THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 12
From U.S Bah ❤✌?
The next morning, Isabelle did not join her
ladies-in-waiting on their way down to
breakfast. She had absolutely no desire to join
Byron Fletcher at the ballet, especially if it was
by Prince Graham’s decree.
Instead, she chose
to employ the trick Lissa had suggested on
her first day at court, deciding that feigning
sick would be far preferable to enduring a day
with the queen and an evening with Byron
Fletcher. Remaining in bed until her giggling
ladies-in-waiting had returned from breakfast,
Isabelle practiced her cough and twisted in her
sheets.
As predicted, Alicia swept into the room upon
her return, her prying eyes running over the
bedchamber before landing on Isabelle, mired
in blankets.
“Goodness, are you well?” Alicia asked, as
Lissa emerged from the closet, keeping a
close eye on the snooping brunette. Isabelle
let out a m-oan, burying herself even farther in
her pillows and blowing her nose into a
handkerchief. Alicia frowned.
“It is not wise for you to be in here,” Lissa
admonished. “My lady has taken ill and will
remain here so as not to risk spreading her
sniffles!”
Alicia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the
maid and Isabelle did her best to appear
bleary-eyed as she coughed, peeking up over
her pillows towards the lady-in-waiting.
“Lissa,” Isabelle croaked. “Please, more tea.”
Lissa sprang into action, bustling Alicia from
the room as she clucked and muttered about
the spread of disease in a place like a royal
court. As Isabelle blew her nose again, Lissa
slammed the door behind the nosy lady-in-
waiting.
“We’d make quite the pair of theatre
actresses,” Isabelle said, chucking away the
handkerchief and grinning as she threw off the
covers. She crossed to her closet, pulling out
one of her day dresses.
“Are we getting you dressed?” Lissa asked, as
Isabelle stri-pped off her nightclothes.
“I’m not spending an entire, glorious day holed
up in my suite,” Isabelle said, turning so Lissa
could help tie her corset.
“But if someone sees you out and about, they’ll
know you aren’t ill,” Lissa said, the corners of
her mouth turning down into a frown.
“Then it’s fortunate that the ladies are all to
spend the day outdoors with the queen,”
Isabelle grinned. “Besides, I’m sure I can find a
vacant room or twenty with a few books and
some sunlight.”
“As long as you’re careful,” was all Lissa said
in reply. She remained mute, her li-ps pursed
into a line as she helped Isabelle into her
demure grey day dress, trimmed with frothy
white lace, twisting her hair into a knot at the
nape of her ne-ck.
Once Lissa had ensured that all three of
Isabelle’s ladies-in-waiting had departed,
Isabelle snuck out from her room, hurrying
down the hallway and following the very same
path she’d been led down on her way to the
queen’s study. She’d poked her head into a
good number of vacant rooms that morning,
which meant they were likely just as vacant
today.
Careful to duck into alcoves and around
corners whenever a servant happened along,
Isabelle inspected each room she crossed,
carefully listening at the keyhole to ensure it’s
vacancy before opening the door. She was on
one of the upper floors when she opened the
door to the room where she knew she’d spend
the rest of her day.
Ma-ssive windows spilled summer sunlight
across the carpeted floor, the back wall lined
with bookshelves. The room smelled of dust
and disuse, but Isabelle didn’t much care. A
bay window on the left wall looked out over
the stable yard, while the others showcased
the manicured grounds and gardens beyond.
Running her eyes over the shelves, Isabelle
couldn’t help but chuckle at the odd
a-ssortment of books.
Everything from atlases
and books on political theory to collections of
roma-nce poetry and children’s fables were
jumbled together on the shelves, in no
discernible order. Pulling out an encyclopedia
of flowers, a book on codes and ciphers, and
a collection of far northern fairy tales, Isabelle
brushed the dust off the bay window seat.
Coughing from the cloud she’d disturbed, she
unlatched and opened one of the windows,
inhaling the floral summer breeze to clear her
lungs.
Settling in with her books, the sun on her face
and the breeze across her skin, Isabelle
wondered whether she’d found a piece of
heaven in the hell of Highcastle palace.
~*~
If it hadn’t been for her growling stomach
reminding her of the hour, Isabelle could have
spent the rest of her days in the sunny reading
room. She’d watched as the rest of the
debutantes paraded out into the gardens, the
queen lur-k-ing beneath a lacy parasol at the
head of the group. They’d all stopped to
goggle, swishing their skirts and giggling
together when a band of mounted men had
ridden around from the front of the palace
towards the stables. They had all been attired
in utilitarian trousers and dun coloured jackets,
far from the colorful, frivolous clothes of
courtiers.
Leading them, however, was an
unmistakable head of blond curls, explaining
the debutantes’ sudden interest.
As Prince Graham had dismounted, brushing
the road dust from his clothes and offering a
decidedly debonair bow to the debutantes,
Isabelle had slid off the bay window seat as
the prince’s eyes had wandered towards the
palace. Ducking back into the shadows of the
room, she’d waited until the courtyard had
cleared before returning to her seat in the
window. She knew he couldn’t possibly have
seen her throu-ghthe darkened window thanks
to the sunny day outside, but she didn’t want
to risk discovery in her newfound haven.
Nearly an hour later, when the words began to
swim on the page and Isabelle’s stomach had
decided to mutiny against her, she finally
closed her book. Leaning her head against the
warm pane of gla-ss, she savoured her last few
minutes of peace. The debutantes were
picnicking somewhere on the grounds, which
meant that she could easily have Lissa fetch
her a tray to be served in her suite. Perhaps if
she hurried, she could return to the sunny
reading room before her ladies-in-waiting
returned and she’d be for-ced the play the role
of invalid once again.
Carrying the books back to the dusty shelves,
she was leaning up on tiptoe to replace the
book on codes and ciphers when the door
opened. She froze in place, waiting warily for
the door to close, hoping fervently that it was
just some servant inspecting the room without
entering.
But luck was not with her that day.
Prince Graham closed the door behind him, not
a hint of surprise on his face as his eyes ran
over the room and landed on Isabelle.
He was
still dressed in his dusty riding attire, smelling
like horse, cut gra-ss, and sunshine.
“Well you certainly don’t appear to be as sick
as dog, as Alicia had said,” Graham mused,
looking her over. Isabelle’s stomach grumbled
as she for-ced a cough.
“I am terribly ill, you really shouldn’t risk your
royal ne-ck by being in the same room,”
Isabelle said, fishing out a handkerchief to
dramatically blow her nose. Graham quirked an
eyebrow.
“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” he
said, reaching over to tug on the rope
connected to the room’s call-bell. “If you hadn’t
wanted to spend the morning with the
debutantes, I could have found something far
more fun for us to do.”
“You’re a sickening, lecherous cad,” Isabelle
huffed. Graham grinned at her.
“Here I was thinking something along the lines
of croquet or a ride throu-ghthe woods. Pray
tell, what exactly did you have in mind Miss De
Haviland?”
“If you truly want to prove that you’re a
gentleman, you can allow me to return to
Kentshire,” she said, staring him down despite
the blus-h that had crept into her cheeks.
Graham co-ck ed his head, that infuriating grin
still in place.
“Now where would the fun in that be?” he
asked, taking a few slow steps towards her.
Isabelle took a step back, only to realize that
she’d come up against the bookshelf behind
her.
“You’re like a cat toying with a mouse,”
Isabelle sneered. “Either let me go or leave me
be, I’ve had enough of these games!”
“But what a pretty mouse you are,” he said,
pausing a step away from her. “It would be a
shame to let you go so you can run away to
Rhysalia.”
“Rhysalia is my future home,” Isabelle said.
“It’s where I belong.”
“No, you belong in Kentshire,” Graham said.
Isabelle opened her mouth to reply, only to
close it again, frowning. That was certainly not
at all what she had expected him to say…
“Then why won’t you let me leave this horrid
place and return home?” she asked finally.
“Because I think you have quite a bit left to
learn before you leave,” Graham said.
“Why don’t you tell me to spare us both the
annoyance of my slow learning?” Isabelle
replied.
“Annoyance? Frankly, my dear, I find this all
quite amusing,” Graham chuckled.
“You’re insufferable,” Isabelle said, folding her
arms.
“I know,” Graham replied.
They stared at each other, Isabelle fuming
while Graham grinned that arrogant grin of his.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to
break the silence that had settled over them,
the door opened behind the prince.
“We’ll take a luncheon tray, please,” Graham
said, glancing at the maid in the doorway. She
nodded, her wide brown eyes on Isabelle
before she bobbed a curtsey and disappeared.
Isabelle blinked.
“Is starving me no longer a part of your plan?”
she asked, watching the door close behind the
maid. Graham chuckled, crossing over to the
bay window, his hands buried in his pockets
as he surveyed the grounds.
“It was never a part of my plan. My mother’s,
yes, but you can rest a-ssured that she won’t be
trying that any longer,” he said, the sun
dancing throu-ghhis blond hair. As grateful as
she was, something suspicious prickled at the
back of Isabelle’s mind.
“I see what you’re doing and it isn’t going to
work,” Isabelle said. Graham tossed an
amused look over his shoulder.
“And what exactly am I doing that won’t work?”
he asked.
“You and your mother are coordinating your
efforts. She appears cruel so you can appear
kind. It’s a bit pathetic, really, that you think
I’m so easily manipulated,” Isabelle said.
Graham laughed, turning around to face her.
“Oh, my darling, how utterly clueless you really
are about court politics,” he said, shaking his
head with a smile. “My mother and I haven’t
worked together since she birthed me, but
thankfully for your stomach, she is but a queen
while I am a crown prince and the apple of my
father’s eye. All things you should already have
learned if you’d been paying any sort of
attention.”
“I have been paying attention,” Isabelle shot
back. “And all I see is a family of cruel
monarchs, determined to bend me to their will
using whatever means they can.”
That arrogant grin tugged at a corner of
Graham’s mouth as he regarded her, giving a
little nod.
“Well, at least you’re somewhat observant,” he
said, using the sleeve of his brown jacket to
wipe off a dusty table. “And for that, I’ll reward
you with an answer. Mother and I have both
been a-ssigned the same task, so while we are
both striving towards the same goal, we’re
following very different paths to attain it.”
“What goal is that? My utter and complete
obedience?” Isabelle demanded.
Graham’s li-ps
twitched with amusement as he picked up a
chair, placing it next to the table he’d cleaned.
“Good, you’re finally catching on,” he said, his
hands resting on the chair back.
“You can’t bully and starve me into submission,
you know,” Isabelle shot back.
“It may have
worked when your father tried it against
Kentshire, but it won’t work against me.”
“How amusing, you consider my actions
bullying when I consider them enlightening,”
Graham mused.
“Forcing me to accompany you hither and yon
simply because you can is not enlightening!”
Isabelle said.
Graham’s arrogant grin was
growing in the face of her temper.
“Oh, but it is, darling. How can you truly decide
that you’d be happier in Rhysalia when you
haven’t ever properly enjoyed life in
Highcastle?” Graham asked. Isabelle opened
her mouth to retort, only to find she had no
words rising to her li-ps. Thankfully, the door
opened and the same maid backed in, a
luncheon tray balanced between her hands.
She crossed to the table in front of Graham,
dra-ping it with a table cloth before setting out
a teapot, a cu-p and saucer, and several plates
of sandwiches, scones, and sweets.
“Will that be all, your Highness?” she asked,
bobbing a curtsey.
“Yes, thank you,” Graham replied, his eyes still
on Isabelle. The maid left the room with a
small curtsey to Isabelle, closing the door
quietly behind her.
Graham pulled out the chair,
gesturing for Isabelle to sit as he battled
against the sm-irk growing on his face. Isabelle
swallowed as her stomach growled anew.
“I’d hate for this all to go to waste,” Graham
said. “There are starving peasants in Kentshire,
you know.”
He chuckled at the glare she levelled at him,
reaching down to take a square of sandwich
from one of the plates. Isabelle harrumphed,
but her stomach overruled her mind.
“You aren’t going to change my mind,” she
said, crossing the room and settling daintily
into the proffered chair.
As she smoothed the
napkin into her lap, she made a great show of
wiggling her fingers just enough so that
Leopold’s diamond glittered in the sunlight.
“I can certainly try, though,” Graham grinned,
reaching down to snag another sandwich
before crossing to the door. “Enjoy your
afternoon. I’ll be expecting you outside before
the carriages depart this evening.”
Isabelle fought from sticking her tongue out at
him as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Her temper slowly cooled as she took a bite of
sandwich, counting her blessings that the
crown prince had allowed her to remain in the
sunlit oasis of a room, rather than hauling her
away to the queen.
That kindness, however, did not cheer her for
long. She didn’t doubt that Graham would haul
her bodily from her room if she didn’t turn up
for the ballet, which meant that the price for
her day of tranquility would be an evening
spent on the arm of Byron Fletcher.
bi-ting into
her sandwich with a growl, Isabelle cursed
herself for how easily she’d allowed herself to
be bent, once again, to Prince Graham’s will.
To be continued….