Chapter 4

“Well, what do you think, Isabella?” her father asked. “Do you prefer the roses or the lilies?”

“The roses,” Isabella said, offering a smile to the florist, who after all had nothing to do with Isabella’s current distress. It wasn’t her fault that Isabella’s family was being horrible to her. It wasn’t her fault that Rosalind was bitter and jealous or that their father was angry.

“The roses are hideous,” Rosalind spoke up. “They’ll embarrass us, Father, if you allow Isabella to have them. As though she hasn’t embarrassed us enough already!”

“I think they’re pretty,” Felicity spoke up loyally.

“Well, you would,” Rosalind sneered. “You’ve never had good taste.”

“Don’t speak to her that way,” Isabella said. “Thank you, Felicity.”

“Father, this wedding is going to be a joke!” Rosalind said. “Do you know what people are saying about our family?”

“Do you?” Isabella asked. “There have been no social events since my engagement to the Duke. You haven’t had the chance to speak to anyone about it. Where would you have heard anything about it?”

“I know enough of society to be able to imagine the sorts of things that are being said—which is certainly more than I can say for you!” Rosalind argued. “You’re not even really a lady! And now, with this engagement happening so quickly and without even a courtship to preface it…well, Father, you must realize what that looks like. People are going to think that Isabella is caught up in something indecent. For all we know, she is. Why would the Duke agree to marry her after the way she’s behaved, making up lies about him the way she did? Indeed, why would he want to marry her at all, especially after you told him that I was available? Who would want to marry the daughter of a maid and not a very pretty one at that?”

“I think I will choose the roses,” Isabella decided, ignoring her half-sister’s taunts and barbs. The idea of a marriage to the Duke was an intimidating one to be sure—but then, soon enough she would be out of this house for good and would never have to tolerate Rosalind’s casual cruelty again. Whatever marriage looked like, she was sure that it was bound to be preferable to living here.

Besides, the process of planning for a wedding had turned out to be quite enjoyable. The flowers were not the first thing that had driven Rosalind mad with jealousy. Just yesterday, they had all gone into town to choose Isabella’s wedding gown, the very first new gown she had had in her life. Rosalind had been irate.

“Why can’t I have a new gown?” she’d demanded.

“You have one already,” her father had pointed out. “It was delivered just two days ago.”

“But that was supposed to be for the Leicester ball. Not for this.”

“This wedding will now be taking place before Leicester. You can wear your new gown to the wedding, and then you’ll be able to wear it again, or something else, to Leicester.”

Rosalind had worked herself up into a fury. “But that’s unfair!” she’d said. “I ought to have something new, Father! Why can’t I?”

“Because I need to buy Isabella a new gown,” her father had said patiently. “And I haven’t enough money right now to do both.” Their family had never suffered financially, but the Viscount’s business certainly went through high and low periods, and he was not skilled in the art of setting money aside to provide for himself during the harder times. If the wedding were taking place six months from now, he would likely have been able to purchase new gowns for everyone. That day, though, he’d had the money available to purchase one.

“If you can only buy one gown, it should be for me, not for her,” Rosalind had said.

Isabella had turned away, determined not to engage in this silliness, but Felicity had interceded. “You’ve got to stop this,” she’d said. “I know you wish this was your wedding and that you were the one marrying the Duke, but this is Isabella’s wedding. She’s the one who needs the new gown. She’s the one who is going to be a bride. Of course, Father is going to buy her a gown and not one for either of us. You may be the favorite on most days, but this day will be about Isabella—and I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about that!”

Felicity had looked rather shocked, as though she couldn’t quite believe she had said all that.

Isabella certainly hadn’t been able to believe it. Her sweet, gentle sister, taking a stand on her behalf—what a lovely thing to have a chance to see! She’d been so proud of Felicity. And it had occurred to her that—although she would never stop trying to provide for Felicity’s future—she didn’t need to fear what would happen when Felicity was on her own, when Isabella had left home and gone to the home of her husband instead. It let a weight off her shoulders to know that her sister was going to be able to fend for herself in that regard, that she was going to be all right. It was wonderful to see that she knew how to stop Rosalind from pushing her around.

And the same thing was happening now with the flowers. Felicity was standing up—not for herself this time but on behalf of Isabella.

It was entertaining, if a bit frustrating, to watch the way Rosalind was responding to the fact that she was currently not the most important person in the world. Pouting at the gown, berating the flower choice—and now, she flounced over to the double doors that led over to the garden and threw them open. Of course, the Viscount didn’t reprimand her, even though the night air was cold and her action was obviously only one of defiance. Isabella knew that if she had opened those doors, her father would have scolded her fiercely. Rosalind was demonstrating the fact that she was still the favorite and that she could get away with anything.

“Of course, he might be a Duke, but he’s still a bit—well, I wouldn’t want to marry him,” she said self-righteously.

“You did want to,” Isabella pointed out mildly. “When he first came to see whether I would marry him, and you thought he was here for you, you wanted to marry him. I heard that conversation, so I know what was said.”

“Isabella, that’s enough,” her father said. “Don’t taunt your sister.”

“I’m not taunting her,” Isabella argued. “It’s the truth. She did want to marry him. She’s only saying otherwise now because she wants me to feel badly about the fact that I’m going to marry him, but I don’t. I think he seems like a good and honest man. I’m happy with this engagement.”

“He’s a bit of a joke among the ladies of the ton,” Rosalind said dismissively.

“No, he isn’t,” Isabella laughed.

“As though you would know!” Rosalind said rather hotly. “Nobody talks to you about anything. You’re even more of a joke than he is.”

“Well, if that’s the truth, then my reputation has nothing to lose by a marriage to him,” Isabella said, and Felicity smiled at her. “And it’s good to know that you don’t want him for yourself, Rosalind, because I would hate to think that my actions had caused you any sort of sadness. Now that I know this wedding won’t be causing you any pain, I’ll be able to celebrate with you fully. In fact, I think I’ll ask Father to let you be involved in every part of the planning.”

“What makes you think I’d want to do that!”

“Well, it’s like you said.” Isabella widened her eyes innocently. “Felicity and I haven’t the best taste for fine things. Not like you. We might choose the wrong flowers or the wrong wine. You’ll help make sure that doesn’t happen. Really, I’m so lucky to have you for a sister.”

“Half-sister,” Rosalind said.

Isabella paid that no mind. “And I know you wouldn’t want to be stuck hosting a party that didn’t have the best of everything,” she pointed out. “That might make it look as if you were the one without excellent taste! We can’t let anyone think that.”

“She has a point, Rosalind,” their father said. “Perhaps we should put the details of this wedding in your hands.”

Rosalind’s mouth opened and closed, and it was obvious that she could see she had been manipulated but that she wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened. Isabella couldn’t resist a small smile. She would miss this. Sometimes she did feel guilty when she did things like this to her half-sister, but on the other hand, if Rosalind had ever once in her life acted with basic human kindness and decency, Isabella would have returned it in equal measure. It was Rosalind’s own fault their relationship was the way it was, and Isabella wasn’t going to spend too much time feeling guilty about that.

“Very well, I will do it,” Rosalind agreed. “Everyone will see that I have wonderful taste. Your husband will wish he had chosen to marry me, but it will be too late for him! And the other gentlemen of the ton will be clamoring at my door.”

“Good,” Isabella said, and meant it. Though her half-sister irritated her, she didn’t truly want bad things for Rosalind. As long as the two of them were able to stay out of one another’s way, Isabella foresaw no problems for them. And once she was married—and once Felicity’s future was set—there would be no need to worry about Rosalind ever again, so why shouldn’t she find happiness of her own?

Rosalind’s lip curled, and she seemed certain that she was being tricked somehow, but she turned to her father. “We ought to serve goose at the wedding,” she told her father. “I know it’s one of the more expensive options, but it will make us look good, and the guests will appreciate it. And we want to let people see that when the time comes for my wedding, they can expect to be served something fine.”

The Viscount nodded. “I’ll give that serious consideration,” he said. “Thank you, Rosalind. It’s good to see you ladies getting along for once, I must say.”

Isabella didn’t bother pointing out to her father that his treatment of her, as if she were worth less than Rosalind, was the reason Rosalind had always been so cruel to her. Nor did she make mention of the fact that their not getting along had more to do with Rosalind’s inability to get along with anyone than it did to do with her. She simply smiled. “I’m glad too, Father,” she replied. “It’s wonderful to know that my sister is happy for me on the eve of my marriage.”

Rosalind opened her mouth as if to correct Isabella, but Isabella, who had always meant to emphasize this, turned to her with a smile. “Half-sister, I mean,” she said. “That’s what I meant. My apologies, Rosalind.”

Rosalind looked at her suspiciously. Once again, it seemed as if she knew she had been disrespected, but what could she say when she didn’t know exactly how it had happened?

“The roses, then,” Isabella said to her father, reflecting on the fact that she had always been good at the art of getting her own way. She wondered whether that was a skill that would carry forward into her marriage to the Duke.