The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 13

Isabelle relished the way Alicia's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she returned to her suite in time to prepare for the ballet. It was only compounded by the fact that the lady-in-waiting had, for some reason, dressed herself in ball finery and opera gloves.

"Have you also been invited to the ballet?" Isabelle asked, running an eye over Alicia's dress as she crossed to her own room. It was crimson and gaudy, cut so low that it didn't leave much to the imagination. Alicia's hair had been heat-pressed into ringlets, piled atop her head with a pair of ruby combs to match the dress. Those same curls were quivering now as Alicia leaped to her feet. Behind her, Laura and Marjorie exchanged horrified looks.

"You're supposed to be sick," Alicia snapped. "As your lady-in-waiting, it falls to me to take your place."

"How fortunate for Laura and Marjorie, then, that you'll be here to keep them company," Isabelle said, not bothering to wipe the smile from her face.

She closed the door in the fuming lady-in-waiting's face, ringing for Lissa as she tried to contain her giggles. When her ladies' maid arrived, Isabelle urged her to go and witness the spectacle for herself, the pair of them doubling over with laughter when Lissa returned. Apparently Alicia had torn out her hair combs in a rage, but one of them had snagged in a burnt curl of hair. Laura and Marjorie were desperately attempting to tease it free while Alica barked orders, her face the same colour as her dress.

Isabelle's preparation was decidedly less extravagant. She chose a watered silk dress of silvery blue, tying her hair up into a chignon. She debated with Lissa about the need for opera gloves, Isabelle refusing to remove her ring while Lissa insisted that it would be improper for her to leave without gloves. In the end, Isabelle slid her engagement ring onto a chain, ensuring that Leopold's diamond hung prominently in the curve between her collarbones as she snatched up her gloves and made her way to the entrance hall.

The rest of the debutantes were already outside, enjoying the fragrant summer night air, the stars winking to life in the clear sky above them. Casting her eyes around the assembled men and women, Isabelle spotted Sam handing Violet into a carriage. She spared little more than a cursory look around for Byron Fletcher before gathering her skirts and heading towards Violet's carriage. If Byron couldn't be bothered to find her, Isabelle would stuff herself in with Sam and Violet.

"Any room for a third?" Isabelle asked as she approached them. Violet's face lit up as she leaned her head out of the carriage to see who had spoken.

"Of course! Are you feeling better?" she asked, shooing Sam out so he could help Isabelle in.

"It seems a day of rest did me some good," Isabelle said, reaching for Sam's hand, only for him to pull it away and dip a bow.

"Your Highness," he said, looking over Isabelle's shoulder. She didn't bother to hide her scowl as she turned and curtseyed.

"Did Byron forget to come and collect you?" Prince Graham asked, Cora already on his arm. She bristled as Graham offered Isabelle his other elbow, her back going rigid in her jade silk gown.

"It seems he has," Isabelle said, ignoring his arm. "Perhaps I'll find him at the theatre."

She turned back to Sam, whose ruddy eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"Well you don't want to be riding in this carriage, not when you have the honour of riding in mine," Prince Graham said. Isabelle gritted her teeth.

"How wonderful," she said. When she turned back around, his elbow was still outstretched, waiting for her. Cora looked as if she'd sucked on a lemon.

With a sigh, Isabelle resigned herself to riding in Prince Graham's carriage, shooting a look over her shoulder at Sam and Violet as the prince led her away. He was enjoying having her and Cora on his arm far too much, jovially conversing with the pair of them as he led them towards the grandest carriage at the head of the queue. Standing beside it looking just as surly as he had at dinner was Byron Fletcher, clearly not amused that the prince had arrived with Isabelle on his arm.