Chapter Four
Ismay did not feel like celebrating. She rolled over and muffled a scream of frustration in her pillow.
Her paper, the work she’d poured her heart and soul into for over two years had been denied.
And not for the first time. She’d had other work that had been turned down before.
She could no longer tell herself the old lie that she simply had to prove herself, that hard work and good scholarship would be recognised in the end.
For ten years she had worked hard and studied with other volcanologists who’d come to Naples.
She’d been told in private many times by her mentors how good her work and her insights were.
But none of that had ever been acknowledged in public.
She knew why. Such insights from a woman were a threat to men.
A double threat when it came from an unmarried woman who wore trousers, spoke her mind and had no intentions of marrying just to satisfy someone else’s expectations for her life.
Ismay rubbed at her temples. Now in truth she did have a headache.
Her maid, Giulia, entered quietly, shutting the door softly, her voice a considerate whisper. ‘Do you need another lavender compress?’ Ismay sat up and shook her head. Compresses couldn’t cure what ailed her.
‘I had your gown for this evening pressed,’ Giulia offered with gentle cheeriness. ‘One of the girls will bring it up shortly. We can start with your hair. We do have to hurry. Your mother wants everyone in the drawing room by seven.’ This last was offered with apology.
Ismay sighed. That was something else she didn’t feel like celebrating—this dinner to feast the arrival of Alistair Burke-Price.
Her parents were acting as if he was the prodigal son returned.
True, the dinner had been planned in advance as just a social occasion between friends, but Alistair’s presence had turned it into something of a spectacle.
Of course her parents would celebrate him.
Everyone celebrated him. His golden looks, his effortless charm, his ability to make everyone around him feel good about themselves.
Except her. They’d always been rivals, always competing.
Even when they were a continent apart she’d felt in competition with him.
The letters from Hugh Burke-Price were always glowing, filled with news of his son.
She paled by comparison. She was still losing, even when it came to her own parents.
Did they even see her—the real her—at all?
Or did they just choose to ignore her, preferring to believe the image she presented every night at the dinner table?
The real her had to slip out of the house under pretences of ladylike indispositions.
She sat down at the dressing table with a sigh.
‘Shall we put your hair up? I can pile it loosely on top with ringlets.’
‘Whatever you want is fine.’ Ismay shrugged and then regretted her lacklustre response.
Giulia was doing her best. It wasn’t her maid’s fault she was in a bad mood.
Ismay managed a smile. ‘You always choose well for me.’ A downstairs girl came up with the gown draped over her arms and laid it carefully on the bed.
Ismay groaned. ‘The pink? Truly?’ Pink at twenty-eight?
Pink was a girl’s colour, a débutante’s hue.
She had been neither for several years—further proof that her parents didn’t see her at all.
‘Your mother insists it’s your signature colour. You do look nice in it, miss, and the rose tint offers some sophistication,’ Giulia said, quick to allay her worries. Giulia truly was too good for her. Ismay nodded and said nothing, letting her maid work in peace.
It hadn’t always been like this. Growing up, her parents had embraced her wildness.
They’d not minded when she’d ran with the boys instead of playing with the girls in the summers.
They’d encouraged her education, hiring tutors for her in Latin, history and mathematics.
Her father had schooled her himself in art, taken her to his warehouse offices with him.
She’d learned the business beside him. She enjoyed it—the thrill of discovery, of holding a piece of history in her hand.
Someday it would all be hers, and she was determined to do her father proud, although these days most of her time at the warehouse was spent in the back room with ledgers and papers.
Her mother had been adamant she be careful not to be seen too publicly for the sake of her reputation.
Ismay did not give a fig for her reputation.
But her parents did, which was the cause of the lingering tension between them.
Life in Naples had been good until she’d turned eighteen and Edward Ashford had come to town.
Her parents had seen the consequences of their own parenting eccentricities first hand.
The stark reality of their failure had been driven home in no uncertain terms. No one wanted a well-educated, outspoken bride who knew more than they did.
If she didn’t marry, who would care for her when they were gone?
Who would care for them in their old age?
In their encouragement of her own personal expression, they’d not prepared their little family for a future in which their daughter must wed in order to be socially viable and financially secure.
Ismay watched the transformation take place in the mirror: her braid brushed out, her long hair gathered up in what looked like an effortless pile of waves and ringlets.
The woman in the mirror gave the appearance of a real lady, genteel, well-mannered, soft spoken, the type of woman who might have spent the afternoon lying down, in truth.
For her parents’ sake, she had tried—still tried—to be this woman, perhaps in atonement for the failed engagement with Edward Ashford.
Despite her boast to Alistair this afternoon about her ability to be ladylike, she’d never succeeded in anything more than creating a double life for herself.
She felt as if she’d been raised to be a racehorse only to find out she was expected to be a mule.
Everything had become a compromise. At home she lived a life that would please her parents, and in secret she lived a life that would please her.
The two did not mix. Her parents would be mortified if they knew she’d confronted Professor Loughty this afternoon.
They’d probably hear of it eventually. It would only be a matter of time before the details filtered up to her father.
Her only hope was that Loughty would choose to keep it quiet for fear of losing face over being dressed down by a woman.
Giulia brought her jewellery case to the dressing table.
‘The rose quartz choker would be appropriate for tonight, and the matching ear-bobs.’ A choker.
Yes. How aptly named. Some days she did feel like she was choking, a pet kept on a leash for fear of what she might do if she were ever let off that leash.
It took both girls to help her into the evening gown, and then she was ready.
Giulia handed her an ivory and pink fan trimmed in gilt.
There was no further reason to delay. ‘You look lovely,’ Giulia assured her.
She did look like a lovely lie—all pink and delicate elegance.
None of that was her. But tonight, she would take a bit of pleasure in playing the part just to shock Alistair.
He’d not thought she’d changed. He might have surprised her on the hill today, but tonight she’d surprise him.
* * *
Alistair was talking with her father near the fireplace, a drink in his hand, when she entered the drawing room.
There were far more people here for supper than she’d anticipated, but she’d spied him immediately, which she couldn’t decide was to her credit or not.
He’d washed, shaved and put on dark evening clothes, the uniform of every man present, and yet he stood out.
Perhaps it was the burnished blond sheen of his hair, or the breadth of his shoulders in the well-fitted jacket.
Or maybe it was something smaller than that.
Maybe it was the considering tilt of his head that said You have all my attention as he listened to her father.
Sir Thomas looked up as she approached and held out a hand. ‘Here is Ismay now.’ Her father beamed at her. ‘You look beautiful tonight, my dear. You must meet our special guest, Alistair Burke-Price. I am sure you remember him, although it’s been years since you’ve seen each other.’
She offered her hand to Alistair and dipped a polite curtsy.
‘Delighted.’ And she was. Completely delighted.
Shock was an apt word to describe the look on his face as he bent over her hand.
It was worth coming down to supper in this gown to see those blue eyes go wide with what could only be termed male appreciation, as they had for a moment on the hill this afternoon before realisation had struck.
Only, this time, he knew who she was, which made the victory all the sweeter.
‘The pleasure is mine, Miss Rose.’ Alistair smiled, his eyes dancing with their shared secret.
Something warm unfurled inside her at the thought of being in on a conspiracy with him.
Usually, they were on opposing sides. The butler appeared and announced dinner.
Alistair offered his arm. ‘May I take you in, Miss Rose?’
He bent to her ear as they joined the queue into the dining room.
She caught the citrusy smell of his cologne, bergamot with a hint of vanilla.
It was a suitable scent for him, full of energy and vitality.
Alistair had never lacked for those. ‘I see we’re both on our best behaviour.
I hardly recognised you without the trousers and the braid.
’ He’d never lacked for bluntness either. That hadn’t changed.
‘Hush,’ she whispered admonishingly. ‘That’s to be our secret.’