“Indeed,” Mr. Roberts muttered without the slightest alteration of his facial expression.
A moment of silence followed until Isabella’s mother finally broke it by saying, “Now then, Mr. Roberts, tell us about that horse you were planning to buy the last time we saw you.”
And that was the end of the conversation regarding the Kingsborough Ball—but it was far from the end of Isabella’s dreams of attending. In fact, she didn’t spare a single thought for anything else during the remainder of her tea, though she must have managed to nod and shake her head at all the right times, for nobody appeared to have noticed that her mind had exited the room.
“Was afternoon tea as delightful as always?” Jamie, Isabella’s younger sister, asked when they settled into bed that evening. At thirteen years of age, she was a complete hoyden and just as mischievous as any boy her age might have been, getting into every scrape imaginable. After deliberately sneaking a frog into Mr. Roberts’s jacket pocket three months earlier, she’d been barred from attending Sunday tea. Her punishment for the offense had included two weeks of confinement to her bedroom, as well as some choice words from Mr. Roberts himself. Needless to say, Jamie’s approval of the man had long since dwindled.
“It was better, considering I was hardly aware of Mr. Roberts’s presence at all.”
Jamie scrunched her nose. “Honestly, Izzie, I don’t know why you suffer the fellow. He has no sense of humor to speak of, is much too reserved to suit your vibrant character, not to mention that there’s something really queer about him in general. I don’t think you should marry him if he offers.”
Isabella attempted a smile as she settled herself into bed, scooting down beneath the covers until she was lying on her side, facing her sister. They each had their own bedroom, but with the nights still cold, Jamie often snuck into Isabella’s room so they could snuggle up together, talking about this and that until sleep eventually claimed them. “I have to think rationally about this, Jamie. Mama and Papa are struggling to keep food on the table, and there’s also you to consider. I want a better life for you than this, with more choices than I’ve been afforded.”
Jamie shook her head as well as she could, considering she was lying down. “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for being the cause of your unhappiness.”
There were tears in her young eyes now that made Isabella’s heart ache. Isabella loved her sister so dearly and knew that her sister loved her equally. “It’s not just you, Jamie, but Mama and Papa as well. Mr. Roberts will ensure that they want for nothing.”
“And in return, you will probably have to kiss him.” Jamie made a face.
Isabella’s hand flew up to whack her naughty sister playfully across the head. “What on earth do you know of such things?” Was there anything more appalling than talking with one’s kid sister about kissing?
“Enough to assure you that you might want to think twice before giving that particular right to a man like him.”
With a sigh, Isabella rolled back against her pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Jamie was right, of course, but what was Isabella to do? Her family’s future depended on her seeing this through to the end. Really, what choice did she have?
“So, what did you daydream about this time?” Jamie asked, changing the subject entirely.
“What do you mean?”
“You said before that you barely noticed Mr. Roberts’s presence during tea. I assume your thoughts must have been elsewhere.”
“Oh!” Isabella sat up, turning herself so she could meet her sister’s eyes. “The Kingsborough Ball. Papa says they’re hosting a new one. Oh, Jamie, isn’t it exciting!”
Jamie jumped up. “You have to attend.”
“What?” It was preposterous—absurd—the most wonderful idea ever. Isabella shook her head. She would not allow herself to entertain the notion. It would only lead to disappointment. “That’s impossible,” she said.
“Why?” The firm look in her sister’s eyes dared her to list her reasons.
“Very well,” Isabella said, humoring her. “I have not been invited, nor will I be.”
“We’ll sneak you in through the servant’s entrance. Cousin Simon can help with that, since he works there.”
Isabella rolled her eyes. Trust Jamie to have that problem already worked out. “I’m not an aristocrat—they will notice I don’t belong,” she countered.
Jamie shrugged. “From what you’ve told me, the Kingsborough Ball is always masked, is it not?”
“Well, yes, I suppose—”
“Then no one will notice.” Jamie waved her hand and smiled smugly. “Do go on.”
“I . . . I have no gown that I could possibly wear to such a function, and that is the deciding factor. No gown, no ball.”
“Ah, but you are wrong about that,” her sister said, meeting her gaze with such cheeky resolve that Isabella couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of apprehension. “There’s always the one in the attic to consider, and I’ll wager—”
“Absolutely not,” Isabella said. She knew exactly which gown her sister was referring to, for it was quite possibly the most exquisite thing Isabella had ever seen. It had also given rise to a string of questions that would probably never be answered, like how such a gown had found its way into the Chilcott home in the first place. Fearful of the answer and of the punishment they’d likely have received if their parents had discovered they’d been playing in a part of the house that had been off limits, they’d made a pact to keep their knowledge of the gown a secret.
“But Izzie—”
“Jamie, I know that you mean well, but it’s time I faced my responsibilities as an adult. The Kingsborough Ball is but a dream that will never amount to anything more.”
“A lifelong dream, Izzie,” her sister protested. Jamie took Isabella’s hand and held it in her own. “Wouldn’t you like to see what it’s like living it?”
It was tempting of course, but still, wearing a gown that had in all likelihood been acquired under dubious circumstances, as it was one her parents couldn’t possibly afford, would be harebrained. Wouldn’t it? After all, it had probably been hidden away for a reason. Her mother had never mentioned that it existed, which was also strange considering it would make an excellent wedding gown for Isabella when she married Mr. Roberts. No, there was something about that gown and its history. Isabella was certain of it, for the more she considered it, the more wary she grew of what she might discover if her questions were one day answered.
In any event, she couldn’t possibly wear it to the Kingsborough Ball. Could she? She would be betraying her parents’ trust by doing so. It would certainly be the most daring thing she’d ever done. And yet . . . this would be her last chance for a fairy-tale experience. Closing her eyes, she made her decision. She would do it. Isabella would seize a moment for herself—one night of adventure that would have to last a lifetime. She only hoped that she wouldn’t one day look back on it with longing and regret.
Chapter 3
“Lady Frompton! So good of you to join us this evening,” Anthony said, completing his salutation with an elegant bow. He straightened himself so he could shake hands with the gentleman at her side. “And Lord Frompton, there’s a cigar for you in the gaming room.”
“The card tables have been readied, Your Grace?” the old earl asked, his voice muffled as he leaned a little closer to Anthony.
“Indeed they have, my lord,” Anthony replied quietly.
Lord Frompton gave a nod of approval before taking his wife by the arm and leading her inside the ballroom, allowing Anthony to welcome his next guest. It was a tedious affair, not to mention a tiring one. Standing up like this while two hundred people paraded past him was not his idea of fun. His back ached and his feet were practically begging for him to remove his shoes. They looked good—all shiny and black—but Lord, did they hurt! He tried to ignore it as he greeted the Earl and Countess of Rockly and considered his mother, who stood beside him as regal as ever. She looked radiant in a stunning creation of burgundy silk and without the slightest hint of fatigue in either her posture or features.
Pulling himself together, Anthony smiled at the Rocklys’ five daughters, who were presently staring up at him as if their eyelids had been pulled to the back of their heads. It was flattering, of course, in a peculiar sort of way, though Anthony could have done with less snickering on their part. He smiled back at them, complimented the ribbons they’d chosen for their hair and had promised them each a dance by the time they followed their parents to the ballroom.
“It looks like a smashing success,” Casper Goodard, Anthony’s longtime friend, said as he came to stand across from Anthony after all the guests had arrived. There were so many that there was only room for the closest friends and family to stay at Kingsborough Hall. The rest would either journey home the same evening, depending on how far they had to travel, or remain at one of the other estates in the area as overnight guests.
“Mama definitely put a lot of time and effort into outdoing all the previous balls she’s ever hosted.”
“I take it this explains the carriage that’s shaped like a pumpkin?”
Anthony nodded and tried not to smile too much. When his mother had told him that she had selected the theme of Cendrillon for her ball, he’d thought it a novel idea. He never would have imagined that she would go so far as to have a special carriage designed for the occasion. The vehicle (which had thankfully not been fastened to any horses) offered a place for people to sit while a sketch artist drew their portraits. “Did you happen to see the glass slipper?” Anthony asked as he nodded toward the refreshment table, where a dainty shoe stood fashioned in ice.
Casper nodded. “She’s certainly invested herself in this affair, hasn’t she? It’s all rather practical, really, now that I think of it. Don’t young ladies adore fairy tales—all that romance with a prince and so forth?”
Anthony smiled. “Are you suggesting that we use this to our advantage?”
“You must admit that it’s a wonderful conversation starter.”
“Certainly, but I have already promised to dance with five young ladies this evening, so I’m really not in need of any more female company. You know that I cannot flee the ballroom, but I am doing whatever I can to avoid eye contact with any more eager mamas.”
Yes, he was hoping that making the acquaintance of some of the young ladies present might lead to an attachment, but that did not mean that he wished to exhaust himself by participating in each and every dance—especially when he wasn’t all that fond of dancing to begin with.
“If that is the case, then I really must suggest that you try a little harder. Lady Snowdon has just cut across the entire ballroom with her daughter in tow—the one with the limp, not the other one. She’s bearing down on us as we speak.”