“So when can Helen meet His Grace?” Mother asked. “We would love to have tea together.”
The Dowager’s frown smoothed when she angled towards Helen. “Since my grandson graduated from Sandhurst, one of the best students in his year, of course, he has travelled through the kingdom, but he’s now in London. I’m eager to see him settled and married. I’m not young, and after the untimely death of his parents, I’m worried about him.” Her voice remained surprisingly flat.
“I’m sure Helen and His Grace will discover they have a lot in common.” Mother patted Helen’s hand.
Helen gracefully nodded her head in a gesture that could mean anything.
Isabella wondered why the Dowager had summoned her here. The conversation didn’t regard her. The Dowager had only shown interest in Helen as the future bride of her grandson—thank goodness—and Helen was the eldest, receiving more pressure about finding a good match.
“Helen is such a lovely lady.” The Dowager’s green eyes twinkled. “You speak three languages, play the piano and the violin, sing, paint, and are an expert in mediaeval history. How fascinating.”
Helen blushed but not too much, because too much blushing was vulgar, as Mother always said. The way Helen could control the amount of blushing was an art Isabella hadn’t mastered yet.
Helen bowed her head gracefully. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The Dowager’s smile vanished. “And what about this young lady?”
“Isabella received the same education,” Helen hurried to say. “She’s very accomplished.”
Accomplished?The sip Isabella was swallowing went sideways, and she coughed into the napkin. Accomplished wasn’t the word Helen used in private conversations.
“Apologies.” She wiped her mouth.
“Do you speak three languages as well?” the Dowager asked.
She glanced around. Mother stared at her with an expression that said, ‘Don’t embarrass me.’ Helen’s right eyebrow twitched as it happened whenever she had to lie.
Isabella swallowed again. “Oui.”
And that pretty much summed up all the French she knew. Well, aside from croissants, crêpes, and soufflé. Because French delicacies were too delicious not to be remembered. Voilà!
But then again, Helen had always dreamt of being the perfect wife of a lord—and a duke was interested in marrying her—and had studied hard to achieve her dream.
Isabella, on the other hand, preferred botany, dancing, and philosophy to languages. Besides, while she would be happy to find a husband she liked and start a family, her mother never pressured her to marry as highly as possible. That burden had always been on Helen’s shoulders.
As a result, Isabella had received more freedom. Freedom she’d used and abused to do as she pleased—mostly gardening.
“Excellent,” Mother said in an over-enthusiastic tone before the Dowager could investigate further Isabella’s linguistic skills. “We must organise an afternoon tea or a dinner party then.”
The Dowager nodded. Her hair was styled in an old-fashioned coiffure—ah! Another French word—that hadn’t been seen around in a few decades with a hairnet made of crochet yarn and tight backward rolls.
“Absolutely,” the Dowager said. “We’re organising a celebration for my grandson’s return in Dockerly Castle next week. Something to cheer up the family after our recent losses. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Next week?” Isabella whispered.
Helen let out a ladylike gasp.
Mother beamed and put a hand on her chest. “We’ll be delighted.”
Not Isabella. If she weren’t waiting for the precious orchid seedlings to arrive, she’d be happy to spend a few days in a castle. But unless she took care of the seedlings and planted them herself, left unattended, they might rot, and orchids were terribly tricky to grow. Not to mention they cost a pretty penny. Pennies that came from her purse. It’d taken her months of savings to buy the seedlings.
Surely, Mother didn’t want her to come, anyway. Her motto when it came to Isabella’s behaviour was ‘don’t embarrass me.’Mother wouldn’t risk taking her to a darned castle with a duke.
Yes, Isabella would surely be left home.
Problem solved.
