Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Something always happens at Lord Harcross’s balls,” Sibyl whispered as she entered the sweeping, circular ballroom with their parents hovering nearby, scanning the room in their ever-watchful manner.
“A scandal, a couple caught where they ought not to be, or the perfect match of the Season. There is a reason he saves his events for the end, certainly. Do you think he plans such grand schemes or allows them to unfold naturally?” she added.
The Marquess of Harcross was well-known throughout the ton as a charismatic man who always saved his grand ball hosting for the end of the Season. It was his townhouse that welcomed Isabella and her family members on the balmy evening.
“How could he?” Isabella murmured, a faint frown tugging at her lips.
“There are far too many surprises in our society, Sibyl. He cannot foresee them all, I am certain. I rather think the ton regards Lord Harcross as a man given to amusement, and so we are all inclined to indulge ourselves at his soirees.”
“And tonight, sister,” Sibyl said gently, “might you indulge yourself a little? You deserve it, after all.”
Isabella paused at the question. Her eyes swept downwards, quickly assessing her ivory gown that was woven through with golden thread. Her mother had ordered small pearls to be eased into her hair, and she knew the matching necklace she wore was eye-catching enough.
But was it enough? All of it? With every careful piece that Isabella put together, would it ever be enough?
“I am certain I will do as I am expected,” Isabella said, noncommittally. “As we both should, if we wish to secure good matches.”
Something crossed her sister’s face: a pinch of pity that tugged her brows together and softened her hopeful gaze.
Isabella looked away quickly, but her attention was then snagged by the darting looks around her.
Down the staircase they descended, but Isabella could only hear the muttering of gossip.
“Lady Isabella is most brave to show her face so soon after being a jilted bride,” one lady whispered to her male companion; the fan she waved in front of her face did little to muffle her words.
“Indeed, although I admit she does not look defeated,” the man answered.
“I would be if I were her. Lord Stanton is a highly regarded earl. If Lady Isabella cannot keep him, who can she keep? Perhaps lowering her focus to a desperate baron or viscount would suit her best.”
“Besides, it’s the end of the Season. She will be hard-pressed to find a member of the peerage to be her husband so quickly.”
“Certainly, no suitor will want a lady who had reason to be left on her wedding day.”
Isabella’s shoulders tightened as she forced one foot in front of the other. When Sibyl’s hand squeezed her own, Isabella knew that her sister could hear the circulating rumors, too.
“I’m certain you’ll find your true love match tonight, Isabella,” Sibyl said, her voice lifting above the gossiping. “Lord Stanton is not such a man that he cannot be easily replaced, and perhaps fate will yet reveal its true designs for you. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise! Just as—”
“If this is a blessing, Sibyl, it is not a very kind one,” Isabella cut her sister off rudely, not able to stomach her predicament being compared to Hermia’s situation once again.
Sibyl’s face fell, and Isabella quickly backstepped.
“I am sorry. I do truly appreciate your optimism, sister. It’s just that… it is hard to believe it at the moment.”
Sibyl nodded and averted her gaze, her bright hope already returning as they each looked out at the ballroom.
Isabella felt barbed, too sharp for hope or rationality. Her heart was stung, her ego bruised, and her confidence felt further away than it ever had. She did not feel like herself. Everything about her was a masquerade, a dance she was forgetting the steps to.
It made her feel off-kilter, ready to trip and fall at any moment.
“Isabella.” Her mother’s sharp voice cut through the din of worry. “Do mingle. You too, Sibyl. I wish to have you matched well as soon as possible to avoid any further issues befalling our family. No fewer than three dance sets, Isabella. Do you understand?”
Her feet already ached at the thought, but she nodded.
Perhaps dancing on the ballroom floor was better than lingering on the sidelines, being the subject of gossip.
At least if she went there, she wouldn’t overhear the nasty comments and judgment.
On the dance floor, she could pretend none of it existed.
“Very well,” she answered dutifully, and then descended into the ballroom.
Her chin lifted, her mask was back in place, and she left behind the insecure, uneven-footed girl who momentarily showed her vulnerability.
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, she thrived here. She would not be the gossip pawn the ton wanted 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.
Certainly, she had sought another dance at the next ball, and then another, and another, until…
Until he had abandoned.
“Then I shall not apologize,” Mary agreed. “Instead, I shall help you find your next betrothed, even if… even if it is not what you want.”
“How do you know this course isn’t of my choosing?”