THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 08
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
The three ladies-in-waiting she’d had been
a-ssigned had all remained at the ball until well
after Lissa had stri-pped Isabelle of her finery
and tucked her into bed. She woke with the
first of the morning light, partly because of her
old habits from home and partly because of
the hunger gnawing at her core.
Accustomed
to her mistress’ habits, Lissa appeared quickly
after Isabelle rang the call bell for her, ready
for her early rise.
“Forgive me,” Lissa said upon entering, “But
they wouldn’t allow me to fetch you a
breakfast tray.”
Isabelle groa-ned, tumbling back against the
pillows as her stomach roared in protest. She
hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting
on Lissa after having run from the ball last
night without so much as a crumb of food.
“They’re trying to break me,” Isabelle muttered.
“Is there an official breakfast today at least?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been given a social
schedule, my lady. They claim it was given to
one of your ladies-in-waiting,” Lissa replied.
Isabelle pushed herself up onto her elbows,
meeting her maid’s stare. She nodded
wordlessly and Lissa didn’t need to ask her
what she meant. Sli-pping from the room, the
maid padded softly across the sitting room,
sneaking into the opposing bedchamber
among the snores of the three ladies-in-
waiting.
Isabelle’s stomach gave another almighty
growl, urging her out of bed. Wrapped in a
dressing gown against the chill, Isabelle took a
seat at the escritoire in an attempt to distract
herself from her hunger.
Dearest Father,
Highcastle is just as wonderful as you’d told me
it would be. However, I haven’t had the luxury of
sampling any of their local delicacies yet, as
I’ve been relegated to contraband bread and
water. My hosts are spartan, to say the least,
though they have gifted me with a trio of young
ladies as attendants.
I fear they may be dim-
witted as they failed to summon me for
luncheon yesterday, but I believe I have them
sorted out now.
I met our charming prince last night and you
would be interested to know that I was chosen
as his first dance partner. He is a fine dancer,
but our conversation was so enchanting it had
me retiring early last night to think. I noticed
that Samuel Winters is here as well; I hadn’t
realized His Majesty was summoning all of us
borderland children to the palace, but I’ll be sure
to greet Sam sometime today.
Cora Neasmith and Violet Harwood are here as
well, so I have a few friendly faces here.
Apparently there was a bit of an uproar when I
arrived as I now outrank the rest of the
debutantes. It’s a pity I’m already spoken for,
otherwise I would have quite enjoyed lording it
over the lot of them.
Her Majesty was unimpressed by my choice of
accessories when I arrived. She attempted to
strike a bargain with me, but I refused to
participate. There are many things I will
sacrifice for the sake of my people, but my ring
is not one of them. Forgive me, Papa, for I am
trying very ha-rd to behave, but I do hope you
can un-derstand there are certain lines that I will
not cross.
Send me news of Kentshire, I miss you more
than you can imagine.
Love always,
Your Isabelle
As Isabelle signed and sanded the letter, she
hoped it was polite enough that any prying
eyes wouldn’t land her in more trouble. She
sealed it into an envelope, marking the wax
with the Kentshire signet ring her father had
gifted her for her thirteenth birthday.
When her maid still hadn’t returned, she fished
a fresh sheet of paper out from the desk
drawer, chewing her li-p as she stared down at
the blank page waiting to be filled.
Dear Leo,
I hope this letter finds you well and warm un-der
the sunny Ardalonian skies. Highcastle is just as
you’d warned me it would be, as is the prince. I
do hope you are having a wonderful time in
Relizia as I’m certain it’s far more enjoyable than
my current circu-mstances.
Travel swiftly, I miss you terribly.
With love,
Isabelle
Sanding, folding, and sealing it, Isabelle stared
at the letter, wondering whether there was a
remote chance that any of her letters would
make it past the palace walls without being
opened and inspected. She’d longed to pour
her heart out onto the page, to vent her
frustrations to her betrothed and tell him
exactly how much of a cad the crown prince
was.
But her growling stomach had stilled her
quill, convincing her instead to write a breezy,
vague letter that she hoped Leo would
un-derstand by reading between the lines.
The door snicked shut as Lissa crept back in,
a piece of paper in her hands.
“Please tell me you were successful?” Isabelle
asked, holding out her pair of letters in
exchange for the paper.
“It’s an absolute pig’s sty in that room, but
yes,” Lissa huffed, tucking the letters away into
one of the many hidden pockets in her skirt.
“Shall I see that these are sent today?”
“As quickly as possible, I want to warn Papa
that I haven’t been as well-behaved as I should
have been,” Isabelle said, her eyes flying over
the social schedule.
As she’d tossed and turned last night,
gnashing her teeth about Prince Graham and
his hurtful words, she’d decided that she
needed to do a better job of behaving. That
Lissa had been barred from bringing her a
breakfast tray could only mean that the worse
Isabelle behaved, the worse her treatment
would be.
As much as she wanted to rebel
against the royals at every turn, perhaps if she
acted like the simpering courtier they expected
her to be, they would start to treat her like one.
“Then I’ll see if I can sli-p it in among someone
else’s correspondence before it’s sent off. I’ll
be back to dress you, as it appears that
breakfast will be served at eight,” Lissa said,
bobbing a brief curtsey before sli-pping throu-gh
the service door.
Switching to the armchair by the fire, Isabelle
snuggled dee-per into her dressing gown as she
perused the social calendar. There was an
official breakfast with the royal family that
morning, scheduled at 8 am as Lissa had
mentioned. Later on, the debutantes were to
spend the day with the queen in her drawing
room until they were released to dress for their
dinner that night.
Isabelle made a face as she dropped the paper
onto a side table, longing to throw it into the
fire instead. Of all the ways to spend the day,
she hadn’t hoped to spend it pent up in a
drawing room with the queen and her brood of
hens. But she’d made the decision to behave,
so behave she would.
When Lissa finally returned, the sun had risen
and flooded the room with the pink light of
dawn. Her maid helped her dress before any of
the snoring girls in the next room so much as
roused.
“I did them a small favour and sent away the
maid that was meant to wake them,” Lissa
admitted as she tugged on Isabelle’s corset
strings. Isabelle couldn’t help but grin as she
glanced back over her shoulder at her maid.
“Beautifully done, thank you,” Isabelle said.
She’d settled on a demure dress of robin’s egg
blue, with nary a hint of tartan. It was trimmed
with lace and studded with pearls that matched
the pearl pins Lissa had set into her hair.
“I thought it was the least I could do,
considering their late night at the ball,” Lissa
grinned right back.
When the clock neared eight, Isabelle left the
suite with plenty of time to spare. She took her
time as she made her way towards the dining
room she’d been kicked out of on the first day,
peering down over the banister into the
entrance hall below. A trio of kneeling maids
were already polishing the floor in preparation
for tonight’s dinner, buffing away the dirt and
grime that all the nobles had tracked in the
last evening. Isabelle made sure to skirt their
work, tip-toeing along the gleaming marble so
as not to mar their efforts.
When she arrived at the doors to the dining
room, she arranged her skirts and waited, but
neither of the footmen manning the doors
would open them for her.
“I know I’m early, but I don’t mind waiting,”
Isabelle said finally, glancing between the pair
of them. They kept staring straight ahead,
ignoring her.
“Can you hear me? Or are you deaf?” she
asked, folding her arms. “Open the door.”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but we cannot,” said the
footman on the right
.
“And why is that?” Isabelle fired back, her
stomach gurgling. But the footman remained
silent.
“Good morning!”
The chipper voice behind her belonged to Anna
Hindersley, a pretty blonde debutante, who had
her trio of ladies-in-waiting in tow.
“Good morning,” Isabelle said, nodding in
greeting before turning back to the footmen.
“Unfortunately it appears that the doors won’t
o-”
She was cut off as the footmen opened the
doors for Anna, the one on the right all but
brushing Isabelle aside. When she moved
around him to follow the other four girls in,
they slammed the door.
“This is ridiculous,” Isabelle said, glaring at the
pair of them. But once again, they remained
wordless. Quiet chatter floated down the
hallway as more debutantes arrived and this
time Isabelle planted herself in front of the
door, refusing to move as the tall blonde that
had tried to leave the dance floor the night
before queued up behind her.
“Miss Barrington, welcome,” the footman on
the right said, bowing. The tall blonde smiled
politely, her confused eyes on the still-closed
door.
“Miss De Haviland, please step aside,” the
footman continued. The tall blonde’s ladies-in-
waiting whispered amongst themselves,
relishing the slight, but Isabelle refused to
move.
“Miss De Haviland?” the footman repeated.
“I will not move until you open these doors for
me,” Isabelle said. The footman pursed his
li-ps before nodding to his companion and
stepping away from his post.
“Come with me,” he said, padding down the
hallway in the opposite direction. Isabelle was
torn, glancing back towards the dining room,
but it was clear that the door was not going to
be opened for her so she set off after the
footman. When she turned the corner, she
nearly bumped into him where he’d stopped.
“Wait here, please,” he said, gesturing to a
chintzy bench tucked into an alcove before
continuing on down the hallway. Isabelle
watched him go with a frown, but schooled her
temper and for-ced herself to behave. She took
a seat on the bench, tapping her foot
impatiently.
Time ticked away as her stomach growled and
when the clocktower outside chimed eight, she
sprang to her feet, her irritation having boiled
up into anger, suspicious that she’d been
tricked. She gathered her skirts and hurried
back the way she came, only to watch as the
pair of footmen closed the doors behind
another debutante.
“You told me to wait!” Isabelle snapped,
charging up to the very same footman she’d
followed. He had somehow returned to his
place, mutely staring straight ahead, ignoring
her.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her
head. She reached past the pair of them for
the door handle, only for the tricky footman to
reach out and seize her wrist.
“Let go of me!” Isabelle said, wrestling his grip
in an attempt to reach the door handle.
“What’s all this?”
Isabelle groa-ned, closing her eyes as she
recognized the voice. The footman released
her immediately, the pair of them bowing.
“Her Majesty has insisted that Miss de
Haviland not be shown into the dining room
today,” the footman said, still bowing to Prince
Graham as he sauntered up next to Isabelle.
In response, Isabelle’s stomach growled so
audibly Graham glanced down at it.
“Is that so,” Graham said, tearing his eyes from
Isabelle’s growling bodice to fix the footman
with a steely-eyed stare. The footman simply
nodded, swallowing.
“Well, we can’t let the poor girl starve,” Graham
said, extending his elbow. Isabelle pursed her
li-ps, unwilling to accept the crown prince’s aid
but far too hungry to refuse it. Swearing that
she’d write the most affectionate of love letters
to Leo to make up for it, she accepted the
prince’s proffered arm.
The footman opened the door without a word
of protest and Graham led her in, drawing
stares from both the debutantes and the queen
herself. Undeterred, Isabelle held her chin high,
enduring the stares and whispers of disbelief
until her eyes landed on Cora.
The look on her friend’s face could have
crumbled one of the palace’s towers with its
ferocity.
To be continued….