Page 18 of Isabel and the Rogue

Isabel nodded. She should have known her sister would ascertain what was wrong. Running away from social gatherings was something Isabel excelled at.

“Well, you look as miserable as I feel,” Gabby said.

“I thought you were enjoying the sights,” Isabel said, stripping her gloves from her hands to wipe her palms down her skirts.

Her sister sighed as she looked out across the crowd. “Oh, if I were free to wander about and enjoy the festivities without worrying about who may see me and the inferences they may make about my interests or behavior, I’m certain I’d be having a grand time.”

A swell of affection surged in Isabel’s chest. “I’m sorry that everything you do must be a performance.”

Reaching into her reticule, Gabby extracted a white handkerchief embroidered with ivy and patted her face and the hollow of her neck. “Yes, well, at least we have this short reprieve.”

With a long exhale, Isabel set her hat back on her head and worked to re-create the bow her maid had tied earlier that day. “Do I really look miserable?”

“No. You look perfectly lovely.” Gabby batted her hands away and set about tying the bow under her sister’s chin. “But I know you, so I know you’re out of sorts. I doubt anyone else can tell.”

“That’s because no one pays any attention to my presence,” Isabel said without thought. She bit down on her tongue when she noticed her sister frown.

“Is that what you believe? That you’re invisible?” Gabby questioned, her brows pulled low.

“Does it matter?” she grumbled, looking away.

“I think it matters to you.”

Isabel narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Why would you think that? Why should I care about the opinions of people who think I’m beneath them because my skin is darker than theirs? People who think our country deserves to be invaded for no other reason than we’re different from them?”

Gabby didn’t speak, although her hazel eyes were glassy as they stared back at her.

Smacking her gloves against her thigh, Isabel stepped back and spun about in a circle. “This is not my home and these are not my people. I could not care less if they bestow their fickle attentions on me.”

A weight pressed down on her shoulders then, and it felt as if she were being watched. Darting her gaze about, she swallowed a gasp when it collided with Captain Dawson’s. He stood in the company of finely dressed people in a private box lining the center of the track, far above the rabble that crowded the inner field. Much like the box she and Gabby had fled. How had he spied her among the throngs of people? And if his pursed lips were any indication, he had witnessed her pique of temper. Knowing he had been watching while she vented her frustrations made Isabel even more frustrated. Why could she not escape the man?

But do you really want to? After their last conversation, Isabel found it difficult to drum up the animosity she usually felt when she thought of the captain.

“It is a good thing we’re speaking Spanish, or else everyone in earshot would know of your fiery temper,” Gabby said quietly, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Pointedly turning away from Captain Dawson, Isabel tucked an errant lock of hair back into her coiffure before sliding her hands down her skirts again. “I would be not at all surprised if the gossip rags recruited Spanish speakers to follow us around and report on our private conversations. Mark my words, it will eventually come to that.”

Gabby groaned. “You’re probably right. The papers here are positively ruthless.”

“You’re being too generous.”

“A lowering thought.” Her sister approached until she was close enough to whisper in Isabel’s ear. “There’s nothing wrong with caring about the opinions of others, especially if they’re people who care about you.”

Isabel met Gabby’s eyes and swallowed. “That would make for a very small number of people.”

“Could that group possibly contain five people and a dog?” At Isabel’s smothered laugh, Gabby pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “I think your group has more members than that.”

Isabel scowled. “Why would you think that?”

Gabby lifted a shoulder. “Just a feeling I have.”

“A feeling, huh?” Isabel shook her head. “Well, whatever prompted that feeling, I suspect it’s wrong.”

“Always so pessimistic.”

“Ouch.” Isabel pulled back to spear her sister with a look. “And coming from one of the most critical people I know.”

“I assure you, Isa dear,” Gabby said, patting her hand, “that however critical you may think I am of others, I am doubly critical of myself.”