Chapter Three
June 13, 1818
Isobel was at sixes and sevens. She clasped her hands in her lap while she stared at William and Fanny, who sat on the carriage bench opposite her.
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“What doesn’t?” The fierce frown her brother wore didn’t bode well for the remainder of the evening. Was he already thinking of a lecture to deliver her way?
“Continuing to socialize while Mother will die soon.” Her chest felt too tight, and she could scarcely breathe every time she thought of the death that was so imminent.
“Isn’t that what you wished for? To continue entertainment even though you should be at Mother’s bedside?” Though he’d couched the words in a low voice, the hypocrisy of the statement sent a wave of hot anger sailing through her being.
“As if I’m the only one of the Stormes that must sit in attendance?” Isobel shook her head. “How dare you assume the whole of the responsibility falls to me.” She heaved out a huff of frustration. “Besides, Mother urged me to go. She said there was nothing to be done for her anymore and that she didn’t wish to hinder my life.”
Yet the possibility of returning to the house only to find her parent had passed on was exceptionally terrifying. Again, when an excess of emotion climbed her throat, she repressed the urge to set it free. Instead, she clasped her hands tighter. The presence of the ruby ring beneath the gloves brought her a modicum of comfort.
To say nothing of the fact that the period of mourning would soon be upon her.
How will I survive with nothing to look forward to?
How would she survive being alone?
“I understand how you feel. It’s heartbreaking that Mother must suffer this lingering, horrible illness and that we must bear witness to it.” William leaned forward and patted Isobel’s knee. “We’ll help each other through it.”
“Perhaps.” For the moment, it was enough that she was able to attend an evening out, even if it was only through the Storme family connections. She craved the mental stimulation as well as the gaiety. It kept sadness and anxiety at bay, at least for a time. When she was dancing and laughing, she didn’t have to think about what was to come… or her future.
“However, I must warn you, Isobel, that tonight is not the time for your usual sensations.”
Ah, here was the expected lecture. She sighed but kept her attention on the window and the black velvet curtains she’d opened to watch the Mayfair townhouses they passed. “And?”
He heaved a sigh. “Don’t dare any of the guests to slide down the bannisters with you. Do not think to dare any young men in attendance to wade in the fountain contained within the square.” His tones conveyed doubt she could follow simple instructions. “And please don’t encourage anyone at this dinner party to act in any sort of impropriety. We are going at Finn’s behest, and he doesn’t deserve to have the evening made a mockery or a sensation.”
“And it’s the first time he and Lady Jane have opened their new house for visitors,” Fanny added with excitement in her voice. “I’m so looking forward to a tour. I’ve heard they’ve installed an exquisite chandelier in the entry hall. The space can double as a reception hall and makes the townhouse open and airy.”
Isobel didn’t much care for the architectural wonders the house claimed or how magnificent the chandelier was. Such things didn’t fascinate her as they apparently did her friend. Though she doubted Cousin Finn would flaunt his affluence, a stab of envy pierced her chest, but she shoved the feeling aside. “Your rules are stifling, Wills.” Finally, she turned her head and met her brother’s gaze in the waning light, for the sun had nearly set. “Why ask me to remove any bit of gaiety I might have derived from life?”
He snorted. “Because it’s not proper for a grown woman to slide down bannisters, whether in her own house or that of someone else.”
“Have you tried it? It’s quite fun.” She allowed a tiny smile, but it didn’t banish the warring emotions building in her person.
“No, and I don’t intend to.”
Fanny’s eyes twinkled as she regarded Isobel. “I think it might be fun. At least once.” She leaned slightly forward. “Do you remember when we put the mattresses on the stairs at Hadleigh House and rode them down?”
Isobel snorted. “That made Christmastide truly spectacular.” They’d been certain to do so while Cousin Andrew was busy elsewhere, to circumvent the lectures on deportment.
“So that’s what that hysterical laughter meant,” William said as he glanced at his wife. “We heard it from the drawing room but had no idea what was happening.”
“Isobel is quite inventive when it comes to games.” Fanny patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m all that is proper now… to an extent.” She followed the statement with a wink, which caused William to lean closer to her.
“Do stop. Please. I do not wish to see a display of affection by my brother.” Isobel held up a hand. Both William and Fanny wore twin expressions of embarrassment. “Regardless, your rules and dictates chafe. I’m certain tonight will prove dull. And long.” She crossed her arms at her chest and once more contemplated the scenery past the window.
Her brother snorted. “If those rules curb your penchant for causing scandal, that’s all to the good. Andrew will flay me alive if the Storme name features into the gossip mills again.”
“If that’s the only way my family will take notice of me, what am I to do?” she asked softly without looking at them.
“What the devil are you talking about?” She heard rather than saw the frown in William’s voice.