Page 87 of Her Beast of a Duke
“And it is horrible of you to keep forcing her to dance with suitors she has no interest in. I do not want Sibyl pushed into a loveless marriage, Mama.”
“You do not get a say when you—you agreed to one of your own.” Her mother sneered at the two of them, and Isabella’s temper rose. On her other side, Oscar tightened his hold on her. The touch served as a reminder that he was there and would keep the conversation in check. She realized then that while she calmed him, he could calm her, too.
Breathing deeply, Isabella composed herself. “Do not speak of my marriage, for if you listened to me, or visited more than once, and to do more than speak over me and behave rudely to my husband and me, then you would know I am not in a loveless marriage.”
Her heart beat fast, for she had never usedlovein relation to her marriage or her feelings. But it did not feel loveless, and she would not have her mother thinking that. Trying not to look at Oscar, Isabella forced her attention on her mother, trying not to overthink her words.
“Sibyl deserves love,” she reiterated. “Heavens, Mama, we have watched her read romance book after romance book. Why should she not have the chance to finally live her own story? If she has suitors she prefers, let her enjoy them rather than have all these options she does not want.”
“I am certain Sibyl can tell me this herself,” her mother huffed. It was a clever tactic, and one she used to employ against Hermiaand Isabella when Isabella had been younger and unable to find the courage to speak her mind.
By inviting Sibyl to speak up, knowing she struggled at times, the Countess fixed it so that she looked perfectly right while Sibyl was left floundering.
But this time, Sibyl did step forward. “I refuse to dance with one more suitor you recommend, Mama. I am very sorry to seem ungrateful, but I have plenty of options already. You must stop this.”
Around them, people lingered to listen in, but Isabella didn’t care. They could gossip and whisper, but she only cared about her sister now. Her voice was still kept low for her sister’s privacy. What attention their mother brought to them was her own choice.
“I—” their mother stammered. “I—Your Grace, what about your offers? Surely you know good connections.”
Isabella saw red for a moment at the mocking tone her mother used, but Oscar kept a grounding hold on her.
“Lady Wickleby, I am certain that even if I did, you would not accept them because they have come from me, so we do not need to play these games. Allow your daughter to dance with whomever she pleases and focus on enjoying the remainder of the ball.”
Isabella fought back a smile at how he made himself sound, diplomatically matching her mother’s faux politeness with hidden barbs. But the people around them could also hear it, and they began to whisper. Quickly, Isabella tugged Sibyl away from their mother, leading her sister and husband away from their mother.
But the whispers followed them all the way to the refreshment table.
“Did you hear how His Grace spoke?” one lady asked. “Usually, he barely speaks, or only to threaten. Yet he spoke so politely this time. Perhaps the Beast of Rochdale has finally been tamed. Could it be that Her Grace has made him lower his fists at last?”
“Indeed, it appears so,” another lady answered. “After all, the late Duke of Rochdale was a fine man. He spoke very eloquently. He could always make a room listen. Perhaps his son has finally become the man he was supposed to be all along.”
Isabella stumbled right as they reached the refreshment table, hoping Oscar didn’t hear as clearly as she did, but by the stormy look on his face, she knew he had. They both knew how his parents had behaved behind closed doors, and she knew he would loathe this mask he’d had to wear to be formal, and she knew how he would hate that in doing that, it made him comparable to his father.
Isabella brushed her hand down Oscar’s arm discreetly. “You are nothing like him.”
“At least they are trying to compliment me,” he said, forcing too much humor into his voice, but she heard how it cracked.
“I know who you are,” she promised. “Always remember that. You are more than any of your parents, and you are far more than the ton will ever know. I do not even believe they should get the honor of knowing the true man that you are.”
He smiled at her, but Isabella saw the effort it took.
Sibyl turned to them both, each with a glass of wine.
“Thank you for stepping in,” she said to Isabella. “I have been protesting endlessly, and yet Mama never listens to me. She cannot be reasoned with.”
“She has not tried to force you to dance with Lord Stanton, has she?” Isabella fretted. Thankfully, Sibyl shook her head. A quick glance around confirmed that he was not even present. Good. At least something was going right that evening.
As the three of them sipped at their wine, pointedly ignoring Isabella’s mother, two lords passed by, pausing to look at Sibyl, then at Isabella and Oscar. They both laughed, and Isabella stiffened.
“Lady Wickleby does rather enjoy splaying her family’s humiliations publicly, does she not, Lord Greenick?” One of the men snorted. The other at his side laughed loudly.
“Indeed, Lord Henry. Now, she attempts to marry off Lady Sibyl under the umbrella of such shameful events. How any lord will look at the remaining daughters is beyond me.”
At her side, Oscar tensed, but she dug her fingers into his bicep. She had to let it not get to her, but even Sibyl turned her face away, red in the cheeks, as if ashamed to be spoken of in such a manner.
Lord Henry turned to Isabella, then, barely concealing his laughter, said pompously, “Your Grace, do you think you do well for Lady Sibyl by standing so close to her with your husband also present? You hinder her small chances, although perhaps you want her to follow in your footsteps. First jilted at the altar, now married off to Rochdale here.” He laughed darkly, shaking his head. “One almost pities you, Your Grace, though I suppose even beasts must eat.”
The insult was spoken loud enough that others nearby had heard it, and some nearby ladies covered their giggles and gasps, but Isabella’s focus honed in on Lord Henry and his horrible words. The rest of the ballroom fell away as her anger rose.
