Free Wicked, My Love by Susanna Ives Page B

Removing her foot, she quickly latched the dangerously overstuffed bag and wiped her perspiring brow. She rang for the servant to bring up a pot of tea and to help her into her plainest, loosest, leave-me-alone-I’m-a-drab-raisiny-old-spinster gown.
    After the servant left, Isabella shoved into her corset a pouch containing two hundred pounds and a few of the fraudulent stock certificates. She sucked in a breath, held it, and swung her painfully overstuffed bag off the bed.
    â€œI mean it, Milton, you wet my covers and you’re going to live in the stable. I’m not joking this time.” Her cat yawned, unimpressed by the oft-heard threat. Fueled by three cups of black tea, her head was buzzing and her muscles jittery as she lugged her bag downstairs to the dining room.
    ***
    Judith sat at the table, dressed in her customary dark blue, her rich auburn hair swept up. She bent over her breakfast, glasses perched low on her nose, reading a letter while she nibbled a cheese muffin. She looked up when Isabella entered, her face as cheerful and chipper as the painfully bright morning light streaming through the windows into Isabella’s burning, sleep-deprived eyes.
    â€œThe current president of the Wollstonecraft Society writes that they have received numerous inquiries about your appearance at their annual meeting.” Judith set down her linen, pushed back her chair, and rose. “So many nonmembers have expressed their intention to attend that the society has had to request a larger venue for your speech. Think how wonderful that will be for the society. We can spread the message of female liberation to the masses. And all because of you.” She waved her missive before Isabella’s face. “It will be just as I foresaw. You’re going to be a great leader of the women of England.”
    A bark of hysterical laughter flew from Isabella’s lips before she could purse them into a tight, inescapable line. The only place she would be leading England’s women would be to the poorhouse.
    â€œIsn’t that interesting,” she muttered, her brain whirling with the drunken sensation of too much tea and not enough sleep. She inhaled and launched into the intricate lie that she had formulated while packing her toiletries. Her words fell out in one big, caffeine-infused splat. “I need to leave early for London on business about some stocks—my own personal stocks, that is. No one else’s. Certainly not the bank’s, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Stop rambling. She’ll know you’re lying. “I’m taking the eight thirty. Must be off. Have a pleasant morning. Cheerio, then.”
    â€œWhat!” Judith cried, removing her reading glasses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    The hurt in her companion’s voice made Isabella feel like the lowest lying cur. She wished she could tell Judith everything, but the truth was so horrid she couldn’t let anyone know. Not until she had done her best to hold back the financial tsunami. “I-I just decided last evening.”
    Judith tilted her head and studied Isabella with hard eyes. “Last evening?” she asked slowly, her voice thick like syrup. “During Lord Randall’s ball? The one you went rushing to attend? And you despise dancing.”
    Isabella’s face flamed hot, and her eyes darted around the room—anywhere but Judith’s face. Can you look any guiltier? “That’s correct. R-right in the middle of the quadrille.” She turned on her heel, making her break. “So, good-bye then.”
    â€œWait!” Judith grabbed her companion’s elbow, wheeling her around. “I still have time to pack. But you really should have told me sooner.”
    â€œOh, but…but…I’ll be busy running about the exchange and taking care of boring bank business.” Isabella waved her hand in a casual, don’t-trouble-yourself manner and