In all truth, Isabella knew absolutely nothing about the family and never had the faintest interest in them—aside from learning about the sought-after mansion, which rose to greater fame after its restoration.
“I heard from my brother that the Stolen Duke dares not show his face at events because…” the lady standing nearby paused, only to lean in towards her friends and still speak in the same octave, “… he is a fraud. The family is keeping it a secret to preserve their lineage.” She continued conspiratorially.
Gasps followed the absurd revelation, evidence that the gullible ladies had believed it.
“I assure you, it’s true,” the lady added, leaning back with one folded arm to watch the display of shock on the other ladies’ faces.
“Well, I heard that Lady Kendrick is the Duke’s maternal grandmother, said to have been with him since his return,” another lady muttered, sparking interest.
“Who knows? She could have been the one who orchestrated the plan with the fraudulent Duke.”
“I doubt they could say that right in the Duke’s face,” Isabella muttered to herself right at the moment her sister and her husband appeared beside her.
“What are you murmuring about?” Beatrice inquired, her blue eyes sharp and assessing, curiously etched on every corner of her face.
“Nothing important,” Isabella answered, though her eyes drifted back to the group of gossiping ladies.
This man had opened his home to them, offered something, anything beyond yet another tedious ball, and still, they speculated about him? The audacity was almost unbelievable.
In that moment, the orchestra ceased playing, and Lady Kendrick stepped into the very center of the room, tapping her glass lightly with a silver butter knife. Her icy-blue gown caught the candlelight in a soft shimmer. Even in her mid-sixties, the Dowager held herself with so much poise and quiet authority that Isabella could only hope to be as elegant as her in later years.
“My esteemed guests, if I might have your attention,” Lady Kendrick said, her voice gentle yet carrying easily.
The ballroom hushed at once. All eyes turned toward her, and the orchestra shifted into an even softer strain, granting the Dowager the space to speak.
“I thank you for honoring us with your company this evening. His Grace and I hope that this friendly…”
As Isabella looked about, she noticed the subtle shifts in the men’s postures. They were leaning in, eyes sharpened, lips twitching with barely contained satisfaction, as though they sensed an opportunity approaching.
Conversely, Leo seemed unbothered. By the look on her brother-in-law’s face, Isabella sensed that he had nothing to prove tonight, for his eyes were fixed on Beatrice.
Good,he should be spoiling her.
“You know,” Beatrice whispered to Leo, “it’s best you avoid participating in this competition. There are far too many men excited at the prospect of violence here. I would hate for something unfortunate to happen to you. Especially if it can be avoided.”
In response, Leo chuckled, nuzzling his nose in his wife’s neck. “My love, I’m no posturing youth desperate to prove his mettle. Let them hack at one another if they must. I’m perfectly content—more than content—with the prize already at my side,” he whispered back, pulling away and taking her hand in his as he placed a small kiss on the back of it.
There it was again: that sharp, private twist in her chest she never quite managed to master whenever she witnessed her sister with her husband. Tonight, it settled more darkly thanbefore, a lonely little ache that she could taste like something bitter.
No wonder, then, that she felt an unexpected flicker of relief when the young, blond gentleman began to make his way toward her. Rifling through her memory of the numerous events she had attended since her debut, she recalled that the man approaching her was the Marquess of Falchester.
“Lady Isabella, the pleasure is quite beyond words. You are, as always, a vision. Your beauty is so vivid that one is tempted to shield one’s eyes. Truly, beholding you is not unlike witnessing dawn break across an untroubled ocean, the first golden light shimmering upon the waves. It quite steals the breath,” Lord Falchester began, then took her hand in his and placed a quick kiss on it.
Isabella had to employ every ounce of self-control to prevent herself from cringing. She hardly knew this man and could rarely stand such flowery compliments from people she knew, let alone men she’d barely spoken to twice.
“Easy on the flattery, Lord Falchester. My sister rarely believes the words poured from the mouth of a man, especially an unmarried one,” Beatrice chimed in, and a wave of relief rushed over Isabella as the Marquess pulled his lips away from her hand and released her.
“Your Graces.” Lord Falchester bowed to Beatrice and Leo. “My sincerest apologies. Your presence quite escaped me for a moment. Lady Isabella’s loveliness has a most distracting effect;one can scarcely be expected to notice anything else.” His pale brown eyes matched the sandy blonde hair on his head and the handlebar mustache above his lip.
Leo nodded once. “Noted. I trust your vision has now fully returned.”
Lord Fletcher bristled for the briefest of moments. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace.” His fingers lightly brushed the edge of his waistcoat as he straightened, a deliberate elegance in every motion. “It was scarcely my intention to show disrespect. Not when my purpose in approaching the lovely Lady Isabella is to declare, most earnestly, that I intend to win this competition in the hope of earning her favor.” His eyes darted back to Isabella.
Isabella would have preferred to sink into the depths of the sea than hear those words. A shiver of embarrassment ran along her skin, but she forced the smile she had perfected over countless encounters with men like him.
She knew what the lords of the ton were about: the luscious dowry, as well as connection to nobles of higher caliber, she promised as the daughter of a wealthy duke.
Because of that, she had quickly realized that the gentlemen of the ton would say anything and promise any castle she might desire, all for their own personal gain. Their interest was not in her but in what she could provide, which explained why, despite her outspoken nature and three years in society, they still swarmed around her like moths to a flame.
