Isabelle shrugged as she toyed with the ends of her hair. “It is like anything else. To make a connection that benefits both parties.”
“And you do not wish for a connection that would benefit you?”
“I want my freedom. I want to be able to draw when I want. To spend rainy days reading by the fire and not feeling like I must be producing children to maintain my worth to my husband.”
“I suppose that is a fair enough reason to avoid marriage.” He swallowed hard, wishing that he could take the pain away from her and wear it as his own.
What is one more painful experience in the name of protecting this imp?
Her admissions did not make his job any easier. Now that he understood why she avoided marriage, he would find it harder to push her into it. Still, his people were relying on the contract with her father and all it entailed.
For that reason alone he would continue to push, even if it led to the ruination of the tentative friendship they were forming along the way.
Fifteen
“Where were you last night?” Victoria asked, her voice low as they walked down the street toward the modiste, the Dowager Duchess trailing behind them.
“I was in the study looking for a book to read,” Isabelle said, guilt flooding through her when she failed to mention that Felix had also been there.
It would only cause scandal within thetonif anyone were to find out. At breakfast she learned that the household staff were some of the worst gossips she would ever meet. Their whispers never ceased. They were always speaking about some family or another in thetonand nothing they had to say was exceedingly kind.
Victoria sighed and let go of Isabelle’s arm to step through the door. “I know that thetoncan be overwhelming, but you must do your best to keep your head up.”
“Oh,” a woman muttered as soon as Isabelle entered the modiste. She turned her nose up and looking disparagingly at Isabelle. “This must be the American I heard would be joining us for the season.”
Victoria nodded. “This is Miss Isabelle Alden, daughter of the Baron of Elington. She is with my family for the season.”
The woman scoffed, her gaze dragging up and down the dress Isabelle wore. “Best of luck finding a husband.”
Isabelle bit her tongue although she wanted to give the woman a piece of her mind. Allowing herself to speak freely in such an environment would only allow create more drama. She took a deep breath and smiled sweetly.
“I would be more worried about your own daughter finding a husband,” the Dowager Duchess said as she entered the modiste and stepped between Isabelle and Victoria. “You are trying to find Susanna a husband this year, are you not, Mrs. Goodham?”
“I am.” Mrs. Goodham gritted her teeth into some semblance of a smile before spinning on her heel and stalking to the other side of the shop.
The Dowager Duchess sighed and waved a hand toward the wall of fabrics. “Pick yourself out a fabric in a summer color. The theme of the first ball is wildflowers.”
For a brief moment all Isabelle could do was stare at the Dowager Duchess. She tried to form the words to thank her, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, her cheeks flooded with heat and her eyes pricked with tears.
Her kindness hadn’t been expected. Not after the dowager’s own comments.
“Thank you,” Isabelle said, her voice a soft whisper.
The Dowager Duchess gave her a smile and inclined her head to the fabrics. “Pick something you like.”
Isabelle forced a serene smile and studied the wall of fabrics. The soft linens had patterns varying from pale stripes to soft little flowers that had been hand-painted onto the fabric. She ran her fingers over the fabric, but she thought it might be too dramatic for one of the English balls.
It would be better to settle on one of the striped pieces. Perhaps the one with vertical pastel pink stripes on a cream background.
The Dowager Duchess stood beside her, hands clasped together. “That is a very nice one, but I think something like this is more your style.”
“Is it not too informal for a ball?” Isabelle asked, trailing her fingers over the painted peonies that looked like they were from a watercolor painting.
“You are an American.” The Dowager Duchess turned to her with a stern look. “You will be judged no matter what you wear. I have heard of your arguments with my son, and I know that you wish to be seen for who you are. While I cannot condone that as the best method for finding a husband, I suspect you will not change no matter what I say. Therefore, it is better to be who you are.”
Isabelle eyed the duchess for a few long moments. She uncertain what to think of the woman standing in front of her. The Dowager Duchess coming to her defense had been shocking enough, but now she was encouraging her to pick the fabric she liked best and not what would be the most appealing to a prospective suitor or theton.
“What if the front panel is made of this? The rest of the dress can be made of a plain eggshell color that matches the base of the floral fabric?”
