Chapter Eight

Shortly before theparty was set to begin, Izzy smiled as her sisters came to the door. When they'd had their dresses made for the party, they'd had them all made in the exact same style, but different colors. Ana's gown shimmered green, Rosie's was sky blue, and Izzy was enveloped in red.

"I worry Albert will be upset that we're dressed alike," Izzy murmured. It had seemed like a good idea when they'd all inadvertently chosen the same style, but as they got closer to the party, Izzy worried they'd made a mistake.

"Let Albert tend to his businesses and leave the dresses to us," Ana said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her own husband was a great deal more laid back than Albert.

"Yes," Rosie chimed in, her smile bright. "We are triplets. He should be happy we're not all wearing the same color."

Izzy's lips twitched into a brief smile, but it was fleeting, chased away by the weight of her duty as Albert's wife and hostess of the evening's affair. They entered the house, their gowns whispering secrets with every step.

Izzy had hired several women from town to act as maids for the party, and they all scurried about, arranging silverware with meticulous care and aligning chairs with geometric precision. Five women from town, their hands quick and nimble, were draped in plain aprons that belied the magnitude of the task ahead. It was a dinner party followed by dancing.

"Ensure the crystal sparkles," Izzy instructed one of the maids, her voice steady though her heart thundered a wild rhythm. "And the linens must be free of any creases."

"Of course, Mrs. Thoreau," the maid replied, her eyes briefly meeting Izzy's before flitting away.

"Everything will be perfect, Izzy," Ana said, her voice soothing.

"Perfection is a costly endeavor," Izzy replied. The gravity of her role, the need for approval from her husband and society, weighed upon her like the heavy lace train of her gown.

"Then let us bear the cost together," Rosie added, her hand finding Izzy's.

Izzy felt the weight of Albert's disapproval from across the dining room. She felt the color drain from her cheeks despite the bold hue of her gown. The identical dresses her sisters wore seemed to amplify her discomfort.

"Albert," came the stern yet tender intervention of Mrs. Thoreau, her hand resting on her son's arm with authority. She guided him away from the gathering, her words whispered but laced with conviction. "The girls have always been as one, since birth. Izzy told me that they were always dressed identically before coming here."

"Mother, this is not a children's birthday celebration. This is my home," Albert retorted.

"Perhaps, but tonight they wanted to celebrate their unity, their bond. They don't ordinarily indulge such whims. Allow them this symbol of sisterhood," she urged, her eyes softening at the edges with empathy—for both her son and the young woman he'd married.

"Unity..." Albert said, the word leaving a bitter taste. He glanced back at Izzy. She did look fetching in the dress.

The front door announced new arrivals with its grandiose creak, redirecting attention from the familial tete-a-tete. In strode William and Charles, both in tailored suits. Albert was happy to see his friends.

"Albert, I trust you've heard about Thompson?" Charles's voice boomed, a gregarious sound that filled the room. His eyes held a glint of triumph.

"Yes I have," Albert replied. "Caught like a rat in a trap, I hear."

"More like a snake in a henhouse," William chimed in, his doctor's hands folded neatly behind his back. "But Hope Springs can breathe easier now, knowing the viper has been defanged."

"Justice in our time," Charles declared. "The town will recover. And your mines will stop being sabotaged."

The wooden floor creaked beneath Izzy's hesitant steps as she was led into the dance by Albert, his hand firm on her waist. The musicians drew their bows across violin strings in a melody that sang of tradition and grace—a language foreign to Izzy's ears and feet. Around them, couples glided in practiced harmony, a sea of swirling gowns and tailored suits.

"Albert," she began, "I'm sorry, I..."

"Isabelle," he interrupted with a sigh, "you are stepping on my foot again."

"I never learned to waltz," she admitted, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Never learned?" Albert asked, his tone sharpening with incredulity. "Your upbringing continues to perplex me. What kind of life forbids a girl from dancing?"

"Mine did," she said simply. The heat of shame crawled up her neck, branding her with the stigma of her past.

They moved awkwardly, disjointedly, until the song mercifully ended. Albert offered a curt nod before excusing himself, leaving Izzy standing alone.

"May I have this dance, Isabelle?"

She turned to find Clyde, Albert's father, extending his hand—a lifeline in a stormy sea. With a grateful smile, she took it, and together they joined the other dancers. Clyde led with a gentle patience that coaxed her through the steps without judgment or condescension.

"My wife tells me you girls always dressed alike...like triplets," Clyde said.

"Yes, until we moved here, our only clothes were identical. We are triplets, you see," Izzy replied, finding unexpected strength in the admission.

"You remind me so much of Eleanor when she was your age," Clyde continued a nostalgic gleam in his eye. "Her spirit, her fire—it seems to live on in you."

Izzy blinked, taken aback by the comparison to the wife he loved. In that moment, Izzy felt a flicker of kinship with Eleanor—another soul who had perhaps danced along the precipice of expectations and propriety.

"Thank you, Mr. Thoreau," she whispered, allowing herself to be twirled elegantly under Clyde's guiding hand.

"Please," he chuckled softly, "call me Clyde."

As the music swelled around them, Izzy allowed the rhythm to carry her away from the difficulties of the evening. In the arms of Albert's father, she found a brief respite from the scrutiny that seemed to lay claim to every other facet of her new life.

Izzy flitted between the clusters of guests. Her eyes searched for any sign of disharmony, any glass left unfilled or a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes, any detail that could betray the veneer of perfection she strove to uphold. Amidst the laughter and clinking silverware, Izzy's heart was heavy, burdened by Albert's stern admonitions.

"Rosie, dear, make sure the Hendersons have everything they need," Izzy whispered to her sister. Rosie nodded, her sky-blue gown catching the light as she moved with youthful grace toward the elderly couple. Ana, garbed in green, approached Izzy with a furrowed brow.

"Are you well?" Ana asked.

"Yes, of course," Izzy replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just ensure the music continues without pause."

Ana placed a reassuring hand on Izzy's arm before she glided back into the throng, leaving Izzy to her silent vigil.

Finally, as the last guest departed with a flourish of thanks, Izzy breathed a sigh of relief. The door closed with a definitive thud, sealing away the outside world. Albert turned to his parents, the grand patriarch, and matriarch who had observed the night's events with quiet pride.

"Mother, Father, thank you for your support this evening," Albert said.

"Goodnight, my dear," Albert's mother replied.

"Son," Clyde added with a nod toward Albert, before turning to Izzy. "You did well tonight, Izzy."

"Goodnight, Clyde," Izzy replied. She watched as Albert's parents retreated to their quarters, her gaze lingering on their retreating forms.

"Goodnight," she said again.

The party had been a success, but it was a victory hard-won and hollow, for no amount of planning or poise could shield her from the cold draft of disapproval that seemed to seep from Albert's very being.

The door to their room closed with a hushed click, its finality sealing them away from the remnants of revelry that had cascaded through the house. She stood motionless.

"Albert," she said. "This evening, I felt your displeasure more keenly than ever before." Her hands wrung at the fabric of her red gown, the one that marked her as distinct yet inseparably tied to her sisters.

"Is this about the dresses?" Albert asked.

"Partly," she admitted, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "You see us adorned in finery, standing out like exotic birds amongst the drab, but what you don't grasp is that this...us wearing the same style—it's a part of who we are. We may wear different colors now, but once, we shared even that."

"And the dancing," Izzy continued. "I've never learned how to dance. My childhood was a locked room, not a ballroom, Albert. I couldn't have learned, even if I'd wanted to."

"Isabelle," he said, and she noted the use of her full name, formal and distancing. Yet, when he spoke again, his tone was softer. "I failed to consider your circumstances. It was unfair of me." His hand, hesitant, reached out to touch her arm. "Forgive me."

The word ‘forgive' echoed in her mind, unfamiliar and unexpected. For a moment, Izzy allowed herself to believe that perhaps there was room for understanding.

"Truly?" It was hard to believe he even knew how to be sorry for his bad behavior.

Albert's eyes flickered with an unfamiliar warmth. "Truly," he affirmed, and there was no mistaking the sincerity that laced his voice.

In that singular moment, Izzy felt the axis of their world tilt, ever so slightly, granting her a glimpse of something she had never dared to imagine. Power. Not the kind wielded with fists or born of wealth, but the subtle, intoxicating power of being heard...of being seen.

"Then I—" She hesitated, her next words teetering on the precipice of this newfound landscape. "I accept your apology, Albert."

As they came together, the touch of his lips against hers was soft, a question rather than a claim. With each delicate caress, with every careful exploration, Izzy surrendered to the sensation of being cherished. Albert's arms encircled her, drawing her into the shelter of his embrace—a fortress built not of stone and mortar, but of flesh and bone and beating hearts.

Later, as they lay entwined beneath the weight of quilts and the quiet aftermath of connection, Albert held her close.

For the first time since she'd stepped off the train, Izzy felt a profound sense of belonging. Here, in the stillness of the night, with Albert's arms wrapped around her, she was no longer just a mail-order bride fulfilling her role. She was Isabelle Thoreau, a woman with a name, a will, and a place in the heart of a man who had finally listened.