Twenty-Seven

Isabelle paced in her room, flexing her hands against her side, anticipating the time her husband would leave for his meeting. If he waited much longer, she would go insane.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the floor. She rushed to her door and pressed her ear against the wood. Marcus’ footsteps moved past her room and descended the stairs. Relieved the time had finally arrived, she quickly slipped out of her wrapper and pulled on the boys’ clothes her maid had fetched for her earlier this evening. Thankfully, her maid found large black breeches, shirt and overcoat to hide Isabelle’s womanly figure. She stuffed her long hair into a brown cap before leaving her room and sneaking down the servant’s stairs. When she reached outside without being spotted by her husband’s staff, she breathed easier.

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