“That isn’t fair.”
“No, it is not. But that is how the world is, and you must never forget it.”
Isolde bit her lip, her aunt’s words echoing in her head. She certainly would not forget it.
“You should retire indoors," Isolde said firmly. "Your mother will wish for you to dance to your heart's content.”
“My dance card is only half full, despite Mama’s best efforts,” Viola answered, smiling wryly and holding up the cardin question. “I have some time.”
Isolde didn’t bother arguing further. Viola took up a place beside Isolde, the two women resting their elbows on the stone parapet and looking out over the dark garden. At this time of night, only a few lumpy shapes could be seen, flowerbeds and shrubs all melting into one. The driveway snaked by below, lit by countless tapers and braziers. At the end of the night – or at the beginning of the morning, rather – the carriages would come trundling down that driveway, with ladies and gentlemen climbing in and rattling off to their homes and their beds as the sun came up.
“I wish I’d been there to help you,” Viola said abruptly. “You shouldn’t have had to dance with that man. Everybody knows his reputation.”
“Perhaps, but it was that or spend another evening with Lord Raisin.”
Viola winced. “At least you know what Lord Raisin’s intentions are.”
“I know what Viscount Henley’s intentions are, too,” Isolde shot back. “He’s bored. He wanted to dance, wanted to flutter his eyelashes at a lady – any lady – and I was the closest. Perhaps he relishes the challenge. Debutantes aren’t that hard to impress, but I’ve seen four Seasons and not much interests me anymore.”
Viola eyed her friend. “And were you?”
“Was I what?”
“Were you interested?”
Colour rose to Isolde’s cheeks. She was grateful for the dark to cover it.
“I certainly was not,” she responded firmly. “He was a good dancer, and that is all the good that can be said about him.”
“He’s handsome, too.”
“What is the purpose of this, Viola? Would you want me to care for a man like that?”
She was getting too sharp. Isolde could hear the edge in her own voice, a tartness which one should not use when talking to one’s only friend. Viola bit her lip and looked away.
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Isolde muttered. “I don’t know why I’m taking out my anger on you. I certainly didn’t expect the viscount to ask me to dance, and you know how I feel about waltzing. But it’s done now, so I’ll collect myself and go back inside.”
“Lord Henley might want to talk to you again.”
“He won’t,” Isolde said, with absolute surety. “Don’t worry about that. I’d bet a hundred pounds I’ll never see the man again, and it would be a hundred pounds well spent.”
Viola giggled at that, some of her worry fading away. “Well, at the very least, we know that you shouldn’t wear that gown again. People will be talking about your little trip for weeks, I’m afraid.”
“I know,” Isolde said, shaking her head with a sigh. “I know.”
Arm in arm, the two ladies turned to face the ball once again.
Chapter Five
The day after a ball was always a quiet one. Since most people had arrived home only in the early hours of the morning, or perhaps even as the sun was coming up, there was no question of paying or receiving calls until mid-afternoon at the earliest. In Isolde’s case, she wasn’t expecting any calls at all.
Gentlemen paid calls the day after a ball, following up on any interest they may have started during the ball. Isolde did not expect anyone, unless Lord Raisin was willing to give things another try.
She hoped not.
Judging by the light coming in through the half-open curtains, it was somewhere near noon. Isolde generally hated lying in so late, as it felt that the whole day slipped away from her. Now that the first ball of the Season had come and gone, it would be all action. There’d be picnics, soirees, balls, dinner parties, garden parties, masked balls, and on and on without stopping. Isolde would have to attend countless functions every week.
