“Thirty-two is not old,” Ariadne said while finally eating. “It may look old to you, but it’s truly not.”
While refilling her cup, Marigold asked, “Where is His Grace this morning?”
“Resting,” Ariadne replied while closing her utensils. “He got some disturbing news last night during the middle of the ball, and I assume by today, he will be dealing with it,” She sighed. “Please don’t ask too much about it. It’s very sensitive.”
A confused look crossed their faces, but they did not pry into it— well, Marigold and Celestine were not. Belatedly, Ariadne realized Isolde was not speaking at all. Her sister’s face was down on her plate, and a sickening feeling ran through.
Celestine and Marigold had enjoyed last night to the fullest—but what about Isolde? Had she pushed too hard?
“Miss Aria?” Emily’s voice had her head snapping to the doorway, and she saw the little girl looking at them curiously. “Who are your friends?”
“Not friends, Emily,” she pushed her chair back. “These girls are my sisters. Do you want to join us?”
“Is Papa here?” Emily said as she came closer.
“No,” she said while finding another chair. “Your father didn’t sleep well last night, so he’s sleeping now.”
Emily frowned, “Is he ill?”
“No, sweetheart,” Ariadne replied. “Just tired.”
“Oh,” the girl said, then gave a wide smile. “I’m Emily. What are your names?”
“I’m Marigold,” her sister said while dropping a hand on Celestine’s shoulder. “And this is Celestine.”
“How old are you?” Emily said.
“I’m twenty years old,” Celestine said.
“And I am eight and ten,” Marigold added.
Emily blinked, “You are old.”
Gasping in horror, Celestine slapped a hand over her breast. “I am not old!”
The jagged scrape of a chair over the floor had Ariadne turning to Isolde, “Excuse me.”
Both Marigold and Celestine gaped as Isolde hurried off, presumably to the rooms they had slept in last night. Worried, Ariadne told the two sisters who remained to look after Emily before she hurried after Isolde.
Her suspicions were right as the door to their rooms was open; however, she found Isolde leaning on the balcony outside.
“Isolde,” she asked carefully. “Are you alright?”
“I—” Isolde straightened as she rubbed her chest. “I don’t know. I have this hot feeling flaring right here and…. I don’t know what to do.”
“This is because of last night, isn’t it?” Ariadne’s voice dripped. “Is it about Duke Igthorne?”
“Yes, no—” Isolde grimaced, “I don’t know.”
Grimacing, Ariadne said, “I understand that I pushed too hard, even knowing you don’t want marriage. And I am sorry. I suppose I got too caught up in all that was happening last night.”
Isolde kept facing away. “It is immodest to assume that I can just live how I want to live, and not be broken into the mold the ton had made for us? Keep your head down. Do as you're told. Wear beautiful dresses, be coquettish, and do not act smart. I don’t want to embarrass Mama but…”
“You could be the first,” Ariadne replied. “Remember all those late nights when you were little, and we’d talk about our deepest, most innermost dreams?
“You said you wanted to learn how to fight and that you wanted to teach women and girls how to defend themselves. Now you have the opportunity.”
Isolde’s tone was still. “Dreams aren't the same as reality. Look at your situation. You wanted to find true love, but now you’re married to someone only to snuffle a scandal.”
