Page 5 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount (Love Beyond Expectations #3)

The day after a ball was always a quiet one. Since most people had arrived home only in the early hours of the morning, or perhaps even as the sun was coming up, there was no question of paying or receiving calls until mid-afternoon at the earliest. In Isolde’s case, she wasn’t expecting any calls at all.

Gentlemen paid calls the day after a ball, following up on any interest they may have started during the ball. Isolde did not expect anyone, unless Lord Raisin was willing to give things another try.

She hoped not.

Judging by the light coming in through the half-open curtains, it was somewhere near noon. Isolde generally hated lying in so late, as it felt that the whole day slipped away from her. Now that the first ball of the Season had come and gone, it would be all action. There’d be picnics, soirees, balls, dinner parties, garden parties, masked balls, and on and on without stopping. Isolde would have to attend countless functions every week.

Unless you aren’t invited to them.

She went cold at that thought. It hadn’t really occurred to her that she might not receive her customary invitations.

Would that be worse? Yes, she thought it would be worse.

Don’t think about that now. A person can go mind worrying about the future. Think about the here and now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Isolde had plans for today. Once she summoned the energy to get out of her bed, she would enjoy a leisurely breakfast, and then retire to the library to continue the adventures of Elizabeth Bennet. James would probably want to go for a walk later.

All in all, a nice, pleasant day, slow and relaxed. There could have been worse starts to the Season.

A timid knock came at the door. Isolde’s maid, no doubt.

“Come in, Mary,” Isolde said, yawning.

“It’s me, Izzy.”

She frowned, sitting up. “James? What’s the matter?”

“I… I think there’s something you should see.”

“Just tell me, James.”

She heard him shuffling on the other side of the door, indecisive.

“No,” he said at last. “You’d better come and see it. Get dressed, quickly, and come down for breakfast. We’re all waiting.”

Abruptly, his footsteps receded, leaving Isolde sitting up in bed, wide awake. All laziness was gone. The familiar knot of anxiety curled in her stomach. Whatever she had to see, it almost certainly was going to be bad. Very, very bad.

Fifteen minutes later, having pulled on a plain dress that was barely suitable for walking around the house, Isolde hurried downstairs. She could hear voices drifting out of the half-open dining room door. Angry voices. Swallowing hard, she stepped inside.

The conversation stopped.

It is never a pleasant feeling to have conversation stop when you enter the room. It gives most people a nasty, crawling feeling, to know they are being talked about. Isolde paused, blinking around at her family.

“What… what’s going on?”

Richard and Beatrice sat side by side in their usual places at the table. Their breakfast plates were half-full, but clearly hadn’t been touched for some time. James was standing up, a newspaper hanging from his hand.

No, not a newspaper.

Isolde recognised the neat printing on the paper, and her heart sank.

“The gossip columns are out in force this morning,” James said, lifting the paper. “Start of the Season and all that. Take a read of this one.”

He tossed it across the dining table towards Isolde. The folded paper slid around so that she could neatly read the headline.

The Ice Queen Dances With London’s Most Infamous Rake!

“Oh,” she managed weakly. “I see.”

There were several scandal sheets circulating London at any given time. Publishing gossip columns was a risky business. Everyone who was anyone read them – there was more truth in their pages to be found in Society at the best of times – but anyone found to have been writing one of those columns would be shunned.

And still, everybody read them.

“It’s all anybody will be talking about,” Beatrice said, sounding as if she were near tears. “Pray, Isolde, do proceed. Read it aloud! Do not hesitate!”

“She doesn’t have to,” Richard interrupted. “It’s all nonsense.”

“I think she had better read it,” James said quietly. “Everybody else will have.”

Isolde said nothing. She picked up the paper, unfolded it, and forced herself to begin reading.

Dear Readers, the Season has begun, our Society springing to life with the first ball of the Season. Deemed a roaring success, Lady Juliana’s party has been the perfect start to the new Season, starting off the famous Marriage Mart with a bang.

We have seen a great many promising matches, and a host of beautiful new debutantes. However, the story that caught the attention of this author circled around none other than the Ice Queen herself.

For those unfamiliar with Lady Isolde Belford, prepare to be enlightened. A beautiful, intelligent, and rich young woman with a remarkable family and all the charms a doting parent could wish, Lady Isolde burst upon the London scene four Seasons ago. All predictions had her making a remarkable match in no time at all.

This author, for one, was surprised when Lady Isolde firmly rebuffed each suitor that came her way. Young and old, handsome and ugly, rich and poor, Lady Isolde turned her back on each one, to the none-too-subtle despair of her doting parents.

What likely started as a childish fancy, doubtless spurred on by too much novel reading, has turned into something much worse. Now beginning her fourth Season and her twenty-third year, Lady Isolde is on the cusp of spinsterhood. No longer a young, beautiful debutante, she is beginning to become a permanent fixture in London Society.

And we all know how Society tires of the ordinary.

As Lady Isolde’s suitors have trailed away, one can imagine that panic has set in. That is the only explanation – in this author’s opinion – for the spectacle of Lady Isolde waltzing with Lord Clayton, Viscount Henley himself.

The Viscount, known for his intrigues, scandals, and rakish behaviour, tends not to bother spinsters, but perhaps Lady Isolde will ensnare his heart?

A shocking scene presented itself. Lady Isolde fell – by accident or by design, who can say – and stumbled directly against the viscount himself. While onlookers stared in shock, the two conversed briefly, then immediately took to the dance floor, where they danced the scandalous waltz. They parted immediately after the dance, leading us to wonder – what was discussed? Did the Ice Queen try to ensnare the Rake? Perhaps so. Will they meet again? We shall have to wait and see.

Let us watch with amusement as this story unfolds. The Rake and the Ice Queen – who will triumph? Will Lady Isolde freeze the viscount’s heart, or will Lord Henley melt the lady’s unyielding soul? Who will be left broken-hearted? More to the point, which of these two characters will receive their just rewards?

Perhaps the Ice Queen, who has turned down so many eligible men and frozen out so many others, is due for a little humbling, a little love and heartbreak to help her understand just how much suffering she has caused.

Or maybe the viscount, with his flirtatious ways, will finally meet a woman to ensnare his heart? Either way, this Season seems to be a remarkably interesting one.

This author is keen to see how it all ends. Hopefully you, dear reader, will follow along.

Isolde swallowed hard. Her throat was burning. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. All at once, maybe. Was that possible.

“They want to see me humbled,” she said quietly. “They want to see him fall in love, but they want to see me punished. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair!”

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Richard said decisively, reaching over and plucking the gossip sheet from Isolde’s hand. With one deft movement, he tossed the paper in the fire. It caught immediately, the edges crisping up and burning, the whole thing reduced to dust in a matter of minutes.

It hardly mattered. Isolde knew she’d always remember what she had read.

“I didn’t break anyone’s heart,” Isolde gabbled, tears pricking at her eyes. “I didn’t flirt with anyone. I didn’t lead anyone on, not unless you count ordinary politeness as leading somebody on. Those men didn’t love me, they wanted my money. It isn’t fair!”

James appeared at her side, wrapping his arms around her. Isolde sagged into him. She felt oddly hollow, almost numb.

“It’s not your fault, Izzy,” James murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Everybody was on their best behaviour tonight, so there can’t have been anything else to write about. If only one of the debutantes had spilled some wine on somebody’s dress, or fainted, or gone the wrong way when promenading, nobody would have noticed the business with Lord Henley and you.”

Isolde sniffled, feeling sorry for herself. “I didn’t do anything wrong. They’re trying to say that I tripped deliberately. Why? So he could catch me? What a silly thing to do.”

“You’d be surprised,” Beatrice remarked grimly. “I’ve known young ladies twist their ankles and come over all faint when their gentleman of choice is nearby. The symptoms vanish when he does. It would be comical if it wasn’t so deceitful.”

Isolde pulled out a chair and sat down with a thump. The breakfast things were spread out before her – bacon, toast, kippers, scrambled eggs, and fruit. It turned her stomach just to look at it.

Was everybody laughing at me the whole time? She thought, heart twisting. Did Viola know? Was that why she was so kind to me?

An awful thought struck her.

“Lord Henley will have read this, won’t he?” she said aloud.

Her parents exchanged looks.

“I doubt it,” Richard said, flashing an insincere smile. “Gentlemen don’t much care for scandal sheets.”

Beatrice shook her head, laying a hand on her husband’s arm.

“She is no longer a child, Richard. Let us not deceive her. I believe Isolde is entitled to a measure of honesty, do you not agree?” She drew in a breath and faced Isolde. “Frankly, yes. If he doesn’t read it himself, somebody will tell him about it.”

Isolde groaned aloud, dropping her head into her hands.

She didn’t like the viscount, of course she didn’t. He was a flirtatious rake, and his good opinion was an insult more than anything else, but if he thought she was chasing him… oh, it was too humiliating for words.

She could almost see the viscount, sitting in state at his breakfast table, raising an eyebrow at the paper.

Would he believe it all? Would he think that she’d thrown herself deliberately at him? That she was trying to catch him?

She imagined him snorting to himself, shaking his head, and tossing the paper aside in order to get started on his breakfast.

“Poor, foolish creature,” he would remark, briskly cracking open a boiled egg. ‘Quite lamentable, truly. I must keep my distance from her. Such an affair cannot be deemed a conquest, not when she is practically laying herself at my feet.”

Isolde angrily reminded herself that she did not care about his good opinion, and it didn’t matter in the slightest what he thought of her.

It still hurt, though.

“Isolde? Isolde, are you listening to me?”

She opened her eyes, glancing across at her mother. “Yes, Mama.”

Beatrice passed a hand over her face. “This business is awkward, make no mistake.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I am well aware that you did not, my dearest. However, Society will perceive it differently. We must contemplate our next course of action. Withdrawing you from the Season is simply not an option; the loss of reputation would be insurmountable, and you would find it impossible to regain your standing. Perhaps we might consider...”

“A few weeks shall not cause any harm,” Richard spoke up, and the two began to argue.

Isolde swayed in her chair. She felt ill, dangerously so. Abruptly, she got to her feet and went running out of the room. The argument continued behind, but Isolde didn’t care.

She raced along the hallways, not caring how silly she looked, and burst into the library. There, at long last, the tears came.

Isolde slid down against the door, landing with an undignified thump.

She cried for a moment or two, uninterrupted, before a knock came on the door.

“Izzy?”

“Go away, James.”

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in, or I’ll go around the house and climb in through the library window.”

She sighed. He probably meant it.

“Fine,” she shuffled aside, and the door creaked open. James stepped in and settled himself on the floor beside her.

For a few minutes, they just sat there, side by side, in silence.

James spoke first.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine how awful this is for you.”

“I suppose I’m being silly,” she murmured. “It’s just… well, I’m already used to getting looks from people. I’m used to being snubbed. Used to that silly nickname. But now, after this article, things are going to get worse, aren’t they? People will think I’m trying to catch the viscount. He will think that. They’re going to laugh at me. And what if Viola’s mother decides she shouldn’t spend time with me? You know how badly Lady Appleton wants her daughter to marry. She already thinks I’m a bad influence.”

“Viola is a stronger person than you think,” James said firmly. “She’ll stand up to her mother if necessary.”

“Aside from you, I have one friend in the whole world. I’m so alone, James. It hurts so much.”

His face twisted. Sliding an arm around her shoulder, he pulled her close in a tight hug. They sat like that for a few more minutes.

“You must marry, Izzy,” he said quietly.

She pulled away. “Don’t, James.”

“I’m serious. I’m not trying to make fun of you, I’m trying to make you understand how serious this is. The only thing that will recover your reputation is a good marriage. I know you don’t like Lord Raisin, but he’s not a bad man.”

“I know, but I don’t want to marry him. I could never marry a man that I… that I couldn’t be honest with.”

James bit his lip. “We all have secrets, Isolde. Even from the ones we love most.”

She sighed, dragging the back of her hand across her eyes. “It’s too late, anyway. If I was going to get married, I should have done it years ago. I’m a fourth-Season lady with a reputation for spurning gentlemen. I’m a spinster. I’m a joke. Any gentleman who wanted to court me is going to be mocked. I think even Lord Raisin has had enough.”

James clenched his jaw. “I won’t have it. Anyone who mocks you in front of me, even a little, is going to answer for it.”

“Don’t be silly, James. A little mockery never hurt anyone.”

She didn’t believe her own words, though. Right now, Isolde felt small, silly, and extremely miserable. There was no way out of this, was there?

Except getting married, of course. and Isolde had always known that marriage wasn’t for her. It was a trap, and gentlemen couldn’t be trusted.

Her mother had trusted one of them, and she lost everything. Everything, even her own life.

Isolde shuddered.

“Oh, my dear, are you cold?” James asked, misunderstanding.

Isolde smiled faintly and said nothing.

“Father thinks you might be happier in the countryside,” James said slowly, after another pause. “He’s not sending you away, he just can’t bear seeing you so miserable. Mother believes you should persevere, as she contends that should you retreat to the countryside at this time, you may find it impossible to return. Not for many years, and then, what would be the purpose?

“Mama still wants me to marry,” Isolde observed. “I think Papa has given up hope.”

James’ expression tightened. “We have never lost faith in you, Izzy, neither in matters of matrimony nor in anything else. Society is a most unforgiving realm, yet we must navigate its challenges together. Shall we, dear Izzy? Let us devise a plan. You have always possessed such ingenuity in your ideas.’

She bit her lip. “I… I’m just tired, James. I think I’d like to rest a bit. I’ll just read my book; I think.”

James didn’t seem particularly happy at this, but reluctantly left the library, after a little prodding.

Isolde sat in the window seat and stared out, seeing nothing. Pride and Prejudice sat on her lap, but she didn’t open it.

This would never have happened to Elizabeth Bennet.