Chapter 17 #2
“I assure you that you will be the one laughing in the end.”
“I hope so.”
At the current moment it was hard to see a world in which she would be the one laughing. It was far more likely that she would spend the rest of her life listening to their taunts and their jeers, and she would be left to wonder whether it would ever end.
Perhaps, given enough time, she would grow to resent England and all the people within it.
No. I will not. I am going to make the most of my time here.
A few days after her disastrous walk, Isabelle stepped into the bakery with several coins in her hand. The scent of pastries had lured her away from where she had been sketching in the park.
She glanced over her shoulder and gave Maggie a smile as the maid joined her to admire the cakes in the window.
As Isabelle drew closer to the display of pastries, giggling came from beside her. She let out a slow breath, peeking to see who was laughing at her now.
Miss Fitzroy smirked. “I did not think that you would deign to show your face in town after the incident at the park the other day.”
Isabelle offered her a small smile and stepped forward to the display, glancing at the older woman behind the counter. “Two of those little ones with the strawberries, please.”
Miss Fitzroy shuffled over beside her. “You need to speak clearly. If you do not, then how do you ever expect anyone to understand you?”
“I would think that they would have an easier time understanding me than they would with the nasal tone of your voice.” Isabelle handed her coins to the woman behind the counter before receiving the pastries. “Perhaps you should worry less about my accent and more about your own.”
Her entire body felt like it was on fire as she moved to join Maggie by the door, handing her one of the pastries. They stepped out of the shop together, continuing down the cobblestone streets.
Maggie bumped her hip into Isabelle’s. “If you want, I could speak to her maid and have her burn a strand of Miss Fitzroy’s hair off when she’s curling it for the ball tonight.”
“You could, but I would not recommend it. There is a chance that it would come back to haunt you.”
“It might be worth it.”
Isabelle nibbled the flaky edges of her pastry as they drew closer to the duke’s house. “It is not worth the effort. It is much better to rise above them all and pretend as if nothing they say can bother me.”
“But it does bother you.”
She shrugged her shoulder. “It does, but I suspect in time I shall grow a thicker skin, and it will not matter half as much.”
Maggie shook her head, finishing off her own pastry as they stepped through the front gates and climbed the steps to the house. Isabelle finished her pastry as they walked into the main hall where the Dowager Duchess was waiting for them.
“Where have the two of you been?” The Dowager Duchess shook her head and motioned to the stairs. “It does not matter now. The two of you need to get upstairs and get ready. We are to meet the other young ladies at the Fitzroy house and you shall enter the ballroom together for the first time.”
Isabelle hiked her skirts and took the stairs two at a time, Maggie running along behind her. She burst into her room where Victoria was already waiting for her.
Lady Hyacinth and Lady Evangeline were sitting on the chaise at the foot of Isabelle’s bed. The second Isabelle walked into the room, Lady Evangeline sprung to her feet and snatched the dress that hung from the wardrobe.
“You are going to look stunning in this.” Lady Evangeline took it from the hanger while Maggie set to work helping Isabelle out of her dress.
Maggie turned to Victoria to do the same while Lady Hyacinth and Lady Evangeline helped Isabelle pull on the dress and lace it up. Both of them were giggling as they touched the silk and toyed with the curls in Isabelle’s hair.
“I would like to leave more of my hair down this evening,” Isabelle said once she and Victoria were dressed and sitting at the vanity to have their hair done.
“People are going to whisper about it,” Maggie said, grinning in the mirror at her.
Isabelle glanced at her, the corner of her mouth twitching. “They are going to talk about me either way. At the very least I should do something to earn their conversation.”
Laughing, Victoria leaned forward, pinching her cheeks in the mirror to bring some color to them. “I agree with you. I want my hair down as well.”
“We shall be the talk of the ton.” Isabelle dissolved into giggles as Maggie worked on adding more curls to her hair.
By the time Maggie had finalized her hairstyle, Isabelle was second guessing her decision, but there was no longer enough time to change her mind. Not when the Dowager Duchess was waiting for them and eager to depart.
The Dowager Duchess led their way out of the house and down the street to another that towered nearly as high as Windham’s. Carriages rolled to the steps and guests disembarked, making their way inside.
Isabelle reached down and gripped Victoria’s hand, squeezing it as they followed the dowager into the house. She led the way to a parlor off what Isabelle assumed was the ballroom.
After taking a deep breath, Isabelle entered the room with her head held high, smiling politely at some of the younger ladies who offered her greetings. Miss Fitzroy suddenly stopped in front of her and arched an eyebrow. “You realize that this is a formal event, do you not?”
Isabelle let go of Victoria’s hand and nodded. “Of course.”
“It does not look like you do.” Miss Fitzroy focused on her loose hair while two other girls came to flank her. “You should leave.”
“Do you really think that you are going to be able to find a husband looking like that?” one of the other girls asked, her tone as sharp as her upturned nose.
The third girl laughed and shook her head. “It is going to be such fun watching the gentlemen snub you. If your horrid accent is not enough to drive them away, then what you are wearing certainly will be.”
A lump rose in Isabelle’s throat.
Before she could say anything in response, the Dowager Duchess swept in like an avenging angel with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. It was the kind of look that would even send soldiers running for the hills.
“Shame on you,” the Dowager Duchess admonished in a hiss, her voice low and steady as venom spewed from her words. “You are wretched girls. Isabelle has more class than the three of you put together, and far more grace if this is the abuse she has endured at your hands.”
Miss Fitzroy refused to lower her gaze in shame, but her two friends backed away quickly, muttering apologies.
The Dowager Duchess drew herself even taller. “I shall be speaking to your mothers about this.”
Isabelle’s jaw dropped and the lump in her throat dissolved. Though it wasn’t the first time the Dowager Duchess had come to her defense, it still shocked her.
Miss Fitzroy and her friends spun and disappeared to the other side of the room as the doors to the ballroom opened. The young women filtered through, but the Dowager Duchess put her hand on Isabelle’s shoulder.
“Stay back a moment, Isabelle,” she said with a warmth to her voice. “If these young ladies are so sure that you are less than everyone else, then we are going to make a lasting impression.”
Victoria smiled and left the two of them alone, following the other young women out of the room.
Isabelle clasped her hands in front of her, turning to the dowager. “Thank you for intervening.”
“Young women are just as horrible now as they were in my day.” The dowager frowned as the last of the women filtered out of the room. “Now is your chance. Walk in there with your head held high and do not let any of them make you believe that you are less than them.”
Isabelle nodded, butterflies erupting in her stomach as she dropped her hands to her side, striding to the doors, gathering all the confidence that she could muster. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she was determined to get through the ball without making a fool of herself.
And as she walked into the ballroom and all eyes turned to her, she had never felt more confident.
Nobody moved for what felt like an eternity. People watched her but it was as if none of them had been prepared to approach her. Perhaps they thought that she was beneath them and they would be wasting their time in doing so.
Lord Townshend stepped forward and her heart sank.
He bowed slightly before standing straight and clasping his hands behind his back. “I was wondering if I might have the first dance.”
She tried to find the words to tell him no. He was one of the last people on earth she would dance with. After the scene he made while they were promenading, it would be best to send him away.
It would not be proper to embarrass him when all eyes were upon them.
Isabelle opened her mouth to agree when a deep voice cleared his throat behind her.
“Unfortunately, her first dance has already been spoken for.”