She looked out the window, watching the flickering gaslight of the streetlamps streak across the glass. She could feel the weight of her husband’s presence across the narrow space, and she sought any source of distraction.
She leaned closer to the window, pleased to see that Orion’s belt was visible. She counted the stars, one-two-three…
Luckily, Lady Featherstone is nae far…
After a few passing moments, they arrived and ascended the grand staircase to the townhouse.
Liveried servants ushered them into the grand, glittering ballroom. Isla was overwhelmed by the sound of the ten-piece orchestra, the rich scents of champagne, perfume, and hot gossip.
All eyes turned.
“Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Ealdwick,” the steward announced.
This was the moment thetonwould discuss the rumors, pass judgment on the match, and feast upon the spectacle of her marriage.
The Duke led her forward, his pace unwavering and his shoulders high. She was grateful for his presence, for he was the one radiating a cold confidence that dared anyone to stare too long.
He was a force, and yet, they did stare.
Isla felt hundreds of eyes raking over her, assessing her choice of gown, her hairstyle, her posture. The silence was quickly replaced by low-pitched whispering, barely masked by the music that played. Isla didn’t need to hear the words they spoke to know their subject.
The scars. The spinster. The fool who married her.
A burning heat crept up her neck, and her hands clenched on her husband’s arm. She felt every single mark on her face, magnified tenfold under the brilliant light of the chandeliers. She tried to smile, but her lips felt stiff and dry. She licked and bit them, trying to calm herself.
“Duchess,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her wrist. “Eyes forward. Let them watch. They envy what they’ll never have.” He glanced down at her briefly. “You’re the Duchess of Ealdwick. Don’t forget it.”
The cool, unyielding force of his will poured into her, steadying her like an anchor in a stormy sea. She inhaled deeply, adjusted her posture, and pushed her shoulders back. She fixed her eyes on a distant point above the crowded floor, just like a dancer would use while doing pirouettes.
“I apologize,” the Duke murmured as he took a step closer to her.
“For what?” She asked softly as he leaned close enough for his breath to brush her ear.
“I must be away for just a moment, Isla,” he said as he placed his hand on the small of her back, sending an unwanted thrill up her spine.
“Must you?” She responded, afraid of what would befall her without his shield. “We only just arrived.”
“I see the Earl of Bedfordshire. We have estates bordering one another in the country, and I must discuss the tenancy agreements before he leaves the city. It is one of the important matters I must see to while we are in London. It will not take long.”
Isla simply nodded, his command still ringing in her ears. “Aye, Yer Grace. I shall remain here.”
As soon as the Duke melted into the crowd, Isla felt the protective shield drop away.
She quickly scanned the room and spotted them.
Oh, thank goodness.
At the other corner of the room, Callum, Eilidh, and Aunt Honoria clustered near some ornamental evergreen trees decorated with sparkling gold garland.
Isla walked quickly toward them, her steps wide as she closed the space.
“Isla!” Eilidh cried, her eyes wide and sparkling, rushing forward to hug her sister tightly. “Oh, ye are magnificent in that shade of blue! Everyone is starin’, but only because they are consumed with envy.”
Isla returned the hug, relieved by the familiar, genuine warmth of her sister’s arms. “Nonsense,a ghraidh,” she whispered with endearment. “But it is good to see friendly faces here. Ye ken how much I hate these things.”
“Surely I do, it is a wonder ye have been able to avoid so many of them!”
“Being a scarred spinster for most of me life helped?—”
