It had, sofar, been a strange sort of evening. On the one hand, Harry had been endlessly entertained and diverted by the antics of the matrons ofThe Society of Sponsoring Ladies.
He had been fortunate enough to be in a position to see Lord Jeffries determinedly stumble through a quadrille, with Lady Redfield gamely swerving with him. La Poule had proved too much for the couple. One of Lady Redfield’s shoes had shot off her foot like a ball out of a cannon and the couple had promptly gone down like a sack of potatoes.
It would have been hilarious enough had it only been their own misfortune to meet the floor in such a surprising fashion, but they’d inadvertently set off a chain of knock-overs across the ballroom like so many bowling pins. He’d only narrowly kept his partner from being one of them.
The final touch to the comedy had been Lord Jeffries shouting, “Sorry everybody!” as he crawled along the floor after Lady Redfield’s shoe.
As all of that went on, though, he could not forget his purpose this night. He was to ask the momentous question every gentleman must eventually ask. He’d put it off from season to season, waiting forher. Now, she was here, and he’d got to do something about it.
He’d never, in imagining the moment, thought of any difficulties that might come with it. But then, was not Lady Isabel worth some difficulty?
She liked him. He knew it. She might even love him, if he was not flattering himself to think so. He could see it in her eyes.
Of course, he was rather more sure of his own feelings. He was stupidly in love with the lady.
She must say yes. She must cast aside whatever worries she had for her future and grab hold of the future she was meant to have.
*
It was withresolve that Isabel allowed Mr. Vance to lead her through the dance before supper. It was with a firm eye on her future and a decided opinion on where that future must be.
There must be no more nonsense and vacillations. It was time to stop her girlish thoughts and become a woman who managed her fate with logic and determination.
She did find it, as always, disturbing to be so close to him. Perhaps she always would find it so. But the feeling would not destroy her. She could live with it. Most likely.
Mr. Vance said, “I can only find it fitting that you have come as Helen of Troy, the greatest beauty that ever walked the earth. So beautiful that she could start a war.”
“The duchess chose my costume and I am sure she did not entertain any such notions,” Isabel said, wishing him to stop being so charming.
“Poor Helen,” Mr. Vance went on, “the writers of old could never agree on her motives. Did she love Paris or Menelaus? Did she love Troy or Sparta?”
Isabel turned her face away. Mr. Vance was clever and she understood his meaning. If she were Helen, where was her heart really? With a new-minted barony or a longstanding dukedom? With Mr. Vance or Lord Lymington?
He could not know that her head was in one location and her heart in another. He should know, though, that she depended on her head’s judgment. She had made that clear to him.
Though she may have vacillated at times, she had done so silently. She had not given herself away. She did not think. Now, she’d made her firm and final decision.
It was confounding that he should broach such a conversation, though. It had wit and spoke to his intelligence and education. It was thrilling to hear him speak so. It was also a very wide leap away from whales and dolphins.
But Lord Lymington had summoned his parents. He would ask for her hand. Everything she wanted was within reach.
“Personally,” Mr. Vance said, “I think Helen was only confused. Which way should she turn? Where did she really belong?”
If that were what Helen was faced with, then they were indeed very similar. It had been a mighty and exhausting struggle to decide to go one way or the other. But shehaddecided which way to go, and it was no matter that she could not be entirely happy with it. It was a decision of sense. Joy and happiness were not the only yardsticks with which to measure.
She had finally understood that there was a price to pay for everything. She had decided what she wanted, and she would pay for the choice.
Mr. Vance led her back to their place and another couple took their turn.
He leaned over to her and whispered, “But I would ask this Helen to choose and would point out that her fears are no more substantial than a morning fog that burns off in the sun. If only she will see it.”
Isabel was frozen. Except her heart, which was nearly bursting. Her eyes welled and she willed them to stop it.
“Lady Isabel,” he said, “will you choose me? Will you consent to become my wife?”
He’d said it. He’d asked. He should not have asked!
Isabel bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from sobbing. In a shaking voice that hardly sounded like her own, she whispered, “I am grateful for the courtesy, but I must regretfully decline.”
