The Art of turning heart

16 |

As I stood before the grand mirror in my chamber, I could hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. My reflection bore the image of a young lady with porcelain skin, framed by dark, cascading curls that had been meticulously arranged by my maids. The dress they had chosen for this evening was a deep sapphire blue, the color of twilight, with delicate lace adorning the bodice and trailing down the sleeves. The skirt, voluminous and elegant, swirled around me like the petals of a blooming flower, and the corset, as always, was laced tightly, giving my figure an exaggerated hourglass shape.

I studied my face, noting the faint blush on my cheeks and the soft rouge that colored my lips. My eyes, usually bright with mischief or contemplation, seemed muted tonight, as if they understood the tediousness of the evening that lay ahead. Another ball, another night of hollow conversations and polite smiles. The very thought made me inwardly sigh.

As the maids fussed over the last details of my attire, arranging the layers of my skirt to perfection, a knock sounded at the door. I gave a small nod to one of the maids, who hurried to open it.

My mother entered the room, her presence commanding as always. She was a vision of elegance, her gown a rich burgundy that complemented her sharp features and perfectly coiffed hair. There was an air of authority about her, one that made her both respected and feared in social circles.

"Isabella, darling," she began as she approached, a gleam of excitement in her eyes, "you won't believe what I've just heard! Lady Winterbourne's daughter, the one who was supposed to be married off to that dreadful Viscount, has run off with a mere lieutenant! Can you imagine? The scandal!"

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm for such gossip. "I suppose that means the Viscount is back on the market, then?" I teased lightly, knowing how these things seemed to play out.

"Indeed!" she replied, a twinkle in her eye. "But I do pity the poor girl. To give up a title for love... it's positively absurd, don't you think? Still, I suppose we should be grateful for the entertainment."

I laughed softly. My mother had always been this way—ever the purveyor of society's latest news and scandals. It was hard to imagine how my father had ever fallen in love with her, given his more reserved and serious nature. And yet, there was an affection between them that, even now, I found myself envying.

The maids finally stepped back, having completed their work, and I took my mother's arm. Together, we made our way out of my chamber, descending the grand staircase where the rest of our family awaited.

At the foot of the stairs, my father stood, his face lined with the wisdom of years, but his eyes still sharp. Beside him was Gavin, looking every bit the gentleman in his formal attire, though there was a mischief in his expression that told me he would rather be anywhere but at this ball.

Seraphina, too young for such an event, stood beside Eleanor, holding her hand and waving at me as we approached. "Goodbye, Isabella!" she called out in her sweet voice. "Don't stay out too late!"

I smiled warmly at her, giving a small wave in return. "I shan't, Sera," I replied, though we both knew these events could drag on into the early hours.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, my mother gently disengaged her arm from mine, moving to take my father's arm instead. They made a striking pair, their love evident in the small, tender gestures they shared. I watched them with a pang of longing, my thoughts drifting, as they so often did, to Edward.

Gavin and I exchanged a knowing glance as we stepped out into the cool evening air, the carriage awaiting us at the end of the grand walkway. "You seem less enthusiastic than usual, Isabella," Gavin remarked as we walked toward the carriage.