Wildly Yours

Isabella stood in front of her window, the moon casting a silver glow on her face. She hastily tied her brother's cravat around her neck, completing her disguise. She adjusted her attire, making sure her disguise was perfect. Breeches, shirt, waistcoat, and a tricorn hat—everything put together transformed her into a charming young gentleman. She couldn't risk being caught.

She didn't understand the society at all. Why were there many constraints on women and none on men? They were bound by societal expectations, their voices silenced, and their choices limited.

A man was allowed to keep as many mistresses as it pleased him, while a woman was expected to be submissive to one man. However, if she dared to keep to herself more than one man, she was tagged promiscuous.

Remembering her conversation with her late mother many years ago, she shook her head. Still wet behind the ears, she had asked her mother why she was confined to the manor and forced to learn stitches she had no interest in while her younger brother, Henry, was always on the move with their father. Her mother's reply had been, "Isabella, dear, women aren't meant for such pursuit. Our role is to manage the household, raise children and support our husbands. It's the way of the world, child. Men hold power, and we must adapt."

As if it wasn't enough torture to be a woman, she was born as a Lady, meaning more expectations and duties and obligations she didn't give a flying fig about. The most significant expectation was to find or be found by a respectable gentleman for marriage, after which she was expected to activate the baby-making switch in her.

At four and twenty years, she was way past the age of marriage, but that didn't bother her. Marriage was the last thing on her mind and even if she wanted to settle down, it must be with a man willing to bend some rules and allow her to enjoy the freedom she had found. She wanted to marry someone she could control, but it seemed her father had a problem with that idea, as he had turned down every arranged suitor she brought to him. Of course, he didn't know it was arranged, but it was as if he always saw through her plan.

When Isabella's discontent with the society simmered, it fuelled her desire for change. She began sneaking around to do things that were not to be heard of. She wanted a taste of what made men want to hold on to power so much, leaving nothing for the women, and when she got a little of it, she didn't want to let go, too. If the world would not make room for her intellect or talents, the least she could do was to enjoy herself.

With a deep breath, she swung her leg over the windowsill and climbed out onto the ledge. The stone was cool beneath her feet, and the night air carried the scent of damp air and leaves. As she carefully made her way along the ledge, her heart raced with excitement and a touch of fear.

One misstep, and she would tumble to the ground below. As she reached the corner of the manor, she grabbed the ivy-coloured trellis and began to climb down. The tendrils dug into her gloves, but she descended steadily, her eyes fixed on the ground until her feet touched the grass. She smiled to herself, feeling a thrill of triumph.

With a glance around to ensure she was alone, she set off across the lawn, her long strides carrying her towards the stables. Where she found her brother's stallion. Her mare had been taken away the day her father learnt about her unladylike night adventures. She had thrown a tantrum that day and had even dared to shed a few tears, but nothing moved the man.

She mounted her brother's stallion and urged him into a gallop, the wind whipping her short-cropped hair. Among her list of unladylike things she did, her favourite was disguising herself as a gentleman and going to the gambling house or the pub. For the night, it was the gambling house.

The rolling hills and forests of the estate gave way to the dark, winding roads. Isabella rode hard, her heart pounding with excitement. Hours later, she arrived in the bustling town of Nottingham, where she hoped to lose herself in the crowds.

Dismounting the stallion, she led him through the narrow streets, her eyes scanning for a safe haven, for the street she was in wasn't the best. She managed to tie the horse to a pole.

"Good evening, sir." The doorman greeted her with a blinding smile

As a true gentleman would, she offered a curt nod to the doorman as the wooden door was pushed open. Inside the dimly lit room, she felt truly alive. No expectations, no duties, no obligations and no pretending to be what you are not.

The air was thick with smoke and the murmur of hushed conversations. The room consisted of patrons, a mix of nobles, and high-stakes players. Her lips tilted to the side when she spotted her favourite table. She got nods of recognition as she passed tables while making her way to the table.

"Richard, nice to see you. We all thought you had given up the bad habit!" One of the men chimed, patting her on the back as she sat beside him,

"Not on your lives, old men." Her reply earned a round of laughter around the table.

"We are glad to have you back," The dealer, a suave man with a well-groomed beard, greeted her with a smile. "Your luck has been quite remarkable of late."

Isabella smiled, her voice low and smooth. She said, "It's merely a streak, my good fellow. I am sure it will end soon."

"Ah, let's see how soon it will be, eh?" the man raised a challenging brow.

"Aye," She placed a substantial bet and the game began. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with anticipation. Isabella's focus was unwavering, her mind calculating the odds with precision.

Sometimes she tried to imagine what the men's faces would look like if they were ever to find out her true identity. What would they think of themselves if they were ever to find out they were losing to a woman? As the nights wore on, her winnings grew and the game began to get boring. It was obvious that the men weren't a match for her.

On the other side of the room, a newcomer, who couldn't help but notice how the young man had won lots of rounds decided to try something new, for the people he was playing with were no match for him. His lean figure approached Isabella's table. "Nice to see someone using their head in this room for once," He spoke, his voice calm and collected, quickly grabbing their attention.

"And you are?" Isabella asked, curiosity adorning her soft brown eyes as she looked at the stranger. A lean man with admirable soft features. Pointed nose, full lips, perfect brows, and soft blue eyes. Too bad they met in such a manner, she would have loved to know more about the man. It wasn't every day a man piqued her interest.

"Robert, and you are?"

"Richard,"

"Ah, Richard, care to play a private game with me?" Robert asked, his voice laced with challenge—exactly the type Isabella loved.

"I am not one to back down from a challenge, sir. Let us play."

One of the men vacated his seat, making room for Robert. Isabella's heart raced with little tension and overflowing excitement. It was nice to have someone new to play with. What thrilled her most was the fact that she didn't know how good or bad the man was. She could lose all her life savings to him, or she could make him regret ever challenging her– or him.

She lost to him in the first two rounds, but that was on purpose. She used the rounds to evaluate him. "Five hundred on the next hand." She declared, her voice steady.

The dealer nodded, shuffling the cards with a flourish that told his years of experience in handling cards. "Very well, Sir Richard, Dealing now…"

The cards were revealed, and Isabella's eyes narrowed. "Ah, the eight of spades. I call the next cards the king of hearts." She spoke, her voice smooth and calculative.

The room fell silent, the patrons holding their breath as the dealer's hands moved with precision. He revealed the cards with bated breath. "King of hearts!" He announced, a murmur of amazement rippling through the watching crowd.

Isabella watched her opponent's face drop; gone was the proud smile he wore when he was winning. She couldn't help but smile. "I call the next card...the ace of diamonds," she spoke again.

Once again, the tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with anticipation as the dealer's hands moved slowly this time, adding to the tension. Revealing the cards, his eyes widened. "Ace of diamonds!" He declared, the room erupting in cheers and gasps.

As the game went on, the stakes went higher, reaching a thousand. On her fifth win, her opponent, Robert, slammed his fist on the table, "Impossible! You are cheating."

Isabella's mouth opened dramatically to the accusation, "Except if you are calling everyone here foolish and blind, then I would advise you refrain from saying such things." Her eyes flashed with intensity as she began packing the coins on the table.

"Don't worry lad, with time you get used to his streak of luck that defies the odd!" One of the men chimed in, trying to pacify the seething fellow.

Turning to the man, Isabella said, "Luck has nothing to do with it, sir. I am a master of the game."

"I bet you are," Another man patted her on the back in a not-so-gentle manner.

The dealer leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his face, "Shall we increase the stakes, gentlemen? Two thousand?"

Isabella's smile equally grew wider, "I accept, deal the cards—"

"No, I won't be playing anymore. I have somewhere to be." The look on his face was almost comical as he stood and left the room with stiff shoulders. Isabella knew she had ruined the man's night.

With her fat bag of coins tucked safely in her pants, she also stood, "Gentlemen, it is with a sad heart I announce my need to depart."

"Your heart can't be sad with those bags of coins you have on you." The dealer's comment aroused a round of laughter, even from Isabella. He was right. She was ecstatic.