Her gaze shifted to Veronica, who sat very still near the window, her hands folded in her lap, her expression distant.
"Veronica," Anthea said, pulling herself from her thoughts. "What do you think? Should I choose the Belgian lace or the Chantilly?"
Her sister blinked, as though pulled from somewhere far away. "Hmm? Oh. Either would be lovely."
The listless response sent alarm through Anthea. Veronica loved fashion, loved beautiful things. She should be offering opinions on every detail.
Anthea met Gregory's eyes in the mirror, and saw understanding flicker there. He gave a small nod.
"Madame Laurent," Gregory said smoothly, "might we have a moment? I wish to discuss payment arrangements with you privately."
"But of course, Your Grace!" The modiste immediately set down her pins and bustled toward her office, clearly delighted by the prospect of negotiating with a duke.
Gregory followed, but not before catching Anthea's hand and giving it a quick squeeze.
The moment they were alone, Anthea stepped down from the platform and moved to sit beside Veronica.
"Tell me," she said quietly.
Veronica's composure crumbled. "Mama forbade him from calling."
"Who?"
"The gentleman from the menagerie. Mr. Hartley." Fresh tears spilled down Veronica's cheeks. "He came to call two days ago, and Mama turned him away. Told him I was not accepting visitors. I did not even know until yesterday, when I overheard her laughing about it with Lady Pemberton."
Fury—white-hot and consuming—flooded through Anthea.
"She had no right?—"
"She had every right," Veronica whispered miserably. "She is my mother. And he—he was just a gentleman. Not titled, notwealthy, only kind and gentle and interested in my drawings. Of course she would never approve."
"I do not care what she approves," Anthea said fiercely. She took Veronica's hands in hers. "Listen to me. In six days, I will be a duchess. And the moment I am, you and Poppy will come live with Gregory and me. Beatrice will have no authority over you anymore."
"But what if he does not care?" Veronica's voice broke. "What if he thinks I rejected him?"
"Then we will find him and explain what happened," Anthea said firmly. "And if he is worthy of you—if he truly cares—he will understand."
Poppy had moved closer during the conversation, and now she wrapped her arms around both of them. "We are going to be all right. All of us. Together."
For a long moment, the three of them simply held each other.
When they finally pulled apart, Veronica managed a watery smile. "Thank you."
"Always," Anthea said.
The door to the office opened, and Gregory emerged with Madame Laurent, who was practically glowing with satisfaction.
"Everything is arranged," he announced. "The gown will be ready in six days, and Madame Laurent has agreed to provide dresses for your sisters as well. My gift," he added, looking at Veronica and Poppy. "Every duchess needs a proper entourage for her wedding."
Poppy's eyes went wide. "Truly?"
"Truly." Gregory's expression softened. "You are family now. And I take care of my family."
The carriage ride home was quieter than the journey there. Veronica stared out the window, lost in thought. Poppy dozed against her shoulder.
And Anthea sat beside Gregory, thinking about everything that had happened, everything he had said and done.
He could have left after we were discovered. Could have denied everything.
