Cursed - A Spellbound Regency Novel_Sample Excerpt

Chapter 3

"They want me to dine with the family?" Isobel asked in disbelief.

She had been preparing for dinner in the kitchen. Though she didn't dine with the staff, she did take her meal in their serving hall, just after they had eaten, but before the family's meal was served in the dining room. Some governesses chose to have a tray sent to their room, but Isobel didn't want the servants to think she was putting on airs. Consequently, they were friendlier to her than they had been to tutors past. They still complained about how high in the instep her predecessor had been.

That regard was evident now as the chambermaid, her face red from a dash up to the third floor, nodded eagerly.

"Yes, Miss," Mary said, her round form almost quivering with excitement. "Sir Clarence bade me to tell ye that yer presence is required at dinner tonight. 'E didn't seem terribly happy about it, truth be told," she finished honestly as she reflexively straightened the bedclothes.

Isobel frowned. "If he's not pleased with the idea, why would he ask me to dine with the family?"

Mary literally hopped up and down. "It was the Nobile who asked for ye. Did ye know that's what a count's son is called in Italy miss?" she said, walking over to the wardrobe and rifling through it.

"Nobile means nobleman in Italian," Isobel said absently. "The count's son is the Nobile dei Conti di Santa Fiora. The family seat is southeast of Florence."

Her stomach was tight and her head was swimming. Why would their guest ask for her?

"And I thought Marchioness was a mouthful," Mary said, wrinkling her nose as she struggled to process the intricacies of addressing the upper classes. "We don't have much time, Miss. Ye best put this on," she said, holding up what passed for Isobel's best dress. "So, when did ye meet his lordship?" she asked eagerly.

"Mm, I believe you can call him Lord Santa Fiora, or simply my lord, as the Montgomerys do. I don't believe the use of courtesy titles is common in Italy as it is here. But I haven't met him. Not yet," she frowned, standing still as Mary fluttered over her, undoing the laces of her plain grey gown.

All of Isobel's dresses were plain, in shades of grey, brown, or blue. The dress Mary had chosen and laid on the bed was in the grey family, but it was a lighter shade with a tinge of blue to it with a slightly more flattering cut than any of the others. It was still a far cry from what was currently being worn in the ballrooms of London.

"'Ow romantic! 'E must 'ave seen ye with the children and asked for ye te join them," Mary said, her round face alight with excitement.

Isobel suppressed a scowl. She did not share Mary's anticipation. She was unprepared for a meal with the family. Although she was the daughter of a gentleman, by the time she was of an age to socialize, her father and mother had been long gone. Isobel was certain her manners were above reproach, but the thought of casually conversing with Italian nobility was beyond her. She already knew Sir Clarence was not pleased to include her. What if she embarrassed herself?

Or worse, somehow exposed herself?

A cold weight settled in the pit of her stomach as Mary helped her out of her dress. Isobel allowed herself to be jerked back and forth as the servant did up the laces of her stays.

"Not too tight," she said.

If she was laced too tight when she was already feeling lightheaded, there was a real possibility she would disgrace herself by passing out.

Mary nodded and laced her loosely. "Good thing for ye, yer waist is already tiny," she said, moving to pick up the grey dress before casting an envious glance at Isobel's midsection. "There's no time to redo yer, hair I'm afraid." She pursed her lips at the simple knot of auburn hair on Isobel's head before she slipped the light grey dress over her and fastened it.