Chapter 3

Chapter 2

The sound cracked through the air. It felt as if it shattered against Isabella ' s skin and echoed through her chest. She had never heard something so loud. It had all happened so fast.

Eliza had grasped at Isabella ' s sleeve when they spotted the pistol pointed at the duke. For a moment, Isabella was convinced that she was about to witness a murder. Her stomach had seized, and her breath caught in her chest.

Eliza had yelped a little when the gunshot had gone off. Isabella couldn't take her eyes off the scene. Just as she expected to witness something horrible, a man came racing past them.

She ' d never seen someone act so decisively and yet so spontaneously as well. A tall man with untidy brown hair had descended upon the duke.

At first, Isabella thought he ' d been another attacker on his way to the duke. But when the man threw himself from his horse and placed himself in harm ' s way just in time to get the duke to safety, she knew that he was no gunman.

He was a hero just like the men in her books.

While it had taken only a few seconds, it seemed as if it dragged on for minutes. Everything felt as if it had slowed down.

The shot had missed, and the hero was on his feet and looking in the direction of the gunman, who was now headed directly in Isabella ' s direction. The duke was on his feet, too. Thankfully, unharmed.

" Stop that man!" the hero shouted as he towered over the duke.

Isabella wanted to do anything the man asked. He had done the most remarkable thing she had ever seen.

She reached into Eliza ' s bag and pulled out the anthology she ' d bought just an hour before. It was a large book with a hard spine.

As the gunman raced past them, she threw the book through the air, aiming for his head. She wanted to see him thrown from his horse. She wanted to hold him down and let the handsome hero come and take him away.

The book traveled fast; she had thrown it harder than she thought. But it missed. The book hit the gunman on the shoulder and landed on the grass, the new pages down on the damp blades of grass on the lawn. It knocked the gun from his hand, sending it into a nearby bush.

" I missed," Isabella said as she cursed in her mind. " I wanted to hit his head."

" My book!" Eliza cried.

Isabella barely heard her. She was focused on the gunman as he took off through the gardens. The tall, heroic man had asked her to stop him, and she had failed.

" Stop him!" Isabella cried out as loudly as she could. " You there! Stop that man on the horse!"

She had hoped her calls would be heard with the same urgency as she felt when she shouted them out. But everybody seemed too shocked to know what to do. The sight of a tall, hard hat and a deep blue jacket made her hopeful.

" Constable! Stop that man!" she cried. " He ' s tried to kill the duke!"

Already, some pedestrians had made chase, and so the officers who had merely been out for a stroll followed suit. The gunman was small on the horizon already, and she knew he would not be captured.

Certain they were safe, Eliza rushed to rescue her book from the damp grass.

" You have books of your own, you know," she said, trying to bite back her annoyance.

" Yours was heavier," Isabella explained. " I ' m sorry. I really am. I'll replace it."

" No need." Eliza waved her off. " It ' s still perfectly readable."

Isabella didn't really care. There was only really one subject that kept her attention then.

" Who is that man?" she asked, turning to look back at the man who had saved the duke ' s life.

He was talking to the duke and a constable who had come to question them about what had happened. The hero was tall and had a tan to his skin that told her he ' d recently spent time in the sun. That meant he had been outside of London recently.

He was fit, that was clear from the way he had galloped to the rescue and thrown himself through the air. Most of all, he was braver than any man she knew. He had leaped in front of a bullet without a second thought.

Something about it made her flush. She was suddenly warmer beneath her dress. Isabella wondered if it was noticeable to those who looked at her.

" I don ' t know," Eliza said, out of breath from the stress. " Thank goodness he was here. I don ' t know what I would have done if things had gone differently."

" Did you see how he threw himself over the duke?" Isabella asked. " I've never seen anything like it before.

" I hope to never see anything like this again," Eliza added. " This is too much to deal with. I ' m going to need a very strong cup of tea."

Eliza was shaking slightly. Isabella felt badly for her, but she could not relate. She did not feel afraid. Rather, she felt exhilarated. A feeling that she wanted to feel again and as soon as possible. It was a sensation she knew she would chase for the rest of her life.

" We should go over there and thank him," Isabella suggested.

The thought of it seemed to horrify Eliza. " We should get as far away from here as possible."

" The constables might need our help," Isabella argued. " I saw where the pistol landed. It ' s over there in that bush."

" Right there?" Eliza snapped, her eyes widening. " Let ' s get away from here then!"

To Isabella ' s relief, she headed in the direction of the handsome hero of the day. Isabella quickly checked her hair for any loose strands. Her black hair was pulled back in her usual neat bun. Practical, but nothing special.

She straightened her back and balanced her head on her neck so that she seemed like the perfect lady. As the space closed between her and him, she felt as her heart leaped up into her throat. She swallowed it back down and readied herself for a friendly greeting.

" Miss Owen," the duke said, out of breath from shock. " I am so sorry about all of this."

" Do not mention it again, my lord," she said with a bright smile. " All that concerns me is your well-being. You remember Miss Harper, don ' t you?"

" Of course I do," the duke answered with a nod in Eliza ' s direction. " It is good to see you both again."

" Are you all right?" Isabella asked, knowing he was perfectly fine but feeling obliged to ask anyway.

The duke's usual friendly smile wasn't there. He was sweating from the stress and patted at his head with his handkerchief every few minutes. Meanwhile, the hero had finished speaking with the constable and rejoined the duke.

" Miss Owen, I ' d like to introduce you to Mr. Alton," the duke said.

Mr. Alton smiled at her. He had pale blue eyes that reminded her of the morning sky before the snowy season. When he looked at her, it seemed as if he looked straight into her core. She flushed and swallowed hard.

" It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alton," she said politely. " This is my lady ' s maid, Miss Harper."

Mr. Alton nodded in both their directions. " Miss Owen," he greeted her, followed by, " Miss Harper. It is wonderful to meet you both. Are you both all right?"

" A little startled," Isabella said, glancing at Eliza. " But we came through it without a scratch."

" That was quick thinking to throw that book," the duke commented. " I can ' t believe this has happened."

Isabella gave the duke a comforting smile. " It looks as if you'll live to see another day," she said kindly. " It ' s a good thing Mr. Alton was here today. His bravery is unlike anything I've ever seen."

" I could say the same thing about you," Mr. Alton said with a charming smile.

" Are you Mr. Alton, as in the son of Mary and Daniel Alton?" Isabella asked.

" The very same," he answered with a proud smile. " How did you know?"

" They are friends of my parents," she explained. " They speak of you often. You ' re a member of the infantry. That is why we have never met. You ' re not often in London."

That explained why he had been so confident in what to do. It explained his athleticism and the sun-kissed skin that gave him that healthy glow.

" That ' s correct," Mr. Alton answered. " I ' m afraid you know more about me than I do about you."

Isabella had always liked the Altons. They were a wealthy family. Wealthier than most of the families she knew, but they had never flaunted it. They were down-to-earth people with a good sense of humor.

That only made her interest in the hero of the day double.

The duke was dabbing at his head and taking deep breaths. His round eyes were large as he glanced constantly at the bushes and the shadows around them.

" I think the threat is over," Mr. Alton assured him with a kind hand on his shoulder. " The constables are searching for him everywhere. His weapon has been apprehended."

" Did you get a good look at him?" the duke asked. " I didn't get to see his face."

Isabella felt poorly for the duke. She couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to experience something like that. A shift of mere seconds could have yielded a vastly different outcome for him.

" I was focused on you, my lord," Mr. Alton explained. " Perhaps Miss Owen or Miss Harper caught a glimpse."

She shook her head. " His hood was in the way, I ' m sorry," she said. " He dropped his weapon, though. One less pistol on the streets makes me sleep better at night."

" Oh dear," the duke whispered. " I don ' t know what to do or think about any of this."

" Be grateful you ' re alive, my lord," Isabella said with a kind smile. " Let that be a sign that you ' re still needed here with the living."

"You've always been good with words, Miss Owen," the duke responded. " I ' m afraid I ' m rather shaken. Forgive me if I ' m not pleasant company."

" Don ' t mention it," Isabella said.

" I can ' t imagine that any of us are feeling calm," Eliza chimed in. " The noise and the chaos! I worry I might not sleep tonight."

" Forgive me," the duke said. " My presence here today has put you all in danger. I was merely out for a quiet walk. I don ' t take many of those."

The conversation was flowing in and out of Isabella ' s concentration. She was aware of her every movement and how it might look to Mr. Alton. She made sure to look at him every few seconds and found that often, when she did, he was already looking at her.

His gaze burned against her, making it difficult for her to remember how to behave. He made her feel different than she ' d ever felt before. As if everything she did and said suddenly mattered, held more meaning.

" You are two very brave ladies," Mr. Alton said.

He had addressed them both, but he was looking only at her. Isabella held his gaze for a moment, feeling as if the ground might fall away beneath her feet.

" We did what we could," she answered.

The corners of Mr. Alton ' s mouth turned upward into a bright and charming smile. He beamed at her, and she shrank into a hidden version of herself. Isabella had never felt bashful before, but then she could think of no other way to describe it.

All she knew was that she wanted to hold on to that moment for as long as she possibly could.

Chapter 3

It took a few minutes of light-hearted conversation, but eventually the Duke of Trent calmed. His usual jolly smile returned and he was laughing at Mr. Alton ' s jokes. The constables had filled the park to take statements and make reports on what had happened.

Soon enough, though, they needed to be on their way. The rain was imminent and nobody was in the mood to be damp.

" Before you leave," the duke said, " please, allow me to show you my gratitude by extending an invitation to the three of you. Dinner at my London home. It is the least I can do."

" That sounds perfectly pleasant," Isabella answered. " We ' d love to join you."

" I couldn't possibly refuse," Mr. Alton agreed.

His eyes were fixed on Isabella. Her mind filled with thoughts she ' d never considered about any other human before. She wondered what his hands felt like. Were they soft and warm? Or were they rough, callused from his time in the infantry and out in the sun?

She wanted desperately to know.

Isabella wondered what was hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt. Was it just as sun-kissed as his face? If she reached out and touched him, would she still feel the warmth of the sun on his skin? Would he mind it?

She blinked, hoping it would wipe her mind of thoughts that betrayed her serenity. But that was only managed by the cold of a drop of rain as it landed on her cheek.

The duke was already leaving with another constable who had insisted on escorting him back to his office. The news would soon spread, and he would need to make a public statement about the event. Isabella did not envy him his job.

" I'll see you both at the dinner," Mr. Alton said with a curt nod. " I look forward to it."

Isabella could think of no suitable answer. It was as if she had lost every ability to speak cohesively. What escaped her, rather, was a childlike giggle.

Eliza shot her a confused look as Mr. Alton took his leave.

" Dinner at the duke ' s house," Eliza said. " It ought to be quite the affair."

Isabella quickly regained her composure. " I know. I hope it is soon. It ' s been a while since I've socialized."

" You ' re not one to socialize eagerly," Eliza answered, eyeing her closely. " But yes, it will be nice to get out of the house."

***

Her parents watched in horror as she and Eliza explained what happened. Isabella was running through the room, pretending to be on horseback as she reenacted the tackle that Mr. Alton used to save the duke.

" That ' s just terrible!" her mother said. " Not even the park is safe anymore. I ' m telling you. This country is not what it used to be."

" It's a brilliant country, this one," her father remarked. " None like it."

" I agree with you, sir," Eliza said.

Isabella ' s parents sat where they always did after dinner. Seated on two large armchairs in front of the fire with a single table between them where their sherry glasses rested between sips. Her mother was a neat woman, who always wore some shade of purple or blue. Her hair was always tied back in a tidy bun.

Her father wore the same brown suit every day. He had multiple copies of the suit tailored to him. His hair was always neat in the same style, too. For as long as Isabella could remember, her father had looked exactly the same.

" The duke has invited us for dinner to say thank you," Isabella explained. " At his London home."

Her mother shot her father a knowing look. " That ' s excellent," she said. " The duke is a wonderful man. Everybody loves him."

" That ' s true," her father mumbled as he stared into the flames. " I've never had a conversation with him that I didn't enjoy."

" He's a widower now, you know," Lady Owen said. " And I ' m sure he ' s got a keen interest in you."

Isabella didn't like the way the conversation was turning. She should have seen it coming. Her mother always found a way to turn the conversation to the topic of marriage. At her age, Isabella was quickly running out of time to find a husband.

" He loved his wife so dearly," her father added. " She went with him everywhere. He attributes the entirety of his success to her support. It ' s sweet really."

" He needs support now," her mother hinted. " An intelligent woman who understands him and won ' t hold him back."

Her father looked up at his wife and smirked. " Sounds like someone I know."

" Father, don ' t," Isabella pleaded. " Please, Mother. Not this again."

" This is important, Isabella," her mother urged. " Your father has been knighted. That changes things. It makes it all the more important that you find a suitable husband. Someone of status. These things matter, Isabella. How many times have I taught you that?"

" Yes," Isabella sighed. " I understand that, Mother. I intend just to enjoy myself at dinner if you don ' t mind. The duke has nearly lost his life today, I hardly think he ' s in the mood to consider courtship."

Her father stifled a chuckle.

Isabella imagined trying to live the rest of her life with the Duke of Trent. While he was a friendly and kind smiling man, he was hardly her type. She didn't know what her type was. Isabella spent her time learning and reading; she didn't spend much time thinking about such things.

The only kind of men she knew about were the men in her books. They were always rugged and wild. They spent weeks in jungles and deserts, fighting bandits and catching bank robbers. They were far from the kind of man the Duke of Trent was.

She supposed a life with the duke would be perfectly lavish. Isabella would live in large manors and host fancy parties. They would be involved with politics and worry about public view. She would need to be on her best behavior all the time.

If she did, god forbid, misbehave, it would make the news. Isabella wasn't sure she liked the idea of that.

" A life in the public eye," she said without meaning to.

It had meant to be nothing more than a thought, but it had seeped out of her without reason, bringing the conversation back to the front.

" How wonderful," her mother said eagerly. " Then you'd be the talk of the town, as you deserve to be."

Isabella glanced at Eliza, who gave her an amused look. Nobody knew her as well as Eliza did. She was the only person who understood her and knew how she hated the idea of being noticed.

" It sounds dreadful," Isabella corrected her mother. " I don ' t think I ' d want to be watched so closely."

" Nonsense," her mother said. " You would leave a legacy of impressive women in your wake. I ' m telling you now."

" Impressive?" Isabella asked. " Is the only thing that makes a woman impressive her ability to stick to the rules?"

" The rules are there for a reason," her mother snapped. " They keep the world in check and make sure nothing gets out of hand."

" We ' re at war, Mother," Isabella responded. " I would say things have already gotten out of hand."

Lady Owen didn't like it when Isabella spoke about such things. She claimed it made her seem unladylike. Her mother had always told her that women were prettier without opinions. That opinions made men feel small and would make a woman unattractive.

Isabella disagreed. She couldn't understand how any man would want to be with a woman who had little intelligence. Wouldn't they want someone who could be good company? Who could have enjoyable conversation and handle a decent debate.

She wondered if the duke would be intrigued by any of that.

" I think you should take this seriously," her mother said. " You might not have much time left. Considering you refuse to even consider any possible suitors."

" That ' s not true," Isabella said. " Mr. and Mrs. Greedich from the bookstore see me all the time. They can attest to my existence."

" New books today?" her father asked, finally showing interest in the conversation.

" I think you would like them," Isabella said with a wide smile. " I have the latest story from the Wild West Winters series we enjoy so much."

" It ' s your fault," her mother accused Sir Brian. " You got her interested in these kinds of books. They ' re far too wild for a proper woman."

Her father flashed Isabella a knowing look. " I'll get it from you when you ' re done with it."

Isabella nodded.

Eliza had taken her place on a chair in the back of the room where she worked on repairing a dress of Isabella ' s. It had been torn when Isabella had crawled behind a bush in the garden to take a closer look at an interesting bug she had seen.

She ' d returned to the house with mud and a small tear on her skirt, and a large stick bug on the palm of her hand.

" Eliza, give her one of your books to read," Lady Owen instructed. " Let her learn something about real romance. That way she can know about it when she ' s swept off her feet one day. I fear she might not recognize it when it happens."

It was clear in the way that Eliza tilted her head away from the view that she was trying hard not to laugh. Isabella didn't look at her, at risk of her own laughter bubbling up. The fire was roaring as Sir Brian got up to pour them another glass of sherry.

Her books were waiting for her on her night stand in her room, and she was desperate to escape reality for a moment. Life was more fun between the pages of a good story. There, she could pretend that she was a wilder woman, in pants, who rode horses bareback through the woods as she chased after thieves.

Then, in the morning, when she woke, she was the daughter of a knight again. Someone who needed to behave well and walk softly. Who needed to make sure her laughter was always polite and her hair always neatly pulled back.

It was a depressing life compared to the ones in her books. She knew she would be married someday, despite her wishes not to be. And then she ' d have children and need to be the perfect mother.

She ' d never know what the jungle looked like, or the desert. Isabella might never leave London at all. It was heartbreaking enough to have made her eyes swell with tears on more than one occasion.

" When will you be going to dinner then?" Lady Owen asked.

" We await a letter from the duke," Isabella explained. " He was in a state of shock when we left him in the park. I ' m sure a letter will arrive soon enough."

" Excellent," her mother said. " We have some time to find a new dress. Trust me to make you look like the most attractive woman London has ever seen. The duke won ' t be able to keep his eyes off you."

" My dresses are perfectly fine," Isabella argued. " I ' m sure I have something that will work. Perhaps that green one that I wore to Mrs. Ferry ' s tea party last month."

Her mother waved her away. " Don ' t be ridiculous. We can always find something better. We'll go into town tomorrow to look for one."

" I have plans for tomorrow," Isabella said.

" What plans? To read your books?" her mother asked, making a good guess.

Isabella ' s silence was an affirmative answer. With that, she sighed and excused herself to go to bed. Her feet carried her to the books she so eagerly wanted to read. There, she could forget about marriage and her day for a while.