Page 8 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
“And now you’re free, and she’s married to that drunken fool of a man.” James insisted.
“She’s married and settled, and I’m a spinster,” Isolde responded tautly. “That stupid nickname has followed me through three Seasons now, and I’m fairly sick of it.”
“Oh, Izzy, I’m sorry. But look, this is a new Season, and I’m sure it’ll be entirely different.”
Isolde bit her lip to avoid arguing. It was too loud to talk much, anyway. Lady Juliana’s intimate little gathering seemed to include the whole of Society, all jammed into her cavernous ballroom.
Since it was the first ball of the Season – and hosting that was a mark of high honour – everybody who was anybody coveted an invitation. Nobody would turn down such an invitation. The ballroom was packed with ladies and gentlemen of all ages and varying ranks. There were dukes and duchesses in one corner, and the plain Misses and Misters mingling among them. The place was a whirlwind of beautiful dresses in every size and colour, frilled as per the year’s fashions, produced in a flurry by fashionable modistes all over the town. Most of them had probably been designed for this very ball.
Isolde’s dress was a rare exception. It was a muted canary-coloured silk, plain in comparison to the other frothy confections swirling around, and she’d worn it last Season. It still fitted, it was comfortable, pretty enough, and not so out of fashion as to be shocking.
Isolde hadn’t seen the point in commissioning a horde of new gowns. She had plenty of dresses already.
She was beginning to regret that decision. A few curious glances were thrown her way. The gentlemen, of course, would neither notice nor care that her dress was last Season’s. They glanced her over, and she saw a flicker of recognition on their face.
The Ice Queen. There she is, here for another Season. What for, I wonder?
She even spotted a few men who’d made her proposals in previous Seasons or been determined suitors. They all averted their gazes immediately.
The ladies, on the other hand, mostly recognized her out-of-fashion dress, and tittered behind their hands. She saw mammas firmly steering their debutante daughters away from her – a friendship with such a determined spinster might ruin a young lady’s chances in the marriage mart.
Isolde’s cheeks stung, and she tried to keep her head up and pretend as though she didn’t care.
“Izzy, I behold a few acquaintances of mine yonder," James murmured softly in her ear. "Would it be too much trouble for you if I were to procure a chair for you and take my leave to converse with them?”
Isolde did mind, dreadfully so. James, at least, was earning smiles and nods and congratulations from passers-by. Without him, she’d just be another sad old spinster.
“Certainly not. And pray do not trouble yourself to procure a chair for me; I shall find one for myself.”
“Thank you, dear,” James said with a smile, gaze already distant. He patted her on the hand and went ploughing into the crowd.
Isolde was left unmoored for a few minutes, until a waving hand caught her attention. Relief swept over her, and she began to push her way across the room towards a bespectacled young lady with a wild head of brown hair.
Lady Viola Appleton was a year younger than Isolde. This was her third Season, and she looked set to be a spinster, too. They’d been firm friends for years.
“There you are,” Viola exclaimed. “I have been searching high and low for you.”
“I’m glad to find you, let me assure you,” Isolde muttered, slipping her arm through her friend’s. “The Ice Queen comments are persisting for another year.”
Viola tutted sympathetically. “Oh, that’s horrid. Still, at least they’re talking about you. Nobody ever seems to notice me. I sat right next to a great crowd of gentlemen, and not one of them glanced my way. I’m fairly sure I heard one of them call me plain.”
“How awful. Point the gentlemen out to me, and I’ll try and spill wine down their expensive silk waistcoats.”
Viola blinked. “How do you know they were wearing silk waistcoats?”
“Just a notion. Come, let us procure some lemonade and secure ourselves a few seats. The dancing will start up soon, although I doubt I’ll be asked.”
Viola sighed. “You could be asked, if you were a little more encouraging. You’re ever so pretty, Isolde.”
“Beauty fades,” Isolde said firmly. “And the gentlemen will always consider the eighteen-year-old debutantes to be prettier than a woman of my age, regardless of their actual looks.”
“Well, you don’t want to be associated with those gentlemen,do you? There might be somebody worth meeting in the crowd this year. Always expect the unexpected, Izzy. I read that in a book.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe it,” Isolde responded, smiling wryly. “People are disappointing, and nothing ever is as it seems to be. Now, speaking of books, I simply must tell you about the most thrilling book I’ve begun reading. I’m only halfway through, but already…”
The ladies disappeared into the crowd, talking eagerly of books, and the musicians played harder than ever, delicate stringed music sweeping over the crowd and echoing throughout the heated air.
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