Page 7 of Her Beast of a Duke
Piece by piece, she guarded herself as she sought her first suitor. Any man who caught her eye would be her target. However, her attention was first caught by a group of girls with whom she had debuted. She recognized the red coils of Lady Miriam, the dark tresses of Lady Annabeth, and her twin, Lady Abigail.
Once, they had all drunk too much champagne upon their first debut, overwhelmed and filled with ambition.
Now, the trio all fixed sneers on Isabella, turning their noses down at her. It only slid another thorn into her heart.
“Well, well,” Lady Annabeth said, her voice deliberately carrying across the room to halt Isabella in her tracks. “If it isn’t the bride without her groom. Your side looks positively deserted, Lady Isabella. Pray tell, have you at last discovered the Earl who ought to be here?”
“Annabeth!” Lady Abigail chided. Despite her chastisement, she had a smirk on her porcelain face. “We must not speak so boldly. It is clear Lord Stanton is absent tonight, much as he was on his wedding day.”
The twins both giggled, turning their faces toward one another.
“Lady Abigail, the subtlety you insist upon your sister is admirable. Thank you for the demonstration. I shall cherish it always,” Isabella retorted.
Lady Abigail’s face darkened, turning her pretty, soft features into something ugly.
“Lady Isabella, sarcasm is brave for a lady who was left at the altar,” Lady Miriam sniffed.
“Well,” Isabella said lightly, inclining her head. “I have always found bravery can be as admirable as subtlety, have you not?”
“Indeed,” Lady Annabeth interjected, “much bravery is needed for someone whose path to matrimony ended rather abruptly.”
Isabella forced a polite smile, her fingers tightening briefly on her skirts. “Yes, well, I dare say one must make the best of what fate allows.” She inclined her head ever so slightly, glancing around the ballroom, calculating an escape route.
Lady Abigail tsked softly. “Fate, or folly, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Isabella murmured, taking a careful step back. “I would not keep you preoccupied, ladies?—”
“Oh, I do hope you have learned the proper decorum for such… sudden disappointments,” Lady Annabeth said, her tone smooth, mocking, and perfectly poised. “One must always present oneself with grace, even when one’s fortune falters.”
That was all it took. Isabella’s chest tightened. Her old friends, once so close, had vanished when she needed them.
She turned sharply, eyes blazing. “Is that what passes for friendship? That none of you showed kindness, sent a single note, or cared enough to ask after me when I was left at the altar? But of course—your reputations were far too precious!”
The trio fell silent, and Isabella, heart hammering, straightened her chin.
“Well, then. Do enjoy Lord Harcross’s ball, ladies.” She walked away, giving them no further chance of striking.
Still, the stares and whispers followed her.
The jilted bride. The former diamond.
Isabella straightened her shoulders further. The glimmering lights around her danced prettily, the music strummed like a lovely lullaby, and she knew that she would not be torn down in this room. No, shethrivedhere. She would not be the gossip pawn thetonwanted her to be, so they could be entertained.
Walking through the endless sea of stares, Isabella finally found the one face she had hoped would be present tonight: Lady Mary, the daughter of the Earl of Newbury, a man who was good friends with Isabella’s own father, waited near the beverage table. Her face relaxed with relief as soon as she saw Isabella, and the two came together quickly.
“Heavens, I did not think you would attend!” Lady Mary exhaled.
Her blonde, straight hair was tied up in an artful chignon, styled with emeralds threaded throughout, making her catch the eye of an eligible man. Her eyes reflected the chandelier above, as green as the jewels in her hair. Her dress was also a similar shade, making Isabella think of the most luxurious of woodlands.
“I almost did not,” Isabella returned. “The people in this room are rather ruthless when they sink their teeth into a scandal, are they not?”
Lady Mary nodded. “Indeed. Isabella, I am s?—”
“Please do not,” she said quickly, gently. “I do not need condolences for my unfortunate circumstances. I only need to continue as my mother wishes: to find another suitor.”
“So soon?”
Isabella bit her lip, nodding. She and Mary had only become closer friends since the night Isabella met Lord Stanton, for she had danced with him second to Mary, and Mary had complained about him afterward. Isabella had been taken enough, finding him charming to an endurable amount, and with a sharp wit that was nearly as lively as her own.
