Page 7 of The Betrothal

But it hadn’t worked, and many years later I gave up. I could accept those around me for who they were, so they could accept me just the same. I didn’t judge them, so surely they wouldn’t judge me.

That belief was another miscalculation. My differences were used by people around me to shame me into behaving differently, challenging myself, and questioning myself. And tonight would be no different.

The silver silk complemented my hair beautifully, perhaps finally a concession from Mother on my appearance. But the body-shaping slips crushed me, a contrasting small punishment.

My hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders, resting on my covered cleavage. My eyes were rimmed in a soft, sparkly brown liner, lips a matte blush. I looked beautiful. It was everything I didn’t want to be, dressed up and squeezed into a form I didn’t fit, all to please others.

The clock struck nine. The agreed time at which I was to join the party.

I had negotiated hard with my father, who conceded two hours would suffice, part of which was required to be spent with my ‘betrothed’ as he called him.

Slipping on the black stilettos and wrapping the jewelled straps around my ankles, I gave myself a last look over. Bracing myself, I recited my new mantra. Five years and seven months.

My entrance to the party was received with polite applause and mostly sincere compliments on how I looked, the elegance of my gown, and how striking my hair was.

My sister swooped in immediately to deliver her counterblow, allowing for the beauty of my dress, but what a shame it had been that I hadn’t had the opportunity to slim down ahead of the wedding.

Her husband leaned in, kissing me gently on each cheek, whispering to ignore her before sharing a conspiratorial wink and whisking Ester away.

Father swiftly took my hand in his and began gliding us around the room, introducing me to friends and colleagues, some of whom I knew, others I didn’t, and the expected conversations began. I had prepared myself, predicting each question.

How does it feel to turn thirty? I don’t know, how did you feel?

Are you excited about the wedding? It will be the event of the season. I’d rather undergo wisdom tooth extraction without pain relief every single day until I die.

How wonderful it was of your father to permit such a broad education. Do you plan to help support his policy work going forward? If by help you mean burn to the ground, then absolutely.

On and on, pleasant smiles, droning conversation.

Each time a server slipped past, I snuck another glass of champagne from the tray, Father watching me carefully. I smiled wide, hoping to convince him how much I was enjoying myself.

“Isabelle.” My blood turned cold at the voice. Moira Fairchild, Teddy’s mother.

Turning us around to face them, my father released me, shaking the hand of Teddy’s father. “Archi.” He leaned in, kissing Moira on each cheek.

Moira blushed, greeting my father in return. Where Archibald Fairchild was short and stocky, my father was tall, had coiffed silver hair and an athletic frame, and Moira blushed every single time she saw him.

“Isabelle.” Her voice was like silk as she gripped me by my upper arms, looking me over. “You look beautiful.” She was sincere. She always was. “We are so very excited for the wedding. Theodore has been waiting for this day for so very long. You really are such a lucky girl.”

Am I indeed? I schooled my face.

“We told him, Teddy, you can marry whoever you choose, but he wanted you, dear Isabelle, even after all these years away at school.”

She wasn’t being wilfully unkind; the problem was that she simply didn’t think, and her comment reminded me that if he had just lost his patience with the whole thing, then my future would look entirely different.

“Isabelle.” My father placed his hand on my shoulder. “You and Theodore should spend some time together. You may use my study.”

He turned to Teddy’s parents, ignoring my pleading eyes. “I don’t think there’s much risk to propriety at this stage, do you?”

Their titters of agreement rankled me.

Teddy stepped forwards. He was tall and slim and his charcoal suit fitted his body like a glove. His physique was clearly toned, outlined by the cut of the jacket boxing his broad shoulders and thick biceps.

Raising my eyes to his face I took him in. His sandy hair was styled short at the sides and slightly longer on top, stubble trimmed neatly. The deep blue of his eyes sparkled in the light of the room, his full lips tipping up into a smile before he offered his elbow, and I accepted, allowing him to sweep me through the room towards the study.

He knew my house as well as his own, our families having been friends for decades.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I caught my sister watching me from across the room. I extended her a nervous smile, and she returned a small snarl, eyes moving to Teddy and softening. A smile for him, but not for me.