It was obvious he knew he hadn’t. Clasping her hands in front of her, she waited for him to explain, but the arrival of the Duke and Duchess was announced at that exact moment.
Getting into the carriage took all her willpower and strength. Having to constantly remind herself that she needed to act, sit, speak, and even breathe a certain way was an endeavor that exhausted her before she even had to do it.
It was a small mercy that, besides a brief exchange of niceties, the Duchess was far too busy talking about who would and wouldn’t be in attendance at the opera to acknowledge Isobel. She rattled off names like her sole purpose in life was to know everyone and their business. Lord Richard occasionally asked questions about someone, but Isobel tuned them out. She was far too busy wondering if there were similar events on Runus. She would have to ask Ved when next she saw him.
It was sprinkling when they arrived. Lord Richard nearly forgot to offer her his arm as she stepped down from the carriage. Meanwhile, the Duchess seemed perturbed that she couldn’t take her time being admired as she was walked inside due to the inclement weather. “Hurry up. I don’t want my hair ruined,” she snapped.
The moment they were inside the theater, it was a blur of greetings that Isobel did her best to keep up with. Despite holding on to Lord Richard’s arm, she felt alone in a rushing tide. He was charming, falling easily into a role of his own, one that was all rich laughs and smiles showing the perfect amount of teeth. He introduced her to a flurry of people she’d only heard about or seen in passing. A lot of them mentioned they’d be in attendance at their wedding. Every time it was mentioned, it felt like a vise tightening around her lungs. By the time they got to their box, she was breathless.
Lord Richard led her to her seat with a hand hovering at the small of her back. The Duchess sat on her other side. If the carriage ride had been excruciating, this was pure torture—her own personal hell.
Nonetheless, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Isobel sat down.
The Duchess turned toward her with pursed painted lips. “These seats are far better than what you’re accustomed to, aren’t they, Miss Nott?”
Isobel ground her teeth together but was saved from answering by an attendant speaking to them. It was one thing to marry Lord Richard—she knew what she was and wasn’t getting with him—but it was another thing entirely to suffer through interactions with his family.
The overture picked up, the instruments gliding into harmony with each other. Instead of relaxing in the safety the music provided, she had the distinct feeling that she was drowning on land. That she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She’d had that feeling throughout most of her life—like she’d been born at the wrong time, as the wrong person, or in the wrong place. But now the pressure was insistent, an immediate knowing that she should not be sitting here between Lord Richard and his mother.
The grief was overwhelming.
Though Isobel was trying not to attract the notice of those around her, something she did caught Lord Richard’s attention.
“Where are your glasses?” he asked with a tone of annoyance, removing his at the same time. He must have seen something on her face because his own pinched into an anger that had only been hinted at before. “Dotry, won’t you?”
“I don’t feel well.” Isobel didn’t know how she managed to get the words out. Her voice sounded so monotone and controlled thatit scared her. She could feel more than see the Duke and Duchess glaring at her from her other side.
“Why didn’t you say something before we left?” Lord Richard demanded.
Now her anxiety was truly becoming hard to regulate. A prickly sweat broke out over her skin. Her breaths came faster and shorter. Her heart raced. Suddenly, it felt as though her stays were constricting her, cutting off her oxygen. “I’m just… I’ll—” She stood up, and the world twisted, the performers on the stage blurring. The music became a discordant thrum to her racing heart. She careened back, somehow managing to stay upright as she exited the box.
Stumbling a couple of steps, she braced herself against the wall, trying to regain control of her body.
An iron grip wrapped around her upper arm, and a harsh voice filtered through her ragged gulps for air. “What in the devil has possessed you, woman?”
Groaning, she tried to pull out of Lord Richard’s bruising hold, but he was boxing her in. His other hand clamped down on her chin, wrenching her face up to look at him.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he snarled. “I am not as forgiving as your brother and father. I will not tolerate your little tantrums and this odd behavior that borders on improper half the time. You are to bemine, and it is about time you start understanding what that means. We are in this situation because of you. I have a reputation to uphold, and you will not embarrass me any further.”
His grip tightened around her arm, and she winced from the pain. “Lord Richard, let me go.” She attempted to sound assertive, but due to her constricted lungs it came out small and whispered.
“Do you understand me?” He jerked her hard as if he could shake her out of her affliction.
A whimper escaped between her lips, and something dark flashed in his eyes. Satisfaction?
“Take your hands off me,” she rasped, but when he made no move to do so, she attempted to knee him. He pivoted his hips at the right moment, his grip becoming impossibly tighter.
Stepping into her so she couldn’t do it again, he pinned her against the wall. “You spoiled brat. When we are married, I will be glad to break you of this attitude. Even if I have to beat it from you. Say you understand me,” he bit out, spittle landing on her cheek as he did.
“I understand completely,” she snapped, looking straight into those cold blue eyes. In fact, she saw things clearer than she ever had before.
“Good. Now, collect yourself and come back inside.” He let her go with a shove. Then, as if nothing had happened, he fixed his sleeves, pulled his coat back into place, and slipped back into the box.
The thought of returning and sitting next to him left her nauseated. Instead, she turned on her heel, not knowing what she was doing until she was down the hall, down the stairs, and outside.
In the rain.
What had been a sprinkle when they arrived had turned into a full torrential downpour. But the rain grounded her. She took deep breaths, tilting her face toward the sky. She didn’t care that it was soaking her through. Didn’t care that she would have to explain her ruined gown and hair to Lord Richard and his pompous family.
