Chapter 2

“Isabella, for heaven’s sake, wake up! I need you at once!”

Isabella crawled out of the depths of sleep. The sunlight was shining brightly into her room—she had forgotten to draw the curtains last night, and because her father had never hired a lady’s maid for her, there had been no one else to do it.

Her half-sister Rosalind stood over her. Rosalind could have pulled the curtains closed, but either she hadn’t thought of doing it or else she hadn’t wanted to. Isabella shaded her eyes with her hand. She got up out of bed and made her way over to the curtains to close them herself.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Rosalind said.

Rosalind was five years younger than Isabella, but sometimes Isabella felt like the difference between the two of them was even more vast. Her half-sister was childish. Felicity, who was only one year older than Rosalind, seemed much more mature to Isabella.

“Waiting for me for what?” Isabella asked now.

“I’ve been ill,” Rosalind reminded her. “Someone has to tend to me.”

“Can’t your lady’s maid do it?”

“She’s getting my breakfast. I need you, Isabella. You’ve got to come to my room and help me arrange my blankets and tend to my fire and prepare a hot water bottle for me. And I want to hear all the details about last night’s ball since I wasn’t able to be there. You must tell me what everyone was wearing. I know that you won’t have danced with anybody, of course, but perhaps you saw some interesting couples come together?”

“Very interesting,” Isabella said, thinking of her sister and knowing that she wouldn’t share with Rosalind any of the most interesting things that had happened at the party last night.

They reached Rosalind’s room. Sure enough, the fire was out, and though it wasn’t her job, Isabella knelt to kindle it. Doing what Rosalind wanted was often easier than inviting the quarrels that would come if she resisted. And if he was forced to choose, their father would always take Rosalind’s side. All three of his daughters knew that Rosalind was the only one he really cherished.

Rosalind sat in bed as her fire was built. “You should have gotten up and come to me straight away,” she said. “You mustn’t get ideas above your station, Isabella.”

“Ideas above my station?”

“Well, I know that Father claims you as his own, but that doesn’t change who your mother was. You know that. And you know that once I marry, Father will have a choice to make. Do you think he’ll keep you here forever?”

“You know that he will,” Isabella said. “You know he cared for my mother.”

“And your mother wanted him to provide for your future. I know that. But Father might decide that future looks like something different from what you might like it to, you know. Maybe he’ll send you off with me to be my lady’s maid. I’d love you as a maid once I’m married and on my own.”

“I’m not a maid,” Isabella argued.

“I don’t see why not. Your mother was a maid. And you’re awfully good at performing the basic tasks I need you to do. It might be the most effective way for you to secure a future for yourself. I mean, do you really want to stay here serving my father for the rest of your life?”

“He’s my father too,” Isabella reminded Rosalind. “And I don’t serve anyone. I am our father’s daughter, just as you are.”

“Not just as I am,” Rosalind said. “You and I both know that there’s a difference. You like to pretend that we’re the same, and I know Father has indulged you in that, but it isn’t really true. You’re not a lady, not really.”

“You can say that all you like, but just look at Felicity. She’s had a very successful season, and I’m sure we’re about to see her find someone willing to marry her.”

“Well, maybe,” Rosalind said, stretching rather luxuriously in her bed. “I suppose that’s possible.”

“It’s more than possible. She danced with several gentlemen last night, and they all seemed interested.”

Now, Rosalind was frowning. “I think you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. Why would I? You told me that you wanted to know what happened last night, so I’m telling you about it. That’s all. Felicity was a very popular choice among the gentlemen there.”

“But why would she be?” Rosalind frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“Felicity is lovely,” Isabella said. “And you know how kind and pleasant to be around she is. It doesn’t surprise me at all that gentlemen are taking an interest, and I can’t believe you’re genuinely surprised by it either, even if you do wish it wasn’t true.”

“Well…maybe you’re right,” Rosalind agreed. “I suppose she is very pretty in an ordinary sort of way. I couldn’t say the same about you, though.” She smirked, and Isabella knew that her half-sister expected the comment to be hurtful.

It wasn’t. Isabella had never felt any need to be admired for her beauty and certainly not by Rosalind, who had never seen anything good in her at all. If Rosalind had paid Isabella a compliment of any kind, Isabella would have mistrusted it.

“Felicity is what matters,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll go along and be her lady’s maid when she marries.”

She had said it mostly to try to irritate Rosalind, but Rosalind just smiled mysteriously and replied, “Perhaps you will. All I know is that I’m sure your time pretending to be a lady will soon be at an end. Father hasn’t much more patience for your airs. You’re a maid really. He promised your mother that he would raise you. That’s what he’s always told me. But you’re old enough now to be on your own. He’ll find work for you somewhere, or maybe he’ll marry you off to someone. I don’t know. I do know he doesn’t intend to go on caring for you for the rest of your life, though. Eventually you’ll be expected to move on.”

Isabella said nothing. The fire was roaring now, so she stood and brushed off her skirts. She moved to the bed and set about tidying the bedclothes which was rather difficult to do with Rosalind still tucked between them.

There came a knock at the door. “Rosalind?” the Viscount called out to the pair of them. “Are you up, darling?”

“Yes, Father. Come in.”

The door opened to admit Maxwell Abberton, the Viscount of Cliffrows. He was a short man with very little hair remaining on his head and a rotund figure, and though Isabella would never have said it aloud, she thought that Rosalind quite resembled him. Both she and Felicity took after their mother—in fact, Felicity was her mother’s image exactly. Isabella knew that she wasn’t as beautiful as her mother and her sister, but she was still grateful to look more like them than she did like her father.

“How are you feeling, darling?” the Viscount fussed, ignoring Isabella and giving his full attention to Rosalind.

“Still very weak.” Rosalind reclined against her pillows and allowed her eyelids to flutter. “I had better spend the day in bed, I think. Do you suppose that will be all right, Father?”

“Of course, it will,” the Viscount said. “I’m sure your sister will be more than happy to tend to your every need, won’t you, Isabella?” His voice became sharp at the end of the sentence, and it was clear to Isabella that this was no request—she was expected to set aside whatever her own plans might be and spend the day caring for Rosalind.

“Perhaps Rosalind would be better off in the hands of her own lady’s maid,” she suggested.

“That’s just like you, Isabella,” the Viscount said. “Always trying to find ways of getting out of work. You’re nothing but a little princess. You think yourself better than everyone around you, and you always have.”

Isabella’s blood boiled. This was the one thing that could be said to her that would truly make her feel angry, for it was an accusation she had heard all her life, and she knew that it was untrue. She had never believed herself to be any better than anyone else—well, perhaps she was more good-natured and clever than Rosalind, but that was nothing special. So were most people.

The servants here at Cliffrows had always looked down on her for this very reason. They’d always accused her of believing herself to be better than they were because her father was noble. She thought no such thing, but she hadn’t ever been a part of them because of that. And, of course, the members of the ton had never included her and never would. They would never look at her as their equal, and Isabella knew that she was mocked behind her back for having the audacity to act as if she belonged in society.

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone,” she told her father.

“Then you’re not too good to spend the day caring for your sister,” he said smoothly. “You’ll see to it that she has everything she needs today. I’ll have meals sent up for both of you.”

“Father, I don’t want to eat with her,” Rosalind complained.

“She does have to eat, Rosalind,” the Viscount said. But Isabella knew that her father was not truly taking her side. When the meals were sent up, Rosalind would be given trays filled with everything she could have wanted, and Isabella would be given something small—enough to sustain her, for her father might not have cherished her, but he certainly didn’t despise her and had no wish to see her starve. But he would want to make sure that Rosalind saw how she was his favorite. He would want her to be given the most so that she would accept the alleged hardship of taking a meal with Isabella and wouldn’t complain that anything unfair was being done to her.

Isabella didn’t mind this, exactly. She would be given enough food, and she knew that. But it seemed petty to her that her father insisted on dealing with her in this way, and that Rosalind—young though she was—deemed it necessary. If only everyone could just relax and stop worrying so much about Rosalind’s jealousy, this wouldn’t be such a problem.

“I’ll do as you ask, Father,” Isabella said, primarily hoping that he would go away and leave them alone. As long as he was in the room, she knew that she needed to put on a bit of a show of being cooperative and obedient. Little though she liked Rosalind, she could be more herself in front of her half-sister because Rosalind wasn’t clever enough to take effective revenge against her. Sometimes Rosalind didn’t even recognize that she had been disrespected by Isabella’s comments.

Isabella would have felt bad about that if Rosalind hadn’t deliberately and overtly disrespected her all the time.

Before their father could say his farewells and leave, though, the door opened again. This time it was Clarise, Rosalind’s lady’s maid, and she looked rather alarmed.

“Lord Cliffrows,” she said, “I’m so glad I found you. The house is in an uproar!”

The Viscount frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I don’t quite know,” Claire said. “No one is sure what brought him here, but?—”

“What brought who here?”

“The Duke of Windhill, My Lord. He’s here. He’s asking to see you.”

Isabella’s stomach dropped.

She had known that her lie would come out, of course, but she hadn’t guessed it would happen quite this soon.

“The Duke!” Rosalind struggled out of bed. “I’d better come too, Father.”

“Yes, do,” their father said. “Isabella—help her dress. Quickly. And meet us downstairs in the sitting room.”

He hurried out of the room.

Isabella turned to her half-sister to help her into a gown, knowing that she had created trouble for herself. The only question now was, how bad was it going to be?