"Miss Porter! Miss Porter, stop!"

Isabel picked up her pace not heeding Lord Penbrooke's calls. She almost reached the corner marked by the large bush when she felt a hand grab her arm and roughly spin her around. She was met with stormy grey eyes that seemed to pierce through her soul and for a quick moment she detected a flash of something unpleasant in Lord Penbrooke's eyes that disappeared as quickly as it had manifested.

He released her arm and took a step back, adjusting himself from his uncharacteristically rough behavior. A little flustered, Isabel fanned her face and looked around to see if anyone caught the interaction; thankfully, the garden was empty. Lord Penbrooke was normally calm and collected but her words may have struck a chord of annoyance in him.

"Madam, I do beg your forgiveness for my erratic behavior. A gentleman must never handle a lady with such aggression and for that I humbly apologize."

Isabel raised her chin in an attempt to appear unruffled but eyed him warily, her silence indicating that he continue with whatever else he planned to say.

"You are correct in that preparations are being made by our fathers regarding a possible betrothal. However, I must say that it offends me greatly that you think of me as someone who speaks empty words to attain such aforementioned endowments. Your father is a most honorable man whom I considerably admire and that admiration extends to his only daughter as well, Miss Porter. Would it not be grand for you to become the wife of a future marquess and enjoy the splendors of ladyship?"

If Lord Penbrooke's attempt at a proposal was by enticing her with extravagance and title, it was doing a poor job at convincing her to agree. The idea of marriage for the convenience of business and heredity had never been ideal and although she was raised to fulfill the duties of being a gentleman's wife, Isabel would much rather enter into marriage with anyone but the future Marquess of Penbrooke, Lord Richard Kingston.

As the son of a marquess, he was a most eligible bachelor who every mother was vying to set with their daughter, including Isabel's own. Her father and the marquess had been good friends and Lord Penbrooke and her union surely had been discussed for some time.

"This may be difficult for you to believe, my lord, and you might think it silly but I see no allure in a marriage without the possibility of love or affection. Such 'splendors of ladyship' as you say do not entice me in the slightest. I am sorry if it disappoints you but my life as it presently is already grants me more than enough satisfaction, something that cannot be bought or enticed. Your advances are better left for any other lady but I can assure you that you must not squander them on me."

He raised an eyebrow taking on the appearance of a pompous aristocrat.

"Even so, madam, the decision for our betrothal does not rest upon you," he replied.

Isabel raised an eyebrow emulating his demeanor. "If my life is going to be given away to a man, I must at the very least have some say. In fact I must have the final say in whom I choose to marry."

"Such matters would surely be better left between us but such is the society we live in at the present moment. However, we have the choice to have a successful marriage and to strive for one that is everlasting."

"Whatever is the point in a marriage if there is no chance of attaining love? Must we search for it in the midst of an eternally bound commitment? And what then if it cannot be found but unhappily tolerate the existence of one another?"

Lord Penbrooke began to look more frustrated and a noticeable edge became increasingly evident in his tone.

"Madam, I do hope you will have dispensed with your bouts of hysteria so that you may think rationally. Think about your children and how they might be able to inherit a peerage. Think about a son as an heir to an esteemed title as that of marquess."

How typical of a man to dismiss a woman's conveyance of her inner thoughts and sentiments as hysteria as though she is incapable of reasonably doing so without submitting to her emotions.

"I do not require schooling in the ways of our society. I, like every other lady, have been brought up from an early age that we are to marry and bear children for the sake of extending noble bloodline. But, my lord, what you are asking is that I give up my happiness."

He furrowed his brows and appeared to take umbrage to Isabel's words.

"Madam, do you not believe that I can make you happy? Is that what you have been attempting to express? Do you doubt that I would make a sufficient husband that would provide for his family?"

Isabel looked up in frustration and clucked her tongue.

"Why must men always take personal offense when a woman shuns his romantic advances? My lord, what I am saying is that I simply do not love you and I do not believe I can ever grow to love you. If we were to enter into a marriage, I would not be able to give you the love a wife should give to her husband. I would likely wither away from desolation and misery knowing that I did not marry someone I could love. That is not to say that you would not make a sufficient husband but I do not think for one moment I could bear the thought of being your wife."

Lord Penbrooke's jaw set in a hard line and his lips pursed as his frustration grew into indignation. But while his countenance reflected thus, his grey eyes turned steely and brewed with dark intensity that bore into her sockets, paralyzing her in place. Isabel detected the same unpleasantness she sensed when he grabbed her arm but this time it didn't disappear as quickly as it had before. She had never seen him look so angry and brooding during the time that she had known him. He looked almost menacing.

He spoke in a dangerously calm tone, "Madam, you have made repeated use of the word love, a rare feat achieved by very few married couples. You must understand that love is not a reason for marriage in our current society. Yet it seems if you had it your way, you would rather grow unmarried into old age as a spinster if you could not find love?" The last word was uttered with apparent disgust.

Isabel was taken aback by the acidulous remark, clearly piqued by the personal affront. She willed herself to retort back but seemed unable to work the mechanism of her mouth. Why was Lord Penbrooke so adamant in trying to pursue her hand in marriage? He possessed physical attraction, impeccable esteem, and an irresistible future prospect of becoming marquess for which any lady would vie. He should have no trouble attracting any other woman of peerage and yet he chooses to place his efforts on her, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, even after she expressed her true sentiments! Isabel began to wonder if their union would accord him any other potential bequests.

He stepped forward and Isabel felt the urge to step back but she fought it and stood firm. She would not be forced into submission by a nobleman or any other man for that matter and raised her chin in an attempt to appear impassive. She willed herself to breathe calmly but her corset in its agonizing contrivance would not relent any bit of comfort.

He bent his head down toward her and for a horrific moment Isabel thought that he might intend to kiss her. Instead he brought his lips close to her ear almost brushing the side of her temple and continued darkly in a low voice that sent unpleasant chills down her spine, "Madam, if I were you I would dispense with such silly notions and strongly reconsider my words."

Isabel's heart seemed to have stopped beating as her fortitude all but crumbled. She had never witnessed this side of Lord Penbrooke before and for the first time she sensed a trace of something dangerous that lurked within him and wondered if it had always been there.

Suddenly he withdrew his head and replaced his expression with a most charming smile as if they had been engaging in pleasant conversation as he looked beyond her.

"Mrs. Porter, I was just showing your daughter the gardens. She was just telling me how beautiful it looked beneath the moonlight and I could not agree with her more."

Isabel turned to see her mother and Lady Penbrooke strolling toward them and silently thanked the heavens for the welcome interruption.

She brought a smile to her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes and cleared her throat before she calmly brought herself to say, "It indeed is beautiful, Lady Penbrooke, and the pavilion makes a most splendid addition to sit and enjoy the floral scenery."

She fanned her face making sure that her smile didn't falter or reveal any signs of discomposure.

"Oh, then you must come during the day and see my garden in the sun. I was just telling your mother I am inviting a few ladies tomorrow for tea and that you must join us, dear."

Isabel smiled at Lady Penbrooke and quickly tried to think of an excuse before her mother interjected on her behalf.

"We will gladly be in attendance, Lady Penbrooke."

Lady Penbrooke clasped her hands in delight and beamed largely, immediately going into preparations for tomorrow. Isabel's heart sank at the prospect of returning though she made no objection. Perhaps she might feign a head cold or some other ailment that might render her bedridden and unable to attend.

"It has been a splendid evening in the garden but if you will excuse me I will return back inside and fetch myself some refreshment," Isabel said. She could not endure another moment of Lord Penbrooke's presence and needed some time alone to compose herself and straighten her thoughts that were at the moment churning violently in her head.

Her mother regarded her with a worried expression.

"My dear, you appear wan. Are you alright?"

"Yes, Mama. My corset is a bit tight and I should just like a little break."

"Miss Porter, allow me to escort you back inside," Lord Penbrooke offered.

"That is kind of you, my lord, although I am perfectly capable of making my way inside," she replied quickly, "Do excuse me, Mama, Lady Penbrooke."

Isabel walked away not caring that she had been brusque. After what he had revealed himself to be, or rather what he harbored within, Isabel couldn't and wouldn't allow herself to be maritally bound to Lord Penbrooke. How could her father make marital arrangements without consulting her? Despite not being of peerage, she well understood the ways of high society. She was raised as a lady and expected to marry someone with title and property, someone that could not only sustain her but a family as well. Yet, she revered and even idolized her parents' relationship and how they deeply cherish and truly love one another and believed she could attain the same.

Isabel finally reached the doors and entered into the music room where a small crowd of people surrounded the harpsichord played by Elizabeth Clarkson. It was a delightful tune that Isabel would have enjoyed any other occasion but she was unable to find it in herself to feign enjoyment and so walked out of the room. With no course of action in mind she aimlessly wandered about the mansion, avoiding people who would surely pull her into conversation as she sank deeper into her thoughts. She came upon an alcove that offered welcome privacy and Isabel warily sank into the seat, ignoring the discomfort of the corset.

She was never easily shaken but falling victim to Lord Penbrooke's cold rage was a harrowing experience. He had been sorely provoked and had it not been for the interruption by her mother and Lady Penbrooke, Isabel could only imagine what would have followed.

His ability to quickly shift countenance with convincing performance shocked and even scared her. Has he always been a master of deception? Able to switch masks effortlessly? Has he been concealing a dark part of his nature with impeccable skill but let that mask slip tonight? And if so was it by accident or deliberate? Isabel suddenly noted the feeling of unpleasantness when she saw a flash of something sinister in his eyes after he roughly grabbed her: he had let his mask slip.

She wondered if all those loosely paid compliments and flatteries had been insincere and held no actual romantic or emotional sentiment. She wondered if all these years Lord Penbrooke had wanted what accompanied her instead of herself. Her ears started ringing as the blood raced to her head and her vision narrowed and Isabel suddenly hated him, with a blind fury.

She snapped open her fan and fanned her face with intensity, savoring the drafts of cool air with closed eyes. Her mind swirled with countless thoughts but Isabel did not know what to believe anymore except that she would never find herself married to Lord Penbooke. She had to convince her father to call off talks of betrothal before it was too late. 

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I had this and the previous chapters finished for a while so I only had to edit them which didn't take long. I have chapter 3 in the work and I hope to get it finished by next week (fingers crossed!). 

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