THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 07
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Isabelle hesitated, hoping the prince would
take her hint and return to Cora for his first
dance, but Graham waited calmly, his hand still
extended while the rest of the royal court
looked on. His green eyes were amused,
watching her intently with something
mischievous in his gaze.
“Forgive me, Leo,” Isabelle thought with a sigh,
not bothering to wipe the sour look from her
face as she took Prince Graham’s hand to rise.
When their hands met, she felt a little jolt of
surprise that his were warmer and softer than
she’d expected.
She was used to the cool,
calloused hands of her betrothed and she
didn’t much like that some part of her was
pleasantly surprised by the feel of Graham’s
skin against hers. Silencing that traitorous part
of her mind, Isabelle twisted her hand in
Graham’s ever so slightly, lifting her ring so
that Leopold’s diamond glittered in the
chandelier light. Graham glanced down at it,
co-cking an eyebrow.
“That is an exquisite ring,” he said, leading her
towards the center of the ballroom.
Around
them, more men entered the dance floor to
pull the other debutantes from their curtseys.
Isabelle noted with relief that Cora was one of
the first to secure a partner, the dashing
Samuel Winters, son of Kentshire’s neighbour,
Lord Winters, offering her his hand. Isabelle
had known Sam since they were children and
the Northerner was easily one of the most
sought after men in the room.
He was titled
and rich, but Cora wouldn’t care about any of
that because he wasn’t a prince. Winning
Sam’s first dance wouldn’t appease Cora in the
least and Isabelle wondered whether Prince
Graham’s foolish choice would irreparably
damage their friendship.
“Yes, Prince Leopold has exquisite taste,”
Isabelle replied, pulling her eyes from Cora to
watch the prince’s reaction to her barb.
But
rather than sneer, Graham’s li-ps twitched as
the ghost of a grin flitted across his face.
“I wholeheartedly agree,” he said, running an
appreciative gaze from her bosom to her
wai-stline and back again as the music started.
“It truly is a shame your father is so intent on
wasting such fine Kentshire blood on
Germanian swine.”
Graham held fast to her fingers as she
attempted to yank them away, insulted.
Appearances be damned, she wasn’t about to
dance with someone who made such uncouth
remarks about her father or her fiancé.
Something glinted in his green eyes as she
struggled and Isabelle guessed it was the
laughter he hadn’t allowed to escape his li-ps.
The music started and, despite her struggles,
the prince swept her up into a waltz, expertly
leading her around the dance floor.
“I know I speak for the entire court when I say
we are grateful that you would deign to grace
us with your presence,” he continued, “I’d
always hoped to get a look at Leopold’s prize
cow before he carted you off to Germania.”
Isabelle bristled, ab-orting her struggles to
better glare up at the prince as they waltzed.
She gritted her teeth as he drew her in closer,
closing the distance she’d attempted to keep
between them. She hadn’t liked the way her
skin had tingled at the touch of his fingers and
she liked even less the way his green eyes
were glittering with mischief as they held her
gaze.
“I’d have thought your mother would teach you
better manners than to liken your debutantes to
livestock,” she said, “I’m sure Leopold won’t
take too kindly to you implying he’s a pig and
I’m a cow either.”
The prince laughed outwardly this time, his
eyes dancing as he relished her anger. Isabelle
could already feel her temper rising, longing to
wipe the sm-irk from the crown prince’s face.
Now she knew why her father had warned her
to stay away from the crown prince: he was
the type of man who liked to taunt and
torment and drawing his attention, especially
when mired in as sticky a situation as
Isabelle’s, a debutante who was already
engaged, was far from wise.
“Isn’t that what you all are though? Daintily
dressed chattel, sent here to steal my heart so
your family can profit?” he asked.
Isabelle
ground her teeth, looking anywhere but at her
dance partner.
“In case you weren’t aware, I am not here by
choice,” she said, “And I would look upon it as
an act of great mercy if you were to send me
home since I am already spoken for.”
“But I’ve just chosen you for my first dance,”
Graham replied, clearly fighting a grin in
attempt to seem serious, “Which, in case you
weren’t aware, means that you are now my first
choice among all the young ladies here.”
“I am betrothed to Leopold of Germania, which
should disqualify me as a debutante,” Isabelle
said, repeating the very same argument that
hadn’t worked for her father against the king’s
request for her presence. Graham laughed,
drawing even more looks from the dancers
around them.
“Perhaps you ought to give life at our palace a
try before you resign yourself to becoming a
Germanian brood mare,” he said.
“I’ll thank you to stop comparing me to
livestock!” she managed throu-ghgritted teeth,
her temper fraying.
“Now why would I do that? You have no idea
how entertaining it is to watch your colour rise
when I liken you to cattle. Tell me, did Leopold
entice you with bales of sweet gra-ss? Or
perhaps he promised you your very own field
of clover for grazing?”
“I pity your future wife,” Isabelle snapped,
“What savoury title do you have in mind for
her? Sow regent, perhaps? Have you enough
room in your stables to pen her ladies-in-
waiting as well?”
“Oh no, darling, you’re thinking of your future
home, Rhysalia. Only the highest ranking
nobles get private paddocks there,” Graham
said, the endearment souring Isabelle’s
expression even further, “Which means that
you, as queen, might be so fortunate as to get
a whole barn to yourself.
What a lucky girl you
are.”
“Insult them all you like, but at least my
Germanian prince would never imply that a lady
is a cow,” Isabelle said, pulling as far away
from the prince as the hold of the dance
allowed.
“If you believe that, then now I’m even more
convinced that you know woefully little about
him,” Graham chuckled.
“I know he’s above stuffing a little boy down a
well,” Isabelle snapped. But rather than wipe
the smile from his face, her words only caused
the prince’s grin to grow.
“Ah, so he’s still spreading that dreadful lie, is
he?” Graham mused, “Pity that he has the story
all wrong. You should join me in the gardens
and I’ll regale you with the true tale.”
“You are the most insufferable person I have
ever met,” Isabelle said, once again leaning as
far from him as she could. She’d leap from the
tallest tower before she’d be caught in the
darkened gardens with the loathsome crown
prince of Pretania.
“Wonderful, I’ll add yet another title to my
name. Crown Prince Graham of Pretania, heir
to the throne and most insufferable of
gentlemen. Mind that you spread that around,
yes? It will certainly help your chances of
winning me if the other debutantes think I’m
horrible,” Graham said, tugging her in close as
the dance crescendoed to its finish, “Because
don’t think you’ll be escaping home any time
soon, Miss de Havilland.”
When the music ended, Isabelle took an abrupt
step away from him, tearing herself from his
arms.
“Good evening, your Highness,” Isabelle
managed, her anger boiling over as she dipped
a stiff curtsey before turning on her heel and
storming from the ballroom. She didn’t care
that the queen was glaring from her throne, nor
that Violet was shooting worried looks her
way. Cora was likely fuming and she knew
there would be a price to pay for having stolen
Prince Graham’s first dance, but Isabelle was
too enraged to care. Let them talk and let
them gossip because none of it would matter
when Leopold returned.
As she dashed up the entrance hall stairs back
towards her suite, she hated that there were
tears pooling in her eyes. Curse that damned
king for compelling her here and curse her
father for not allowing her to marry Leopold to
prevent this whole mess. Curse Leopold for
leaving without her and curse her own terrible
luck for having been chosen by Graham for his
first dance.
As she thought of the arrogant crown prince,
she blinked away her frustrated tears.
Now
was not the time for crying, it was the time for
planning, for she had to get away from this
place, quickly. After having suffered throu-gha
mere dance with the prince, she wasn’t sure
she could endure the next few months in the
palace, awaiting Leopold’s return.
Slamming the door to her suite behind her,
Isabelle slid down to the floor, hugging her
knees to her che-st as her mind spun,
attempting to concoct a plan that would free
her from Highcastle Palace without raining the
king’s wrath down upon Kentshire.
To be continued…..