THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 21
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
The hunt was dreadfully long, especially as the
queen insisted on cutting their ride short by
dismounting without so much as a stroll
throu-ghthe forest.
Servants scurried about,
hastily setting up banquet tables as the
debutantes and their ladies-in-waiting settled
themselves on the picnic blankets to chatter
the day away.
Isabelle’s lack of sleep caught up with her in
earnest as the sun shone overhead. She’d done
her utmost to keep from looking over at Anna,
who was still flushed with plea-sure and
giggling as she chatted with the other
debutantes.
As her voice carried over from the
next picnic blanket, Isabelle tried not to roll her
eyes as Anna, for the third time, regaled the
others about how Prince Graham had admired
her hair ribbon before asking her to tie it onto
his quiver for luck.
“Imagine if he takes down a stag,” gushed
Caroline Hindersley, Anna’s cousin and one of
her ladies-in-waiting. “All thanks to Anna’s
lucky ribbon!”
Isabelle bit back the scoff that rose to her li-ps,
instead taking a sip of the hot cider clutched
between her chilled hands. There was no point
being bitter about Anna, especially since she
was the biggest fool of the lot of them. Anna
would put on airs for the rest of the season if
Graham landed the killing shot today. In fact,
she’d probably ask for her ribbon back so she
could turn it into some sort of ridiculous family
heirloom for its luck.
“You’re doing an excellent job at looking sour,”
Violet leaned over to whisper. Isabelle took
another sip of cider, well-aware that her cranky
temper was not being aided by her lack of
sleep.
“It seems you can stop fretting about last
night,” Violet continued, tilting her head
towards where Anna was holding court.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, I can see that for myself, thank you,” she
snapped.
Cora’s eyebrows lifted as she leaned over to
eavesdrop, her cider paused halfway to her
li-ps.
“Is there something I don’t know?” she
whispered. Isabelle rolled her eyes, collap-sing
backwards onto the picnic blanket with a
groa-n. She was too tired to manage Cora and
too grumpy to exchange the heated words she
knew would follow.
Frankly, she almost
preferred telling Cora now so they could finally
be done with one another, since Isabelle
kis-sing the prince would likely be the death
blow that felled their friendship.
“Go ahead and tell her,” Isabelle said, closing
her eyes against the sun. “But you aren’t going
to like it.”
“Are you sure?” Violet asked, her voice ba-rely
more than a squeak.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going
on?” Cora demanded.
“I kis-sed the prince last night,” Isabelle said.
“And now he’s gone and asked for Anna’s
ribbon,” Violet added quickly, no doubt bracing
for the fallout. Isabelle gritted her teeth, hating
that there was still a pit in her stomach as she
thought of Anna and her silly ribbon.
“You did what?” Cora demanded, her shrill
voice interrupted by raucous shouts and the
crackle of un-derbrush as the men approached.
Isabelle was of half a mind to remain sprawled
on the blanket in a most unladylike fashion,
but she was far more determined to act as if
absolutely nothing was the matter. She
wouldn’t give Graham the satisfaction of, once
again, seeing the effect his actions had on her.
So she sat up and straightened her skirts,
fussing with them as the rest of the debutantes
hurried to arrange themselves prettily in
anticipation of the prince’s arrival.
Determined
to look anywhere but at the approaching men
or Cora’s livid, puce face, Isabelle’s eyes found
the queen, who was watching her while she
chatted with her circle of ladies-in-waiting.
Isabelle fought the urge to stick her tongue out
at the fussy monarch, instead tossing her curls
and turning to Violet.
“Tell me more about who you danced with last
night, Violet,” Isabelle said.
Violet blus-hed, her eyes on the men as they
dismounted.
“No one in particular, really…” she said into
her cider.
“Well that’s a lie, since you clearly shared two
dances with Byron Fletcher.
But that’s not
exciting in the least,” Cora spat. “Especially
when our dear friend here has been kis-sing the
prince behind our backs!”
“It certainly sounds exciting to me,” Isabelle
said sharply, a cutting glare on her face as she
turned to Cora. “Byron Fletcher is just as good
a catch as Samuel Winters, I daresay.”
“But neither of them are Prince Graham, now
are they?” Cora demanded archly.
“Because
heaven forbid Isabelle de Haviland fall in love
with anyone who isn’t royal.”
“Whoever said anything about falling in love?”
Isabelle demanded.
Cora had opened her mouth to reply, only to
snap it closed as Samuel Winters flopped
down beside her. He smelled of horse and
leather and leaves, a hint of stubble on his
square jaw making him appear every inch the
northerner in his rugged riding clothes.
“Afternoon, ladies. Cora, sweet la-ss, pa-ss me
some of that cider, will you? I’m thorou-ghly
parched,” he said, grinning at Isabelle and
Violet in greeting.
“We are in the middle of a discussion, if you
don’t mind!” Cora snapped, her temper lashing
out at him. But Sam ba-rely blinked, instead
pulling a freshly plucked honeysu-ck le flower
out from behind his back.
“Then perhaps I can tempt you with this to
sweeten your temper,” he said, leaning over to
hand it to her. Cora’s mouth snapped shut as
she stared at the flower, slowly closing her
fingers around it. Isabelle, however, was
watching Violet, whose throat bobbed as she
looked away.
Isabelle wished she could have smacked Sam
across the head. Of all the autumn wildflowers
he could have chosen, he had to go and
choose the one that symbolized the affection
of a lover’s embrace. And of all the times to
give Cora a flower, let alone one so loaded
with meaning, it had to be right in front of
Violet.
“Thank you,” Cora managed, her temper
deflating as Sam reached for her cider and
took a sip.
“Did you have a lovely time, Sam?” Isabelle
asked throu-ghgritted teeth, a thorou-ghly
unimpressed glare on her face when he
glanced her way.
“I wouldn’t call it lovely, no,” Sam said,
oblivious as he gulped down some cider.
“None of us shot anything larger than a rabbit.”
“How terrible,” Isabelle said sarcastically, her
eyes sliding to the honeysu-ck le Cora was still
clutching between her fingers. The blonde was
looking down at it then back up at Sam as if
she couldn’t quite comprehend what was
happening. Isabelle, however, could. Sam had
clearly made up his mind about Cora, though
Isabelle didn’t doubt that Cora would ignore
the northerner’s attentions until Graham met
another debutante at the altar.
“What’s more terrible is how bloody useless
most of these pathetic courtiers are with a
weapon,” Sam continued. Violet choked on her
cider at the profanity, sputtering until Sam
clapped her on the back.
“Catch your breath, la-ss,” he said, “Are you all
right?”
Violet nodded wordlessly, blus-hing with
mortification at Sam’s clap on the back. She
hid her face by taking a sip of cider, her eyes
widening once again at something over
Isabelle’s shoulder.
“And you alone are the manliest of men, aren’t
you Sam?” Isabelle muttered, “Why don’t you-”
“Don’t choke my debutantes, Sam.”
The voice had Isabelle’s back going ramrod
straight, that pit in her stomach filling with
bu-tterflies. She was acutely aware of the
warmth radiating off Prince Graham’s body as
he took a seat beside her, his arm brushing
hers as he reached over to take a sandwich
from the plate before her. That cursed cologne
of his sent her mind reeling back to the night
before despite her best efforts to ignore it.
THE HEIRESS
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EPISODE 22
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From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
“That was mine,” Isabelle said automatically,
her temper fraying far too quickly thanks to her
lack of sleep and the confrontation with Cora.
“Consider it payment for the privilege of sitting
next to me,” Graham said, devouring her
sandwich in three bites before reaching for
another. Shaken from her flower-induced stupor
by the arrival of the prince, Cora tossed the
honeysu-ck le away.
“Would you care for one of mine?” she asked
Graham, a beatific smile on her face as she
leaned forward to offer him a sandwich off her
own plate. Isabelle’s insides roiled with
annoyance as Cora batted her eyelashes up at
the prince. Clearly, the knowledge of Graham
and Isabelle’s kis-s had only made the blonde
more brazen in her fight for the man she so
desired as a husband, heedless of the suitor
sitting next to her.
“No, thank you. But I do believe I ought to
replenish this plate for you, Miss de Haviland,”
Graham said, snatching up Isabelle’s empty
plate and rising smoothly to his feet. “Come
with me so I can choose something you’d
enjoy.”
Isabelle ignored his outstretched hand, her
arms having folded themselves of their own
accord.
“I’m not hungry,” she said flatly. Violet’s eyes
went wide.
“Of course you aren’t,” Graham smiled,
snagging her by the elbow to haul her to her
feet. Once she was upright, Isabelle yanked her
arm out of his grasp, doing her utmost to keep
as much distance between them as she could.
“I very much dislike being manhandled,” she
said, folding her arms once again.
“Last night would suggest otherwise,” Graham
said un-der his breath, leaning closer so she
could hear him.
The bu-tterflies swelled in
Isabelle’s stomach before she could fight
them, heat rising in her cheeks. She halted in
her tracks, about to turn around when Graham’s
hand settled onto her back.
“Now now, no running away,” he continued
quietly. “Unless you’re not enjoying how much
you’re upsetting Anna Hindersley.”
Without meaning to, Isabelle’s eyes flitted over
to where Anna’s yellow dress stood out among
the other pastel colours of the debutantes’
riding attire. Sure enough, Anna’s eyes were on
them, her li-p trembling as her ladies-in-waiting
fixed Isabelle with hateful glares.
Isabelle hated the smug satisfaction that was
now uncoiling the tense knot twisting in her
stomach from the moment she’d noticed the
ribbon on Graham’s quiver. Disgusted with
herself, she didn’t think before she spoke.
“You’re the one who asked for her stupid
ribbon,” Isabelle snapped, the words leaving
her mouth before she realized what she was
saying. Graham laughed as the approached the
buffet table, his fingertips grazing along her
back as he freed his hand to serve himself.
“There it is, that jealousy you’re so adamant
about denying,” he chuckled, loading her empty
plate with sandwiches and pastries. “It suits
you, you know.”
“I am not at all jealous,” Isabelle said a little
too quickly. “Especially since only a fool would
think that a lady’s ribbon could bring him luck.”
Graham grinned, bi-ting into a sandwich as he
leaned back against the table, contemplating
her while he chewed.
“All you have to do is ask, you know,” he said,
his green eyes glittering as he watched her.
“Because I’d gladly kis-s you again, more
thorou-ghly this time.”
“You are quite possibly the most
presumptuous, impudent man I have ever met,”
Isabelle said, turning on her heel to hide the
blus-h that was was blooming on her cheeks.
Before she could bury it, the thought that she’d
very much like to kis-s Graham again surfaced
in her mind, igniting the very same war of guilt
and giddiness that had stolen her sleep.
“And yet you find me irresistible, don’t you?”
Graham asked, his long strides effortlessly
closing the distance she’d put between them.
He sna-ked an arm throu-ghhers, using it to
steer her away from Cora, Violet and Sam,
towards a vacant picnic blanket. Try as she
might, the feel of his arm against hers, ti-ght
but not too ti-ght as he guided her past the
other picnickers, was a welcome touch. She
almost found herself leaning into him before
she remembered why she had to be frosty
around this troublesome prince.
“I find Leopold irresistible,” she said, relishing
the way her words wiped the sm-irk clean off
Graham’s face as she disentangled her arm
from his. She settled herself daintily, arranging
her skirts with the sweetest of smiles up at
him.
“Don’t tempt me, Isabelle,” he said, setting
down the plate as he took a seat beside her.
“For I’ll gladly kis-s away those kinds of
thoughts, even with the entire royal court
watching.”
Isabelle hated the way her stomach tumbled
giddily at the sound of her name on his li-ps.
He gave a low chuckle at her expression and
she swallowed, reaching for a sandwich. She
needed to turn the tide of their conversation
into more suitable waters before she allowed
her giddy, bu-tterfly-addled stomach overpower
her mind again.
“I heard your hunt was unsuccessful,” she said,
“Which is quite the shame. Leo always returns
home with a prize when he hunts around
Kentshire.”
“I’m sure that he does,” Graham said, “Though
I do hope he doesn’t mount your head when he
brings his prize cow back to Rhysalia.
That’s
what Germanians do with the spoils of their
hunts, you see.”
“I am not his prize cow,” Isabelle snapped,
folding her arms. Trust Graham to take her
taunt and turn it back around on her.
“Unfortunately, no matter how many times you
repeat yourself, it won’t change the truth,”
Graham said, reaching for another sandwich.
“Leopold is probably thanking his lucky stars
that you’re beautiful. He could so easily have
been saddled with with an ugly hag for a wife,
considering that his father was adamant he
marry whomever secured him the most
Pretanian land.”
“You’re despicable,” Isabelle said, losing the
battle against her temper.
“Do you insult all your suitors when they call
you beautiful?” Graham asked. “Perhaps it was
a poor choice of words.
Would you prefer it if I
called you the most ravishing woman in
Pretania? Or perhaps the loveliest lady at
court? Unless, of course, you’d rather I
compliment your heart-stopping kis-ses
instead.”
“Stop,” Isabelle said, her gaze snapping back
to his. But there was trouble brewing in his
green eyes as they held hers.
“I won’t,” he said. “Not until you take off that
shackle of a ring.”
“It is not a shackle,” Isabelle huffed, toying
with the ring she’d hung from a delicate golden
chain around her ne-ck.
It wouldn’t fit
un-derneath her leather riding gloves, so she
and Lissa had reached the same compromise
as the night of the ballet.
“It is a shackle to a court that wants nothing
more from you than land,” Graham said.
“Though I wager that dear old Leopold will
want a great many more things from you after
your wedding day.”
“I will not listen to this salacious nonsense,”
Isabelle said, gathering her skirts to rise, but
Graham’s hand shot out to close around her
arm.
“You will listen because you’ll regret it if you
don’t. He doesn’t love you, Isabelle, he never
has. Leopold’s heart has belonged to the
Countess of Tarlsburgh ever since they were
children.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Isabelle said, her body frozen in place even as
her mind rebelled. Graham was lying to get a
rise out of her.
He had to be.
“On the contrary, you don’t know what I’m
talking about, that much is clear from the look
on your face,” Graham said, holding her gaze
with surprisingly little cruelty as he spoke so ill
of her betrothed. “Perhaps you ought to ask
him about her before you meet him at the altar.
I daresay you’re not the kind of woman who
would take kindly to finding another woman in
her marital bed.”
“Don’t be so vulgar!” Isabelle snapped, this
time successfully wrenching her arm away.
“Remember what I said, Isabelle,” Graham
called after her, “I won’t stop.”
Gritting her teeth, Isabelle had reached the last
limit of her patience. With ba-rely a curtsey in
the king and queen’s direction, she strode over
to Alabaster and mounted up, galloping away.
~*~
“You are going to build quite the reputation for
yourself, do you know that?”
Sam’s shout halted Isabelle’s stream of
muttered curses, the forest swimming before
her as she fought back her angry tears.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted back, urging
Alabaster onwards. But Ba-ss wouldn’t move,
the thick brambles of a briar patch blocking
his path. He danced backwards, turning around
even despite Isabelle’s oaths and tugs on the
reins.
Behind her, Sam rode out from behind a
tree, with Violet right behind him.
“Observe, Violet. Here is a fine example of
Kentshire temper on display,” Sam said, sitting
back in his saddle with folded arms. Violet
didn’t laugh, however, her wide eyes too
worried to listen to Sam’s teasing.
“Come over here, you Highland bastard, and I’ll
show you exactly what kind of temper I have!”
Isabelle raged as Alabaster je-rked his head
around to fight the reins.
“Isabelle!” Violet gasped, but Sam was
laughing.
“You should have heard her before the duke
had her finished,” Sam chuckled. “I’ll gladly be
your whipping post, Izzie, but only if you
promise to return to your senses.”
“My senses are quite fine!” Isabelle snapped,
finally regaining control of her horse and
tromping over to Sam and Violet.
“Are they? Because the last I heard, you were
only here to appease the king and queen so
they wouldn’t tax Kentshire,” Sam said, the
amusement sli-pping off his ruddy face. “I fail
to see how storming away from a hunt serves
that purpose.”
Isabelle glared at him, but couldn’t fault the
sense in his words.
Sam was right. She’d begun to forget why she
was in Highcastle in the first place. Throwing a
fit like a temperamental toddler was not going
to put food on Kentshire’s tables come winter
time.
“We should return,” Violet said, shooting a
worried look over her shoulder, “It isn’t seemly
to-”
Violet was cut off as the un-derbrush rumbled,
a half dozen riders appearing between the
trees. Isabelle’s rage boiled anew as Graham
rode out ahead of the others.
“Sam, there you are,” the prince said,
studiously avoiding looking her way. “The
hounds caught a scent, we’d best be off.”
“Of course, your Highness,” Sam said, bowing
in the saddle, “But with your permission, I’d
like to escort these ladies back-”
“Nonsense, clearly they’re accustomed to the
northern wilds and are more than fine on their
own. No southern lady would venture off into
the forest alone, after all,” Graham said, fixing
Isabelle with a look that could freeze water. He
had urged his horse into a trot before she
could reply, Sam apologizing profusely to
Isabelle and Violet as he fell in behind the
prince.
Violet sidled her Mysthena next to
Alabaster as the men pa-ssed, waiting for the
sounds of their horses to die out.
“Now we really should be getting back,” Violet
said, shooting her friend a worried look. “Are
you all right?”
“I will be the moment I leave this horrible
place,” Isabelle said, her eyes still on where
Graham had disappeared between the trees.
To be continued….