The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 21

The hunt was dreadfully long, especially as the queen insisted on cutting their ride short by dismounting without so much as a stroll through the forest. Servants scurried about, hastily setting up banquet tables as the debutantes and their ladies-in-waiting settled themselves on the picnic blankets to chatter the day away.

Isabelle's lack of sleep caught up with her in earnest as the sun shone overhead. She'd done her utmost to keep from looking over at Anna, who was still flushed with pleasure and giggling as she chatted with the other debutantes. As her voice carried over from the next picnic blanket, Isabelle tried not to roll her eyes as Anna, for the third time, regaled the others about how Prince Graham had admired her hair ribbon before asking her to tie it onto his quiver for luck.

"Imagine if he takes down a stag," gushed Caroline Hindersley, Anna's cousin and one of her ladies-in-waiting. "All thanks to Anna's lucky ribbon!"

Isabelle bit back the scoff that rose to her lips, instead taking a sip of the hot cider clutched between her chilled hands. There was no point being bitter about Anna, especially since she was the biggest fool of the lot of them. Anna would put on airs for the rest of the season if Graham landed the killing shot today. In fact, she'd probably ask for her ribbon back so she could turn it into some sort of ridiculous family heirloom for its luck.

"You're doing an excellent job at looking sour," Violet leaned over to whisper. Isabelle took another sip of cider, well-aware that her cranky temper was not being aided by her lack of sleep.

"It seems you can stop fretting about last night," Violet continued, tilting her head towards where Anna was holding court. Isabelle narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, I can see that for myself, thank you," she snapped.

Cora's eyebrows lifted as she leaned over to eavesdrop, her cider paused halfway to her lips.

"Is there something I don't know?" she whispered. Isabelle rolled her eyes, collapsing backwards onto the picnic blanket with a groan. She was too tired to manage Cora and too grumpy to exchange the heated words she knew would follow. Frankly, she almost preferred telling Cora now so they could finally be done with one another, since Isabelle kissing the prince would likely be the death blow that felled their friendship.

"Go ahead and tell her," Isabelle said, closing her eyes against the sun. "But you aren't going to like it."

"Are you sure?" Violet asked, her voice barely more than a squeak.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Cora demanded.

"I kissed the prince last night," Isabelle said.

"And now he's gone and asked for Anna's ribbon," Violet added quickly, no doubt bracing for the fallout. Isabelle gritted her teeth, hating that there was still a pit in her stomach as she thought of Anna and her silly ribbon.

"You did what?" Cora demanded, her shrill voice interrupted by raucous shouts and the crackle of underbrush as the men approached. Isabelle was of half a mind to remain sprawled on the blanket in a most unladylike fashion, but she was far more determined to act as if absolutely nothing was the matter. She wouldn't give Graham the satisfaction of, once again, seeing the effect his actions had on her.

So she sat up and straightened her skirts, fussing with them as the rest of the debutantes hurried to arrange themselves prettily in anticipation of the prince's arrival. Determined to look anywhere but at the approaching men or Cora's livid, puce face, Isabelle's eyes found the queen, who was watching her while she chatted with her circle of ladies-in-waiting. Isabelle fought the urge to stick her tongue out at the fussy monarch, instead tossing her curls and turning to Violet.

"Tell me more about who you danced with last night, Violet," Isabelle said.

Violet blushed, her eyes on the men as they dismounted.

"No one in particular, really..." she said into her cider.

"Well that's a lie, since you clearly shared two dances with Byron Fletcher. But that's not exciting in the least," Cora spat. "Especially when our dear friend here has been kissing the prince behind our backs!"

"It certainly sounds exciting to me," Isabelle said sharply, a cutting glare on her face as she turned to Cora. "Byron Fletcher is just as good a catch as Samuel Winters, I daresay."

"But neither of them are Prince Graham, now are they?" Cora demanded archly. "Because heaven forbid Isabelle de Haviland fall in love with anyone who isn't royal."

"Whoever said anything about falling in love?" Isabelle demanded.

Cora had opened her mouth to reply, only to snap it closed as Samuel Winters flopped down beside her. He smelled of horse and leather and leaves, a hint of stubble on his square jaw making him appear every inch the northerner in his rugged riding clothes.

"Afternoon, ladies. Cora, sweet lass, pass me some of that cider, will you? I'm thoroughly parched," he said, grinning at Isabelle and Violet in greeting.

"We are in the middle of a discussion, if you don't mind!" Cora snapped, her temper lashing out at him. But Sam barely blinked, instead pulling a freshly plucked honeysuckle flower out from behind his back.

"Then perhaps I can tempt you with this to sweeten your temper," he said, leaning over to hand it to her. Cora's mouth snapped shut as she stared at the flower, slowly closing her fingers around it. Isabelle, however, was watching Violet, whose throat bobbed as she looked away.

Isabelle wished she could have smacked Sam across the head. Of all the autumn wildflowers he could have chosen, he had to go and choose the one that symbolized the affection of a lover's embrace. And of all the times to give Cora a flower, let alone one so loaded with meaning, it had to be right in front of Violet.

"Thank you," Cora managed, her temper deflating as Sam reached for her cider and took a sip.

"Did you have a lovely time, Sam?" Isabelle asked through gritted teeth, a thoroughly unimpressed glare on her face when he glanced her way.

"I wouldn't call it lovely, no," Sam said, oblivious as he gulped down some cider. "None of us shot anything larger than a rabbit."

"How terrible," Isabelle said sarcastically, her eyes sliding to the honeysuckle Cora was still clutching between her fingers. The blonde was looking down at it then back up at Sam as if she couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. Isabelle, however, could. Sam had clearly made up his mind about Cora, though Isabelle didn't doubt that Cora would ignore the northerner's attentions until Graham met another debutante at the altar.

"What's more terrible is how bloody useless most of these pathetic courtiers are with a weapon," Sam continued. Violet choked on her cider at the profanity, sputtering until Sam clapped her on the back.

"Catch your breath, lass," he said, "Are you all right?"

Violet nodded wordlessly, blushing with mortification at Sam's clap on the back. She hid her face by taking a sip of cider, her eyes widening once again at something over Isabelle's shoulder.

"And you alone are the manliest of men, aren't you Sam?" Isabelle muttered, "Why don't you-"

"Don't choke my debutantes, Sam."

The voice had Isabelle's back going ramrod straight, that pit in her stomach filling with butterflies. She was acutely aware of the warmth radiating off Prince Graham's body as he took a seat beside her, his arm brushing hers as he reached over to take a sandwich from the plate before her. That cursed cologne of his sent her mind reeling back to the night before despite her best efforts to ignore it.