Papa’s bags were right there. The flap of one was open. Bella was tempted to peek.
What she saw took her breath away—a golden-haired china doll, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life, dressed in a pink velvet dress, with real lace, so beautiful it almost made her cry.
Last time Papa had brought her a riding crop, elegantly tooled, and of course, Bella had been delighted, even if it was the kind of thing you gave a son. And she did love riding.
But this gloriously beautiful doll was for a daughter, a most beloved daughter. She didn’t know what thrilled her most—the beauty of the doll, or that Papa had thought to bring her something so lovely, so special. It made all her hard work worthwhile.
Every detail of the doll was perfect, even down to tiny oval pink fingernails on her dimpled china hands. Her shoes were of palest pink leather, fastened with tiny pearl buttons, and she wore white stockings made of silk. She even wore a necklace made of tiny seed pearls—just like Mama’s pearls, now Bella’s.
The doll’s eyes were bright blue, with long lashes made of real hair. The doll seemed to smile at Bella, like a friend, like a sister. She hugged the doll to her. She’d always wanted a sister. She would call the doll Gloriana.
She lifted the dress to see what the doll wore underneath—and heard a sound at the door. Someone was coming. Quickly she thrust the doll back into Papa’s bag and hurried away.
She would have all the time in the world to play with her doll.
She’d changed into her prettiest dress and waited until dinnertime with barely suppressed excitement.
“Have you been a good girl, Isabella?”
“Yes, Papa.” She felt almost sick with anticipation.
“I’ve brought you something from Barcelona. Do you want to know what it is?”
Her hands were shaking. “Yes, please, Papa.”
He’d handed her a parcel, square and heavy, too small to be the doll.
“Well, go on, open it.”
She unwrapped it. It was a book;Equus, on the care and treatment of horses. Puzzled, she glanced at her father, thinking perhaps he’d played a trick on her and would produce the doll in a minute. “Is that all, Papa?”
He laughed, and for a moment Bella thought he had played a joke on her, because Papa didn’t laugh very often. “No, of course it isn’t all. Now where did I put it?” And he started patting his pockets.
And Bella had laughed with him, laughing too loudly in relief and delight that Papa had joked with her, whennormally he was so serious.
“Ah, here it is.” He pulled from his pocket a small twist of paper.
Bella’s laughter died. She eyed the brown paper twist. She knew what it contained, and it wasn’t a doll.
“Thought I’d forgotten your sweet tooth, did you?” He gave her the little packet of boiled sweets. “Now, come and give your father a kiss and then run along upstairs with your treasures.”
Bella kissed his cheek and murmured her thanks. He smelled of cologne water. He’d shaved. Dimly she recognized he’d changed into his going-to-church clothes. But it wasn’t Sunday, and anyway, Papa was a reluctant churchgoer atbest, only attending on special occasions.
She didn’t run upstairs as she’d been told, but crept off to the side and watched, as Papa had his favorite horse brought around from the stables. He mounted, then one of the servants passed up two large parcels tied with string. One of the parcels was the exact size of a doll.
Without quite knowing why, Bella slipped out to the stables and saddled her own horse. Hanging back at a distance, she followed her father into the next valley and watched him ride down a track to a small cottage set into the lea of thehill; it was a pretty cottage of whitewashed stone, with bright geraniums flowering at the windows and in pots by the terrace.
Strangely, though it was quite close to home, Bella had never visited this valley. She’d ridden with her father over almost every inch of the estate. Or so she thought. Who lived here?
She waited by a copse of birch trees, watching as a servant ran out and took the reins and the parcels while Papa dismounted. Then from the front door burst a pretty little girl. A year or so younger than Isabella, she was dressed all in pink and white. She ran toward Papa, long, glossy ringlets tied with pink ribbons bouncing down her back.
To Bella’s utter astonishment, Papa scooped up the little girl and swung her, squealing, in a wide arc. And then he kissed her warmly on each cheek and set her down.
Papa had never swung Isabella around in her life. And if Bella had ever squealed in that vulgar way, she would have been scolded for it.
A woman hurried out, also very pretty and beautifully dressed. Papa embraced her, planting a kiss full on the woman’s mouth. The kiss went on forever.
The little girl must have thought so, too, because she tugged Papa’s sleeve impatiently. Papa would hate that, Bella thought with a spurt of satisfaction. She waited for Papa to put the mannerless child in her place.
