Page 45 of The Truth About Myths
"Dom Pedro's granddaughter?" Lady Montijo yelled and fished inside her reticule for a lunette.
Isabel felt her cheeks redden at the scrutiny. Lady Montijo thought fit to ask her to open her mouth and even lowered her glassy eyes to Isabel's hips.
Isabel caught Alfonso's gaze above Lady Montijo's white head, and he mouthed. "Ignore her."
While Lord Montijo gaped at Dolly's breasts, Lady Montijo turned to Diomedes. After her very vocal flirtation made Diomedes cringe, the old lady’s hands vanished underneath the table. His face turned an unbecoming shade of red. Isabel could only imagine what sort of battle they fought beneath the pristine linen.
Meanwhile, laughter rolled out from the other side in shameless waves. When Rafaela’s red lips touched the shell of Henrique’s ear, Isabel gripped her knife with enough force to break the cutlery.
Would this dinner keep going forever? She had waited to be lulled in the rhythm of these affairs, the initial awkwardness of long silences and weather conversations turning animated, then argumentative, then wine-inspired, then finally sleepy. Instead, course after elaborate course, a stark reality mocked her. The Canastras, the Montijos… Henrique, with his squinting eyes. She knew this was the truth of aristocratic marriages, and yet... Why couldn't the vows spoken in a church carry more weight than a passing passion?
Rafaela clicked her glass, calling everyone’s attention. "I’m so excited to receive you all here. I hope you brought some stamina because I’ve planned vigorous entertainment. We will have a hunt and boating on the lake, and to crown our summer, I'm organizing an amateur theater performance. Diomedes da Veiga wrote the play, and everyone must take part." Rafaela paused dramatically, waiting for the claps to end. "And that is not all. Tomorrow, we go to Sevilla. Matador Borriegas is in town. I’m sure our Portuguese guests will enjoy seeing how bullfighting is done."
Isabel had never attended a bullfight and intended to keep it so. "How considerate of you."
The duke lifted his palms. "Rafaela, don't make plans before consulting my wishes. I will take Alfonso to a political meeting—"
A glower replaced Rafaela's smile. "Always politics—"
"I thank you for the invitation," Alfonso said. "But I wanted to show a special place for Isabel on the morrow."
Henrique narrowed his eyes, and Isabel felt a frisson of excitement at his disapproval.
Her cousin seemed about to argue, but Canastra lifted his hand imperiously. "The young people should decide their entertainment."
Rafaela gave Canastra a malicious smile and turned to Henrique. She spoke something to him, and he laughed. The dinner participants resumed their parallel conversations.
Alfonso bent forward to whisper in Isabel's ear. "I hope you were not jealous."
A furious heat claimed her cheeks. "Why would I be jealous of Henrique? He is just the escort my brother imposed on me—"
"I meant of my aunt's ravings. The opera singer she mentioned and Maria Rattazy… Both belong in the past."
Isabel averted her gaze, cursing her wayward tongue. "Oh, I'm certain—"
His face turned serious, and he placed his hand above hers. "A man in my position is constantly besieged by the opposite sex, but I want you to know I despise infidelity. I will be as faithful to my wife as I am to my country."
Her eyes sought Henrique's, and her heart stung with pain. If only all males felt the same.
Isabel left the drawing room before the other guests. The dinner had drained her energy. She needed a restful night to collect herself. On her way to her bedchamber, Isabel was startled by a shuffling sound. She paused before a Venus statue, half expecting it to speak. A gigantic moth flapped its wings and flew to the ceiling. Isabel chuckled at her own jittery nerves.
When she resumed her steps, someone grabbed her forearm.
A scream rose in her throat. Henrique's eyes glittered in the dimly lit corridor like a stray cat looking for trouble. Isabel clamped her mouth shut. No matter what he did or said, she wouldn't react. From now on, he would only see temperance in her, royal indifference. She would snap the threads linking them for good.
"You must stop accosting me, Your Excellency."
"Follow me." He tugged her arm. "Your help will come in handy."
"No—" She was about to give him a tongue lashing but swallowed the angry rebuff. Instead, she glanced placidly toward her room. "I'm not a footman to be in hand for any of your troubles. Please treat me with a gentleman's courtesy from now on. I bid you good night."
He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Would your magnanimous Highness perchance concede me the grace of your help?"
"No."
He pursed his lips. "But I asked nicely."
She shrugged, smiled prettily, and whirled to leave.
