Chapter 3 Audience with the King

Isabella’s POV

The corridors of this estate felt as cold as a crypt. The evening sunlight streamed in, but it offered no warmth. I remembered how grand it all seemed when I first arrived. But that grandeur was an illusion. William’s father and uncles had done little in court. Only William and his older brother had any real achievements, but not enough to raise the family back to its former status. Still, they clung to the last remnants of respect their name commanded.

When I entered Lady Margaret Beauchamp’s room, I found it uncomfortably crowded. Margaret was propped up on pillows in her bed. William’s brother stood close by, next to his wife, Lady Constance, whose posture was rigid, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Nearby were several younger relatives, including William’s half-sister, Sylvia Beauchamp, sporting a scowl that spelled trouble the moment she laid eyes on me. Off in a corner was the second old lady of the house, who gave me a frosty look and said nothing.

Margaret smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “There you are, Isabella. How are you holding up? I heard you’ve been very stressed recently.”

I couldn’t stand how she always pretended to care. “I’m well, Lady Margaret,” I answered, forcing a polite nod. “I suspect you want to talk to me about Beatrice Blackwood?”

Margaret’s smile faltered. She coughed, and Lady Constance quickly brought her a cup of perry. “Beatrice stopped by this morning. She’s… straightforward, I admit. But her accomplishments speak for themselves. She and William have been recognized by the king. This arrangement is set in stone, dear.”

“It’s wonderful for them.” My words tasted bitter in my mouth. “You must be pleased.”

She glanced at me with a too-sweet smile. “I wouldn’t say pleased… but I won’t deny that her presence will benefit this household. William will have a partner in the field, and you—you can continue to run the estate and keep our lives in order. Eventually, you’ll see it’s not as terrible as you think.”

I scoffed, ignoring the tension in the room. “So, you’re expecting me to serve as your treasured housekeeper while William and Beatrice climb their way to fame and glory. Is that it?”

Lady Constance chimed in. “Isabella, dear, we really do appreciate all you’ve done. We know you’ve put a lot of money into the estate, but it’s not like we forced you—”

I held up my hand, cutting her off. “Please. I’m sick of this game. You want my dowry to keep saving your sorry finances. Well, it ends now.”

A shocked murmur rippled around the room. Margaret leaned forward, face going red. “That is not what we—”

I shook my head. “No more. Starting tomorrow, I’ll hand everything back to Lady Constance—ledgers, keys, servants. All of it. You can manage it on your own or find someone else to pay for your luxuries.”

Margaret’s eyes flared with anger. “Isabella de Montfort, this behavior is unbecoming. Remember your place! In any noble household, men often have more than one wife. This is normal. If you throw a tantrum, people will say you’re jealous or petty.”

I let out a furious laugh. “I’m done caring about what people say. Let them talk.”

Margaret coughed violently, and Lady Constance rushed to steady her. They all stared at me, expecting me to run forward and help like I usually did. But I stayed rooted to the spot, fury boiling in my chest. Let them handle their own mess.

Sylvia Beauchamp stomped up to me, her cheeks burning. “You’re so ungrateful, Isabella. You have nothing left—your family is gone, and you still act like a high and mighty noble. You should be thankful we’re letting you stay here. Aren’t you afraid William might just cast you out?”

I looked her up and down—she was wearing one of the fancy dresses I had ordered from my own seamstress, the shimmering jewels in her hair courtesy of my mother’s old connections. It made my blood run hot. “Don’t talk to me about gratitude. You’re literally dressed in clothes I paid for. If you want to lecture me, take off that gown and those jewels first.”

She gasped. “Why, you— I never asked you to— Ugh, fine! I’ll toss them in the fireplace for all I care!”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go right ahead. Return them to me or burn them, just don’t flaunt them while you insult me.”

The tension in the room reached a boiling point. Someone in the corner cleared their throat awkwardly, but no one dared to speak. I felt all their anger aimed at me like daggers. But I’d rather face that than continue playing the meek little wife who cowers in a corner.

Finally, I turned on my heel. “If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.”

In the corridor, I drew in a long breath and felt something deep inside me solidify.

I left that awful confrontation behind and barely slept last night, my mind replaying every harsh word, every cold glare William threw my way. By dawn, Emma and I quietly packed a few belongings, then set off in a rattling carriage toward my old family manor—my once-proud home, now a ruin.

The moment we arrived, my heart sank. Weeds and wild grass stretched waist-high, covering the courtyard where I used to play as a child. The walls were chipped and peeling, and silence hung over every crumbling corner.

I stepped out of the carriage, pressing my lips together as Emma helped me navigate through the overgrown paths. Memories slammed into me like a tidal wave—red, sticky blood everywhere, the sound of screams, and that horrifying day I discovered my mother and grandmother’s mutilated bodies. It felt like the ghosts of the past were still wandering here, waiting for me to acknowledge their pain.

Emma swallowed hard, her eyes full of sympathy. “My lady… are you sure you want to go inside?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I have to.”

We set up a small makeshift altar in the old family chapel. It was nothing fancy—just some candles and flowers we bought along the way—but it was enough to bring tears to my eyes. I laid a bouquet in front of my parents’ small wooden sculptures.

I knelt down, folding my hands together and closing my eyes in prayer. “Father… Mother… please forgive me. I truly believed I could honor your wishes, but William Beauchamp has betrayed every vow he made. If I stay with him, it would mock everything you ever stood for. I promise I will live with dignity. I won’t let the Montfort name be dragged through the mud any longer.”

Emma dabbed at her tears beside me, her shoulders shaking. I wanted to comfort her, but my own chest felt like it was being crushed. After a few minutes, we rose and headed back to the carriage, turning our sights on the royal capital. Even though the sun was high in the sky by the time we reached the palace gates, I felt nothing but a cold determination.

We waited in the scorching heat for what felt like forever. Guards tried to shoo us away, but I refused to budge. Emma begged me to eat something—a piece of bread, a bit of fruit—anything. I just shook my head. My hunger had vanished, replaced by a fierce resolve. If I had to stand here until nightfall to get an audience with the king, then so be it.

Inside the palace, I imagined the king debating whether he should see me. The king probably thought reneging on that decree would undermine the crown’s honor. Based on the information Emma gathered through her palace connections, Royal Chamberlain Lord Howard pleaded my case more than once, reminding the king of my father’s illustrious record as a war hero. Eventually, the king must have decided he couldn’t ignore me anymore.

A guard finally approached, whispering that His Majesty would grant me an audience. My heart hammered as I followed the guard through corridors of polished stone, trying to keep my steps steady. Emma stayed behind, looking anxious as I vanished into the king’s private study.