Isabella lifted her chin higher, folding her arms. “If you know so very much about fencing, Your Grace, perhaps you should demonstrate your superior skill so that the ladies may learn from your infinite wisdom.”
Gasps again, followed by whispers and a few stifled laughs.
Cassian stared at her.
She stared right back.
The nerve of this woman.
For a heartbeat, the tension tightened like a drawn bowstring, and Cassian looked around at the semicircle of eager ladies watching him with scandalous interest, each waiting to see whether the Duke of Everthorne would rise to the challenge.
His gaze slid back to Isabella, and her eyes were bright, too bright and far too satisfied with her provocation.
Cassian stepped back slowly, refusing to dignify the challenge with a direct answer. Instead, he turned to the fencing instructor.
“Ensure she does not strain herself,” he said, his voice as sharp as steel as he nodded toward Lady Kendrick, “Or I will personally see to replacing you with someone who understands the fragility of age. I am sure that you would not like to end up on the floor like one of your wooden foils…” He threatened.
“Y-yes, Your Grace. I shall go easy on her, I assure you. Gentle footwork only, slow demonstrations.” The instructor bowed quickly.
“Good,” Cassian interrupted, sparing Isabella one last, unreadable glance—something heated, irritated, and grudgingly aware.
Without another word, he pivoted sharply and strode out of the ballroom.
An hour later, the ballroom was filled with cheerful chatter and lightly flushed faces. Ladies compared their stances, laughed at each other’s missteps, and declared their surprise at how invigorating the lessons had been, and Lady Kendrick dismissed the instructor with warm gratitude before turning to Isabella.
“Oh, my dear Isabella,” she exclaimed, taking Isabella’s hands in hers, “what an extraordinary beginning! You did wonderfully. Absolutely wonderfully. This is precisely the sort of spirit I hoped the Laurel Club would inspire.”
Isabella, cheeks warm from exertion and perhaps from something else entirely, filled with modest pride.
“Thank you, Lady Kendrick. I am relieved everything went well.”
“And proud, I hope?”
“Very.” A soft smile curved Isabella’s lips.
Lady Kendrick squeezed her hands. “The first meeting was a success. I shall sleep happily tonight,” the older woman exclaimed, and Isabella laughed, the last remnants of tension slipping from her shoulders.
Soon enough, coats and cloaks were retrieved, farewells exchanged, and the ladies departed in clusters, chattering excitedly about the next session.
Christine linked her arm with Isabella’s as they made their way out of the ballroom and toward the entrance hall.
“What a remarkable day,” Christine said warmly. “I daresay you created quite the impression. I am happy for you.”
Isabella exhaled, feeling the weight of the day settling over her. “I am glad. I only hoped they would find joy in it.”
“Oh, they did. I could see it on every face.”
The carriage awaited them at the bottom of the townhouse steps, but Isabella paused before climbing in, glancing once more at the mansion.
This time, no one was watching through the window.
After today, she should have felt nothing but triumph, satisfaction, and pride.
Yet… a small part of her wilted in disappointment.
A soft knock, too gentle to be her maid, roused Isabella from her strained slumber.
“Come in,” Isabella called, pushing her hair from her face, stretching her arms.
