Page 8

“Yes, please. I believe I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Isabel said, still shaken by the experience.

“Perhaps you’d want to leave through the servants’ exit to avoid all eyes on you?” Evie offered solicitously.

“No.” Richard’s voice was stony, confident. “We shall not hide out. Neither of us has done anything shameful.”

Isabel smiled. She could use the vote of confidence.

“Oh, wait. I asked for this to be brought for you.” Evie walked over to the settee and picked up a beautiful emerald green shawl. “To go with your gown,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, no, it’s not necessary—” Isabel began, but Evie was already cloaking Isabel in the shawl.

“You have a rip in your bodice. This should cover it,” she whispered in her ear.

A rip in my bodice? Was it from the fall or her struggle with Stanhope? Isabel’s cheeks heated in embarrassment. How long had she been walking around with the rip and had not known?

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

They walked out of the library a moment later. A few people lingered in the hall, staring at them and whispering behind their fans. Gentlemen leaned their heads toward their companions to hear what was being said about the Lewis family.

“Maybe we should have used the servants’ exit after all,” Isabel said with a tight smile.

“Hold your head high, sister,” Richard said. “Hold your head high.”

* * *

Rhys entered his home, still bristling in anger. He was not easily irritable. On the contrary. Usually, he could not conjure enough emotion to care. But this girl—this woman—Miss Isabel Lewis seemed to pull at his strings.

He didn’t want to marry her, he reminded himself. So then why did her rejection sting?

Rhys took off his coat and hat and handed them to his butler. Then he slowly made his way up the stairs.

He walked silently toward the farthest door on the right and cracked it open. The light from the crack between the curtains illuminated his peacefully sleeping daughter’s face.

Rhys smiled, studying her innocent features.

No, his daughter deserved far better than a fallen woman for a mother. She’d already had one egotistical wanton for a mother, and that had not ended well at all. The next woman he married would be a perfect lady for his treasure.

Far more suitable than Miss Isabel Lewis.

Chapter 3

A rejection to Gage’s upcoming betrothal ball came early the next day. And then another, and another. Some even openly stated in their notes that they would not have their daughters associate with a fallen woman.

As it turned out, polite society was not so polite once one of its members fell from grace. Or just fell.

Nobody cared for the truth. Nobody had even seen Isabel and Vane outside of that ballroom except for the two dreadful old women who had tattled to everyone the inflated tale of what they thought they saw.

There was no explaining what had truly happened. There was no saving Isabel’s reputation. She had ruined the good name of her family by simply falling onto the wrong man.

If she had just accepted the dreadful marquess’s proposal, she could have avoided more scorn. But it was too late.

Was it too late?

Isabel tapped her foot nervously by her brother’s study. Richard and Adam were having a heated discussion about their uncertain future. They were arguing about what to do with Isabel since she was now unwelcome in most society homes.

Isabel knew what she wanted to do. She’d go to Sam’s house and hide away there for the rest of the season. The scandal would be forgotten by the next year, or at least, people would pretend to have forgotten about the unfortunate Lewis sister and would only whisper about it behind their fans.

Next year, everything would be better. Isabel would be leading the quiet, peaceful life she had always wanted, and her brothers would continue their political aspirations.