Her Scottish Love (A McFarland Clan & Friends Series #1) Indefinite Hiatus

One

London, August 1815

"Miss Grayson!" a frantic and irritated voice shouted, "Miss Isabelle Grayson, where are you?"

Sitting under a tree adjacent from her uncle's residence, Ruddick, Isabelle Grayson buried her face in her sketchpad and tried her hardest to ignore the calling voice and continued to press her oil pastel to the paper, lines forming to her picture. All she wanted this morning was some peace and quiet to draw. But that was beyond impossible as Uncle Harold was the loudest brute in the world had rather as if she is to be polite, delicate issues with a few certain matters. One of them was the preparation of his daughter, Gertrude's debutante ball that he was planning to throw for her.

A twitch made her lips turn upwards. As much as she detested Cousin Gertrude-Greta to the world (as Gertrude despised her name for sounding rather ugly and unfortunately ancient)-Isabelle was starting to feel rather sorry for her. Uncle Harold simply did not wish to learn that he was reeling from his debts, which he owed to the Duke of Ryun.

Not that Cousin Gertrude wasn't beautiful, of course she was. Gertrude was unnervingly beautiful. Bright blue eyes; skin peachy and beige, hair gold and blonde dancing in waves to the base of her shoulders. She wore the latest fashions, and was in words stunning.  Gertrude of course knew her beauty all too well and was rather self-absorbed about it. She insisted to Isabelle to draw and paint picture of her much to Isabelle's dismay.

"There you are!"

Isabelle looked up see a very furious middle-aged woman in front of her. Smiling up at the lady, Isabelle said, "So lovely to see you, Mrs. Melrose."

"Why have you run off again, Miss Grayson?" Mrs. Melrose snapped, "His Grace has been looking everywhere for you."

"No he wasn't," said Isabelle, "He hardly speaks to me."

This was true. Uncle Harold rarely spoke to her, and when he did mostly due to a reason, he would address as Miss Grayson and not Isabelle.  His ward, he would tell everyone, not his niece. Not that Isabelle has minded.

"Well he wishes to speak to you now," said Mrs. Melrose, "He wants everything to be perfect on Lady Gertrude's debut."

Shutting her sketchpad, Isabelle sighed, and got up and smoothed out her dress and followed Mrs. Melrose into Ashdown where in the foyer standing was Uncle Harold.     

Uncle Harold, the Duke of Ruddick was a man in his late forties, with his night black hair and chocolate brown eyes. In a way, he could pass for being Isabelle father, though he wasn't

"Your Grace," said Mrs. Melrose, curtsying.

Uncle Harold nodded, and then as Mrs. Melrose excused herself, looked at Isabelle coldly and said, lips in a stern line, "Running off again, aren't you?"

Isabelle flinched at his cold tone. "I wasn't running off," she said, defensively, "I needed peace and quiet so I left the house."

"To do you pathetic artwork?" her uncle sneered, "Be useful. Go assist Gertrude with her gown."

"Miss Burgess can help her," Isabelle said, defensively, "She needs no assistance from me."

"Miss Burgess has unfortunately taken ill and since Gertrude is in need of assistance you will help her." Uncle Harold sneered.

Rolling her eyes, Isabelle sighed, and said in a flat voice, "Very well then."

She turned her back on him, as she spun around and started to walk towards the stairwell muttering in French, "Quel vieil home stupide.