Beaming, Lacey’s mood shifted at once with glee. Her eyes focused on Isla’s ear. “Wonderful! The faeries will be so glad. Hurry up, Isla. Margaret, you can’t come.”
“Don’t want to!”
After Isla threw the last pillow, left on the ground at some point in the night, on Margaret, she put on her plain day dress before leaving the room with Lacey in hand. The girl was nothing but trouble. Spoiled with awful eye sight, she still managed to charm or trick them into doing whatever she liked.
It’s not as though we could deny the baby of the family.
Most of Isla’s life had been taking care of Margaret or Lacey. There had been nursemaids and governesses, but their mother was always so worried about them, always interfering with the servants. So Isla had often been the go between as she convinced servants to stay just a little longer, to convince her sisters to ignore their troubles, and to make certain everyone played nice.
Exhausting, but someone had to take care of everyone.
Now Isla made her way into the dark kitchens to find some food for her and Lacey to sneak outside. Cook wouldn’t rise for another hour or so, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too sorely missed. It didn’t take long to find the last crumbs of their bread loaf before sneaking outside.
Maybe if she tried hard enough to believe, she could be taken away by the faeries that Lacey adored so much.
“You’re marrying a duke?” Her mother had said tearfully yesterday at the royal gardens. “Oh, we’ll be saved for certain! But how did I not know? When is the wedding? Why haven’t I met him?”
Isla had stumbled through one lie after another like a poor set of stairs. “It was kept quiet because he’s… he’s very busy. Traveling, that is. It was a whirlwind that first week we arrived and then he had to leave London. The courtship happened so quickly. But I do mean to keep my word! He’ll return and then we will announce it.”
“What a glorious day! And what of his family? Perhaps we should meet them. Oh bother, what will we do about your trousseau? It’s hardly ready nor appropriate for a duke. Oh, a duchess! My darling girl a duchess.”
“No, no, you can’t… tell anyone,” Isla had said hastily even as she had an inkling it was too late. “He would be awfully upset. And we can’t upset him, can we? The man is very… very stern. He is a duke, after all.”
Her mother’s eyes had widened. “Oh, of course. A duke! Yes, yes, we will be quiet about the entire affair. How frightful. How wonderful. I shall do my best not to be anxious when we meet. Soon, I trust, soon we will meet him?”
“Yes, of course.”
There are so many lies I hardly know where the truth exists.
Lacey scampered around in the drizzly gray of morning in their garden. It was the one place in their rented townhouse where she was comfortable and well-rehearsed in her footsteps. She knew where everything was and no one had to worry about something going wrong.
This meant Isla could pace around the wet stone bench to move as well. Her attention was distracted from her sister while her thoughts sorted out once more what her plan would help her achieve. How she had to make it happen. How she needed to…
“Good lord, where is that girl? Isla! Isla!”
She jerked around to promptly trip over the stone bench. Half a shout escaped Isla as she tumbled down. Falling hands first, she landed hard and awkwardly on the other side of the bench––right into a puddle.
Pain seared through her elbow and hip from the awkward tumble. But the fall was over. She would be fine. Groaning, Isla tried to convince herself to pick herself back up. “Oh bother.”
One of four dresses now needed fixing. At this rate, she’d be wearing bedsheets out in public. Isla wrinkled her nose at the mud on her scratched palms. Struggling to rise to her feet, she managed a wave at the sight of her mother on the terrace in clear search of her.
“Isla! What on earth has befallen you?”
“Let’s not say,” Isla muttered while glancing back at the bench. She tried shaking the mud from her hands, only managing to fling a speck onto her chin that made her flinch. It was awfully cold and she hadn’t brought out her shawl. “Coming, Mother.”
Nearby, Lacey was twirling. “The faeries are spinning me! I won’t go inside now!”
“No one is asking you to,” Isla promised while she passed.
Her mother frowned upon her arrival at her side. “I don’t think a future duchess should be gardening.”
Not bothering to correct her, Isla shared a tight smile. “Why did you call for me? What is it?”
“What? Oh. Oh! Oh, you must come at once! We have mail. Isn’t that wonderful? It’s darling! It’s magnificent,” her mother insisted. She started for the door and then paused before reaching for Isla. But it took her a moment to find a spot of Isla that didn’t have any mud. This was a dainty grip that led them through the hall toward the front of the house.
There were four folded papers on the empty side table. Envelopes. All of them cream-colored in different shades, all with beautiful script on them.
Hovering over them and trying not to drip mud, Isla struggled to make sense of what these meant. “Well? What is it?”
