A March to Marquess | A Regency Romance

Chapter Fourteen

The minutes to the next dinner tortured Isabella. She found herself constantly looking at the clock, watching the slow minutes tick by. Each hour a slow agony.

At night, she dreamed of him. His dark green eyes looking into her soul, bringing her close. His touch igniting every part of her body. Waking up in the morning left her waiting to see him, even a glimpse.

She knew she shouldn't behave like this. It wasn't ladylike and it also wasn't remotely an option. She was fantasizing about someone who wouldn't ever love her in the way she was finding she desperately needed. The Marquess of Devonshire was not on the market. He had told her explicitly.

It was time to let the small infatuation go. They had a deal and she would see it through until the end, keeping her distance in the meantime.

She looped a delicate pearl bracelet around her white gloved wrist. Then, with the help of Matilda, secured the clasp of a matching pearl necklace that showed off the attractive hollows of her collarbone.

Her hair had been pinned atop her head. It felt heavy, but secure. Her reflection looked back at her. She looked pretty, she admitted. The emerald green of her gown accentuated the creamy white of her skin. Gold lace capped the short sleeves. It was one of her newest dresses. The fashionable French modiste had done well.

It would have cost her father a fortune, this dress. With the rich, deep color being almost impossible to obtain without rounds and rounds of dying.

The cost to her was worth it. It matched his eyes, almost as if tying her to him. She wondered if he would notice and appreciate the time that she took into her appearance. Matilda had been shocked when she had asked her to spend extra time on fashioning her hair. When the ladies maid had asked her if it was because of a certain gentlemen, she let her in on her flirtations with the Marquess.

It didn't hurt Isabella, telling her this. If anything, it strengthened her story. Matilda wasn't one to gossip, but it would be easy for her to take the information back downstairs and share it with glee. It would spread from house to house. Allowing the elaborate ruse to continue. And allowing her to believe that he would ever want her.

She left her room, head high and shoulders back. Putting every effort to be the woman that she was taught to be in the attic school room so many years ago. No longer would she wait in the shadows, she was awake now, and ready to take on her Season.

Her step-mother nodded in approval at Isabella as she reached the landing. She herself was wearing a new gown, a lavender color of some kind. Fashionable but still appropriate for a married woman of her age.

They left for their destination. Their carriage pulling them down the streets. Nervousness bloomed in her core.

"Will Lord Dunmore be in attendance tonight, father?"

"I do not think so, my dear. He had some business to attend to at one of his estates." The relief washed over Isabella in waves. "I believe he will be joining us for dinner in a few days. Your mother has yet to decide the menu. Time is ticking, my dear."

His playful jab at Lady Welton did not go unnoticed by Isabella. Normally, the thought of her being her mother would make her skin crawl, but tonight she was focused on only one person.

When the carriage stopped, Isabella watched as the man of her thoughts carefully exit his carriage and help his mother out of the carriage. He was graceful in his manliness. His broad shoulders clad in a well tailored dinner jacket.

The Dowager Duchess walked with her son and into the Townhouse as Isabella, her step-mother and father exited their carriage. Seeing him, the part of him she did see, made the butterflies in her stomach all the more. She hoped that somehow they would be seated together. A way for them to talk.