Please Note: This is to inform readers that chapters 1-16 have not been edited, chapters 17- onwards have and will be. I will send the previous chapters to my newly acquired beta, so she can work her magic. Thank you for understanding.

So I knew I said I would be writing anymore but I just could not get the urge to write and this story out of my head. I'm hoping you like this story.

As usual I do not own Twilight, but I do own this plot.

Please enjoy!

Chapter 1

BPOV

It was the first anniversary of the Queen's death; all of England fell into mourning. They sang her praises, as she rightfully deserved them. The People's Queen, the Lady of our hearts, she was our sovereign grace. All expected the King to take another as his bride but after a full year, it was clear his heart still belonged to his lost love.

Life still moved along on this day, but at a slow pace. The marketplace was much quieter as vendors limited their advertisement of their wares, to a few calls here and there. I moved around silently as I purchased the goods I needed for this evenings supper. My mind contradicted the setting before me, as it raced a mile a minute. I couldn't allow it a moment's rest, less I remember.

Setting a slow pace, making the half mile journey home, only increasing my speed as I neared the entrance of my village, I could not bear to relive the nightmare. My home came into sight and I saw my mother, out in the cold air in nothing but her dress.

"Mother!" I called out to my mother as neared her. She stopped picking up the wash from the line, as she looked up at me.

"Oh, Isabella"! She gathered up the basket and followed me inside. The fire had died in the space of my absence and I quickly retrieved more wood to bring it back to life.

"Mother, you shouldn't let the fire die. You could catch your death from this cold. And do not leave without a shawl." It was only fall but the winters of England could be brutal, and burying a loved one in the dead of winter, could also cause your death.

"Oh child, you worry too much, but it warms my heart to feel your love." I reached over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Mother I will always worry about you. Now sit here by the fire and warm your body. I will start supper; a bowl of broth would do the soul right tonight." I started the preparation of our meal, all the while watching my mother. For as long as I could remember, it has always been us. I never knew my father, I asked of him once, she cried for hours. I never asked of him again.

Renee, my mother, never sought out a husband. It was uncommon for a woman to live her whole life without the help of a man or to have a husband so as to perform wifely duties, but my mother did. I thought her to be a woman of pride and unfailing love. I respected her, but many pitied her.

A loud pop jolted me from my thoughts and I looked up to see my mother tending to the fire. Even at the age of forty, my mother could pass for a woman much younger, her ageless beauty a welcome trait that was passed on to me.

A solid knock resounded at the front door, and as I walked from the kitchen to answer it, I stopped at the sound of my mother doing just that. I was about to call out to her to enquire about our guest, when I heard her voice.

"How is she?" A voice I once held so dear to my heart, all it did now was to tear at every fiber of my being.

"Sweet child, I cannot tell you how she is. She has not spoken of it, and I will not bring up such fowl memories upon my daughter." My mother's voice was firm but not in a rude manner.

"I understand mama Swan, but I just would like to see her, tell her how I feel."

"And what do you think that will accomplish. That hurt was beyond any. A few heart felt word, even if they ring of sincerity will do naught to quell the pain that your actions have caused." I could hear quiet crying and I knew it was time for her to leave.

I came into view and met her wide crystal blue eyes. "Mother, come supper is almost ready". I did not even acknowledge her, but I kept my eyes on her, showing no sign of any emotion.

Taking her hand in hers, Renee patted her arm gently and closed the door. We ate supper in an uncomfortable silence. I could feel my mother's eyes on me, as she tried with all her might not to ask me how I was coping.

Shooing me away as I tried to clean of dishes after our meal, Renee suggested that I take a break. Going to our tiny living room and plucking a book from the shelf, I sat in front the fire on the floor and read. When she was finished, my mother joined me as I read aloud to her until we retired for the night.

Lying in my bed, finally allowing myself to feel, I saw in my mind her blue eyes, as they silently begged for my forgiveness. Those same blue eyes that I saw that fateful day, as they smile with joy which should not have been theirs. Tears ran down my cheeks, as I dredged up the painful memory of that day, the day I lost it all. Falling into a fitful slumber, my heart broke all over again.

So what do you think? With this story I won't be going down the line of been historically correct. I want to focus more on the story itself and just use the time frame as a backdrop, so the reader can have a mental picture. You'll get to know Isabella more as we go along. Please feel free to review, I welcome them and I reply. Thanks for reading.

Cheltivia.