Isabella woke the next morning, determined to face the day with dignity. After yesterday's public humiliation, she knew the entire household would be watching her, waiting to see how she would handle herself.
So she dressed carefully, pinned her hair up with steady hands despite the way they wanted to shake, and put on what she hoped was a calm, pleasant expression. Then she stepped out of her room and headed toward the dining hall for breakfast.
As she walked through the corridors, she smiled at every servant she passed. "Good morning, Margaret," she said to one of the maids. "Good morning, Peter," to one of the footmen.
She hoped she didn't look as stupid as she felt, forcing cheerfulness when everything inside her felt broken and raw. But she refused to let them see her fall apart. She'd already given them enough of a show yesterday.
