diplomat some years her senior, was one exception.
The earl's friend, Leighton Frost, was another.
Lucy had embraced her with
affection.
"Isabelle, you've altered
scarcely a whit since school! How delightful it is to see you again."
This was accompanied by a
mischievous smile. Isabelle smiled nervously in turn. Her husband had evidently
primed his sister about their fictitious relationship. Lucy winked and moved
down the receiving line.
Mr. Frost, whom Snow presented as
one of his oldest friends, was generally accounted the handsomest man in
London. From the top of his golden head to his immaculate evening pumps, he was
perfection. Sensuous lips, a slightly aquiline nose and the coldest blue eyes
Isabelle had ever seen, accompanied a well-cut figure, slightly above medium
height.
"Lady Snow, it's a pleasure to
finally meet you. Your husband has kept you hidden away for far too long."
Frost bowed over her hand. He
surveyed her thoroughly, and then his gaze dropped to the expanse of bosom
displayed by the low-cut gown the modiste had insisted was all the rage.
He pressed a kiss into her palm.
"I hope to become more...intimately acquainted with you in the
future."
Isabelle stepped back and Frost
immediately released her. He smiled and passed down the line, greeting her
husband and exchanging a few pleasantries with the other guests.
The Beaufort sapphires her husband
had given her before the ball glittered in the candlelight, their weight a
brand of possession. Isabelle chatted and danced, ignoring the headache which
kept growing in proportion to the noise in the ballroom. She turned from
listening to a discussion of family bloodlines with two of Snow's elderly aunts
to encounter the hard stare of Lady Merritt, her former sister-in-law.
"You've certainly fallen on
your feet, my dear sister," she said, with a hard smile.
"Leticia, thank you so much
for coming. You look lovely." Isabelle clutched her fan.
"Spare me your hypocrisy. I
don't want to be here anymore than you want me to be. If my husband hadn't
insisted, I would be home with a glass of wine, toasting my dear Charlie. How
quickly you've forgotten him."
"I've forgotten nothing,"
Isabelle said, "nor forgiven."
"You jumped-up little whore!
Charlie was worth ten of you. But you made him wallow down in the mud with you.
He would still be alive if not for you!"
The ivory spines of Isabelle's fan
snapped audibly.
"You were always blind about
your brother. He was a drunkard and a cheat who did his best to ruin my
life!"
Leticia's slap resounded through
the ballroom, followed by a shocked silence.
"I will never forgive you, you
worthless slut. I wish you were as dead as Charlie." Leticia's raised arm
was halted in mid-swing by Snow.
"I believe we've had enough
excitement for one night, ladies." He dropped Leticia's arm and beckoned
to Lord Merritt. "Your husband will escort you out. I believe you are
suffering from a migraine and need to leave." Leticia sputtered, but
Merritt arrived to pull her away.
Snow turned to Isabelle and offered
his arm. "May I escort you into supper, madam?"
She placed her fingers on his
sleeve, his large warm hand closing over her cold one. What a disaster. She
prayed her husband would forgive her for creating such a sordid scene.
*
* * * *
Isabelle watched with relief as the
last of their guests straggled towards the stairs. Her face ached from smiling.
She curtsied to the Beaufort aunts, her husband's arm rigid beneath her
fingers. He was still angry.
"Lord Snow, what a lovely
evening, quite the success." The lovely Mrs. Meldrum leaned forward to tap
Snow's free arm with a flourish worthy of a younger coquette, affording any
interested party a clear view of her extravagant cleavage.
Snow thanked her with a smile while
Isabelle ground her teeth inaudibly. Madam Meldrum was not the first attractive
woman to single out her husband this evening, but quite possible the rudest.
She had barely acknowledged Isabelle throughout the
The earl's friend, Leighton Frost, was another.
Lucy had embraced her with
affection.
"Isabelle, you've altered
scarcely a whit since school! How delightful it is to see you again."
This was accompanied by a
mischievous smile. Isabelle smiled nervously in turn. Her husband had evidently
primed his sister about their fictitious relationship. Lucy winked and moved
down the receiving line.
Mr. Frost, whom Snow presented as
one of his oldest friends, was generally accounted the handsomest man in
London. From the top of his golden head to his immaculate evening pumps, he was
perfection. Sensuous lips, a slightly aquiline nose and the coldest blue eyes
Isabelle had ever seen, accompanied a well-cut figure, slightly above medium
height.
"Lady Snow, it's a pleasure to
finally meet you. Your husband has kept you hidden away for far too long."
Frost bowed over her hand. He
surveyed her thoroughly, and then his gaze dropped to the expanse of bosom
displayed by the low-cut gown the modiste had insisted was all the rage.
He pressed a kiss into her palm.
"I hope to become more...intimately acquainted with you in the
future."
Isabelle stepped back and Frost
immediately released her. He smiled and passed down the line, greeting her
husband and exchanging a few pleasantries with the other guests.
The Beaufort sapphires her husband
had given her before the ball glittered in the candlelight, their weight a
brand of possession. Isabelle chatted and danced, ignoring the headache which
kept growing in proportion to the noise in the ballroom. She turned from
listening to a discussion of family bloodlines with two of Snow's elderly aunts
to encounter the hard stare of Lady Merritt, her former sister-in-law.
"You've certainly fallen on
your feet, my dear sister," she said, with a hard smile.
"Leticia, thank you so much
for coming. You look lovely." Isabelle clutched her fan.
"Spare me your hypocrisy. I
don't want to be here anymore than you want me to be. If my husband hadn't
insisted, I would be home with a glass of wine, toasting my dear Charlie. How
quickly you've forgotten him."
"I've forgotten nothing,"
Isabelle said, "nor forgiven."
"You jumped-up little whore!
Charlie was worth ten of you. But you made him wallow down in the mud with you.
He would still be alive if not for you!"
The ivory spines of Isabelle's fan
snapped audibly.
"You were always blind about
your brother. He was a drunkard and a cheat who did his best to ruin my
life!"
Leticia's slap resounded through
the ballroom, followed by a shocked silence.
"I will never forgive you, you
worthless slut. I wish you were as dead as Charlie." Leticia's raised arm
was halted in mid-swing by Snow.
"I believe we've had enough
excitement for one night, ladies." He dropped Leticia's arm and beckoned
to Lord Merritt. "Your husband will escort you out. I believe you are
suffering from a migraine and need to leave." Leticia sputtered, but
Merritt arrived to pull her away.
Snow turned to Isabelle and offered
his arm. "May I escort you into supper, madam?"
She placed her fingers on his
sleeve, his large warm hand closing over her cold one. What a disaster. She
prayed her husband would forgive her for creating such a sordid scene.
*
* * * *
Isabelle watched with relief as the
last of their guests straggled towards the stairs. Her face ached from smiling.
She curtsied to the Beaufort aunts, her husband's arm rigid beneath her
fingers. He was still angry.
"Lord Snow, what a lovely
evening, quite the success." The lovely Mrs. Meldrum leaned forward to tap
Snow's free arm with a flourish worthy of a younger coquette, affording any
interested party a clear view of her extravagant cleavage.
Snow thanked her with a smile while
Isabelle ground her teeth inaudibly. Madam Meldrum was not the first attractive
woman to single out her husband this evening, but quite possible the rudest.
She had barely acknowledged Isabelle throughout the
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