Christine entered with a small, warm smile.
“I hope I did not wake you?” Christine asked lightly, and Isabella shook her head.
“No,” she replied. “I was half-awake.”
Christine stepped further into the room. “An invitation to Lady Hamilton’s sixtieth birthday celebration arrived during the week. I did not tell you sooner because you were preoccupied with preparations for the club, but now that the first day is behind you, I thought it best to bring it up.”
She produced a cream-colored envelope sealed with a heavy stamp from her robe.
“You should attend with your father and me. It will not be so regrettable an evening, I promise.”
Isabella nodded instantly, wasting no time on baseless thoughts. Truly, she’d grown bored of balls and the likes, but she still attended them just in case she was fortunate enough to meet a man who checked all her boxes.
“Yes, I shall attend,” she replied to seal her agreement.
Christine blinked, then clasped her hands in delight.
“How wonderful! I must confess I had a gown prepared in advance for you. I suspected you might refuse, but I could not resist.”
Isabella’s heart warmed. Gratitude swelled quietly in her chest, not merely for the gown but for Christine’s attentiveness, her care, and her understanding of Isabella.
“Thank you,” Isabella murmured, “truly.”
Christine’s smile softened. “The event is this evening. I shall have your dress pressed and ready.”
Lady Hamilton’s celebration was, as expected, a grand affair. The ’hostess’s townhouse was a maze of glittering chandeliers, aromatic garlands, and elegantly dressed guests who filled the rooms with bright laughter and polite chatter. Music drifted from the orchestra’s corner, sweet and melodious as the event commenced.
Isabella entered on her father’s arm, Christine walking beside them. The gown Christine had chosen for her, a soft rose color embroidered with silver detailing, made Isabella feel bothgraceful and beautiful, and the warmth in Christine’s eyes assured her she need not second-guess herself.
They had barely stepped into the drawing room when the whispers began.
“Oh, there she is, Lady Isabella, who is on her way to making all the respectable ladies of the ton wanton.”
“A club for what purpose, I wonder?”
“Oh, it shall turn to dust before the next meeting, mark my words.”
Isabella held her chin high, refusing to let their murmurs prick her composed façade.
Let them talk. Let them sneer.None of them had the faintest idea of the determination to do exploits that burned within her.
After congratulating the host on her birthday, Isabella separated herself from her family, only to regret it the moment the one man she hoped to avoid stalked towards her.
Lord Falchester.
He approached with his usual condescending air, his eyes sweeping over her as though she were a painting he was appraising, one he believed ought to belong to him.
“Lady Isabella,” he drawled, bowing only as much as propriety demanded, “How radiant you look this evening. I must say, time has been kind to you. You grow lovelier each day.”
“Time treats us all the same,” Isabella replied coolly.
He chuckled, finding her remark far more flirtatious than she had intended. “I have heard,” he continued, lowering his voice, “that you are a part of a ladies’ meeting of sorts?”
“A ladies’ club,” she corrected.
“A ladies’ club,” he echoed dismissively, “Dearest, what interest could ladies possibly have in such exertions? Surely you will become bored with it soon enough.”
“Perhaps,” Isabella said, her voice steady, “but that is my decision to make, My Lord.”
