Isabella sat in the corner of her drawing room, oblivious to the surrounding chaos of life. she focused on the canvas in front of her. The only sounds in the room were the soft swish of her paints and the occasional brush tap.

That is, until her brush snapped in half, sending paint splatters all over her face and clothes. She let out a quick, frustrated exhale as she tossed the discarded brush onto her tray of paints.

"Third one this week…" she muttered under her breath, not bothering to wipe the paint from her face. That was when she heard the knock at her drawing room door.

In a quick swish of her hand, it smudges the pain in a streak on her face. Isabella turned to see her mother, who had walked in and was now staring at her with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. "Isa, you have a gentleman here to visit you," her mother informed her, her tone slightly strained as she took in Isabella's paint-splattered appearance.