“...of course, it’s all nonsense,” the Dowager said from the other end of the table, raising an eyebrow. “The servants say they heard a woman’s scream coming from the west wing. They checked the whole area, and no one was found.”
Anthony glanced at her. Her cheeks warmed.
“It must be a ghost,” Lord Patrick said, “as Cook suggested. The ghost of a lady who was murdered here, she said.” His cheeky tone made her chuckle.
“Tosh.” The Dowager shook her head. “This castle has never been haunted.”
“Maybe it is now.” Lord Patrick sounded thrilled.
“I think the appearance of a ghost here would be interesting. What do you think, Lady Isabella?” Anthony asked.
Oh, the scoundrel. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, feeling Mother and Helen’s stares on her. They had to wonder why on earth the duke asked for her opinion.
“Well, a ghost would attract tourists.”
The Dowager raised both eyebrows. “Tourists? We don’t need tourists here.”
“I heard that some lords open their castles to tourists for an extra income,” she said.
The look the Dowager shot her was so frosty the tip of her nose hurt as if frostbitten. “I assure you, Isabella, that the Beauforts don’t needextra income.”
Tarnation. How had a simple conversation gone so wrong, so quickly?
Helen lowered her gaze as if she were the one the Dowager scolded. Mother remained still. Father seemed about to say something but then remained silent.
What was she supposed to do? Say something else to repair the damage or remain quiet? Feign a headache and leave, perhaps? Faint?
Anthony became serious. “Grandmama, I’m sure Lady Isabella didn’t mean to offend with her comment.”
“I didn’t,” she said, “and I apologise if I did. It’s that I know a lady who takes advantage of the tourist attraction in her mansion in Halifax.”
Anthony nodded. “The Married Women's Property Act enabled wives to buy, own, and sell property and to keep their own earnings now.”
She gave him a grateful glance.
Helen listened with interest, but Mother averted her gaze. Father watched the duke closely as if waiting for him to say something he disapproved of.
The Dowager didn’t soften. Quite the opposite. “Isabella, are you one of those women who…how do they call themselves? Suffragettes?”
Isabella paused eating. Lying sounded like a betrayal to her principles, but, call it a hunch, the Dowager wouldn’t appreciate the truth. “No, I’m not, madam.”
Father coughed in his fist. “But you said Mrs. Pankhurst?—”
“Benjamin,” Mother whispered a warning.
Though Isabella itched to reply, the Dowager had started the conversation, and lying was the only solution to end it.
The Dowager dabbed the corner of her mouth. “I heard of that woman, of course. Apparently, she thinks women don’t have any power in our kingdom, despite the fact we’re led by a strong queen, undoubtedly the most powerful woman in the world.”
Isabella wasn’t going to say anything as promised, but the Dowager was like a bloodhound.
“Tell me, Isabella, do I look like a woman without power?”
Silence dropped. She could hear a flea coughing.
“Er, no, madam,” she said in a low tone.
“Speak up.” The Dowager prompted. “Tell me what you really think.”
