheapened every other reputable facet of this place. Don't you agree, dear?" Her voice resonated as though it were bodiless, as her deep blue traveling cloak blended completely into the rich navy velvet of the carriage's interior.
My father merely grunted in response. His black hat was perfectly balanced atop his head, his waistcoat was of dark grey silk, and his black trousers and coat were both immaculately smooth. It was as though nothing could interfere with his pristine image of proper gentility as he sat silently reading some correspondence during the ride - not the bumpy roads, not the chilled moisture in the early spring air, and certainly not my mother's animated chatter.
"Why, just last week I heard from Mrs. Stanley that Lady Laurent invited the Volturi family to dinner under the pretense that her husband would be joining them. But she never told him, and the entire Volturi family arrived without the proper greeting from their host. He was not home, you see. In fact, Sir James did not come home until well into the second course and was quite upset about the whole matter. Could you imagine, dear, having the entire Volturi family, who are only in the country for but another fortnight before returning to Italy, over for dinner and arrive to your own meal late? Good heavens, Lady Laurent could really use some guidance as to how not to embarrass one's husband." My mother finished her little tirade with an unconscious swipe at a totally nonexistent errant hair across her brow and shook her head slightly, too, for good measure of her disapproval.
"Well perhaps, dearest, you could provide Lady Laurent with these much needed lessons since you never disappoint your husband. I could think of no one better," my father said, lowering his seemingly fascinating letter long enough to direct a small smile at my mother before returning to his task.
My mother immediately began to fidget in earnest, repositioning the front of her cloak on her lap, straightening her gloves, touching her hair under the brim of her hat. "Oh, Charles, really now," she said with a matching smile, clearly flustered. "I only meant that I do not understand Lady Laurent's appeal as she has done everything possible to insult her husband and his reputation. It's just not sensible. She needs to consider the reputation she's darkening for her children. With a small child already and one more on the way, she really ought to be more thoughtful."
The Laurent family had such a long and well-liked history in Yorkshire, spanning several generations and respectfully upholding their status as baronets through it all. With this hereditary title came uncommonly good breeding and refinement, easily earning the respect of everyone in the county - including those in the lower classes. While there were some people who pitied the lower classes, which was a waste of time as far as I was concerned since they were all genetically predisposed to laziness and incompetence, the Laurent family employed as many of them as possible in their mine and factory, keeping them useful and not ever idle, as they so like to be. Their generosity perpetuated throughout the years, including that of one Sir James, and by that point in time, those peasants all surely owed Sir James something in return for his family's kindness. I had heard on a few occasions that employing so many people was unnecessary and possibly reckless, but it seemed to be a Laurent family tradition that would not be dismantled any time soon.
Sir James even surpassed the efforts of his predecessors and married a girl of inferior birth, the now-Lady Victoria Laurent, the daughter of a merchant. Rumor had it that their paths crossed in town one day, and he was immediately taken with her and asked her father for her hand. Apparently, she was rather well-educated and presented herself well, but nonetheless it was a risk for Sir James and his reputation to permanently tie himself to her, a girl who was unaccustomed to the demands of his family's lifestyle. Still, he married her and shocked all of Yorkshire with his brash but kind behavior. As the daughter of a barrister, successful and esteemed though he was, I could only hope for someone half as kind and generous to undertake a significantly smaller risk by comparison and ask for my hand and give me a future. However, as memories of that ball and my escort's lips pressed to mine flooded my mind, I felt a blush rise once again to my cheeks and down to my chest and realized that I was already well on my way.
My situation was in no way dire, except for the way in which all matters of the heart seem monumental and fragile, and I knew comparing myself to Lady Laurent was ridiculous. My father was of course very successful in his work and had many friends in high places as a result of his brilliance. He always took care to provide a comfortable life for his family that clearly reflected his success and instilled in us all a sense of pride for it. Pride was very important to my father, and we all had much to be proud of; combined with his family's long history as barristers and solicitors, and my mother's connection to French elite, we were positioned quite well in society.
It was because of this fortunate position that my father had such a good reputation amongst the gentry, leading to countless recommendations between clients and mutual friends. Sir James was one of my father's newer clients, having acquired my father's services after his father died. While I knew little in the way of details about their business, I knew my father liked working for Sir James. He spoke endlessly about his manners and intelligence and the beauty of his estate, while keeping respectfully silent on the subject of his wife. They were often in each other's company, and although many invitations had been exchanged over the last two years, our families did not fully meet until the ball at his estate due to various prior engagements mostly on the part of Lady Laurent. Receiving an invitation so soon, only a fortnight, after the ball and being able to accept it gave me such excitement and a most delightful change in our daily routine.
However, this invitation was not without speculation. My father received the invitation only yesterday for us all to dine with them the very next day. Such short notice exuded some kind of emergency regarding the guest list, namely one brother in particular and a few easily persuaded guests, proving true a certain rumor circulating around Yorkshire during the past week. Not only was such a hasty invitation erring against decorum, but we were not sufficiently prepared as my sister was currently in Paris. Our party was an unfortunately odd number, and as a result our entire dinner party would be odd-numbered. Still, I knew that ultimately this would once again become Lady Laurent's fault and not ours, as she was the hostess and should have planned better.
My sister Brianna was already in Paris at our aunt and uncle's house for the past week; she left early and without me, intending to extend our usual length of our annual visit by an additional month, claiming that Paris life in the spring was so much more refreshing than the slow and almost nonexistent transition from winter to spring at home in England. She very often complained that British life in general was quite stagnant and boring, and frequently voiced her desire to live permanently on the continent, where life appeared more diverting. I, of course, told her on as many occasions that such thoughts were near reckless and that she shouldn't chase a more adventurous life for fear of her reputation. At seventeen years of age, she needed to mature and learn to appreciate the subtle intricacies of our society. Mastering such a lifestyle was truly an art, and I would not have her ruin the progress I had made so far in my own endeavors.
I was raised knowing how to conduct myself in a proper manner and to always appear respectable. My mother insisted on thorough etiquette lessons, as well as French and piano, at a very early age; by the age of five, I was worldly and well-mannered and was often coaxed by my parents into performing at dinner parties. Formal dancing, painting, and riding lessons were incorporated not long after, and my father hired tutors to teach my sister and I all necessary academic subjects that ladies were expected to know. Luckily for my parents, I enjoyed learning and welcomed new activities. It never took much encouragement for me to read or play the piano, and once I was of age I could not be kept from the dance floor. Perhaps my father's proud disposition influenced me, but I always wanted to make my parents proud of me. I would gladly take everything they would give to me, conceptual or material, and try to impress them and their friends with my poise and intelligence, knowing that making a good impression upon other people would somehow reflect upon my parents. I wanted to be the best that I could be, for my parents and for my own pride. I strove for perfection and often attained it - humbly, of course.
However, our society was frequently fickle and formed their perceptions based upon what was immediately visually apparent, a vice I was guilty of committing myself. My family never left anything to chance and always looked respectable, in the event that rash opinions might be made. My father's financial success allowed us all to acquire fine clothes and small luxuries, further solidifying our acquaintance with prestigious families. In turn, their mannerisms influenced us. Laughter must always be contained, or else risk people making assumptions as to one's purity. Partaking in activities that did not exhibit one's intelligence was an insult to one's reputation and family. And children were no exception, of course. Playing, running around in gardens and moors, and socializing with children of lesser known families were considered almost abominations and were all strictly forbidden. We all took great care and attention to detail to ensure that we were all the best that we could be at any particular moment and respectfully withheld judgment on those that did not do the same; gossip was regularly considered offensive and unnecessary, so everyone often waited until they were alone or at home before sharing gossip, of course.
Still, I knew it was not my place to remark on Lady Laurent's behavior, even to my parents, so I held my tongue and tried not to smile in amusement at my parents' commentary. In all sincerity, Lady Laurent really was quite a disaster. My dear friend Jessica Stanley had told me about the latest gossip surrounding Lady Laurent and the Volturi family at the now infamous dinner party. She spoke at length of how lovely and distinguished they were all rumored to be, except for Count Aro Volturi's brother Marcus. According to Jessica, Marcus was always in such a foul mood, mostly because of the recent death of his wife during childbirth, and their treatment by Lady Laurent when they had dined with her the week prior only made him worse. He had taken such great offense to being neglected by the master of the house, and thereby subjected to a substandard reception and no acknowledgment of who his brother was, as though they were ordinary townsfolk instead of foreign nobility, only to find out that the master himself had never been made aware of any reply to the invitation. From that moment onward, with the assistance of his shrewd brother Caius, it was as though he had a personal mission for vengeance against Lady Laurent for her grave error and insult to his family's honor. The horrendous manners of Sir James' wife and how he would never allow himself to be in her presence ever again were all that Marcus talked about any more, according to Jessica.
Marcus Volturi had a notorious reputation amongst the British gentry for being perpetually fickle and foul tempered, but the fact that his most recent episode occurred as a result of Lady Laurent's error seemed to have relieved Marcus of all fault in the matter. Marcus and his family were clearly the victims in the rumor circulating Yorkshire while everyone almost sang of all of Lady Laurent's embarrassing faults and even Sir James' obtuseness. Many people attributed her many social faux pas to her less than favorable upbringing, but with so many apparent mistakes I often wondered if she were erring on purpose. Surely no one could be that obtuse - not even a merchant's daughter.
The small road led straight to the front door of the Laurent estate, open lots of green grass on either side of the road, while tall trees framed the space. The front of the large estate loomed before the carriage: three generous floors of imposing stone and large windows, fine moldings and decorative finials along the facade, age and modernity married artistically through classic architecture and welcoming gardens. In the fading light of the cloudy day, bright candlelight glowed warmly through the windows, luring me inside and bringing my mind back to the present.
As the carriage finally came to a stop in front of the Laurent estate, servants came outside to assist us from the carriage. One of them opened the carriage door, and I gracefully slid my gloved hand into his equally gloved hand and slowly stepped out of the carriage. While I waited for my parents to climb out of the carriage, I glanced at the front of the house, the source of my mother's recent ire.
Daisies. Lady Laurent ordered daisies to be planted in front of the estate. In full bloom, their vibrant colors shone bright into the gloomy overcast day, but no amount of cheer could make up for their cheap appearance. Daisies were practically weeds and were associated with children and immaturity, the complete opposite of the reputation of this house. She really could not have picked a worse flower for such a visible location. Secretly, I rather liked the simplicity and vibrancy of daisies but would certainly never admit to it, let alone display them for all the world to see. I knew my worth and the damage that careless choices could do to it. It was common knowledge that Lady Laurent was not as sophisticated as all other ladies of her station - and below - but her carelessness was certainly out of hand and could only lead to her family's ruin.
Shaking off such unpleasant thoughts, I made sure to fix a gracious smile on my face and assume an air of sincere joy before turning to face the Laurents' butler, who stood in the impressive doorway of the estate. I summoned every bit of kindness, genuine or not, and followed behind my parents as they gracefully approached the stairs with arms linked.
Song info: "Everything's a Ceiling" by Death Cab for Cutie