“Actually, I think ‘Bride Auction’ was exactly the theme Sue and Meg had in mind...” Veronica called, but he was already weaving through the crowd.
The duke’s mother had asked to squire Isobel around the ball as her special guest. Isobel had been hesitant—so much, so soon—but what could she possibly say but, “I would be most honored, Your Grace.”
It was true, shehad beenhonored. It was one thing to be seen on the arm of the duke, but such open approval from his mother was even more profound. And Lady Northumberland was lovely, a gentle soul who’d been navigating society balls since she was a girl and hosting them for half as long.
She was practical—“Let us stay clear of the torches; I’ve seen more than one lady catch flame”—and gracious—“Let us greet the dowagers first to make certain they are comfortable.” And she introduced Isobel to every guest they passed. Never once did she seem impatient to be rid of Isobel or chagrined that her introductions were so very spare. “And please allow me to introduce you to my friend, Miss Isobel Tinker, our new neighbor in Hammersmith.”
What else was there to say? Isobel had no title and no formal connection to the family. “Neighbor” was the truth, as bland as it was, but the dowager said it warmly, as if her favorite niece had moved to town.
Isobel floated beside her, trying to keep track of the names inside her head. The guests smiled politely at her. If their smiles were not wholly genuine, at least they were respectful to the dowager and keenly interested in who Isobel might be. Her seven years of travel service to society families meant that she actually knew some of the guests. They made no mention, but she could see questions on the tips of their tongues:But are you planning travel for the duchess?Or worse:What of the Rome opera tickets we’d hoped for in June?
No one dared to say more than, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Tinker.” “What a beautiful dress, Miss Tinker.” “How fortunate you are to enjoy the ball as the guest of the dowager duchess, Miss Tinker.”
Isobel smiled and dipped curtsies and returned compliments, and in her head, the same budding thought kept bumping up against the surface of her conscious:I’m approved.
This family loves the duke so very much they will validate even me.
“I see you looking for the duke,” the duchess whispered, leaning toward Isobel. “He’ll be along shortly. Thanks to you, he’s actually made some effort toward his comportment and grooming—and just in time. This ball may prove largely unnecessary for its intended purpose, but it never hurts for a man to be seen out in society when the gossips have painted him a lost cause.”
Isobel laughed. She was laughing too much; she made a mental note to control the excessive laughing. Without thinking, she asked, “But what was the intended purpose of the ball?”
“Oh, two of my daughters felt a pretty girl fromamong London’s debutantes might snap Northumberland out of his gloom.” She saw a friend across the ballroom and waved.
Isobel nodded, only half-comprehending. She rolled the dowager’s words around in her head, unprepared for such honesty.
“Do not fret, my dear,” assured the dowager, back in motion, tugging Isobel around hopping dancers. “I couldn’t be more delighted in the young woman my son so very clearly wants for his duchess.”
“Me?” Isobel heard herself ask.
The dowager chuckled. “Of course you, darling. An adventurer! A true wit! A woman who knows every language—”
“Well, perhaps not every langu—”
“—who saw his suffering and came to him. My daughters are ambitious and will look for any excuse to host a ball, but I told them from the beginning that not just any girl would do. And you’re not just any girl, are you?”
“No,” said Isobel, the word out before she could think of a more erudite answer.
Tears swam in her eyes and she looked away, blinking. She pressed a green-gloved hand to her throat, hoping her skin was not splotchy.
How had something so difficult become so very easy? Would everything for which she hoped now fall into her lap? Did things like this happen? She floated in a tingly numbness of gratitude and disbelief.
The dowager led them around the dancing to the buffet, waving to friends as she went. A footman passed and the dowager signaled to him, whispering instructions. Isobel bit her lip to keep a wild, beaming grin off her face. She glanced about, taking in the glittering ballroom, illuminated by hundreds of candles and rapidly filling with fancily dressed guests. A page at the doorway announced their names and titles as they arrived. Music soared from a stage at the front. Never in her life had Isobel been to such a beautifully lavish affair, not in her years with the Lost Boys, nor as a part of her aunt and uncle’s family. It was like a scene from a fairy tale.
And then she caught sight of the duke, and her heart stopped. He was taller than most guests, his beard gone, his handsome face heart-stopping in the candlelight. He walked beside his sister, Lady Veronica, greeting guests.
Isobel was plunged into a pool of shimmers so deep it stole her breath. Her belly and chest swam in sparkling lights. She loved him so very much. The pretty party trussed up the experience, perhaps, and the lovely family made her hopeful and grateful, but she would have loved him despite all of this—shehadloved him despite it. And now, it seemed, they would share it. Or at least the bits that suited them.
She was just about to raise her hand to wave to him—a small, elegant, future-duchess arc of her fingers—when the first of two very tenuous events began to unfold.
First: her mother arrived.
Isobel had been waiting for Georgiana when the dowager had taken her under her wing, and that experience had been so overwhelming Isobel had forgotten to watch for Mama.
Now Isobel’s eye caught on a flutter of indigo and magenta, far more vibrant than the subtle tones of whispering silk in the ballroom. One glimpse and she knew.
Isobel followed the flutter, her breath held in anticipation and also the smallest measure of wariness, andthe colors materialized into the shape and form of renowned actress Georgiana Tinker. Her gown was exponentially fuller and brighter and sprouted more sparkles and clackety, quiverythingsthan any other gown in the room. Her blond hair was piled high in the front and hung unfashionably low down her back. Her cheeks had been rouged and her eyes lined with kohl. She was a breathtaking sight in a room that clearly preferred to keep its breath gainfully under control. Heads turned; every eye followed Georgiana as she cut a hurried path across the ballroom.
Isobel had known it would be like this. Her mother relished nothing more than making an entrance, and tonight would be no different. Tonight, in fact, just might be the boldest and most striking entrance she’d ever made.
