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I sabella kept going back and forth on her choice.

Should she tell Helen she’d met the duke? Or should she remain silent?

Running into the duke had been a chance meeting, a pleasant one, but she wasn’t sure Helen would be happy to know her sister and her probable betrothed had wandered through the castle alone, laughing and frolicking like two children. She did most of those two, but still, he’d followed her.

She shifted on the stuffed stool in front of the vanity, getting ready for dinner.

“Please, stay still,” Lawson said, fixing one of Isabella’s wayward curls. “What’s got into you? You’re more skittish than usual.”

“I went out for a walk earlier?—”

“Alone?”

“—and I met the duke.” There. She said it.

Lawson’s mouth dropped open. “You met the duke informally whilst you were around on your own while you should have been in your room?”

“There was this beautiful fawn who was stuck in a thicket of thorns, and I didn’t have a blade, but Anthony…the duke had one, and we freed the poor creature, and we walked to the castle together, without the fawn, of course,” she said in one breath. “Nothing happened, and it was all very innocent. We laughed together. He isn’t as gloomy as I thought. But I don’t know if I should talk to Helen.”

“Lady Isabella,” Lawson said, staring at her in the mirror. “The Dukedom of Gloucester is one of the most powerful in the kingdom. This family isn’t normal. They breathe aristocracy. They have so much money and power they would crush your family in a moment without regrets. Do you think an earl is powerful? Not nearly powerful enough.”

She let out a shaky chuckle that lacked confidence. “You’re so dramatic.”

Lawson put down the comb. “What I’m saying is that your sister has the chance to be part of this ancient family, something she and your parents want desperately. The dowager duchess chose her among the aristocratic girls, not just in the kingdom, but among the European courts. Don’t do anything that might compromise your sister’s chances. Please.”

Isabella nodded, swallowing past the sickening lump in her throat. But then again, she hadn’t done anything that could compromise Helen’s future, had she? “Did the Dowager consider European aristocrats as well?”

“Of course she did. The duke is a desirable match for many European families. I heard even some wealthy American girls wouldn’t mind tying the knot with His Grace. So you see, your sister won a fierce competition.”

The last word upset Isabella. Anthony might be a great match, but he wasn’t a prize to be won. He was kind and, while his attitude was rather stern, he was also funny.

“Don’t mention anything to anyone.” Lawson finished braiding Isabella’s hair. “Smile, be polite, and keep quiet, please.”

“As usual.”

She didn’t say a word as she joined Father, Mother, and Helen in the corridor waiting to go to the dining room together. For some reason, the conversation with Lawson bothered her, which didn’t make sense because she was often told to stay quiet and be polite.

“Let me take a look at you.” Mother inspected Helen’s chignon, earrings, gown, and necklace. “Good. At the table, keep your back straight and your elbows tight. The same rules apply to you, Isabella.”

Keep smiling, be polite, and be quiet . Isabella nodded.

Helen touched her necklace, a thick, princess length, gold chain. “Actually, I was thinking of wearing the velvet cameo choker, the one Grandmother gave me for?—”

“Nonsense.” Mother waved a dismissive hand. “Gold is perfect.”

“But I love it and it matches?—”

“Helen, are you listening to me? I don’t want to hear another word.”

Helen flushed to the roots of her hair, muttering an apology. Isabella had to think about the seedlings in her conservatory in order not to protest against Mother’s harshness.

“Benjamin.” Mother turned her scowl to Father. “No politics.”

He frowned back. “I meet the duke in Parliament regularly.”

“Exactly. Keep the political discussions there.”

“If the duke is going to marry my daughter, I would like to know his opinion on certain delicate matters.”

“Not here. Not now.” Mother pointed a finger at him. “You become easily incensed when talking about politics. Just for tonight, talk about something else.”

He huffed, working his jaw.

Tension thickened the air as she went down the stairs with her family. Helen hadn’t married the duke yet, but her family had already changed.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end like before a thunderstorm, and her stomach seemed filled with ice.

“Why don’t you argue with Mother and defend your choices?” she whispered to Helen after her parents were a few feet away.

Helen kept her stare on the floor. “She has my best interest at heart.”

“She’s obsessed with dukes.”

“It’s understandable.”

“For someone who dislikes politics, you would make an excellent politician.”

Mother paused before entering the sitting room to take a deep breath. “Girls, make me proud.”

“Yes, Mother.” Helen sounded unemotional.

Isabella was terrified. “Yes, Mother.”

“I’m already proud of my girls,” Father muttered grudgingly under his breath.

A footman opened the double doors and bowed, announcing them.

Isabella squinted for a moment at the brightness of the room. Heavy furniture and thick carpets took up half the space. The other half was occupied by the largest chandeliers Isabella had ever seen. She had to fight the impulse to look up and just stare at the magnificent crystals.

She suppressed a little gasp upon seeing Anthony. In his tailored dark suit, he looked as imposing and intimidating as the duke he was. His auburn curls enhanced his green eyes, the same as his grandmother’s, but even though he was smiling, a forlorn aura radiated from him.

The Dowager stood regal and elegant, making Isabella feel inadequate just by existing. Instead, Lord Patrick, Anthony’s brother, was a ray of sunlight, literally. With his golden hair and sparkling blue eyes, he stood out like Apollo next to Hades.

“Lady Helen, I’m pleased to see you again.” Anthony bowed over Helen’s gloved hand. When he turned to Isabella, she had to control her smile, lest she smile too much.

“Your Grace.” Helen dipped in a curtsy. The moment of sadness from before seemed to never have happened. She looked perfectly happy and serene.

After a round of greetings, curtsies, and bows, drinks were served, but Isabella was distracted by a large frame hanging on the wall and filled with dried, pressed flowers.

She had conflicted feelings about the dried flowers; they were pretty but too similar to mummies.

When the butler announced dinner was ready, she was about to walk to the dining room, but a glare from Mother stopped her. Rules and etiquette. The duke led the way with Helen and Mother, then the Dowager with Father, which left Isabella with Lord Patrick.

“Eerie, aren’t they?” Lord Patrick whispered, taking her arm.

“What?”

“The dead flowers.”

“Goodness.” She was impressed he guessed what she’d been thinking.

She sat on a chair next to Lord Patrick and smiled again, determined not to say a word unless she had to. She would keep her elbows locked to her waist throughout the dinner, her attitude would be demure, and she would be quiet. Easier than dealing with the firethorn.

Anthony sat at the head of the table, and her composure cracked a little when he gave her a quick smile. A smile that held an entire conversation. There was companionship, understanding, and a hint of mischief. She returned the smile and lowered her gaze to her plate while Mother and the dowager duchess talked about the challenges of managing an estate as big as Dockerly Castle.

Helen sat in the position of honour, at the duke’s right, a clear sign of a future courtship.

“...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 need extra 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.”

Anthony gave her another encouraging nod.

“Well.” She tilted her chin up. The Dowager had asked a direct question, and it seemed that, whatever she did, she did wrong. “Of course, you’re a powerful woman, madam. But Mrs. Pankhurst’s point is the average woman in the kingdom has no say in the matters discussed in Parliament.”

“The average woman, or man, doesn’t need to have a say because they don’t understand what governing an empire means,” the Dowager said. “Not all men can vote, as it should be. I don’t need to march in the streets, shouting silly slogans to get things done, and certainly, I don’t want a bunch of uneducated women to give me their unwanted opinions on matters they don’t understand. I hope you won’t discuss this further.”

But Isabella had barely said anything!

“Oh no,” Lord Patrick said. “Please do go on. This is most entertaining.”

Father was flustered. “Then perhaps we should take care of these uneducated women and make sure they receive the education they need to be active members of the country. Your Grace.”

“And wasting money and resources to turn a seamstress into an expert in politics?” the Dowager asked. “For what possible reason? We don’t need everyone’s opinion to govern the country. This isn’t a democracy. Do you want to vote, Helen?”

Helen took a sip of water before answering. “Heavens, no. Why would I?”

The Dowager raised her brow at Isabella. “See?”

“That’s fair,” she said. “If Helen doesn’t want to vote, it’s all right, as long as it’s her choice. It’s also fair that a woman who wishes to vote has the right to do it.” Drat . She’d just admitted to support women’s suffrage.

Father ignored Mother’s glances. “Exactly.”

“And I believe—” Isabella continued.

Mother angled towards her. “Enough, darling.” She turned towards Father. “Please.”

The Dowager shot Isabella a glacial stare. “A piece of advice, Isabella. Power works well only when it’s exclusive. When everyone, even the undeserving ones, has the same power, chaos ensues, and chaos in a kingdom means riots, and riots mean dead people. Those who hold the power must protect people.”

Isabella bowed her head. She’d talked too much.

Anthony cleared his throat. “I agree with Lady Isabella and Montrose.”

The Dowager didn’t show any mercy for her grandson. “Do you now?”

He put down his fork even though he’d barely touched his duck à l’orange . “I met Mrs. Pankhurst, and she’s a clever, well-educated woman who has strong arguments in favour of women’s suffrage. I promised her to support her petition in Parliament.”

Isabella’s heart leapt as she wished she could hug him, but one look from the Dowager crushed all her enthusiasm. Only the Dowager had the uncanny power of making her feel small and wrong with one glance.

Father beamed, but Mother paled, and Helen seemed to have drunk vinegar. The Dowager would likely give her grandson a piece of her mind in private.

Lord Patrick broke the frosty silence by raising his glass in a toast. “Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast to ghosts and extra income, both things I’m absolutely interested in.”

Anthony raised his glass too, smiling at her. “And to well-educated women.”

* * *

For the rest of the dinner, Isabella kept quiet and stiff. She couldn’t enjoy the food, despite the fact the duck was delicious. The fruit sorbet was smooth and sweet, but she could have eaten old parchment for all the pleasure it gave her. She didn’t follow the conversation either, focused on not saying or doing anything wrong. If she were the wife of the duke, she would go mad under the constant pressure to be perfect.

It was with relief she rose from her chair once the dinner was over.

In the drawing room, Anthony sat next to Helen on the silk sofa, a little detached from the rest of the group, to chat with her in private.

Isabella desperately needed something to do before she got trapped in a conversation with the Dowager. But what could she do? After the disastrous dinner, she didn’t feel confident enough to play the piano. She was too agitated for that.

If Helen married Anthony, Isabella feared those dinners and holidays shared with the duke and his grandmother would be a nightmare.

“Lady Isabella.” Patrick gestured at a small table on the other side of the room. “Care to join me for a chess game?”

“Oh gosh, yes. I mean, I’d be delighted.”

He offered her his arm. “Don’t be afraid of Grandmama,” he whispered. “She’s sweeter than she seems.”

“She must have a terrible opinion of me.”

Patrick held the chair for her. “Yes, but it’s not personal. She has a terrible opinion of everyone.”

The tension riding her neck eased a little as they faced each other across the chessboard.

He flashed a wicked grin. “I must warn you. I’m an extraordinary player. I reckon I’ll win in ten minutes and leave you in tears, begging for mercy.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Twenty minutes later, Anthony and Helen were still deep in conversation about something; Mother, Father, and the Dowager were chatting as well, and Isabella was winning at chess!

“…and my bishop goes here,” Patrick said.

“That’s your queen.”

“Really? These pieces look all bloody the same. Apologies. All right. So…” He took the queen back but placed it in the wrong square while knocking the knight off the chessboard.

“Careful.” She grabbed the knight before it fell off the table.

He reached out for it at the same time, and his hand closed around hers.

“Sorry,” they said together, laughing.

Finally, she was enjoying herself.

Patrick scoffed and huffed, ruffling his hair. “I have something to confess.”

“I have a hunch.”

“I’m a terrible chess player.”

She laughed again. “I’m not good either. It’s the first time I’ve almost won.”

“I’ve made a mess.” He held the knight, studying the chessboard. “Where was the knight?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Sod it, pardon my French. Shall we start over?”

“But I was winning.” She feigned outrage.

He scratched his chin. “Then you win. This match is yours. Obviously. I wanted to impress you.” He clicked his tongue. “I guess I failed.”

“No, I was impressed by how you couldn’t tell apart your queen from your king or the rook.”

“Ha-ha, funny.”

They collected the pieces among glances and quick smiles.

“Are we going to be related?” he whispered, nodding towards the sofa where Anthony and Helen were chatting.

“I don’t know, but my sister is well-spoken and beautiful. Your brother might be easily charmed by her.”

Patrick grinned. “Anthony? Easily charmed? Since he started at the military academy, he’d turned into a boring, grumpy man. But I agree. Your sister is as lovely as you are.”

“Thank you.” Her face flamed again.

“You’re blushing. Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t receive many compliments.”

“That’s a shame, and I shall make sure you receive all the compliments you deserve.”

“Shush.”

“Lady Isabella, you aren’t simply lovely but clever, witty, and pleasant to spend time with.”

“Stop.”

“And I immediately love anyone who openly disagrees with Grandmama. I had no opinion on women’s suffrage, but by Jove, now I support it.”

She laughed, maybe too loudly because she felt the Dowager’s glacial stare on her like when snowflakes slid under the collar of her coat.

She stopped laughing and raised her gaze. Yes, the Dowager was staring at her, and there was no need for words. That stare held not merely an entire conversation, but a complete course in manners, too.

She composed herself and focused on the chessboard. “So, shall we start?”