“Highly unlikely,” Isadora scoffed. “They will have to be more observant than I am for that to ever be the case.”
And besides, Isadora could not see why anyone would ever want to watch over her so closely. She did not admit that part out loud, however.
“Oh, we shall see,” Daphne smirked, playfully.
“Please,” Isadora snorted. “You know well enough that I do not have interest in these things.”
“Yes, yes. You have appointed yourself as the Mother of the house. We know this, Penelope knows this. But truly, you need to re-think things,” Daphne advised.
Isadora simply opted to ignore her.Mother of the house.That was really quite the title, but Isadora had not chosen it. Rather, it was something that she had steppedup to as she did not have much choice after her mother’s passing.
“I need to re-think nothing,” she muttered under her breath. Isadora was quite happy with herself exactly as she was.
“One day you might change your mind,” Daphne said, hopeful as usual. Daphne had never lost her faith in love—and it was something that she always urged her friends to do as well.
“Well, till that day comes, I am perfectly fine as I am,” Isadora insisted. “Now, please…”
“Let you continue watching your sister?” Daphne chuckled, shaking her head.
“Yes,” Isadora insisted. “Precisely that.”
The carriage ride home was unusually silent, save for the occasional rustling of Penelope’s gown as she adjusted herself uncomfortably on the velvet seat.
Isadora had spent the better part of the night ensuring that Penelope remained out of the grasp of men she deemed unworthy, but as always, she had done so without drawing attention to herself. It was an exhausting task, keeping up with her sister’s innocence and her father’s expectations.
Their father, George, Earl of Young, sat opposite them, a peculiar expression on his face—one that unsettled Isadora deeply.
Why is he smiling like that?Isadora thought to herself. It was rare that her father was ever in a good mood. In fact, the fact that he seemed to be made her uneasy.
The carriage rattled to a halt in front of Young Manor, and footmen rushed to open the door. Isadora wanted nothing more than to get upstairs, rid herself of her corset, and finally turn in for the night.
But their father had other plans.
“Girls,” George called as they reached the first step of the grand staircase, “stay a moment. I need to speak with you about something urgent.”
Isadora’s fingers curled against her skirt anxiously. She did not trust his tone of voice. It was the same tone that preceded every decision he made without consulting them. Even Penelope seemed to stiffen beside her.
Isadora turned slowly. “Yes, Father?”
“I have excellent news,” George exclaimed.
Isadora did not trust excellent news. Not when it came from George Morton.
“I have secured a match for Penelope.”
A feeling of dread washed over Isadora. She turned to Penelope, whose lips had parted in surprise.
“A match?” Penelope’s voice was hesitant. “You mean an engagement?”
“Indeed,” George said, as if bestowing a great honor. “I have given the matter much thought, and I believe I have found the perfect husband for you.”
Isadora’s heart pounded violently in her chest.No, no, no.
“Father, I did not know that you were looking for a match for her.” She tried to keep her voice even. “You did not consult with me.”
George shot her a condescending look. “Why would I need to consult with you? Besides, the sooner she finds a match, the better. Having unmarried daughters is a liability that no man wants for himself,” he huffed.
His words had been said so carelessly, but they were reminders that Isadora—while she did act as the mother of the house—did not actually have the privileges of a mother.
