THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 06
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If it was possible, Isabelle’s ladies-in-waiting
were even more useless than she’d expected
them to be. They’d spent the afternoon
absorbed in their own little melodrama, one of
the twins bursting into a fit of tears when she
couldn’t find a particular ball gown she’d been
hoping to wear that night. There was much
rushing about and summoning of
seamstresses as Alicia attempted to console
the sobbing blonde all while Isabelle ignored
the lot of them. Electing to have Lissa attend
to her rather than Alicia, as the brunette had
insisted, Isabelle had cloistered herself in her
room once again, choosing her outfit with the
help of her maid.
When the clock struck seven, Cora reappeared
at the door, resplendent in an emerald gown
that brou-ght out the green in her seafoam-blue
eyes. This time she had Violet in tow, whose
lavender dress was just as fine though
decidedly more demure than Cora’s. Dressed
before her ladies-in-waiting, Isabelle was
practicing her patience in the armchair as
Alicia, Laura, and Marjorie flitted about the
room in a flurry of giddy preparation. Not one
of them was fully dressed yet and the twins
still had their hair in curling ribbons when Cora
and Violet arrived.
“But you can’t go to the ball without us!” Alicia
had protested when Isabelle rose to follow her
friends.
“If you’re going to be so unprepared and
disorganized, she most certainly can,” Cora
snapped, shooting an arch look at Alicia half
done-up dress. The brunette offered no more
protests after that, allowing Isabelle to sweep
from the room unhindered.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Violet gushed, her
plump cheeks rosy with excitement as they
emerged onto the second floor of the entrance
hall. Below them, arriving nobles clogged the
marble floor, the noise from their conversations
almost drowning Violet out.
“Neither can I,” Isabelle said, peering over the
railing into the sea of nobles below.
“Oh it’s going to be so much fun,” Violet
continued, “We’ll go riding together and
picnicking and walk throu-ghthe gardens! It’ll
be just like at school, only better.”
“You hated school,” Cora said, “Besides,
shouldn’t you be more excited about finding a
husband than spending time with us?”
Isabelle wished they were still in the privacy of
her suite so she could smack her friend with
her fan. While it was true that Violet had had a
terrible time at Saint Mary’s, it was cruel of
Cora to bring up the fact that Violet had very
nearly failed. She also couldn’t blame the jolly,
perpetually cheery Violet for being in no rush
to marry. Her own parents spent most of their
time in separate residences, her father
remaining in Highcastle to serve on the city’s
governing council while her mother lived at
their country estate near the seaside in the
south.
Violet had rarely talked about it, but Isabelle
was un-der the distinct impression that Violet’s
life away from Saint Mary’s was a far cry from
pleasant. Whenever she returned from school
vacation, she was quieter than usual,
occasionally sharing stories about her
overbearing mother.
Considering that Violet
had never once exchanged any letters with her
father during their entire stay in finishing
school, there was likely no parental affection
from that side either.
“Hush, Cora,” Isabelle said jokingly, “Just
because your sights are set on the prince
doesn’t mean all of ours must be as well. I’m
not here to find a husband, so at least I’ll have
some company.”
Violet shot Isabelle a grateful smile behind
Cora’s back as the three of them joined the
queue near the ballroom doors.
“I have my priorities in order,” Cora huffed,
tugging and fussing with her dress as the first
debutante in line, Anna Hindersley, was
announced to the ballroom below. Violet
leaned over to peer down the stairs that
descended into the ballroom, her wide brown
eyes widening even more.
“There’s more people in there than I’ve seen in
my entire life!” she whispered to Isabelle as
Cora edged in front of them in line.
“You’ll do just fine,” Isabelle said, giving her
friend’s shoulder a squee-zeas she adjusted
the lace near Violet’s ne-ckline.
“Cora told me that you’re still engaged,” Violet
asked, shooting a glance down to Isabelle’s
left hand. She’d foregone gloves that night, if
only so she could keep her ring. As much as
she was hoping to be able to enjoy a proper
breakfast the next morning, she was more
adamant about refusing to let the queen think
that she’d been cowed.
“I am, which is why it’s utterly ridiculous that
they’re forcing me to be here,” Isabelle said as
Cora was announced to the ballroom below.
“But I suppose that means we’ll have each
other for company.”
“Violet Harwood.”
Violet smiled, before turning around to face the
ballroom. Isabelle held her breath as Violet
took her first step, hoping her friend wouldn’t
accidentally tumble down the stairs in a fit of
the trademark clumsiness that had almost
gotten her expelled from finishing school.
“Isabelle de Haviland.”
Resting a hand on the curving banister,
Isabelle scanned the room below as she
descended the stairs. Her stomach grumbled
in anticipation as she located the buffet table
at the back of the room, piled high with
roasted meats and baked goods. At Lissa’s
urging, Isabelle had decided upon a gown of
teal blue that didn’t require her corset to be
tied too ti-ghtly, leaving her enough room to
eat. It wasn’t her finest dress, but it would do
for a ball where she had no one to impress.
Following Violet, Isabelle found a place on the
empty dance floor next to Cora as they waited
for the other debutantes to descend.
There
would be no dancing before the king and
queen entered to ensure that the entire room
was ready and waiting when they deigned to
arrive. Settling in to wait, Isabelle tried not to
fidget as she eyed the food, wondering whether
anyone would notice if she ducked off the floor
once the prince had selected his first partner.
After the last debutante had joined them on the
floor, they all waited for nearly a half hour,
standing there like pretty statues while the rest
of the inaugural ball guests were free to eat,
talk, and mill around the outskirts of the room.
After more than ten minutes had pa-ssed, one
of the debutantes, a tall, blonde girl who’d
been eyeing the buffet table just like Isabelle,
had gathered her skirts to leave the floor, only
to be ushered back into place by a pair of
footmen. Her cheeks had flamed scarlet as the
nobles around her tittered cruelly, their
judgemental sniggers lifting Isabelle’s hackles.
She was of half a mind to link arms with the
tall blonde and leave the floor as the clock
struck half eight, annoyed that the royals would
keep them waiting so long.
But then the king and queen emerged and
Isabelle forgot all about her hunger.
She glared up at the thrones as the king, an
outwardly jovial man with sunny blond hair that
contrasted with his cruel, beady eyes, took his
seat. She had never spoken to him, but she
already hated him for what he’d put her father
and people throu-ghnonetheless. He had the
nerve to sit there, every article of his clothing
glittering with golden thread and every limb
bedecked with more jewels than she could
count. He shone like a sun in the light cast by
chandeliers and Isabelle couldn’t help but think
that one of his many rings could have kept an
entire village fed for the winter.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Graham.”
As the king and queen took their seats atop
their thrones, the double doors behind them
opened once again. Isabelle fought from rolling
her eyes as gasps and squeaks of excitement
escaped the debutantes around her. Curtseying
like the rest of them, she kept her gaze down,
the picture of disinterest, as the prince wove
among them. While they were all waiting, she’d
edged towards the outside of the dance floor,
hoping for an easy escape once the prince had
chosen his first partner. Her eyes had
wandered back towards the buffet table when
Cora’s sharp intake of breath drew her gaze,
only for it to land on the prince as he paused
before her friend.
Grudgingly, Isabelle conceded that Cora had
been right: Graham was handsome, though in
a far different way than Leopold. Where Leo
was dark, Graham was fair, with sandy blond
hair that was cut short enough that his curls
wouldn’t get out of hand. Unlike her betrothed,
the crown prince of Britannia was clean-
shaven, with no hint of stubble on his fair skin.
Isabelle fought a grin as she remembered
Leopold once likening Graham to a woman,
claiming his face was too feminine to grow a
beard. Though as she examined him, she
determined that Leo had been wrong. Graham’s
jawbone alone, strong and square like his
father’s, was enough to give him the regal
appearance of nobility.
As she looked him over, he turned his green
eyes to her, his eyebrows lifting with interest.
Cora, still curtseying before him, risked a
glance up to see why he hadn’t yet extended
his hand. Her friend’s eyes followed the
prince’s gaze and Isabelle bit her tongue,
inwardly cursing as profanely as a sailor when
the prince took a step in her direction.
“I’m in awe. It can’t possibly be the
indomitable Isabelle de Haviland, can it?”
Prince Graham asked, extending his hand.
To be continued….