“Thank you,” Isolde replied, trying to ignore his obvious irritation. They had already been out for close to an hour, rocketing around the Gardens in a chaise not at all suited for poor weather. The horses, too, were soaked, rain running in rivulets over their flanks.
“Would have thought the Ice Queen could stand a little cold,” he muttered, under his breath.
It was barely above a whisper, but the wind happened to conveniently drop at that very moment, and Isolde heard.
She twisted around to face him.
“I beg your pardon?”
Lord Raisin’s face went red.
“I… I did not say anything.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Then, taking her life in her hands, Isolde got to her feet.
“Stop the carriage.”
His eyes bulged out of his head. “But, Lady Isolde, it is acurricle.”
“Stop at once, or I shall jump.”
Lord Raisin stared at her, meeting her eyes directly. Whatever he saw there clearly convinced him that she was not joking. He hauled on the reins.
The wheels had barely stopped when Isolde leapt over the side. Her maid tried to step down as well but Isolde stopped her, telling her there was no need for her to walk with her.
Splosh. She landed in a puddle, naturally, and found herself ankle deep in cold, filthy water. Isolde breathed in deeply, pretending that she did not feel water soaking through her boots and stockings right to her skin, and began to stride forward.
How far was it to get home? A mile? Two?
“Lady Isolde, please! I… I may have made a rash comment, but you cannot walk home. Do forgive me.”
“I cannot give forgiveness when an apology has not been offered,” Isolde retorted. The curricle trundled alongside her, keeping pace easily. The wet seemed to be creeping up her hem and soaking through her bonnet and cloak. She was going to be wringing wet by the time she got home, assuming she did not slip in the mud and twist her ankle.
I must look an absolute sight. Forget the Ice Queen, I’ll be the Bedraggled Princess.
“Then I am sorry,” Lord Raisin said. “I should not have said that. It was unkind of me, but you must admit, Lady Isolde, that you are exceptionally unyielding. How many Seasons have I put in effort to secure your hand? And yet you remain unmoved. Unfeeling, some would say. Not I,” he added hastily, “But others.”
“You are a fine man, Lord Raisin, but you know my intentions not to marry.”
Silence greeted her. Isolde half expected the man to snap his reins and drive off in a temper. To his credit, he stayed where hewas, looking more determined than ever.
He doesn’t believe me, Isolde realized in a rush. Of course, she should have realized it before, but somehow the truth hit her more powerfully now.
He thinks he can change my mind. That I’ll be forced to change my mind, and by then the only man I will be able to catch will be him.
“Whatever the case, Lady Isolde, you simply cannot walk home in this rain,” he said at last. “I beg your pardon for any thoughtless words I might have uttered. Let us forget them, please. Now, please, I am begging. Get back in the carriage.”
In the end, it was not Lord Raisin’s begging, but a truly massive puddle, stretching right across the paths to the waterlogged grass on either side, that convinced her to abandon her pride and climb back in the carriage.
Or curricle, rather.
Unsurprisingly, Lord Raisin did not speak a word on the way back home. Isolde was not about to break the frosty silence. He had invoked the Ice Queen, and the Ice Queen he would get.
The silence only wavered when they were a handful of streets from home. The paved roads were running with water, the gutters overflowing, spray splashing up from the wheels to dampen Isolde’s already soaked skirt.
“Some ladies do not desire marriage because they feel it will bring about a material change for the worse,” Lord Raisin said. “I can assure you that, were you to accept my offer, there would be no change.”
“Are you making me an offer, sir?”
