Isabelle Worthing is heiress to an old fortune, yet to everyone else she is just a regular teen. That all changes when her estranged grandmother passes away and the family retreat to Worthington Manor to make the necessary arrangements. When Issy wakes up in 1904 immersed in the debutante season, she has one task – to secure a husband, without screwing up history.
Adrift in her own time and butting heads with her mother, Issy must secure a match for her elderly ancestor, Lady Brampton, that does not alter their family’s trajectory. Her parents desire a match with the eligible Lord Eltham, but Lady Brampton diverts her attentions towards the dashing yet disgraceful Mr Walker. Issy however, is determined to defy all expectations and secure a love match.
The Debutante also follows the story of Issy’s own mother, Susan, who at 17 had travelled back to 1944 to endure a ‘season’ that was as unrecognisable as war-torn England, leaving its indelible mark on her heart and teaching her the value of the unbreakable mother-daughter bond.
Gemma is also the author of Meet Me At The Melbourne, her debut novel, which won Dick and Angel Strawbridge of the TV show Escape to the Chateau’s Literature Competition in 2020 and was originally published through The Chateau Publishing Limited in 2021. It was re-released to e-book and paperback in an updated edition in August 2024.
The Debutante is available through most major retailers including Amazon, kobo, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble and Apple Books etc… You can purchase your copy of The Debutante in e-book or paperback here or here.
You can also read a sample chapter of The Debutante below…
Chapter 1
The layout of the classroom reflected its hierarchy. At the front were the geeks or nerds, eagerly absorbing new knowledge just as a sponge absorbs water – the doctors or lawyers, architects or engineers of the future perhaps, a motley crew of misfits by their side (they didn’t know it yet, but one day when their school days were over, this hierarchy would cease to exist – though try telling that to any teenager who longs to fit in).
Occasionally a harassed young teacher might place one of the more disruptive kids at the front to mix things up a bit, but otherwise the bottom tier of school society would give way to the middle tier – the floaters – those very few kids who were neither quite at top of the pecking order nor the bottom – who were gifted with the ability to get along seamlessly with both crowds without being excluded by either. At the back were the most popular kids in class (often interspersed with the most-naughty), for whom fitting in at all costs and maintaining their coveted status was infinitely more important than anything the teacher might have to say.
Issy Worthing fell into the latter camp – you could recognise her by her ironed-straight swathes of blonde hair, willowy frame, and the fact that almost every young girl in that room would have given pretty much anything to swap places with her, even if just for a day, but never more so than today.
There was something so 1990’s about a handwritten note, but since Miss Partridge, the English teacher, made a point of confiscating her classes’ mobile phones at the start of each lesson (apart from Jack Shaw, who discovered that shoving his phone down his pants was a highly effective deterrent to any confiscation attempts – and not even Miss Partridge was keen to challenge that), the students of class 13B had little choice.
Issy was sat next to her best friend, Mila Stuart, who was almost a carbon copy of Issy except for a perpetually tanned glow that Issy, with her olde English ancestry dating back to William the Conqueror, could not achieve without a bottle, much to her dismay. Miss Partridge was saying something gripping about conjunctive adverbs, as thirty sets of eyes strayed out of the classroom window to the intangible freedom beyond, where the school-field was grazed with daisies and dandelions and a soft, early-summer sun, when a pen flew like a miniature missile and landed at Issy’s feet.
Miss Partridge raised her eyebrows but didn’t skip a beat, and as Issy bent down to retrieve the pen, she noticed with some excitement – by far the most exciting thing to have happened to her that day, anyway – that wrapped around it was a slip of lined paper. Hastily, she unwrapped the note and set it on her lap, then reached towards the occupant of the desk behind her to return the pen to its owner, a frisson of anticipation running through her as Chad Connor locked his smooth, dark eyes onto hers and winked.
Mila gripped her arm. Unfolding the paper, Issy laid it on her desk so they could both see, careful not to draw the attention of Miss Partridge.
They may have just been three seemingly innocuous little words, but to Issy, they were way more than that: Be my date?
She gasped. She’d just assumed that Steph Sutton, with the impressive curves she did her utmost to flaunt insofar as uniform restrictions would permit, would be Chad’s obvious choice. It was no secret she’d been trying to capture his attention all year. And whilst Issy had always admired Chad from afar – and she was not alone in that – she’d just assumed he was well and truly off the table. Evidently, she was wrong, and in that moment, there was no doubt she was the most fortunate girl in her final year of school.
‘O-M-G, what are you gonna say?’ Mila’s whisper was almost a squeak.
Issy turned over the paper, and in big capital letters wrote one word: ‘YES!’
Mila grinned. None of this had gone unnoticed by Steph Sutton, particularly not when she saw Issy wrapping what appeared to be a piece of paper around her pen and deliberately nudging it to the floor with her elbow. She especially didn’t miss the look on Chad’s face when he leant over to pick it up, nor his grin when he read whatever the note said, nor the slap on the back he got from his best mate, followed by the frantic whispering that passed between the two girls. She had a pretty good idea what it must be about, and she was distinctly unimpressed.
She’d been able to persuade her mum to buy her a fitted, red dress with a low, beaded bodice and high side slit for the prom. She’d harped on about it so much that she’d worn down both her mum’s defences and her better judgement. All Steph’s fantasies for the past three months had been about Chad’s reaction when he saw her in the dress – which she was sure he would be unable to resist – and now priggish Issy Worthing, with her ethereal, olde-worlde beauty, formidable lineage, and ancestral stately home, had done the unthinkable by breaking the unwritten rule and stealing him from right under her nose.
Fortunately for Steph, the kerfuffle in the back row hadn’t escaped Miss Partridge’s attention either. She nudged her glasses back up her nose, as she had a habit of doing.
‘A conjunctive adverb can be used to connect the ideas between two sentences, for instance, “Issy Worthing kept talking in class, consequently – consequently is the conjunctive adverb in this sentence, you will observe – she was asked to share her exciting news with the rest of us.”’
Issy paled.
‘Well?’ Miss Partridge cleared her throat. ‘Since you were studying your piece of paper so intently a moment before, I can only assume you’ve been taking copious notes throughout our lesson. Perhaps you could be the first to provide an example of a sentence containing a conjunctive adverb for us?’
Chad smirked, and in the opposite corner, Steph Sutton narrowed her eyes in satisfaction. This wasn’t over yet.
*
When Issy stepped into the porch of their small, inobtrusive semi after school that afternoon, she knew not even the niggling presence of her younger sisters nor the nagging from her mum could bring her down. She was floating on air and bursting to share her good news. She’d spent the entire bus ride discussing dress options with Mila, and whilst this had been the primary topic of conversation amongst her friends for the past couple of months at least, never had it held as much import as it did when she had the security of a date and Chad’s reaction to seeing her in the dress for the very first time to consider. It was imperative to make the best first impression she could.
She was so full of her own thoughts that it took her a few moments to register things were different. She couldn’t hear anything for one. Usually, before she’d even opened the porch door, she’d hear the cartoons on the TV in the background, and her sisters, Jasmine and Ella would either be embroiled in a squabble or playing together boisterously. Their mother, Susan, would be busy preparing dinner, yelling at the girls periodically to either stop fighting or keep the noise down so she could hear herself think. The moment Issy walked through the door, she’d be told to either help keep the girls in line, or (and she wasn’t sure which was worse), get roped in to chopping up vegetables or setting the table. Then, after dinner, the TV would go off until they’d finished their homework – without doubt the worst part of the school-night routine that their mother was most adamant about maintaining.
After that, the night was theirs. If she and her siblings weren’t quarrelling, Issy would usually spend it watching TV or lying in her room texting Mila, or, especially on weekends, heading out to catch up with her friends.
‘Hey mum,’ she said, as she opened the door between the porch and their living room. ‘What’s for d-?’
She stopped abruptly. The TV had been muted, and her mum was leant forwards on the couch sobbing, whilst the younger girls sat either side of her, rubbing her back as they looked anxiously at Issy, unsure of what to do. She could see they were relieved she was home – the elder sister ready to take charge and let them off the hook.
Issy was taken aback. Their mother didn’t cry – not since their dad had left anyway, and that was a long time ago now.
‘Mum… What happened? Are you ok?’
Susan nodded, though it was perfectly obvious she was not ok. ‘It’s…’ she stuttered. ‘It’s your grandmother… I’m afraid she’s… Passed away. A stroke. It was quick, she won’t have suffered.’
Issy gasped. Their grandma was quite a remote figure, but even in her seventies a robust one. It was hard to imagine her not simply living forever. She had to; she had a sprawling country estate and acres of land and outbuildings to manage. She was on all the village committees. Issy and her sisters didn’t really know her very well. They didn’t see her often – as far as Issy was aware, she and their mum didn’t get along, though none of them really knew why. Something about Susan shunning their family fortune and title to live a more ordinary life with a more ordinary man, who, to Susan’s infinite chagrin, Grandma had turned out to be quite right about in the end.
‘Oh, mum. I’m so sorry.’
Her own news forgotten, Issy gestured for her sisters to move aside so she could squeeze in next to their mum. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged her close, which only made Susan sob all the harder. It felt a little awkward at first – Issy and their mum hadn’t exactly been getting on themselves lately. But her mum’s tears, her vulnerability – something she rarely glimpsed – tugged at her heart.
‘Put the kettle on, Jasmine.’ Her voice held all the authority of the eldest sibling, even in a whisper. ‘Ella, you go and get the chocolate biscuits, the good ones, and try and find the takeaway menus – looks like fish and chips is on the cards tonight.’ It was their mum’s favourite, after all.
The girls put up none of their usual resistance (though for a moment, Ella did look as though she was about to put up a fight about the choice of takeaway, McDonald’s being a particularly rare treat), and were willing to defer to Issy just this once.
Issy rested her head against Susan’s and breathed in her scent – the most familiar, impossible to articulate, and yet somehow the most instantly comforting scent in the world.
‘We’ll need to go to Worthington for the funeral of course, to get everything tied up. I’m afraid we’ll be there for quite some time.’
Issy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Quite some time. ‘How long?’ she asked, as a sense of foreboding washed over her. Chad. The prom.
‘Weeks at least. Months even. There’s a lot to do. A lot to… consider.’
Susan wiped her eyes with her hands, eyes the same cornflower blue as Issy’s, grabbed a tissue, and wiped her nose before dabbing off her excess mascara. It was easier for her to keep her emotions in check when she remained focussed on the practicalities.
‘But…’
Susan looked at her sharply, and the familiar tension rose between them.
‘But what?’
‘Well…’ Issy breathed. ‘What about my exams? My A Levels? They’re pretty important – you’re always rambling on about how important they are. And what about the prom?’
Issy felt her frustration rising as she recognised what was at stake. If she’d gotten the exact same news a mere twenty-four hours earlier, before Chad, as much as an extended stay in the middle of nowhere with only her mum and sisters for company would be a total drag, she wouldn’t be dragging her feet. But she so, so wanted to get dressed up and make her entrance to the prom on Chad’s arm.
‘Can’t you just take the girls with you while I stay here with Dad?’
‘I wish I could, Issy, but I can’t. I’ve already asked him. He’s swamped with work and working away a lot – you’d end up stuck at home with your stepmother.’
Issy rolled her eyes. A summer with her stepmum was probably the only thing worse than a summer at Worthington Manor. ‘But the prom, my exams…’
‘I’ve arranged with the head-teacher for you to sit your exams at the village school.’
‘Really?’ She sighed.
Jasmine and Ella crept in, placing their humble offerings on the coffee table. Jasmine glared at Issy to remind her this was not the time to be causing a scene. For once Issy was prepared to accept that she was right, but she could sense Chad’s attentions slipping away, and an image of the curvaceous Steph Sutton, a satisfied smirk on her face, flashed into mind.
‘I can’t promise anything,’ said Susan. ‘The next few weeks are going to be very busy. But I’ll do my very best to get you to your prom, ok? And let’s not forget, your grandmother, my mum, has just passed away.’ She sniffed as tears threatened to overwhelm her once again. ‘In the grand scheme of things, I think you’d agree that is more important than any prom.’
Issy couldn’t argue with that. She knew she was being incredibly self-absorbed right now. But it was just the timing… Oh, it was unfair. It was so very unfair.
*
Later that night, Issy threw herself onto her bed and considered all the implications of the next few weeks. Missing her last day of Year Thirteen. Not sitting her A Levels at her own school. Not celebrating the end of an era with her own friends, many of whom would be heading off to college or university. Things would never be the same again. Chad.
Somewhere, tangled in amongst these thoughts, were thoughts of her mother and thoughts of her grandmother, who in hindsight she wished she’d been a lot closer to and made more effort with, but growing up you didn’t tend to think too much about those sorts of things – you simply took your lead from your parents.
Her phone beeped.
Hey! It was Mila. Have you heard from Chad? I hear Steph Sutton’s nose is out of joint.
Issy shook her head in irritation. If Steph and Chad weren’t together in the first place, which they weren’t, then she had no right to be put out. Chad wasn’t her property, and she could pretty much take her pick of the guys anyway, so it wasn’t like she was missing out. Deftly, Issy fired back a response.
I’m not sure I’m even going to make it to the prom now. My grandma’s just died, and I have to go to Worthington Manor. For months. MONTHS! (Tears emoji).
(Super surprised emoji x 3). OMG, I’m so sorry. But what about school? Chad and the prom? Can’t you stay here with your dad?
Huh. Thought Issy. Like he would care. Nope. He’s too busy with work, as usual. Looks like I’ll have to sit my exams at the village school. Mum’s still gonna to try to get me to the prom, though.
I hope so, Mila fired back. It wouldn’t be the same without you. And we don’t want Steph Sutton swooping in to steal your date.
No, thought Issy, she very much did not want that.
Whatever you do, pinged Mila, don’t give Chad any reason to think things might be off.
Moments later, her phone beeped again. Hey babe… It was Chad, and her heart leapt with equal parts joy and frustration. Looking forward to the prom x
Issy sighed, unsure how to respond. She’d arrived home that evening with so much anticipation, but now… What a mess the night had turned out to be.
Gemma Frances 