Lord Gright was as handsome as ever. Tall with feathery yellow hair and bold blue eyes, he looked like a young Apollo in the finest clothing.
He lifted his chin high while speaking to the older gentleman at his side. “As for myself,” he said loudly, “I would never think to embarrass myself or my family by taking what clearly isn’t mine.”
“Oh indeed,” said the gentleman in clear agreement.
Her cheeks burned as she kept walking, turning her gaze away, forgetting to walk tall.
The few conversations she wriggled her way into all died. Other familiar faces blinked at her without emotion before turning away, muttered excuses like they were only ever strangers. Like she hadn’t helped young Lord Timothy gather the courage to ask Lucy’s younger sister to a dance, like Mrs. Wilmington hadn’t needed her help hemming an embarrassing dress rip last winter, like she hadn’t assisted the Truberry twins out of cornered conversations with old Lord Quince.
Eventually, Isabel couldn’t take the loneliness anymore.
At least I have Amber back at the house. It’s the supper dance, so a fair enough time to leave. I don’t think the hosts will mind if I disappear without a farewell. They’ll most likely toss out my card to them tomorrow. I do hope I have enough ink for that.
“Pardon me,” Isabel muttered as she passed through the crowd.
Someone elbowed her. “Watch it,” he hissed.
She stopped in her tracks to look back, jaw locked, ready to face whoever would make such a disrespectful move. But there was only a sea of people with their backs turned to her.
Blast it. How appropriate.
“I tried,” Isabel told herself once she had left the house wrapped in her shawl, and started down the street in search of a hackney. “I nearly danced with Lord Quince. That must count for something. Oh Emilia, I do wish you had come tonight.”
Emilia Fairchild, the one true friend she had kept through the disgrace that summer, would have greatly improved the evening. Isabel promised herself it would be better next time with them together.
A hackney rolled nearby once she had hastened down to the edge of the lane. Shivering, she hastily stepped in without assistance.
“Thank you,” she told the driver. “Please take me to 27 Harding Drive.”
It jerked into motion.
Isabel took deep breaths while she clung to her shawl, thinking about what she would tell Amber. The young woman was five years her junior and dreamed of lovely things; she would love to hear about the lights, the chandeliers, the fancy hair.
There would be little mention of Lord Gright or anyone else. The number of people willing to talk to her was wilting.
What happens in spring if no one will offer invitations or look at me? Then I will surely be trapped. While I know my best hope is to find a gentleman still willing to marry me, I can hardly think of that happening…
A jarring tilt of the hackney tore Isabel from her thoughts. She grabbed the seat with a gasp as the carriage tilted. When they came to a stop, she knew something was wrong.
“What, ho!” Cried the driver.
She tried looking out the window but couldn’t see what he was doing. When Isabel opened the door, she paused upon realizing their location.
The driver had sought a shortcut alongside Covent Garden.
Tonight, she could smell the stench of the slovenly neighborhood and noted the dark corners everywhere. She’d never been here before. No one she knew had really been here before, due to the thieves and murderers that often hid here.
She shivered, thinking to stay inside. But then the driver was grumbling, and he was all alone. Unwilling to let the man struggle when he could use another pair of hands, she neatly removed her gloves before descending the carriage.
“Sir?” She inquired softly. “What seems to be the problem?”
“A bolt.” He grimaced while fumbling with the front wheel. “I’d stay inside if I was you, Miss. It’s not safe for a toff here abouts. I’ll have to find some sort of substitute methinks to get us moving again.”
Isabel nodded, watching as he pointed and explained where the bolt was, or should have been, and why they couldn’t press forward without it.
At least it can’t… Oh I had best not say it. Oh bother.
A shiver ran down her spine as something cold touched her hand. One glance up at the gray sky proved the snow had started to fall again.
