A March to Marquess | A Regency Romance

Chapter Twelve

Isabella walked through another set of grand doors and into the hallway of yet another Lord so and so. Paintings and tapestries hung from the cold stone walls, the inhabitants desperately trying to make the home seem more important than what it was.

The night was cast in a grey haze for Isabella. The music not as lively as it once was, the chatter of the crowd loud and almost to the point of overwhelming. The bones of her corset dug into her sides, Matilda having cinched it a little tighter than normal.

She was sullen, feeling sorry for herself. All the while, trying to contort her face into what was expected of her. Lady Welton had already scolded her for sulking, not knowing or understanding why. She probably assumed Isabella was sad for her impending betrothal to Lord Dunmore.

As if her mind could conjure up physical beings, Lord Dunmore stood in front of her, offering up his hand.

"Miss Isabella," he bowed. "You look more handsome than any other lady that mingles around the floor." Although his words were not as rough as normal, Isabella still saw that dark, dangerous look in his eye that proved that he was playing the part in front of her father and step-mother.

She smiled politely as her parents spoke their greetings and made polite talk to what they believed to be their future son-in-law. Her eyes carefully scanned the ballroom, trying to find her dear friends and a glimpse of Lord Devonshire. She hadn't known if he was going to be in attendance, but she wanted to be prepared if he was.

Across the way, Jane was speaking to Lord Brentwood's sister. Isabella didn't bother interrupting her friend's campaign for marriage. It always helped to have a female family member a friend and ally. Isabella continued to look for Madeline, and potentially a glimpse of the red haired Duke, but it didn't appear either was in attendance. She silently offered up a prayer that Madeline was dining with him at his home.

She focused back to the conversation around her. Dunmore was speaking about his estate with her father. He had recently lost one of his tenants and was looking for a replacement.

"Excuse me, I am feeling rather parched. I am going to grab refreshment."

"Let me escort you, darling," Lady Welton said. "The men are clearly in deep intimate conversation about business. Nothing to concern us feebleminded women." With that, her husband and Dunmore laughed as the women walked away.

"You better cheer up, my dear. You wouldn't want Lord Dunmore to believe you are anything but happy to be his intended." Isabella didn't believe that her step-mother was being evil with her words. She fully believed that all Lady Welton wanted was her step-daughter's place in society to be secure. Even if that meant marrying for less than the love she always thought she would have.

They stood and sipped on the punch, watching the crowd gather and fill the room. Grandmothers, mothers and aunts lined the walls, whispering and discreetly pointing out the couples who were too close. Behind flutters of their fans, they gossiped about marriage requests and the rumors of rogues ruining reputations.

The orchestra tuned their instruments and signified the start of the dancing for the night. The unattached bachelors took turns around the room, filling out the dance cards of the young women.

Isabella's card filled out quickly. A few familiar faces, a couple of young lieutenants and captains and of course two spots filled by Lord Dunmore. There was one space left for the last dance. Isabella left the spot open in case another admirable partner appeared.

Her first partner, a Captain Duff was a most skilled dancer. He looked most dashing in his uniform. His brown eyes sparkled in the direction of another lady, although he never let his attention to Isabella falter. Once they were done, he was reunited with the object of his happiness.