She and her daughter swept away before Isobel could respond, leaving her standing there with flaming cheeks and clenched fists.
"Don't let her rattle you."
Isobel turned to find Eleanor and Kitty approaching, both looking magnificent in silk gowns that put her own lavender dress to shame.
"Theton'smost unlikely brides, all in one room," Eleanor said with a warm smile. "How delightful."
"Unlikely brides?" Isobel repeated.
“Oh yes,” Kitty laughed, linking her arm through Isobel’s. “Eleanor married a Scottish Duke after a shipwreck scandal. I married a duke after rejecting him for three whole weeks… of our betrothal. And of course, I had the infamous ripped-dress incident. There’s always a scandal. And you,” she added with a grin, “married the notorious Mayfair Fox himself. Honestly, we’re like the scandalous dream team of the ton.”
"Though I must say," Eleanor added, "Andrew seems remarkably changed since marrying you. More settled. Happier, even."
"Does he?" Isobel couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.
Eleanor's sharp gaze missed nothing. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Everything is perfectly fine." The lie tasted like tart. "Except my husband is late to the ball he insisted we host, and everyone is talking about it."
"Men are terrible with timing," Kitty said sympathetically. "Norman once missed our anniversary dinner because he got distracted discussing crop rotation with our steward."
"This is different." Isobel looked around the crowded ballroom. "Andrew promised. He promised to be here, to help Joan, to show thetonthat we're a proper couple. And he couldn't even bother to arrive on time."
"He'll be here," Eleanor said firmly. "Whatever's keeping him must be important."
"That's precisely the problem." Isobel's voice dropped. "The Mayfair Fox will always be more important than me. I knew that when I married him. I just... I thought perhaps things might change."
"And they haven't?" Kitty asked gently.
Before Isobel could answer, Joan appeared at her elbow, slightly breathless and glowing with happiness.
"Isobel! Lord Ashford just asked me to dance for the third time. Do you think that means—" She stopped, taking in Isobel's expression. "What's wrong? Where's Andrew?"
"Detained." The word was clipped.
Joan's face fell. "Oh. I see."
"Don't worry about it." Isobel forced a smile. "You go dance with Lord Ashford.”
Isobel hesitated. A third dance would not go unnoticed — not in a room like this. It would invite speculation, nods exchanged behind gloved hands.
And Andrew had been clear: this evening was meant to give Joan choices, not funnel her neatly toward the first acceptable gentleman who showed interest.
“If you wish to dance with him again,” Isobel said quietly, “do so knowing what it may suggest. But do not feel obliged to limit yourself tonight. You are meant to be seen. Enjoy yourself. That's what tonight is about, helping you find a match."
Isobel paused. "This ball was supposed to be for you, but somehow it's ended up being about me again. About Andrew. About whether he'll show up or let me down."
"I'm not blind, Isobel." Her sister's voice was gentle but firm. "I can see you're hurting. And I can see that you're trying to pretend everything is fine when it clearly isn't." She let out a small smile. “He sure has a talent for causing scenes whether he’s present or not.”
Eleanor and Kitty exchanged glances, both tactfully fading back to give the sisters privacy.
"I'm fine," Isobel insisted.
"You're not.” Joan took her hand. "What happened? What's really going on?"
Isobel opened her mouth to deflect, to lie, to maintain the careful facade she'd been holding all evening. But looking at her sister's concerned face, the words just... came out.
"I'm in love with him."
