Chapter 6 #2
Carriages lined the drive. Dozens of them. A far greater turnout than anyone, save perhaps Lady Kendrick, could have imagined. And yet she thought she’d arrived early.
Inside, Ladies shed their cloaks and gloves, revealing fashionable gowns in every jewel tone imaginable, and excited murmurs floated above each other.
Isabella’s eyes widened when she recognized several familiar faces, most of the ladies from the presentations two weeks ago. They approached in pairs, in clusters, offering eager greetings like they hadn’t laughed in her face before.
Still, Isabella replied to each greeting as politely as she could, refusing to partake in any activity that would ruin her excitement.
Then Lady Kendrick appeared.
“Oh! My brilliant girl,” the older woman exclaimed, swooping Isabella into her arms with surprising vigor for someone who frequently complained of frailty. “What a turnout! I knew they would come. Did I not say so?”
“You did indeed, My Lady,” Isabella laughed, allowing herself to be guided alongside Lady Kendrick and into the ballroom, the only place in the mansion the Duke of Everthorne allowed them for their meetings.
The sight took Isabella’s breath for the second time that day.
The magnificent ballroom, already beautiful, had been transformed for the club’s first gathering.
Its tall windows were framed by sheer drapes that moved with every whisper of cold air, and candles burned in tiers upon the walls, their flames reflecting off crystal droplets suspended from the grand chandelier above.
And along the far wall, the large rectangular structure Isabella had brought with her was draped with a deep navy fabric.
Lady Kendrick clapped her hands, her eyes bright as diamonds.
“Welcome, my dears!” she called, her voice carrying through the space with ease. “Please, do come in!”
As the ladies gathered, two footmen positioned themselves beside the covered structure, their hands gripping ropes that connected to the draped fabric.
“Lady Isabella,” Lady Kendrick said, stepping forward with a theatrical sweep of her arm, “would you do the honors?”
Isabella felt a flutter in her chest but nodded, stepping forward until she stood before the gathered crowd.
“Thank you all for coming,” she began, her voice steady despite the multiple crimson-tinted cheeks and eager eyes fixed upon her. “Today marks the beginning of something we hope will offer freedom, purpose, and joy to every lady who wishes to join us.”
She exchanged a quick glance with Lady Kendrick.
The older woman nodded, and the footmen pulled on the strings.
The navy fabric fell away in a dramatic sweep, revealing a large wooden board upon which the emblem Isabella sketched had been placed, and above it, in bold golden letters, shone the name of the club.
“The Laurel Club,” a young lady read it out loud.
Gasps blossomed across the room, followed by applause.
“Our members,” Isabella continued with a smile, “shall be known as Laurels. A name symbolizing honor, victory, and knowledge.”
Lady Kendrick nodded proudly. “The purpose of the Laurel Club is simple, my beautiful ladies. It is a sanctuary where ladies may cultivate talents and passions ordinarily beyond their reach, all without inviting the slightest hint of scandal,” Lady Kendrick explained.
Several ladies nodded eagerly. A few seemed hesitant. One or two exchanged dubious glances, but none said a word. Isabella saw every reaction, and yet her confidence did not waver.
“For our very first session,” she said, “we shall begin with an introduction to fencing.”
More gasps—some shocked, some intrigued, some verging on horrified delight.
“We have hired a fencing instructor for the day. He will demonstrate basic footwork and positions. Those who wish to participate may do so. Those who do not may lend their support from the sidelines.”
Her gaze swept the room, not in challenge but in encouragement.
“We shall begin shortly.”
The footmen cleared a generous space at the center of the ballroom, just like the last time, setting up a faux stage for the ladies interested.
The fencing instructor, Mr. William, a tall, wiry man with steady eyes and a weathered face, stepped forward with a bow.
“Ladies,” he greeted in a voice that carried with ease, “fencing is an art of balance, precision, and control. It requires not strength but awareness.” He extended a hand toward Isabella. “Might I borrow Lady Isabella for a demonstration?”
She stepped forward without hesitation, her fingers light upon the wooden practice foil he placed in her hand.
“Now then,” he continued, positioning himself beside her, “we begin with stance. Feet apart, one before the other. Yes, excellent! The forward foot points ahead, the back foot angles outward. Shoulders relaxed.”
He guided her gently, never touching inappropriately, his movements simply what they were supposed to be.
“This position allows both stability and quick movement. Observe, ladies.” He lifted his foil slightly. “The simplest motion in fencing is not an attack—but a step.”
He demonstrated with Isabella, mirroring him, totally immersed in her work.
“Ahead… and back. Again. You see? The front foot leads, the back foot follows. Always maintaining balance.”
Murmurs flutter across the watching ladies.
“That seems manageable,” one whispered.
“Surprisingly elegant,” another breathed.
“It hardly looks ladylike,” yet another lady said, even as she leaned forward with curiosity.
Isabella, focused on her stance, could not help smiling faintly.
Everything is going according to plan.
A rush of exhilaration moved through her body.
“Now,” the instructor said, “let us show the thrust. Lady Isabella, please extend your arm. Straighten your wrist and make a clean line.”
“It looks almost like dancing,” a lady remarked as the man demonstrated the steps.
Lady Kendrick clapped her hands. “Splendid! Who among you daring ladies wishes to attempt the stance?”
Giggles erupted. A few ladies stepped back. But a handful of bold and curious ladies stepped forward.
“Wooden foils only for now,” Lady Kendrick cautioned as she distributed them with enthusiasm. “Let us begin with bravery rather than talent!”
Laughter filled the ballroom as the selected ladies attempted to mimic the stance.
One slipped slightly on the polished floor, catching herself with a squeak. Another held her foil backward. A third nearly toppled when she tried to step and thrust at the same time.
But it was evident the ladies were enjoying themselves. Isabella felt warmth spread through her chest. This was precisely what she had hoped for.
Union not because of status, but because of curiosity and improvement.
The room swelled with more laughter and determination as the ladies attempted the stance repeatedly, but just as Isabella lifted her foil once more, a voice cut through the ballroom like a blade through silk.
A voice she recognized instantly. A voice that froze every lady mid-laugh, mid-step, and mid-breath.
“Are the ladies still present?”
The ballroom fell silent.