Olivia’s mother, the Lady Conner, had recently purchased an entirely new wardrobe for her daughter, in an effort to attract a suitable husband. Not that Olivia needed the help. Isolde knew her friend had no shortage of eligible lords looking to court her, although she had yet to show interest in any of them.
Lady Conner was particular in the kind of man she wanted her daughter to attract. Being of noble birth was a given, but she wished for a wealthy man, one high up in the peerage. Preferably a Marquess or Duke, such as Lord Canterbury, an Earl in line to inherit the title of Marquess from his father.
Isolde knew that her friend did not much care for titles or wealth. She was, like Isolde, a romantic at heart and wanted a man who loved and adored her. Isolde smiled. If Lord Canterbury’s gaze was anything to go by, he certainly adored Olivia.
Suddenly, Isolde felt a jolt of melancholy overtake her. She looked down at her own dress. It was pretty, but much plainer than her friend’s. The simple white-satin gown was worn with a burgundy spencer which, according to her lady’s maid, complemented her brown eyes. She wasn’t quite certain this was true, for her maid had a habit of saying all manner of things to make Isolde feel better about her appearance. In fact, her maid, Molly, had lately been imploring Isolde to request a new wardrobe as well.
Thus far, Isolde had declined. She knew her father, Viscount Lincester, would have bought her any dress she desired. She preferred to wear simple gowns that allowed her to blend in, rather than stand out the way Olivia did. She would not want to be the center of attention. The thought of the eyes of an entire room being on her made her shudder. No, she was quite happy in her plain gown, seated in the back of the room.
It allowed her to feel content while still watching the proceedings. Mostly content. She had to admit she felt a little jealous at the way Lord Canterbury gazed upon her friend. She wished sometimes she had someone look at her that way.
Beside her, Olivia’s mother, Lady Conner, was engaged in a lively conversation with her cousin, the Countess of Buxby. Lady Buxby was on an extended visit from her home in Yorkshire and appeared to much enjoy the sound of her own voice. Isolde had been ignoring the chatter in favor of the soothing sounds of the music, but she could not help being drawn into the conversation now.
“Lady Conner, Miss Brown looks rather lovely tonight. And Lord Canterbury must agree, for this is the second dance he’s shared with her tonight,” The old Countess commented as they watched the couples dance. Lady Conner beamed.
“It is indeed. The Viscount was rather cross with me when I procured an entire new wardrobe for her, but I told him it would be well worth it. And I was correct. He shall have to grovel before me when Lord Canterbury makes an offer!”
The two women giggled, their hands discreetly in front of their mouths. Isolde smiled politely when the Countess caught her eye and focused her attention on her. Isolde shrunk back a little, not eager to make conversation.
“Do you not enjoy dancing, Miss Gordon? I have not seen you on the dance floor once tonight,” the Countess asked while polishing her looking glass.
Isolde chewed on her bottom lip. Before she could answer, Lady Conner, who served as Olivia’s and her chaperon tonight, spoke up.
“Miss Gordon has not yet been asked, unfortunately.”
“Faith!” the Countess exclaimed as though a death had been proclaimed. “I am ever so sorry. Here, why don’t you take a turn around the room? You’ve been sitting in the corner hidden behind two old crows yakking along all night, it is no wonder no one has asked you to dance. Let them see you, someone is bound to ask you for a dance. Over there, you see Lord Gray is looking rather miserable and lonesome, why don’t you take a walk by his table? Shall I accompany you?”
Isolde pushed her chair back in a hurry. “That is ever so kind of you, dearest Countess. It is rather stuffy in here and I believe taking the air might do me good.”
The Countess looked at Lady Conner, who shrugged. “It may do. Shall I come along?”
Isolde shook her head, “I am quite fine, Lady Conner. I will walk the gardens for a while. In any case, I believe my dear friend may require your attention more so than I at this time.” She looked back at the dance floor where the couples were still engaged in the quadrille.
Lady Conner smiled widely at the sight of her daughter with the dashing young Earl
“Quite right, Miss Gordon, quite right.”
Isolde rose, smoothing her dress down as she stood. She walked a few steps and exited the door closest to her table when she heard Lady Conner’s voice. She spoke quieter than usual but still loud enough for Isolde to hear.
“Poor child, this is not the first time she hasn’t been asked to dance. Every ball I’ve taken her to has been the same. She sits alone and won’t even take a turn around the room unless my daughter or her cousin accompanies her. The only time she gets to dance is if a young lord has been encouraged to ask her, or one of the older lords takes pity.”
Isolde froze where she stood and turned her head to hear better.
The Countess sighed, “What a pity. She is rather a plain girl. Does her Mother not attend to her wardrobe? Much can be done with a little sprucing up of the attire and the hair. It may improve her confidence, for she’s awfully quiet and withdrawn. It’s difficult to attract attention when you hide.”
“The Mother passed away in childbirth when Miss Gordon was but a small child. She has been raised by an elderly governess who knew nothing of style. I have tried to be an influence, but it is useless. Miss Gordon seems utterly uninterested in improving her appearance. If you ask me, she’s resigned to being on the shelf.”
“What a shame.”
Isolde felt tears spring into her eyes.
Is it not enough that I know I am plain? Must it be confirmed in such a cruel and public manner? I wish I had stayed home. I do not know why I agreed to come to this deuced ball. I know hardly a soul, and I knew from the start no one would ask me to dance.
She did not enjoy attending social functions for exactly this reason. Mingling with the other young ladies of the ton made her feel worse about herself than she already did, for it reminded her of all she lacked both in looks and confidence. She came to these balls because it was expected of her. She’d much rather have spent her time in the stables with her horses, or in her father’s library.
Although, if she was honest with herself, there was one other reason she came here. She did not like to admit it but she did carry a glimmer of hope that one day, someone might see that there was more to her than just the quiet girl who sat in the corner. Someone who might take an interest in her and discover what was beneath the timid exterior. She knew the chance of that happening was slim, and that Lady Conner was right. She had resigned herself to her fate. With a sigh, she shook away the sadness and carried on walking.
* * *
Isolde collected her pelisse and was almost outside when she passed the supper room. Suddenly, the thought of a piece of dry cake made her mouth water. She would get cake and a cup of Negus, and enjoy it outside away from the crowd.
She stepped into the supper room, leaving her pelisse on a chair by the door. She surveyed the delicacies displayed. In addition to dry cake and bread and butter, an assortment of sweets was on offer. On the other end of the room she spotted a table with steaming tea and assorted drinks, among them her favorite–Negus. She poured herself a cup and sat it down while cutting a piece of cake which she placed on a handkerchief.
Isolde was about to add a piece of marzipan to her plate when she heard a gaggle of voices approaching. She looked up and froze.
Before her were Miss Frances Portsmouth and Miss Hester York, along with another young lady she did not recognize. Isolde could not stand either of them for they were terrible, vain girls who enjoyed nothing more than to ridicule her. Her father had attempted to forge a friendship between her and them, but they had found her odd and boring.
What never seemed to bore them was their love for tormenting
her. Isolde felt cold sweat break out on her forehead and her hands began to shake. The Negus swerved back and forth in the cup, dangerously close to spilling.
“Oh la! Look who it is! Miss Isolde Gordon. My, your hands are shaking, my dear. Are you exhausted from all the dancing?” Frances said, a smirk on her face. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest and stared Isolde down.
She wanted nothing more than to run, to get out of here and away from them, but they stood in such a way that the door to the supper room was blocked. Isolde looked at the lovely carpeted floor wishing she could melt into it at once.
“You were asked a question, Miss Gordon. Are your hands shaking from exhaustion of dancing?” Hester chimed in, causing her two friends to giggle with glee. “Have you lost the power of speech too? You know, Frances? I don’t recall her dancing at all tonight, do you?”
Isolde glanced up without fully raising her head. The plate and cup weighed heavy in her hands and she longed to set them down. Frances tapped her chin with her gloved index finger.
“I do not believe so, dearest Hester. No. Oh la, perhaps it is because…” she paused and then lowered her voice to a hiss, “no one ever asks you to dance. Poor dear.” She turned to the third girl, whom Isolde did not know.
“I am rather rude tonight, am I not? I have failed to properly introduce you. This is my Cousin, the Countess Droben. Lady Droben, this is Miss Isolde Gordon. Viscount Lincester’s daughter. She’s destined to be on the shelf and turn into an old spinster.”
“How very unfortunate,” the Countess said, although her tone carried spite, not pity.
Why are these ladies so mean? I have done nothing to them. I do not bother them, I stay out of their way. Why must they torment me so? Oh, where is Lady Conner? For once I should need her and she is nowhere to be found.
“Miss Gordon, perhaps you did not hear it when Miss Portsmouth introduced her Cousin. She is a Countess. Thus…” Hester stopped speaking and looked at Isolde with her eyebrows raised.
Of course. As one below the Countess in precedence, Isolde had to curtsy. She awkwardly crossed one leg in front of the other and bent her knees while attempting to keep the cup and cake upright. She failed. Her hands were shaking so badly that at last, the Negus spilled over the edge, causing a rather large spill on the carpet.
Isolde, horrified by her error, rose at once in order to remedy the mess. She turned to set the cup down and found herself slipping in the spill. She tumbled forward and, in an effort to keep from falling, she dropped the plate with the cake, causing it to land on the floor where it shattered into pieces.
“Faith! The beautiful plate! Don’t you know how much that costs, you clumsy fool?” Frances shouted, louder than she needed to. Almost at once, a maid appeared. She pushed past the three girls who were still blocking the door and surveyed the mess.
“I am ever so sorry. Please, let me…” Isolde sat the cup down and attempted to help the maid who waved her away.
“Do not touch the shards, Miss, lest you…”
“Ow!” Isolde exclaimed for she had already attempted to pick up a piece and had cut herself. Blood dripped from her index finger and she swiftly placed it in her mouth to keep from making a bigger mess. Tears sprang into her eyes, both from the pain and the humiliation. The three ladies laughed, hands in front of their mouths.
“You see! This is why she will end up an old maid! She can’t even eat a piece of cake without destroying all the furnishing. Can you imagine any lord wanting to wed someone as useless as her?” Frances said between fits of laughter.
Isolde could no longer control herself. She broke into sobs at the mean insults at her person. She wanted to run, wanting nothing more than to hide, but she could not for the door was still blocked. They were not done tormenting her. In fact, she was certain they enjoyed her tears.
“What is this commotion about? Make way!” A booming, deep voice sounded from the door. At once, the trio dispersed and through her tears, Isolde saw a tall, handsome man with long blond hair appear. His countenance was one of concern. He looked at her and stepped toward her.
“You are hurt, let me…”
“I am quite all right,” she said through sobs. “Excuse me.” She rushed past the man and the three ladies who had finally stopped laughing. The appearance of the young man had stopped their laughter but the cruel way with which they had treated her had left its mark on Isolde.
She ran out of the room, down the grand hallway and to the door that led outside. She rushed outside and down the stairs when suddenly she slipped. She was not sure if it was frost on the steps or the remnants of the Negus she’d stepped into earlier, but she flew into the air and fell backward and landed on the stone steps. She yelped with pain.
What a disaster, what an utter disaster I am! The girls are right and so are the Lady Conner and her cousin. I am useless. Plain and useless and I shall never find anyone to care for me. Look at me! An embarrassment.
She cried hot tears as she remained sitting on the stairs.
“Miss! Faith, are you injured?” A familiar voice sounded out from behind her. She turned and through the curtain of tears she saw the blond-haired lord who had come to her assistance in the supper room. She wiped her eyes and tried hard to suppress any further tears. He was beside her in a split second.
“Can you stand?” He squatted next to her.
“I believe I can, yes.” She attempted to rise but a sharp pain raced through her back.
“Let me assist you,” the man said and wrapped an arm around her to help her stand.
Isolde’s tears stopped for the sheer shock of having a man she was not related to touch her in such a way. He helped her up the steps and to a bench on the porch. The pain in her back ebbed away somewhat as she sat.
“May I see your finger?”
She let him examine her finger. As he did, she noticed how very blue his eyes were. So much like the ocean but with a sparkle as though she was looking into the stars. He wrapped a handkerchief around her finger. The sensation of his hand on hers made her shudder, but not in an unpleasant way.
“It is not too bad a cut.” He looked up at her and she became very aware of how her tear-stained face had to look. The carefully-applied powder was surely ruined.
“It might be improper to say so, Miss, but I could not help but overhear some of the unkind things the ladies said to you. And I am certain what I heard was but a small fraction of what they said.”
Isolde swallowed hard. She had been utterly humiliated. What cruel irony it was that a handsome lord should pay attention to her when she was near ruined with embarrassment. Of course, a handsome lord such as him would not otherwise have paid attention to her.
“It is quite all right, my Lord. It is not the first time and it will not be the last. I am usually much more composed. My Father always taught me the best way to deal with ladies such as these is to remain composed for they will eventually see the virtue in my endurance.”
He frowned and looked out into the night, then shook his head. “I do not know who your father is, but I must respectfully disagree. When assaulted in such a vile manner it is imperative to defend oneself. Next time it happens, let them see how cruel they are, let them get a taste of their own medicine.” She noticed that he had balled his hands into fists in anger. The knuckles turned white in a hurry.
“Promise me you will not let ladies such as these cause you so much pain again. You deserve to be treated with respect for you appear to be a fair and kind-hearted young woman. Do not let them tell you otherwise.”
Isolde’s mouth fell open for she had never received such advice from a stranger with such compassion. Whoever this young lord was, he appeared genuinely concerned for her.
“I promise,” she said quietly. “I am sorry, but I do not believe we have met.”
A slight smile appeared on his lips. “I am…”
“Oh, Faith! There you are!” The door burst open and Olivia appeared, Isolde’s pelisse dra
ped over her arm. “I went to search for you and came upon the commotion in the supper room. They said you rushed outside without your pelisse. You must be frozen to the bone.”
She rushed to Isolde’s side and draped it around her. Only once she was done did she acknowledge the young man.
“Oh, excuse me. I did not mean to …”
The man rose and bowed to both of them.
“It is quite all right.” He looked at Isolde, a warm smile on his face. “Now that you are properly attended to, I shall take my leave.” He opened the door and was almost inside when he stopped and turned back.
“Do not forget your promise.”
“I will not forget, my Lord.”
With that, the stranger entered the house and left.
“Who was he? What promise? And what happened to you? You look a fright.”
Isolde’s eyes were still fixed to the door where the young man had disappeared. She tore her gaze away and faced her friend whose fair face was marked with worry.
“I fell and he assisted me. I did not even discover his name.”
She looked down at her index finger which was still wrapped in the man’s handkerchief. She unwrapped it and took a closer look. It was made of fine muslin and had beautifully-decorated edges. In the middle, the letter E was embroidered. E? She frowned and found herself looking out into the night, just as he had done. The handkerchief in hand she closed her eyes and thought of the young man who’d come to her rescue in more ways than one. Her heart beat faster as she thought of the way he’d wrapped his arm around her to help her up.
She could not help but wonder, Who was this stranger? And would she ever see him again?
Chapter 2
Jonathan sat behind his father’s heavy oak desk, and rubbed his eyes as a yawn escaped him. He had not slept well the previous night as the events of the ball and his encounter with the young lady had kept his mind occupied. Even now, when he should be attending to matters of his estate, he kept thinking back to last night. Rage built up inside him when he thought of the three young ladies’ behavior. To taunt someone so mercilessly as to reduce them to tears….
The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance) Page 29