Isobel curtsied and Michael bowed as the song ended, and before Isobel could retreat to the safety of Marjorie again, a male figure approached her. It was Benedict Summers, the man who’d shown nothing but boredom when Edward had introduced her and Charles to him.
“May I have the next dance, Princess Isobel?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers for no longer than two seconds before he cast his gaze around the room, telling her he had little interest in her or her answer.
Edward watched from afar, his watchful eyes making it impossible for Isobel to decline the offer, however uninspiringly indifferent it may have been.
“I would be honored,” Isobel replied, her pursed lips and narrowed eyes telling him the opposite of her polite reply.
Benedict offered her his hand, the gesture so reluctan
