Page 21 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

“I’ve come to warn you,” Clara panted as she barged into Isobel’s room. “Dick’s parents are here.”

Isobel stopped in her tracks, frowning. Dick would be Lord Richard.

He should know better than to invite his relations to someone else’s home, especially when there was so much preparation to do for the ball.

Perhaps she’d accidentally approved the meeting whilst busy daydreaming about starships and their pilots.

Or, one pilot in particular. Had he mentioned it while she wasn’t paying attention?

“Was I told they were coming?” Isobel asked at last. “I feel like I should have been told.”

“Allegedly, it was very last minute, and he asked Papa last night if he could bring them over for a visit before the ball. Cook has been stressing out over the cooking all morning! I’m surprised we didn’t notice anything was the matter sooner.”

“Thank you for the warning.” Isobel had somehow never formally met Lord Richard’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Gisham.

She’d only seen them once or twice at events over the years, and they always looked pompous and stern, as though their sole purpose in life was to judge everyone else.

Already, she felt exhausted by the interaction.

“We can go together to meet them,” Clara said. “They’re currently in the eastern gardens, taking leisure, but will soon be up for tea.”

“You’re the best of allies.”

“Of course I am,” her niece replied, pushing her shoulders back in pride. “But you are, too. How many times have you saved me from meeting with that one snot-nosed earl’s son? And sneaked me medical books? We Nott women must take care of each other.”

That settled it, then. If they were Xaal, Clara would absolutely be her bruvya.

Arm in arm, they marched to the formal drawing room like soldiers heading to war.

“How is everything?” Isobel asked as they sat on the sofa beside each other.

Clara rolled her eyes. “Exhausting. You are so lucky you’re able to avoid some of these events.

The gentlemen are all so boring . I swear they’re all the same, just with different noble names attached to them.

I’d much rather you regale me with what’s kept you so busy, out and about.

You seem … happier,” Clara tested with an expectant brow raise.

Isobel shrugged. “Perhaps the fresh air does me well.” But her mind immediately went to Ved—his ship, Exxo, the things they’d shared together. An entire other universe existed in the confines of his ship.

Clara pursed her lips skeptically. “Always so bloody secretive,” she muttered.

Isobel wished she could tell Clara everything, but the secrets she harbored were much too dangerous. As she contemplated a world where they weren’t, she nearly missed Clara’s insistent throat clearing and the footsteps of the approaching party .

“So,” the imperious voice of the Duchess of Gisham drawled, “this is the woman that has my youngest son ready to settle down again?”

Isobel stood to find the Duke, Duchess, Lord Richard and Henry all staring at her from the drawing room doorway.

The Duchess looked her up and down with all the assessment of a stern governess.

To anyone else, it would probably appear as though she were simply taking note of Isobel’s dress and appearance.

But Isobel knew. It was a look of quiet distaste. Of barely concealed disapproval.

Isobel hated that she was aware of the things people didn’t say or let truly show on their faces. The micro expressions, the minor changes in their tone and body language. She hated that, after all this time of dealing with it, the judgment of other people could still hold so much power over her.

The Duchess’s scrutiny was overwhelming, and Isobel suddenly wished she was anywhere but in front of her. Words couldn’t seem to form—no explanations, no polite change of subject.

It would be a lovely time to have Ved’s invisibility device.

Surprisingly, it was Lord Richard who came to her rescue. “Now, Mother, don’t embarrass me in front of Lord Nott, who has been gracious enough to entertain us until the Flints’ ball.”

The Duchess swept into the room like she was the Queen, waving her youngest son’s remark away.

She was a short woman, but her attire was gaudy, including a too-large brooch and a blocky necklace encrusted with rubies.

Everything about her screamed that she was wealthy and wanted everyone to know it.

Once everyone was settled with tea, the conversation turned to what was going on in Gisham.

As the Duke droned on, the Duchess continued to examine Isobel.

Even when she sipped from her cup, she studied her over the brim of it, eyes narrowed.

Isobel tried her best to ignore it, but it was difficult .

Eventually, the woman’s attention turned to Clara, who was smiling and laughing at all the appropriate moments and asking questions that would send Lord Richard or the Duke talking about something else.

Whether or not she fully accepted her role, Clara didn’t necessarily have to pretend. She was a natural.

The Duchess put up her hand, and Henry stopped speaking mid-sentence. “Richard?” she said in an annoying coo. “Why did you not choose this one here?”

She gestured to Clara, whose smile faltered on her lips. She shifted uncomfortably as she looked from the Duchess to her father.

“Stand up, dear,” the Duchess said in a polite enough tone, except it was a command all the same. Again, Clara looked to Henry, who gave her a barely perceptible nod. She stood, light green skirts swishing around her as she clasped her hands in front of her.

The Duchess assessed her with pursed lips. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “She’s young, has good posture, and is effortlessly beautiful. Her hair stays in place, and she has good hips, the better to give me more grandchildren.”

Because, of course, that was all a woman was—a pretty adornment with a womb. Isobel pressed her lips together. Whatever the Duchess was trying to do, Isobel refused to compare herself to her niece. The mere thought made her nauseated.

The Duchess continued, “This is her debut Season, is it not, Lord Nott?”

“It is, Your Grace,” Henry said. And though he was much better than any of them at playing the game that was high society, Isobel could tell that his tone lacked some of its usual pleasantness.

“And this one,” the Duchess said, turning her attention back to Isobel. “What’s wrong with her? Why has she never married? Does she have some deformity? Some scandal that has been buried? She’ s timid for a woman of her age, too. Is it some hidden shame that keeps her lips sealed?”

Isobel could no longer keep her thoughts to herself. “There is nothing wrong with me, and I am not timid, Your Grace,” she said, tacking the title on as an afterthought. “I am merely trying to be polite, though I’m finding it increasingly difficult to do so.”

Had she said that last part out loud? She had if Clara’s soft gasp and the Duke clearing his throat pointedly were any indicators.

Something dangerous and dark flashed across the Duchess’s face before a wicked smile curled her thin lips. Like she’d just caught Isobel in the act. Like it had been her plan all along.

Henry glanced at Isobel, his brows furrowed enough to leave a crease between them.

She couldn’t tell whether he was cross with her or upset on her behalf.

“There truly is nothing wrong with my sister, Your Grace,” he said.

“My father merely didn’t guide her toward making a match.

However, Lord Richard and my sister have spent a good deal of time becoming acquainted with one another, and I think they are well-suited. ”

Isobel wanted to call him a liar but refrained.

Not that he was lying intentionally. It was only that she knew plenty about Richard while he knew nothing of her.

In fact, they couldn’t be more ill-suited for each other.

He was high society personified in a lean body with perfect blond locks.

Isobel was something wild that had been forced into a cage. They were not the same.

The Duchess pursed her lips. “Her father could neither marry her off nor, it would seem, ensure she has the proper disposition to be a wife,” she snapped. “I understand now why he couldn’t find her a match. No one would want to wrangle her temperament.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to continue her harsh assessment when the Duke interrupted her. “Now, darling,” he soothed .

“Don’t ‘darling’ me. We deserve answers if she is going to marry into this family.” Now she looked to her son. “She’s a viscount’s spinster daughter.”

It was probably the least harmful thing she’d said thus far.

Lord Richard cleared his throat. “Mother, I chose Miss Nott as a favor to Lord Nott. And as I’m remarrying late in life, I didn’t think it mattered much that she managed to stay unattached for as long as she has. She is a bit peculiar, but that’s nothing that can’t be dealt with.”

Isobel’s face went hot with equal parts rage and humiliation. The way they were speaking about her was like she was a defective object. She was on the verge of bursting—of showing them just how fierce her temperament could be.

“My Aunt Isobel is an exceptional woman,” Clara stated. Though her cheeks were pink, her voice was level. “Any gentleman should feel honored to gain her affections.” She sent the briefest look of disdain in Lord Richard’s direction before it was gone just as fast.

“Empathy for those less fortunate,” the Duchess said, “a good quality in a young lady. However, men may have the privilege to take their time choosing their partner, but a lady does not.”

The room fell into an awkward silence.

“Very well,” the Duchess tutted dismissively as if she hadn’t just insulted half the people in the room. “Once you’re married, Richard, perhaps I can whip her into shape over the summer in Gisham. It’s nothing a bit of heavy-handed guidance can’t fix.”

Isobel would rather die than spend any time, let alone an entire summer, in the company of someone so monstrous. In fact, given the choice, she would pick a Kroid over the Duchess of Gisham.

Henry’s lips were in a thin line, his expression severe as he looked between Clara and Isobel. He was, unfortunately, unable to reprimand his company, but seeing that he wanted to gave her some hope. He wasn’t fully lost, then.

Clara squeezed Isobel’s arm as she took her seat again, anchoring her. How could Isobel remove them both from this ridiculous and humiliating situation? Thankfully, Henry said something that set the others off on another topic, and the Duchess’s hawk-like attention wavered.

It took several more minutes before Isobel felt the storm raging in her quiet down.

In three short months, she would be a member of Richard’s family forever.

She’d be the Lady Richard Seymour. It was evident that every part of her would be picked apart, examined, and, if the Duchess had it her way, erased and built anew.

More ladylike, more proper, more exuberant, but not too much so.

The last couple of weeks, Isobel had been living a double life. And her second life, the one where she was a woman who helped a Xaal get his spaceship operational, where she could be fully present as herself in Ved’s company, that was the one she wanted.

And it was the one she’d never have.

She couldn’t dwell on it for too long, or she would simply go mad.

It took a long time, but she eventually fixed her features and posture, ensuring she was the image of a well-bred woman.

Once everyone’s attention was fully invested in Lord Richard’s prattling, she disappeared within herself.

Her mind wandered to a certain warrior and what it might be like if their time together never ended.