Page 4 of Her Beast of a Duke
Heavens, she was trying to ground herself so desperately. Her fingers clenched in the silk of her wedding gown, purchased by Lord Stanton, his smile ever so handsome that day as he’d said that he’dprocured herthe perfect wedding gown of her dreams.
And the worst thing was that it had been.
He had listened to what she wanted and bought the expensive fabric—only to never, ever see her in the resulting gown.
Bile rose in Isabella’s throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep it down, staring, staring, staring down at the smooth floor of the church. Words and voices tried to reach her; they were hard to ignore, but she couldn’t fully hear them, either. Her ears rang.
Another voice broke through the haze.
“Please get Lady Isabella back to her carriage.”
Charles.Yes, Charles was helping because, of course, her older, perfect sister had secured herself such an equally competent and capable man.
Hands reached for her, gently coaxing her back to the carriage, and she allowed herself to be guided, still feeling slightly removed from the commotion as she met Hermia’s gaze.
The pang in her chest eased when she saw the heartbreak in her sister’s eyes. Hermia hated seeing Isabella struggle and only wanted to help.
“I’ll handle the guests,” Charles murmured.
Through the carriage window, Isabella saw Hermia and Charles head back to the church steps and face the cluster of guests arm-in-arm. They moved together, poised and unshakable. Isabella’s chest tightened; the sight of their effortless unity left her hollow.
Isabella had no energy to hear Charles and her sister’s words, but whatever they said, it seemed to disperse the crowd.
But not without whispers. Isabella saw the guests walk out and into the churchyard, casting glances at her carriage.
She slumped down in her seat to avoid their gazes. Still, her parents followed her inside the carriage, for she could never escape them.
“Lord Stanton! The audacity of that man—he’s the ruin of everything!” her mother shrieked, clutching at her skirts as she collapsed into her own seat. “And you, you foolish man, approving him, letting this happen under your very nose!” she wailed, flinging her hands toward Lord Wickleby.
“I… this isn’t my fault!” he barked, stiffening. “It’s Isabella’s! She should have known better!”
“Heavens, we areruined, George!” Her mother’s eyes bulged. “It’s Hermia and that outrageous scandal—everything started with her! Mark my words!”
Isabella’s forehead thumped onto the side of the carriage, her eyes fluttering closed.
She was not going to be the Countess of Stanton, and she was angry. She had never felt such anger, but for now, she was simplytired.She had preened and smiled her way through her courtship with the handsome suitor, had exhausted herself being the perfecttondoll, the perfect diamond, only for this to happen to her.
Her eyes slipped closed, and her body sagged.
For a second, she could let her pretenses drop.
“George, it is nearing the end of the Season,” Isabella’s mother hissed, ignoring Isabella’s presence completely. “We do not have time to spare!”
“Do you truly think rushing Isabella intoanothermatch so quickly is the answer?”
“Yes,” her mother snapped. “It worked perfectly well for Hermia, did it not? Goodness, what further shame must befall our family?”
“Mama,” Isabella said sharply, but calmly. “It is not?—”
“Of course it is! You were abandoned at the altar, Isabella! Everybody is speaking about it!”
Isabella’s gut clenched, her stomach curling unpleasantly as she stared out at the parlor.
She had roused every day since being left at St. Peter’s Church three days ago. She had pretended as though all was well, but it seemed her time of acting as though her future’s security had not been shattered was over.
“All will bewell,” Isabella insisted firmly. “Hermia had an indecent portrait revealed of her, and look at her now.”
Her mother’s seething stare cut into her, but Isabella did not flinch.
