The Marchioness of Penbrooke's soiree was well attended and thoroughly enjoyed by her guests as they so repeatedly let her know at the end of the evening when those invited were making their leave.

Isabel managed to stay isolated for the remainder of the soiree surrounded by the company of her thoughts until her mother came in search for her, finding her tucked in the alcove.

"There you are, dear, I have been looking all over for you. I was beginning to think you had made off on your own. Oh, do tell me you have not been sitting here alone for the whole of the evening when-"

"Mama, please, do not make me marry Lord Penbrooke. Oh, please, tell Papa to reconsider the betrothal. I cannot bear the thought of marrying him," Isabel suddenly blurted out in a moment of desperation without considering the possibility of any of the Penbrookes overhearing her.

Her mother stilled before a stunned expression appeared on her face by her daughter's spontaneous outburst.

"Isabel, this is not the time nor the place to bring up such matters. Now come, your father is having the carriage brought and is waiting for us in front," she said while grabbing Isabel's arm to pull her up. Isabel stood but made no move to follow her mother.

"Mama, please," she pleaded.

"Isabel, now is not the time to behave like a child. We will discuss this when we get home," her mother said sternly, leaving no room for further discussion.

Isabel obeyed without protest as they both made their way to the front where her father was talking to the Marquess and his son.

"Ah, it seems the search party will not be necessary after all," Henry Porter said smiling as he saw his wife and daughter.

"Miss Porter, I hope you are feeling better since the gardens and trust that you fetched yourself some refreshment?" Lord Penbrooke inquired. Isabel wondered if he had set his mask back on. Surely he must have as his manner did not denote a trace of aggravation or vexation or any ill emotion for that matter from their earlier interaction.

"Yes, my Lord, I thank you for your concern," Isabel politely replied with a plastered smile and fervently hoped the carriage was already outside waiting to convey them home. And away from Lord Penbrooke and his various masks.

They congratulated the Penbrookes on a wonderful soiree and the marchioness made sure that Isabel and her mother would attend tomorrow for tea, though while she consulted both mother and daughter, mother deemed it fit to answer for both parties before, yet again, Isabel was able to give her own answer. She had her suspicions that her mother was aware of her reluctance and answered before she had the chance to give a response in the negative. Both families bade one other goodbye and after a few more congratulatory remarks, by then Isabel had a good mind to rush down the stairs and climb into the carriage herself, they finally ended on a 'good evening' and headed down the stairs and into the carriage.

Isabel sat opposite her parents and wordlessly looked out the window observing the darkened outline of London pass by though she could sense both her parents eying her. Her mother was the first to break the silence since they entered the carriage.

"Whilst you were compiling your search party, your daughter thought it appropriate to demand she not marry the marquess' son," she addressed her husband.

Isabel sharply turned her head.

"Mama, I did in no such way demand. As I remember I pleaded, indeed implored not to marry him."

"And I suppose you carefully reflected upon your words and deemed the timing and setting appropriate to deliver them? Thank heavens none of the Penbrookes were in the vicinity!" Marinette said.

"I should be so lucky," Isabel murmured ironically, looking asquint out the window.

"Isabel Rose Porter!"

"Oh, Papa, please, call off talks with the marquess about the betrothal," Isabel adjured, regarding her father with pleading eyes.

"Give me one good reason, dearest, why I should," he replied.

Isabel bit her lip and debated whether she should recount her interaction with Lord Penbrooke in the gardens. Although he had not lain a finger on her, his threatening stance was just as menacing and had given her a fright. Had they been married, would he have hit her? The thought was too disturbing to even entertain. Lord Penbrooke and his skillful performance as the charming and poised aristocrat he plays in the public eye was in stark contrast to the Lord Penbrooke that was piqued and hostile she unmasked tonight. She wondered if her parents would even believe her if she told them.

"I do not love him. I cannot love him. I would not be able to bring myself to if we were married. I would simply end up miserable."

"Isabel, had anyone sensed you had such a propensity for the theatrics they would have guessed you an actress," her mother replied, "It takes time for love to cultivate, dear. As you well know most marriages do not arise from love matches but once the married persons spend more and more of their days together they grow to love one another."

Isabel frowned and crossed her arms.

"Well, I have spent plenty of time with Lord Penbrooke to arrive at the conclusion that I will never ever grow to even become fond of him. He is a self-absorbed, pompous man. And have you any idea he possesses a nasty temperament when aggrieved?"

Marinette looked at her daughter askance.

"Isabel, you have not behaved in any manner that may have incited in him any displeasure, I hope? Not when he has been nothing but courteous and cordial towards you?" she asked, a sharp edge detectable in her tone that indicated what she may have surmised.

The remark stung Isabel, terribly. How unfair of her mother to place the blame on her when she had no knowledge of what had transpired in the gardens. If she were to tell them now they might berate her for her impertinence and assert that Lord Penbrooke was sensible in his response. At the very least her mother would. She was adamant in her desire for her daughter to marry the future marquess.

Before Isabel could retort back, her father held up his hand quelling any further dispute. His blue eyes were dimly lit by the street lantern and Isabel could make out the faintest hint of a smile in the passing light.

"Dearest, I should not have to tell you that humans are the most flawed of earthly creatures. In the eyes of the Lord we may be seen as perfect on account that we are created in His image by His hand and yet our human essence evince our imperfection and depravity. I do not doubt that Lord Penbrooke is a man with flaws, he is still a man after all. But he displays himself as a respectable and honorable gentleman. He will make for a fine husband and you will come to see it."

He will make for a fine husband. Isabel's heart sank to the depths of her stomach, leaving a gaping hole in her chest that made it all of a sudden difficult to breathe. Had her father and the marquess been discussing their betrothal during the evening? Had they agreed upon a decision so soon? Was it now too late for Isabel to convince her father to reverse the decision? And had all the air been drawn out from the confining space of the carriage that was causing her to feel like she was suffocating?

Her mother had gasped and clasped her hands, elated by the news.

"Oh Isabel, he will make for you a wonderful husband. And it is no secret that he holds certain affections for you. But there is no need to look so downcast, darling, you will grow in your tenderness toward him once you have become accustomed to your union."

Her mother's words rang in the background as Isabel's senses were made numb to her surroundings. She could hear her breathing as the sound of each huff of air became increasingly intensified. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, she told herself inwardly. Regulating her breathing was a laborious task and one that seemed to require all her concentration despite it being an involuntary bodily process. The exertion was taxing but if she didn't remind herself to breathe she feared she might altogether forget how and suffocate.

A ray of yellow light spilled into the carriage momentarily illuminating the intricate embroidery of her dress before dimming and taking the light with it. Another ray of light fell in aslant and disappeared and another came and went just as the two had before. How many street lights ran along the road from the Penbrooke mansion to their house? Thirty, maybe forty?

Isabel suddenly realized the carriage had stopped moving. They had arrived home. She could not quite remember being handed out of the carriage and walking inside. Or how she managed to make it up the stairs to her room or how she even undressed herself albeit Katrina had done more of it for her. She was unaware of her actions yet her body was able to perform certain tasks on its own. Her mind had been clouded in a thick and foggy haze that left her unable to recollect anything afterwards since she learned of her betrothal to Lord Penbrooke.

The only thing Isabel remembered was her head hitting the soft lump of her pillow before closing her eyes and instantly drifting into a deep and dreamless slumber. 

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