Isobel sat down, allowing him to tuck in the chair, her stomach tying itself into knots as other people started to filter into the room. Joan hurried over with a smile, finding her seat beside Isobel and sitting down.
“Your veil is boxed and with your trousseau,” Joan said with a smile before glancing around the room. “I can’t believe this is your house now.”
“I hardly believe it myself.” Isobel pressed a hand to her stomach. “Do you think it’s normal for the bride to feel like she’s going to be ill?”
Joan laughed and reached beneath the table, taking her hand and squeezing it tight. “I know this is terrifying for you, but he seems like a good man, especially with the way he was making you laugh before the ceremony.”
Isobel glanced to her side, but the Duke of Foxdrey was gone. Her new husband was off on the other side of the dining room with a glass in his hand and a blonde man at his side. Her brows pulled together as she watched the two of them laughing together, thinking it a bit off he had already abandoned her.
Perhaps his intention is to sit down once the food is served.
“I don’t think you’re breathing,” Joan said, giving her hand another squeeze. “You’re going to get through this.”
“Father might not.” Isobel nodded to their father, noting the way he was stumbling around the other tables in the room, clapping his hand to one man’s shoulder even though she doubted he knew the person.
Joan grimaced and reached for her glass of water, taking a sip, her hand leaving Isobel’s. “I hope he will not urge others to ridicule our family on your wedding day.”
“I doubt he knows how to do anything but bring shame upon us all.” Isobel sat a little taller as some of the staff started making their way into the room with large trays of food. People took their seats, finding the slips of paper with their names on them at each table.
The food was served, the room mostly silent, though the sound of forks and knives on porcelain and whispered conversations broke it up every now and then.
And though the food was on the table, the Duke of Foxdrey still didn’t return to her. The seat beside her remained empty as he stopped to talk to nearly everyone at each table. He laughed with other people, leaning closer and whispering, not once looking in her direction.
Isobel tried to focus on eating, but each time she tried to cut a piece of sausage and bring it to her mouth, a foul taste rose in the back of her throat.
I’m not meant to be here.
“You’ve got that terrified look in your eye,” a woman said as she moved from the other end of the table and slipped into the seat beside Isobel. “I remember my own wedding breakfast and I’m sure I wore the same expression.”
Isobel put her fork down, grateful that she no longer had to pretend to be eating.
“It looks like the jilted bride became the Fox’s wife,” another woman whispered as she passed by the table, her gaze connecting with Isobel’s for a moment before she looked away.
"How desperate she must have been," another voice murmured nearby. "To go from being left at one altar to rushing toward another so quickly."
"Well, what choice did she have?" a third woman said, not bothering to lower her voice. "With a father like Lord Leyton, gambling away every penny, she had to take whatever offer came her way. Even from a man like that."
"I heard he only married her to salvage his reputation. Poor thing probably thinks it's real."
"At least she got a title out of it. Though I wonder how long before he returns to his old ways. A leopard doesn't change its spots, after all."
"Give it a month. Two at most. Then she'll be just another neglected wife while he goes back to his club and his women."
The words landed harshly, each one finding its mark with cruel precision.
The walls seemed to be shrinking around Isobel and causing her breath to come in shorter bursts.
The woman sitting beside her pinched the back of her hand lightly. The sharp little pain shocked her out of her panic, bringing her back to the room and letting her take a deep inhale.
“Thank you for that,” Isobel said, her voice wavering just a little as she noticed how many people were looking at her and then turning to each other and whispering.
“My breakfast was just like this too. There were people judging me everywhere I looked,” the woman said, a note of annoyance in her voice as she stared at a pair of whispering women, her eyes narrowing. The women looked away.
Isobel swallowed hard, fighting past the urge that told her to run from the room. “Did it ever end?”
“Oh yes, my Ramsay threatened them quite well. You would not believe what an angry Scot threatening a room will do to those who wish to tear you down.”
“While I’m a fan of the idea, the thought of threatening your guests sounds oddly foreign.” Isobel smiled, thinking about the look the Duke of Foxdrey would produce if she started threatening people. “It could be effective though.”
