A March to Marquess | A Regency Romance

Chapter Ten

Push the needle in, pull it through, push the needle in, pull it out. The rhythmic cadence of the needle going through the fabric was soothing on Isabella's nerves. The slight scraping of the metal needle against the soft fabric lended her a comforting song. It was just her in the drawing room her step-mother normally occupied. Lady Welton and her father left the London house to go visit a distant cousin of Lady Welton's for a couple of days.

She did not have a proper chaperone at the house with her step-mother and father gone, so she did not attend any of the nightly events. That was okay for Isabella, though. She enjoyed the time alone. She also didn't want to face Lord Dunmore.

The afternoon light warmed the room as her thoughts turned to the agreement. Although she wasn't looking forward to seeing Lord Devonshire any more than she was excited to see Dunmore, she had to admit part of her was curious as to what he was doing. She pictured him trotting down the row, putting on a show for his fellows and making all the women giggle. The thought gathered deep in her stomach and started to sour.

"Stop that," she thought. It was silly that she was thinking of how other females would respond to him. That was why he needed her help. Because he was already very popular with them. She did not care about his dalliances with them. She didn't care that he had caressed and kissed the soft lips of beauties and enjoyed them for the night...

"This is ridiculous," she said aloud, putting down her project to place a finger and a thumb on the bridge of her nose. Why was she thinking about what was happening behind closed doors with him and others? It was never something she was curious about since she knew the outcome of such meetings. It ended in childbirth and then in losing one's mind. Her own mother had been susceptible to such ailments.

Even though she rationalized it this way, she couldn't help but think back on the face that sat atop the pure white cravat that looked at her with such intent. Deep eyes that focused on her and made her feel like the only thing in the room. The same man that has seen her on her runaway horse, cornered by Lord Dunmore, skulking around the library and nearly perishing after taking a sip of brandy.

It made her feel ridiculous the more that she thought about it. She had not been a proper lady around him yet. All of their meetings have been disgraceful, with Isabella doing something distasteful. The only time that she didn't trip over her own feet was during their dance, but even that was forced. He was out of sight as soon as the music signified the end of the dance. She had thought initially that he was ashamed of dancing with her, but his proposal puts her very much in view of him and society.

Isabella got up from her seat and put away her needle and threads into the basket next to the sette. It was nearing late afternoon and she had wasted the day thinking about Devonshire. She looked out the window onto the street where carriages passed by and men with their black coats walked about doing their business. She wished she could join them on the street, walking to meetings and clubs without any care in the world.

It was very much a man's world. They owned property. They controlled the finances. They ran businesses and even made decisions on what was considered fashionable. And yet, so many men squandered their lives away gambeling. Betting on outcomes they know are stacked against them.

But if the deal with the marquess was successful, she could have more money to her name then she will ever have in her life. None would be the wiser to the comfortable stash of money that lined her stays. It would give her a sense of independence. Now, she has to ask either her father or her step-mother for anything she desires.

Dunmore would be the same or worse if she were to marry him. He would tell her what to buy, what to wear, how many kids to have. It was suffocating to think about. The gilded cage closes in, bar by bar.