Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(42)

…

The next afternoon, Isabel was called down to the lavender parlor. She expected to find her mother-in-law waiting there for her. Instead, she found three ladies whom she did not know, two though, she recognized from that day at the dressmaker’s shop. Well, she supposed she had met them that day, but she was unaccustomed to social calls.

“Hello,” she said, knowing that was probably not the appropriate greeting. During her years in school, she had received no social visitors. In fact, as far as she remembered, none of the girls had.

One of the ladies stepped forward with a smile. She was not a woman of traditional beauty, but her kind and genuine smile made up for her overly large nose and mousy-brown eyes. “Lady Ellis, so lovely to see you again. I’m certain you met so many new people the other evening, I shall reintroduce us. I am Lady Eleanor Prentiss and this is Lady Whitney Maples and Lady Candace Henning.”

For an awkward moment they all stood before Isabel remembered to gesture them into seats. The three women were all around her own age or a little older. Like Jason’s mother and sister-in-law, they were dressed in the height of fashion.

Thank goodness the clothes from the modiste had arrived the day before, and that her lady’s maid had insisted Isabel start dressing in them immediately. She could only imagine their disdain if she had been dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday morning.

Unsure what to say next, the silence stretched between them. Lady Candace and Lady Whitney looked at her with a sort of wide-eyed expectation. After a moment, they exchanged an amused glance. She should ring for tea, she knew that much, but she wasn’t certain how to go about it without leaving the room and her guests. Clearly, she was doing this all wrong.

“Tell me, Lady Ellis,” Eleanor said, “can your servants hear the bell”—she motioned with her head to the small gold bell sitting on the table to Isabel’s right—“all the way up here at the front of the house?”

Isabel could have hugged the woman. Somehow she’d known or seen Isabel’s desperation. “I believe they can,” Isabel said, then picked up the bell and rang it. Promptly a scullery maid bobbed into the room.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Tea and cakes, please,” Isabel said.

The maid bobbed again and scurried out of the room. They must have already had the tray readied, because in a matter of moments she was back, carrying in the tray and placing it on the occasional table that sat in the midst of the chairs. Once the maid left, Isabel reached for the pot to pour the tea. She must have done something uncouth, because Candace smirked. Isabel blew out a calming breath. This could not go any worse than it already was. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

“I fear my manners are not what they should be,” she said, holding out the cup and saucer to Eleanor. “This is my first social call.”

Lady Whitney gave a smile that seemed a little too sweet. “Your first social call of the morning?”

“Ever, I’m afraid.” She gave an exaggerated grimace.

“Certainly that cannot be,” Candace said. “You are a princess.”

“Who was raised an orphan,” Isabel said with a shrug.

“But you attended school, did you not?” Whitney asked.

“Do you prefer to be called Lady Ellis or Princess Isabel?” Eleanor asked as if she sensed where Whitney was trying to go and wanted to steer the conversation away from it. “I’ve never met royalty before, so I admit that my manners are probably lacking.”

The other two women had the graciousness to look ashamed. They nodded and agreed with Eleanor.

“Lady Ellis is perfect.” She was, in fact, Lady Ellis in every sense of the word save one. “Or simply Isabel would suffice. I admit to not being terribly formal.” While she appreciated Lady Eleanor’s attempt to help her, Isabel couldn’t allow the woman to defend her. She suspected all boarding schools had their share of bullies, and St. Bart’s had been no different. If Isabel let them, Candace and Whitney would walk all over her. “Perhaps it was growing up in a boarding school.”

“Ah yes, your school, it was St. Bartholomew’s, was it not?” Whitney asked.

“But what is it that it is more affectionately known as?” Candace asked.

“St. Bart’s,” Eleanor provided through tight teeth.

“I believe they are referring to the less than flattering moniker, St. Bastards, are you not?” Isabel asked, not missing a beat.

Candace nodded, not even bothering to blush.

“Candace, that is a wretched thing to say,” Lady Prentiss said.

“I didn’t say it, the princess did,” Candace said.

“Indeed. I did say it,” Isabel said, feeling braver. “I find it much better to say things outright, rather than to imply them.” She looked at both Candace and Whitney. “Don’t you?”

The women held her gaze for only a moment before shifting their gazes down to their cups nervously.

Isabel took a slow sip of her tea. “No doubt my education at St. Bart’s left me poorly prepared for the life of a princess. It did, however, excel in one area.”

“Really?” asked Eleanor. “And what was that?”

“It taught me how to deal with bullies.” Isabel ignored the faint gasp from Candace while she calmly slathered cream onto a biscuit. “I’ve found that bullies of all kinds must be met directly, and without intimidation, especially the ones who act at first as though they want to be your friend, and then they mock you.” With that she set her knife down, brought the biscuit to her mouth, and bit into it with an exaggerated show of her teeth.