Chapter Text
Isobel had never known love.
Not from her mother, who died when Isobel ripped her open in her haste to enter the world. Not from her father, an impoverished Baron from a disgraced noble family, who forever bemoaned the fact that the only child born to him didn’t even have the decency to be male. Not from the nursemaids, who whispered under their breaths about bad blood, traitor’s blood. Certainly not from any peers, as what good, upstanding family would send their children to befriend the daughter of the realm’s laughing stock?
That title never stopped her father, the Baron, from doing all in his limited power to regain favor. He would go to court and prance and preen in front of the Queen and King, seemingly unaware of the fool he was making of himself. He would bring expensive gifts for the Queen that she would gracefully decline with a barely concealed frown(while Isobel’s wardrobe consisted of her mother’s dresses and the hand-me-downs of distant relatives who took pity on her). He would attempt to advise the King on the passing of legislation and which political parties to favor(while leaving the child rearing and running of his household to nursemaids and governesses), which only angered the King, and he swiftly reminded the Baron that the Queen was the rightful ruler and he was merely her consort.
That stunt got them banished from court for the rest of the year, not for the first time, but certainly for the longest stretch of time. When they were permitted back, her father even took to parading her around court, attempting to regain their family’s standing through a marriage between her and a wealthy lord. Unfortunately, the Baron overestimated his daughter’s worth. When he suggested marriage to a high standing lord or his heir, he would be told his daughter was too young, having not even yet flowered, and what was the point of waiting when other ladies were readily available? He would say that she was young, but she was hearty, and would give her groom strong sons. They would then point out that her mother died in the birthing bed, giving birth to a daughter, no less, and he would respond that yes, his daughter did take after his late wife, and what a great beauty she was, his daughter was sure to follow. The lord or lady would then look at her, really look at her, picking apart every plain feature and knobbly bone, and reply that she didn’t seem to be growing into a great beauty or any other kind of beauty. Besides, she had no dowry to speak of, so why should they pollute the purity of their bloodlines with bad blood if she couldn’t even provide their precious heirs with new wealth or assets? They would then take one more scrutinizing glance at her from beneath their fans, turn around, and walk away with their noses turned up.
After one too many of these humiliations, the Baron returned to pretending Isobel didn’t exist.
Because of events which transpired long before her birth, events beyond the comprehension of her young mind, and the unfortunate piece of flesh between her legs, she was relegated to the shadows, out of sight and out of mind, to the kingdom and her very own father. Her only place was at the edge of things, watching, waiting, wanting, for a family, a home, for the respect warranted to her as a noble lady. Alas, she was punished for the wretched sin of carrying the name of her forefathers.
But then, a light entered her gloomy world in the form of Ms. Lenora.
Lenora was a fellow lady of the court, daughter of the Viscount, accompanying her mother who was in service to the Queen. Where Isobel was plain, with straight, flat, plum-colored hair, mud brown eyes, a long, upturned nose, a freckled beige complexion, and a gaunt frame, Lenora had a golden head of curls with golden-brown eyes, a small nose, fair skin, and a lithe body. When the queen greeted her and her mother, she curtsied, dipping her head just so, precisely lifting the panels of her dress. When she came back up, she smiled a smile of true joy, so unlike the grinning of the vipers at court. And when she thanked Her Majesty for her hospitality, a melodious sound came out, sweeter than any songbird in Heaven or on Earth.
Lenora and her mother stepped to the side so the other nobles could be introduced, but Isobel was frozen in place, eyes wide and her mouth agape. She was in her usual place at court, at the back of the crowd in the shadows, a silent observer to the new chess pieces being introduced into the game. Some showed ambition, others showed potential, but most were boring courtiers, merely grateful for the opportunity to present themselves before Her and His Majesty. She thought that would be the case with the Viscountess and her daughter, but then she walked in and, well…
She was the most beautiful girl Isobel had ever seen. Her eyes shined so brightly, so full of life, and the mere image of Lenora’s smile in her mind was enough to brighten her day. When the sun hit her flaxen curls, a golden glow reflected off of them, creating a halo around the maiden’s head.
That must be it, Isobel thought. I’ve laid eyes on an angel.
And then the Queen thanked all the nobles for their presence and called for the court to disperse, and Isobel came crashing back down to reality.
She watched as Lenora and the Viscountess joined the nobility, laughed and joked with them, planned to meet them at their lavish estates for tea, made promises of invitations to garden parties and balls, and Isobel was reminded that she was Isobel, the shadow of court, willfully unseen and unknown. She was Isobel, a useless daughter, who ruined the chance of her family ascending to their former glory by tearing her mother apart so she could begin her useless existence. She was merely Isobel, the lowly daughter of the disparaged Baron.
She was Isobel.
And she was not worthy of love.