Chapter 19
Nineteen
Isabelle glanced to the side of the room where Miss Fitzroy stood at Windham’s side. His posture was stiff as he spoke with Miss Fitzroy and her mother.
She supposed he would have to, given that this was the Fitzroys’ ball. It was only proper to speak with the host and yet it left her feeling unsettled. She didn’t lie the way Miss Fitzroy batted her eyes at him or hung off his arm.
It’s not my job to worry about him. He is a grown man who is capable of handling himself. If he didn’t wish to speak with her, he simply wouldn’t.
Lord Milton drew her from her thoughts as he came back over with a glass of water in his hand. “I thought that you could use this. You look parched.”
Isabelle forced a smile. “Thank you, but I’m fine for now.”
Lord Milton shrugged and set the glass on the table to the side. “I don’t think I’ve ever much cared for balls. There seems to be too much going on and not enough at the same time. People are altogether too involved with who is courting who, and who might glance at another for a second too long.”
The corner of Isabelle’s mouth twitched. “If you aren’t a fan, then what are you doing here?”
“Well, there was a rumor that a beautiful American woman was going to be here and I thought it best to come see her.”
Her cheeks warmed as she rolled her eyes. “And there you go, being like all the other charmers.”
“You think I’m charming?” he teased, shuffling a little closer to her.
She laughed and arched an eyebrow. “You know you are. And I think it’s rather cruel. You give all these women thoughts of marrying you, and then you make it clear to anyone who will listen—at least from what I hear—that you aren’t looking for a wife.”
The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I could be persuaded if the right woman were searching for a husband as well.”
“And what’s brought you to this change in opinion?”
“One day, I will need an heir to pass down my estate to. My poor mother would be rolling in her grave if I allowed her ancestral home to go to a distant cousin.”
Isabelle leaned back against the column behind her. “That means that a marriage is a purely strategic decision for you then? You are not looking to love the woman you marry?”
“I hardly think love needs to be involved, but companionship would be nice. Perhaps with an American woman. One who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Though, I wouldn’t be compelled to anyone I couldn’t talk to.”
He really would be the perfect husband. The Windhams would be saved and I could spend the rest of my life with a companion. Resentment wouldn’t build from a one-sided love.
Isabelle could see a world in which their marriage would work. They wouldn’t expect more than the other could give. Lord Milton ranked high enough that Windham would get a nice little bonus from the marriage.
“And if you found such a woman, you would marry her this season?”
“Without a doubt.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. Though he was a charmer—and she didn’t trust him because of that facet of his personality—there was a marriage that could be arranged.
“Would you like to dance?” Lord Milton asked, holding out his hand as other couples took to the floor to begin waltzing.
This is my chance. He’s already said he would marry me.
I just need to wait until he proposes.
“I’d love to,” she said, allowing him to lead her out on the floor and spin her around beneath his arm before pulling her back to him.
Lord Milton led them around the dance floor with the other couples. “If I were to propose, would you marry me?”
No.
“Yes.” The word was bitter on her tongue and try as she might, she couldn’t keep her mind from turning to Windham. She forced the thought of him away with a small smile. “Tell me more about what our lives could look like together.”
“Well, there would be children, to be sure. You would be taking care of them.”
“No governess?” Isabelle asked, already dreading the thought of caring for several children on her own.
Though she thought she would likely be able to do it, there was the worry that nothing she did would be enough. Especially if there were several children to her singular person. How would she make sure that everyone was loved and felt equal in their mother’s eyes?
Lord Milton gave her a look that made her feel as if she was simple. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t like the thought of another person entering the home and influencing our children.”
“Don’t you think it would be good for them to be taught by someone who was been trained to care for a teach children? I would do all I could, but a governess is invaluable.”
“As you husband, I would also expect that my word was final,” he said, his tone cool.
Isabelle bit back the snarky response that jumped to the tip of her tongue. Right now, she should be telling him that she would never allow him to control her, but that might ruin the marriage prospect.
Growing up, she had always been told that a man didn’t want a wife who spoke back.
Lord Milton seemed like exactly the kind of man who take issue with his wife having opinions.
He smirked and reached up to run his hand along her cheek, sending a shiver of revulsion down her spine. She didn’t want to be touched by this man in any way. It felt as if her skin was crawling.
How do I convince him that we would be better off not spending more time together?
She looked to where Windham would be standing as they spun. However, he wasn’t there. He would be able to see the panic on her face. He certainly wouldn’t be coming to save her.
Instead, when she and Lord Milton turned again, she saw Windham leaving the room with Stanford, laughing at something the other man said.
Her heart sank deeper in her chest.
“I do think we will have to practice your dancing before we get married. I won’t have you making a fool of me at our wedding.”
Isabelle’s cheeks hurt from forcing another smile. “I’ve been told more than once that I’m not the best at dancing, though I have had some improvement since coming to England. The dowager duchess is an incredible teacher.”
“Not incredible enough, apparently,” he said as Isabelle missed done of the steps and nearly went stumbling to the side.
It was by some miracle that she kept dancing. She didn’t know what propelled her to keep moving, but she did it. She had to.
The Windham duchy depended on her.
Lady Victoria depended on her.
And yet, she was left with nobody to depend on.
Lord Milton let go of her as the song finished. She raised her hands, clapping along with the others as the musicians began another song.
He sighed and took her by the hands, lowering them. “If we are wed, you’ll be a lady. You don’t lower yourself to the standards of the lesser class.”
Isabelle’s smile fell. “I will applaud those who do what I cannot.”
“You cannot play an instrument?”
She stiffened, standing taller before she remembered who he expected her to be. The demure little field mouse. The woman who would submit to him and any of his whims.
That was the woman she needed to be, which gave her the best idea she had to date.
With a gasping breath, she started fanning herself. “Do you find it warm in here, Lord Milton? Perhaps it would be best if we were to rest for a moment.”
His face softened, but there was a lingering annoyance to his eyes as he pressed one hand to the small of her back, guiding her through the throngs of people. “We’ll find you somewhere to rest.”
Isabelle had never faked a fainting spell before. It was a rather British idea. One that she wasn’t fond of, but if it got her out of this horrid conversation and back to Windham House, she would have a fainting spell with the best of them.
Lord Milton led the way to an unoccupied chase and ushered her down onto it. She draped herself over it, still fanning her forehead as if she was overwhelmed by the festivities.
For her grand finale, she gave a deep sigh and let her eyelids flutter shut, her body going limp.
Lord Milton muttered something under his breath that Isabelle didn’t quite catch.
“What’s happened?” the dowager duchess asked, worry in her voice.
Please don’t tell him I’m faking. Please don’t tell him I’m faking the spell.
“Her delicate nature couldn’t possibly handle the excitement of the ball.” Lord Milton had disapproval clear in his tone as he spoke.
The dowager duchess made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. “Be so kind as to fetch a carriage. I’ll send her home, and she’ll recover in the comforts of her own room.”
Thank you, Dowager Duchess.
“Of course,” Lord Milton grumbled, his footsteps echoing until they faded away.
“You can stop faking your ailment now, Miss Alden. He’s gone.”
Isabelle let out a sigh of relief and sat up. “I couldn’t bear anymore of his thoughts about what a marriage should be.”
The dowager duchess’ face softened. “Go home and get some rest. I will create a diversion for you. And I would suggest that you give some thought to whether you wish to marry Lord Milton or not.”
“I suspect he’ll be asking for my hand within the week.” Isabelle glanced around to make sure that he wasn’t coming back over. “I intend to accept if he proposes.”
“It’s your life, child, you needn’t marry the first man who offers.”
Isabelle’s tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “And then your family will suffer. Lady Victoria is too dear to me to allow that.”
Lady Victoria came rushing over as if she was drawn by her name. “Oh, Mama, Isabelle, you wouldn’t believe the two young lords I just got the pleasure of dancing with!”
The dowager duchess shot Isabelle a look and Isabelle shook her head. Lady Victoria was happy and that was all that mattered.
“Lord Foxworth might just be the man of my dreams! Lord Stanford is always lovely, but you know that he is Felix’s friend. Lord Foxworth on the other hand is so kind and his brown eyes are warm and inviting.”
“You should go back out there and dance with him,” Isabelle said, giving her a small smile.
Lady Victoria’s brow pulled together. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly fine. I’m just waiting for Lord Milton to return.”
“Oh.” Lady Victoria’s nose wrinkled. She looked over her shoulder as a young man with brown eyes approached. “I’m going to dance with Lord Foxworth again.”
“Have fun, dear,” the dowager duchess said.
Lady Victoria took off and Isabelle’s mind was decided.
If Lord Milton asked for her hand, she would give it.
“He’s coming,” the dowager duchess hissed.
Isabelle fell back to the chaise, arranging herself in the same position Lord Milton left her in.
“The carriage is on its way.”
Perfect. I can finally go home.
And in the morning, she would figure out how she was going to survive her impending marriage.