Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
The following week, Isabella stepped out of their carriage and looked up at Lord and Lady Howdley’s townhouse. Music spilled into the street from inside, where the ballroom would already be filled with guests.
Oscar offered his arm, and she took it, smiling up at him.
“For once, I do not feel apprehension about attending an event,” Isabella told him as they ascended the steps into the house. “I think I am finally comfortable knowing I will not be gossiped about.”
“You never deserved to be gossiped about, and I despise that you ever were,” Oscar said, his voice heavy with anger at what the ton had put his wife through. “If anybody dares to gossip about you tonight—”
“We do not need further dramatics,” she quickly said, squeezing his arm. “If anybody gossips, as they did at the garden party and the other events, then I shall simply let it wash through me. I am stronger than you think.”
Oscar turned to her in the doorway, holding her face with his other hand.
“No, Isabella. I know exactly how strong you are, but my resentment does not stem from your strength or how you have endured. It comes from the fact that they even put you in a position where you had to endure. They are in the wrong, not you.”
“Regardless, I have still shouldered enough gossip-related burdens, but I finally hope I no longer have to.”
He gave her a mischievous smile. “And as I said, if they dare to, they shall find themselves with a big problem on their hands.”
Isabella leaned in to ghost a kiss over his jaw. “A very big problem,” she purred, and heaven help her, Oscar looked ready to take her right then and there in the darkest alcove, propriety be damned. “Perhaps you can make me deal with that big problem when we return home.”
“Heavens, what are you trying to do to me?” He half laughed. “You are a menace, Isabella.”
“I am your menace, though.” She grinned, her heart fluttering at the softness in his gaze.
“Yes, you are,” he affirmed and kissed her chastely before they finally entered Lord and Lady Howdley’s estate.
They were led to the ballroom, and upon entering, Isabella finally felt the drop of dread she thought she had been free of.
Her mother was present, of course, and Isabella noticed how Sibyl’s pretty face was dark and drawn tight, her arms crossed.
The two of them seemed to be arguing. Or rather, their mother appeared to be trying to argue while Sibyl barely looked at her mother.
Isabella sighed. “My mother is a stone wall that one must claw down every day. Come with me to save my sister?”
Oscar glanced at Isabella’s mother, his mouth tightening. “Must I?”
Isabella laughed quietly. “Yes, you must, to keep me in check from being cross with her.”
“I have far better methods of keeping you in check,” he told her in a low voice at her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “And I am inclined to let you berate your mother. Heaven knows she is long overdue for it.”
“I am thinking only of Sibyl,” Isabella insisted. “I know what a force my mother is, and I want to protect her. My mother might back down slightly if you are there. She will be tempted to keep up appearances, whereas with just her daughters, she does not need to pretend.”
Oscar finally nodded. “I will come with you then. If only to escape Edmund, who is hastily making his way toward me, and I am trying to avoid him.”
“Is it the same reason you have avoided my questions about whether you have been all right since our dinner party?”
“Now, why would you think such a thing?”
Isabella could hear the way he tried to tease and deflect again, but she only narrowed her eyes at him before they finally descended into the ballroom and made their way over to her family.
“Mama, I have already told you that I do not want to dance with him,” Sibyl insisted, her voice sharp in a way Isabella had not heard before. “Just—stop. Stop, Mama, I am exhausted.”
Isabella’s stomach dropped.
“Oh, goodness, Sibyl, stop being ungrateful. Your father secured a good connection with Lord Farnby, and his son is most eager to dance with you.”
“Lord Nathaniel has two left feet, terrible breath, and a severe lack of conversational skills when the topic is not about everything he will inherit from his father.”
“Sometimes we must endure… shortcomings for a good chance.”
“And sometimes,” Isabella cut into her mother’s insistence, “you must listen to your daughters when they plead something lest you push them further away like you did with me and Hermia.”
Sibyl’s eyes widened as they fell on Oscar and Isabella, and their mother stiffened.
Immediately, her eyes swept around them, ensuring nobody had heard but the Duke and Duchess.
She could hardly care. Their mother needed to be scolded roundly, and Isabella was tired of falling into line.
Until the Countess realized her behavior was terrible, Isabella would continue to fight back against her mother now.
But she despised that Sibyl was still stuck with their parents. If anything, a quick match would be good, if only to get her away from them.
“Isabella,” her mother greeted with a slow tilt of her head. Her narrowed eyes went upwards to Oscar. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Wickleby.” His voice displayed enough of the disdain he had for her, and Isabella felt a surge of pride. “Lady Sibyl.”
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Sibyl’s tone returned a little more to its usual bright, sweet one, and Isabella tugged her sister closer to her and further away from their mother. Protectively, she linked her arm through Sibyl’s.
“Isabella, you ought not to interfere with your sister’s business. It is rude of you to deprive her of options like this.”
“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 used love in 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 Hermia and 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.