“But youarelovely. The loveliest thing I have ever seen.” Bridget took a step back and smiled. “More so tonight, perhaps, than ever.”
“La, you are nonsense.” Isabella spun a circle then curtsied with the first true laugh she’d had in days. But as she left the chamber and found her way downstairs, all the mirth shrank back into a frenzy of unpleasantness.
The ballroom was immaculate. Of course it was. Was not everything Father did perfection? The light of beeswax candles glinted off endless gilt-framed mirrors, and the chandeliers hung low enough that their shadows played on the floor. Chalk art, not yet disturbed by dancers, depicted a detailed likeness of Sharottewood Manor.
She frowned at such a display of pride. But was not everything they did intended to flaunt their wealth?
“My dear.” Father’s voice behind her. “That is a dress very much like one your mother used to wear.”
How dare he speak of Mother as if she meant something to him. Her eyes leveled with his—and for once in her life, he did not try to smile away her anger. He matched it.
“Let us take a moment in my study.” He took her arm. “Alone.”
“I do not wish to discuss anything.”
“This infatuation must end, and it must end now.”
“Father, I—”
“Keep your voice down.” He pulled her farther from the refreshments table, where fewer guests chattered and gathered. “You have never not spoken to me, my dear, and I must admit to being very hurt and disappointed.”
“I too am hurt.”
“I am doing what is best for you.”
“I know my own heart.”
“Do you?” He drew in air, as if groping for calm. Then, glancing about to make certain they were not heard, he led her from the ballroom and back into the hall. “On the contrary, you know nothing of your heart, Isabella Gresham.” A furious whisper. “You have no comprehension of what you are doing, nor of what you expect of me.”
“I expect only to be given a chance to—”
“I have so much protected and sheltered you that you are unwise to anything. You know nothing of the poverty and anguish that exist outside the realms of wealth. Have you any inkling what a life would be like with a man of such meager assets? Do you even realize what you are suggesting I condone?”
The overwhelming emotions provoked by his words drained through her. “I do not wish to discuss it.”
“Then we shall not discuss it. Not ever again.” His brows jutted. “But know this, Isabella. I would commit murder before I would surrender you to a man of such low degree. Do you understand?”
Pain, confusion, and doubt swept through her. “Yes. I understand perfectly.” She returned to the ballroom, focusing on the clash of silk dresses, red military uniforms, and black tailcoats.
Perhaps Father was right. Perhaps she did not know what she was doing.
But as she glanced out one of the windows, where the darkness and moonlight awaited, she knew she would still slip away to the garden at midnight.
She could not have stopped herself if she wanted to.
The dance was taking too long. She moved without care or effort, her only thought the echoing chimes from a distant longcase clock.
Midnight was here.
She tried to tell herself it did not mean as much as she fathomed it did. Had she sense, she would listen to Father. The past two hours, his words had taunted her.“Man of such low degree … meager assets … you know nothing of your heart … unwise to anything.”Why could she not rid herself of the chant?
Lord Livingstone bowed before her as the dance finally ended. They remained standing opposite each other, clapping as the music faded into a cadence of laughter and panted breaths.
“Excuse me.” She nodded to him and turned, but he pressed close to her side and followed her through a sea of guests.
Just before she reached the door, he stilled her. “I must have my answer tonight.”
“Answer? I was not aware you had presented me a question.”
