Chapter 6
“But this isn’t even an invitation,” Isla muttered while her mother pranced around the hall. “It sounds like an order.”
Snatching the letter from her grasp, Margaret moved back to read it herself. The message wasn’t very long. Hardly three lines beyond the naming conventions.
A most unexpected and disturbing letter. What is he thinking? I must be dreaming. Perhaps the faeries are real and they have caught me just like Lacey keeps saying.
“It is rather… commanding,” her sister admitted with a partial smile.
Huffing, Isla snatched the cream-white paper back and read the fine penmanship. It was almost as fine as hers.
The Duke of Westvale had not acknowledged her presence in three long days until he had delivered the most upsetting message she had ever received.
He named her, noted the betrothal would become formal soon enough once he decided, and told her to expect an invitation to Lady Langdon’s upcoming ball where he meant for them to meet. Then he signed his name with his title.
A stranger. That’s what he is. An overbearing stranger who is a peer and too tall and too strange.
“I can’t go,” Isla started to tell her family.
“Oh, you’re definitely going,” Margaret countered with a smirk.
“Can I go?” Lacey asked as she came around the corner, hand against the wall with Hector in the other. “Where are we going, Isla?”
She shook her head even though her sister wouldn’t be able to see. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But you are,” her mother told Isla at once, darting back around.
“You are going to that ball and I shall accompany you. The invitation should surely arrive today or tomorrow. We’ll need it to attend the ball.
Lady Langdon’s ball! Oh, what an achievement.
If we attend this year, surely we shall be invited back next year.
Margaret, you’ll attend then. You’ll find your husband there.
Gad, how exciting! How wonderful. I could weep! ”
“Do you need a handkerchief, Mother?” Lacey offered.
“Yes, yes, thank you! Isla, your dresses! Oh what will we do? We must mend your green one at once. We’ll remove the beading off your yellow, I think, and see if we can find some thread to match.”
Isla frowned. “No, we don’t need to….”
A long-suffering sigh escaped her youngest sister. “She’s already gone, isn’t she?”
“Afraid so,” Margaret said before turning back to Isla. “There’s no turning back now. Still, don’t look so ill, I’m certain it will be a lively evening.”
“Perhaps I can convince Mother to take you instead.”
Her sister rolled her eyes. “I’m not the one who managed to get herself betrothed to a duke. That’s your problem. Your ball.”
“But you know I…” Isla trailed off as they considered Lacey. Their sister had set down the cat to fish out the handkerchief for their mother, and was now searching for the cat.
Before she could run into a table, Margaret took her hand. “Hector already left, I’m afraid.”
“Did he? What a rude little thing. Which way did he go?”
“Up the stairs, but I don’t think he wants company.”
Already Lacey was turning for the stairs. “Nonsense. Cats don’t know what they want. They must be told! I need him to help me find the golden thread that leads to the faerie portal.”
When Margaret and Isla exchanged questioning glances, neither of them knowing what sort of whimsical lore their sister was playing into now, they finally shrugged the matter aside.
The letter from the duke went into Isla’s room where she found her mother already at work on the dresses.
It took them two days to finish resewing beading onto her nicest gown, and by then the official invitation had arrived for her and her mother.
The woman couldn’t stop talking about it, especially on the evening that it was to take place.
Isla tried to sit still. She did her best, not wiggling too awfully when she was put into the dress. But then being seated was another matter. She couldn’t help it.
“I’ll never finish your hair if you don’t sit still,” her mother scolded, her mouth filled with pins. “Do stop.”
“Sorry,” Isla muttered for the hundredth time. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror then to her mother. The woman had twice the energy she had, flitting around so much. It only served to make Isla dizzy. “Mother, is this really necessary?”
“Of course it is! We must have you fashionable. I saw this in the gazette just yesterday morning. You’ll be one of the finest ladies in all of London tonight.
Oh, what if someday there are pieces of you in the paper, setting the fashions?
” Her mother beamed. “How lovely it would be. See? Look at these flowers in your hair. You’ll make a very fine duchess.
That used to be our family, you know. Back in Scotland nearly a hundred years ago.
Why, I remember hearing the stories at my father’s feet. We all…”
I’m going to faint. I’m going to throw up our soup from luncheon and faint. The dress is too green and my hair is too tight against my scalp and I think my nose is twitching. I should have slept more last night. Oh, this is all going to go so terribly wrong.
Somehow she didn’t toss up the contents of her stomach or faint as her mother finished preparing her for the ball.
Before Isla knew it, she was stepping inside of Lady Langdon’s grand house that was decorated in ivory and gold. Something about Roman art, she thought.
Her name was announced as she entered the main room after greeting Lady Langdon with her mother. The woman had been polite and curious, but wary. And now, everyone turned to eye her there.
Did someone sniff? Isla turned back through the crowd to look for the movement, frowning.
Only the best of the ton attend this party. And it’s dreadfully clear I am a mistake. If only they hadn’t decided that so quickly. Couldn’t I have an hour of peace?
She couldn’t find the wicked nose but Isla did spot something else.
Him.
Standing by a door off to the corner, one that clearly led to the ballroom, was the Duke of Westvale. It was a darker spot compared to the large double doors, so hardly anyone was over there. She couldn’t have missed him if she tried.
The man kept one hand behind his back while he fiddled casually with his pocket watch. Besides his hand, he was so still he could have been a statue.
Her stomach twisted with nerves. She didn’t belong here, but he clearly did. Somehow, he had bartered for her to be invited to the ball. Did he know it was a mistake now as well? Or did he still have to learn that awful lesson?
If only he were less handsome.
That, Isla thought, would surely help soothe her nerves. But the man was determined to be a problem. A devastatingly handsome problem. His dark brown hair was fashionably long and carried a strong wave. His shoulders were broad for his slight build, impressing might in the picture he made.
And then he turned to her with piercing blue eyes. She had avoided looking at him straight on all this time only to realize his gaze could sear her through her soul.
His glass was set down as he promptly started to cross the room.
Inhaling deeply, Isla whispered to a world that couldn’t hear her, “Don’t do it. Don’t…”
It seemed to her he was made of confidence. His stride was steady and he never glanced away. Almost like he didn’t know or care that anyone else was here.
But they were. So many people were here, and all of them were watching. Having tired of her, now they all focused on him. She eyed the audience who followed his every move.
They watched as he stepped up to Isla and offered her a short, polite bow. “Lady Isla.”
“Your Grace.” She returned it with a deeper curtsey, grudgingly accepting the hand he offered her.
“They watch because I don’t attend balls anymore,” he said in a low voice by way of a greeting. “You’ll get used to it. The stares.”
Isla forced a nod. “If you insist.”
He raised his eyebrow but said nothing more of the matter. In fact, he completely ignored it as he immediately asked her, “May I have the next set?”
Startled, she couldn’t help but ask, “What? Now?”
“The dancing has begun, yes. Are you declining my request?”
“Well, no.” Isla glanced about for her mother but the woman had disappeared. Invariably tightening her grip on the duke’s arm, she cautiously dared another look at him. It didn’t help as he continued to stare down at her in turn. “All right, then.”
“You are declining?”
“No! No, I am accepting. Yes, you may have the next dance,” she hastily corrected herself. She started to raise her free hand to her heart before decidedly putting it down.
For thinking herself bold and brave for so long, Isla feared she might have to reconsider. She had taught herself how to climb trees and ride horses and eat fish without making a face. But dancing with a duke? This was an entirely new world for her and she didn’t know what she was doing.
But she tried all the same.
The two of them crossed to the ballroom where they waited in silence for the dance to finish. She had yet to look at her dance card, nor had he offered to pen in his name. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Isla didn’t think she would be dancing without anyone else tonight.
Soon, the song ended. Dancers moved about, and Ronan led her into position for a simply country dance that Isla was profoundly grateful for. The duke hardly seemed inclined to talk now, standing once more like a statue at her side, and she could enjoy the distraction of a dance.
Until he started talking to her. “How large is your family?”
Isla nearly stumbled over a step before continuing through with the twirl and returning to his side. “My family? It’s small.”
“How small?”
“My mother and my two sisters.” Isla swallowed. “We’re the last of our line except for some distant cousin who left Scotland for the Americas a long time ago. And you?”
He gave a shake of his head. “Smaller. Does this mean you assist,” he had to pause as they separated for a short spell. But then he picked it up again with, “In the management of your household?”
Seeing as he ignored the odd look she sent him, Isla supposed she had best reply. After they moved together through two other dancing partners hands, she answered, “I do, yes.”
Before she could ask him a question of her own, the man had another. And another and then another. The entire dance left her breathless not for her own dancing skills, which were perfectly sound, but the barrage of questions that he brought her. It felt like she was being tested.
He asked about children, discipline, church, and horses.
“I thought…” Isla inhaled deeply as they paused between dances for the next of their set. “Your Grace, I thought you wanted a betrothal. What am I to make of this interview?”
He glanced at her. “This is how I am moving forward for our betrothal. There is nothing untoward here. I simply wish to know the woman who may enter and manage my home.”
“Very well. And yet…”
Turning toward her, he raised an eyebrow. It was an intimidation tactic. A very good one. But Isla had herself a spine and a strong chin that she raised in response.
“This doesn’t feel very romantic,” she told him.
He took her had to lead her into position for the next dance. “Few marriages are founded on romance. Keep that in your novels, if you please.”
Irritated, Isla bit her tongue to hold back any unseemly response that would surely have eyes on them once again. She let part of the dance slide by in silence, ignoring his continued questions until he was scowling at her.
So she asked one instead. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? You’re asking me about children and then you say there is no such thing as romance.”
“That’s not what I said. What I am saying, Lady Isla, is that there will be nothing romantic between us. I don’t need anything from you but a presentable wife amongst the ton.”
I suppose that’s a compliment he considers me presentable. He really does keep his distance from London. What everyone must say about me, I cannot imagine. No one likes the Scots. And to have one steal away a duke, goodness gracious, I will be a pariah should I wed him.
Isla swallowed. “I think you should know…”
“I know enough. I know I need a wife. And I know why you lied.” He finally deigned to look down at her. That steady gaze of his made her breath stall.
Suddenly dizzy, she started to tip backwards.
She did it without thinking and nearly lost her balance.
But there was the duke, his steady hands on her to keep her upright like he knew what he was doing.
There was a flurry of dancers all about that let him get closer to her for just a second, where he whispered his next words.
“You are protecting yourself. I know that much, and I don’t need to know anything more. This is the bed you have laid for yourself. I have accepted your lie for a very specific reason, and you now have to make it the truth.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” She stammered, clinging to him. “What reason could that be?”
He was pulling away before she could stop him. “I’ll explain later.”
While the man was intimidatingly direct, he was also inconveniently vague.
She didn’t like it. He was too confusing for her.
Why couldn’t gentlemen say what they really thought?
At least in Edinburgh people would tell her what was going on.
Now, she couldn’t sort out if she was being insulted or blackmailed or something else.
What am I getting myself into?
The duke quietly snorted like he had heard the question. Isla gulped, wondering if she had said that aloud.
Except she couldn’t ask, and he wasn’t about to tell her.
“If you agree to marry me,” he told her, “we will be partners. That is all.”
“Partners,” Isla echoed quietly.
The dance came to an end only for her to realize she was still griping him. Her hand tightened on his upper arm in surprise. And then for a second, she thought his arm did the same. Was he flexing?
As she met his gaze, she thought she saw something there. A shine? A sparkle?
But then his lips turned downward, and he looked away. Everyone was moving around. It was time they stepped off the dance floor to make way for the others. She thought for a second the duke was leaving her until he offered his arm to her once more.
A shiver ran through her as she accepted it, nearing him all over again. Something felt like it had changed between them on the dance floor. Isla couldn’t explain it, but something felt different.
Glancing up at the duke, she knew two things. That she was in over her head and that nothing about this arrangement with Westvale was going to be simple.