“Then…yes. Very well. I’ll marry you,” she relented.
As she looked up at him, he saw that there was no fear in her eyes. Whatever she might be feeling about this arrangement, it wasn’t that.
What must she be thinking right now?
And what had he been thinking, coming over here on no more than a bit of gossip and claiming a wife he hardly knew?
It was, perhaps, the maddest thing he had ever done. But the expression on her face made it impossible for him to regret it.
CHAPTER 4
“Well, what do you think, Isabella?” her father asked. “Do you prefer the roses or the lilies?”
“The roses,” Isabella said, offering a smile to the florist, who after all had nothing to do with Isabella’s current distress. It wasn’therfault that Isabella’s family was being horrible to her. It wasn’t her fault that Rosalind was bitter and jealous or that their father was angry.
“The roses are hideous,” Rosalind spoke up. “They’ll embarrass us, Father, if you allow Isabella to have them. As though she hasn’t embarrassed us enough already!”
“I think they’re pretty,” Felicity spoke up loyally.
“Well, you would,” Rosalind sneered. “You’ve never had good taste.”
“Don’t speak to her that way,” Isabella said. “Thank you, Felicity.”
“Father, this wedding is going to be a joke!” Rosalind said. “Do you know what people are saying about our family?”
“Do you?” Isabella asked. “There have been no social events since my engagement to the Duke. You haven’t had the chance to speak to anyone about it. Where would you have heard anything about it?”
“I know enough of society to be able toimaginethe sorts of things that are being said—which is certainly more than I can say for you!” Rosalind argued. “You’re not even really a lady! And now, with this engagement happening so quickly and without even a courtship to preface it…well, Father, you must realize what that looks like. People are going to think that Isabella is caught up in something indecent. For all we know, sheis. Why would the Duke agree to marry her after the way she’s behaved, making up lies about him the way she did? Indeed, why would he want to marry her at all, especially after you told him that I was available? Who would want to marry the daughter of a maid and not a very pretty one at that?”
“I think I will choose the roses,” Isabella decided, ignoring her half-sister’s taunts and barbs. The idea of a marriage to the Duke was an intimidating one to be sure—but then, soon enough she would be out of this house for good and would never have to tolerate Rosalind’s casual cruelty again. Whatever marriage looked like, she was sure that it was bound to be preferable to living here.
Besides, the process of planning for a wedding had turned out to be quite enjoyable. The flowers were not the first thing that had driven Rosalind mad with jealousy. Just yesterday, they had all gone into town to choose Isabella’s wedding gown, the very first new gown she had had in her life. Rosalind had been irate.
“Why can’t I have a new gown?” she’d demanded.
“You have one already,” her father had pointed out. “It was delivered just two days ago.”
“But that was supposed to be for the Leicester ball. Not for this.”
“This wedding will now be taking place before Leicester. You can wear your new gown to the wedding, and then you’ll be able to wear it again, or something else, to Leicester.”
Rosalind had worked herself up into a fury. “But that’s unfair!” she’d said. “I ought to have something new, Father! Why can’t I?”
“Because I need to buy Isabella a new gown,” her father had said patiently. “And I haven’t enough money right now to do both.” Their family had never suffered financially, but the Viscount’s business certainly went through high and low periods, and he was not skilled in the art of setting money aside to provide for himself during the harder times. If the wedding were taking place six months from now, he would likely have been able to purchase new gowns for everyone. That day, though, he’d had the money available to purchase one.
“If you can only buy one gown, it should be for me, not for her,” Rosalind had said.
Isabella had turned away, determined not to engage in this silliness, but Felicity had interceded. “You’ve got to stop this,” she’d said. “I know you wish this was your wedding and that you were the one marrying the Duke, but this is Isabella’s wedding. She’s the one who needs the new gown. She’s the one who is going to be a bride. Of course, Father is going to buy her a gown and not one for either of us. You may be the favorite on most days, but this day will be about Isabella—and I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about that!”
Felicity had looked rather shocked, as though she couldn’t quite believe she had said all that.
Isabella certainly hadn’t been able to believe it. Her sweet, gentle sister, taking a stand on her behalf—what a lovely thing to have a chance to see! She’d been so proud of Felicity. And it had occurred to her that—although she would never stop trying to provide for Felicity’s future—she didn’t need to fear what would happen when Felicity was on her own, when Isabella had left home and gone to the home of her husband instead. It let a weight off her shoulders to know that her sister was going to be able to fend for herself in that regard, that she was going to be all right. It was wonderful to see that she knew how to stop Rosalind from pushing her around.
And the same thing was happening now with the flowers. Felicity was standing up—not for herself this time but on behalf of Isabella.
It was entertaining, if a bit frustrating, to watch the way Rosalind was responding to the fact that she was currently not the most important person in the world. Pouting at the gown, berating the flower choice—and now, she flounced over to the double doors that led over to the garden and threw them open. Of course, the Viscount didn’t reprimand her, even though the night air was cold and her action was obviously only one of defiance. Isabella knew that if she had opened those doors, her father would have scolded her fiercely. Rosalind was demonstrating the fact that she was still the favorite and that she could get away with anything.
“Of course, he might be a Duke, but he’s still a bit—well, I wouldn’t want to marry him,” she said self-righteously.
