Her fingers shook as she clumsily shuffled the cards and set them back in the middle of the table. When the top half slid to the side, she quickly righted it.
No one mocked her. No one even noticed; the Grenvilles were too busy teasing one another.
“Donotgo to that masquerade,” Camellia told Bryony emphatically. “Look what happened to me.”
“Ordo.” Dahlia gave Bryony a conspiratorial grin. “Look what happened to Camellia.”
“Nora would never attend such a party,” Camellia scolded her sisters.
“Nora may have attended so many that she’s become bored with scandalous masquerades altogether,” Dahlia countered.
“What’s this?” Nora’s mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “When did I get dragged into your nonsense?”
“When you walked in the front door,” Bryony replied, eyes twinkling.
Dahlia offered Nora a commiserating pat on the shoulder. “It’s what we do.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Camellia added with a laugh. “It’s not like we ever change.”
“You ought to consider changing,” Mr. Grenville grumbled. “How’s a gentleman to uphold his sterling reputation with you three miscreants in the family?”
“Upholding reputations is your job, not ours,” Bryony pointed out with an innocent flutter of lashes. “My job is to make you work for it.”
“Mine, too,” said Dahlia with a grin.
“Mine, too,” Camellia agreed. “Now can we get back to the game?”
Mr. Grenville burst out laughing. “I think I won ten minutes ago.”
“Didn’t see it, so it didn’t happen.” Bryony lifted the top half of the newly shuffled deck and began to deal. “Double your wagers, ladies.”
Camellia widened her eyes. “Why, Miss Bryony Grenville. Ladies don’t wager.”
“That’s right,” Mr. Grenville said sternly.
Dahlia tossed a gold sovereign onto the table. “I’ll wager Heath loses.”
Bryony’s grin widened as she tossed an extra coin to the table. “I’ll wager Miss Winfield is the only one who walks out of this room a winner.”
Nora couldn’t agree more. She already felt richer.
“I’m afraid my reticule hasn’t any coin.” She cast a sideways glance at Mr. Grenville. “I wager Mr. Grenville’s cravat.”
“You cannot wager a fellow gambler’s cravat,” he protested.
“And you can’t call him Mr. Grenville,” Bryony put in with a laugh. “He’s Heath, I’m Bryony, this is Dahlia, and that’s Camellia.”
Nora’s cheeks flushed with pleasure at the unexpected honor of first-naming them so quickly. “And I’m Eleanora, but friends call me Nora.”
“You consider it friendly to wager an innocent bystander’s cravat?” Mr. Grenville—er, Heath—said with faux hurt.
“You don’t know how to tie them anyway,” she replied sweetly, to the delight of his siblings.
The next quarter hour passed in a blur of flying cards, sibling rivalry, and tears of laughter on all sides. Being with the Grenvilles was just like being at home with her own family. Nora gazed at them in contentment. Her brother Carter would fit in perfectly with a crowd like this.
The Grenvilles were utterly mad and rowdy and fun and breathtakingly genuine without airs of any sort. For the first time in weeks, Nora was among a group of people with whom she felt like she could finally be herself.
Almostherself.
