"Me?" Cassandra laughed. "I'm perfectly content as I am, thank you. Besides, I prefer men with a bit more?—"
"More what?" Poppy asked, curious.
"Complexity. Your sister's tea party bachelors are likely perfectly pleasant, but I imagine they're also perfectly boring."
"They are respectable gentlemen," Anthea protested.
"Which is precisely my point." Cassandra stole one more tart. "But don't let my cynicism discourage you, Poppy. I'm sure you'll find them delightful. And if not, at least there are excellent lemon tarts."
"Were excellent lemon tarts," Anthea corrected dryly, eyeing the depleted tray.
A knock at the door announced the first arrival. Anthea drew a steadying breath, smoothing her skirts as Thomas moved to answer.
Mr. Caldwell arrived first—a second son with a respectable income and reasonable prospects. Anthea had danced with him last season and found him pleasant enough, if somewhat dull.
Lord Ashton came next, followed by Mr. Thornton and Sir Edward. All gentlemen she had met before. All men who had shown interest in making connections with eligible young ladies.
Poppy entered the drawing room looking lovely in her sprigged muslin gown, her dark curls arranged becomingly, her eyes bright with nervous excitement.
"Gentlemen," Anthea said warmly, "may I introduce my sister, Miss Poppy Hillington? Poppy, these are Mr. Caldwell, Lord Ashton, Mr. Thornton, and Sir Edward."
The gentlemen bowed. Poppy curtseyed with appropriate grace.
And then... nothing.
Oh, they were polite. Perfectly civil. Made appropriate conversation about the weather and the upcoming season and various innocuous topics.
But there was no warmth. No genuine interest.
"I must say, the weather has been quite pleasant this week," Lord Pemberton remarked to Anthea, even as Poppy sat directly beside him.
"Indeed," Poppy offered brightly. "My sister and I took a lovely walk through?—"
"Your Grace," Pemberton interrupted, turning to Anthea, "what is your opinion on the matter? Do you think the fine weather will hold?"
Anthea's smile felt tight. "I believe Miss Poppy was speaking, my lord."
"Oh. Yes. Quite." He nodded politely at Poppy, then immediately turned back to Anthea. "I understand congratulations are in order for your recent marriage."
Across the room, Mr. Hartford engaged Veronica in similar fashion.
"The season promises to be quite exciting," Veronica said softly.
"Mm. Yes." Hartford took a sip of tea, his gaze drifting past her. "Your Grace, I heard the most fascinating discussion at White's the other day about agricultural reform..."
It took Anthea half an hour to realize what was happening.
"Mr. Hartford, my sister Veronica has quite an interest in literature," Anthea interjected desperately. "She has read extensively on?—"
"How lovely," he said with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then back to Anthea: "But as I was saying, Your Grace, about the crop rotation methods..."
They had already formed their opinions. About Poppy, about Veronica, about the entire Croft family. Years of watching Beatrice manipulate and scheme, of seeing the sisters trotted out each season with increasingly desperate attempts at securing matches—it had created a reputation that preceded them.
And no matter how much Anthea smiled, no matter how she tried to redirect attention to her sisters, the gentlemen remained polite but distant. They were here because refusing a duchess's invitation would be rude. But they had no intention of pursuing anything further.
By the time the tea party ended and the last guest departed, Anthea felt exhausted and defeated.
"They were not interested," Poppy said quietly, once they were alone. "Were they?"
