Page 6 of Her Beast of a Duke
She had relented; that had to be enough for now.
Chapter Two
“Somethingalwayshappens at Lord Harcross’s balls,” Sibyl whispered as she entered the sweeping, circular ballroom with their parents hovering nearby, scanning the room in their ever-watchful manner.
“A scandal, a couple caught where they ought not to be, or the perfect match of the Season. There is a reason he saves his events for the end, certainly. Do you think he plans such grand schemes or allows them to unfold naturally?” she added.
The Marquess of Harcross was well-known throughout thetonas a charismatic man who always saved his grand ball hosting for the end of the Season. It was his townhouse that welcomed Isabella and her family members on the balmy evening.
“How could he?” Isabella murmured, a faint frown tugging at her lips. “There are far too many surprises in our society, Sibyl. He cannot foresee them all, I am certain. I rather think thetonregards Lord Harcross as a man given to amusement, and so we are all inclined to indulge ourselves at his soirees.”
“And tonight, sister,” Sibyl said gently, “might you indulge yourself a little? You deserve it, after all.”
Isabella paused at the question. Her eyes swept downwards, quickly assessing her ivory gown that was woven through with golden thread. Her mother had ordered small pearls to be eased into her hair, and she knew the matching necklace she wore was eye-catching enough.
Butwasit enough? All of it? With every careful piece that Isabella put together, would it ever be enough?
“I am certain I will do as I am expected,” Isabella said, noncommittally. “As we both should, if we wish to secure good matches.”
Something crossed her sister’s face: a pinch of pity that tugged her brows together and softened her hopeful gaze.
Isabella looked away quickly, but her attention was then snagged by the darting looks around her.
Down the staircase they descended, but Isabella could only hear the muttering of gossip.
“Lady Isabella is most brave to show her face so soon after being a jilted bride,” one lady whispered to her male companion; the fan she waved in front of her face did little to muffle her words.
“Indeed, although I admit she does not look defeated,” the man answered.
“I would be if I were her. Lord Stanton is a highly regarded earl. If Lady Isabella cannot keep him, whocanshe keep? Perhaps lowering her focus to a desperate baron or viscount would suit her best.”
“Besides, it’s the end of the Season. She will be hard-pressed to find a member of the peerage to be her husband so quickly.”
“Certainly, no suitor will want a lady who had reason to be left on her wedding day.”
Isabella’s shoulders tightened as she forced one foot in front of the other. When Sibyl’s hand squeezed her own, Isabella knew that her sister could hear the circulating rumors, too.
“I’m certain you’ll find yourtruelove match tonight, Isabella,” Sibyl said, her voice lifting above the gossiping. “Lord Stanton is not such a man that he cannot be easily replaced, and perhaps fate will yet reveal its true designs for you. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise! Just as?—”
“If this is a blessing, Sibyl, it is not a very kind one,” Isabella cut her sister off rudely, not able to stomach her predicament being compared to Hermia’s situation once again.
Sibyl’s face fell, and Isabella quickly backstepped.
“I am sorry. I do truly appreciate your optimism, sister. It’s just that… it is hard to believe it at the moment.”
Sibyl nodded and averted her gaze, her bright hope already returning as they each looked out at the ballroom.
Isabella felt barbed, too sharp for hope or rationality. Her heart was stung, her ego bruised, and her confidence felt further away than it ever had. She did not feel like herself. Everything about her was a masquerade, a dance she was forgetting the steps to.
It made her feeloff-kilter, ready to trip and fall at any moment.
“Isabella.” Her mother’s sharp voice cut through the din of worry. “Do mingle. You too, Sibyl. I wish to have you matched well as soon as possible to avoid any further issues befalling our family. No fewer than three dance sets, Isabella. Do you understand?”
Her feet already ached at the thought, but she nodded. Perhaps dancing on the ballroom floor was better than lingering on the sidelines, being the subject of gossip. At least if she went there, she wouldn’t overhear the nasty comments and judgment. On the dance floor, she could pretend none of it existed.
“Very well,” she answered dutifully, and then descended into the ballroom.
Her chin lifted, her mask was back in place, and she left behind the insecure, uneven-footed girl who momentarily showed her vulnerability.
