“My presence would only make things more difficult.”
“Your absence makes you seem like an ogre.” Cecilia’s voice gentled. “Emily asked me if you ever smile.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I’d seen it happen, rarely. Usually, when you think no one is watching.” She patted his arm. “Eight o’clock. Wear something that won’t terrify a six-year-old.”
She left him alone with his thoughts. Aaron watched Louise laugh at something Emily did, watched the way she automatically checked their surroundings even while relaxed, watched the grace in her movements and the strength in her bearing.
Ernest was right. He was fighting a losing battle.
The question was whether he possessed enough honor to keep fighting it.
CHAPTER 7
“Buttercup, for heaven’s sake, you cannot eat Lady Harbury’s winter topiaries!” Louise lunged for the dog’s collar just as the dog decided the potted plant by the entrance looked appetizing.
Emily giggled behind her hand while Lady Merrow simply sailed past them all, utterly unperturbed by the chaos.
“Agnes, darling!” Lady Merrow called out. “I’ve brought reinforcements!”
The door flew open before the footman could reach it, revealing a woman in vibrant purple silk. Lady Harbury’s silver hair was styled in elaborate curls that defied both gravity and good sense, and her grin held a pinch of mischief usually reserved for people a quarter her age.
“Cecilia! And you’ve brought your entire menagerie, I see.” Lady Harbury’s eyes sparkled as she took in the tableau of Louisewrestling Buttercup, Emily trying to help, and Lady Merrow beaming like a proud mother hen. “How delightful! I was just telling Lady Densham that Lady Graninger’s tea yesterday was so dull I nearly expired from boredom. She served only cucumber sandwiches. Cucumber! As if we’re rabbits!”
Lady Merrow kissed her friend’s cheek. “Agnes, may I present Lady Louise Burrows, my new companion, and her sister Lady Emily.”
Louise curtsied despite Buttercup’s attempts to investigate Lady Harbury’s hem. “Lady Harbury, thank you for receiving us.”
“None of that formality, my dear. Any companion of Cecilia’s is bound to be interesting.” Agnes swept them all inside, her voice carrying through the elegant foyer. “Ladies! Cecilia’s brought fresh blood!”
Louise felt heat creep up her neck, but Lady Merrow patted her arm reassuringly. “Don’t mind Agnes. She likes to pretend she’s scandalous.”
“Pretend?” Lady Harbury’s voice floated back. “I’ll have you know I caused quite the stir at the Berrington ball last week when I suggested their eldest son might benefit from a wife with a brain rather than just a dowry.”
They entered a sunny morning room where two more ladies sat, clearly cut from the same cloth as Lady Merrow and Lady Harbury. One, dressed in severe gray that somehow looked elegant rather than dour, raised an eyebrow that could havestopped armies. The other, draped in soft rose with enough jewels to fund a small country, smiled with the satisfaction of a cat in the cream.
“Louise, darling,” Cecilia began, “these are my dearest friends. The Dowager Marchioness of Densham, and Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Raynsford.”
The Dowager Duchess waved a bejeweled hand. “Marianne, please. We leave titles at the door when we gossip.”
Emily, who had been quietly holding Buttercup’s collar, suddenly piped up. “Are you all witches?”
Dead silence fell. Louise’s mortification threatened to swallow her whole.
Then Lady Harbury burst out laughing. “Why do you ask, little one?”
Emily looked perfectly serious. “Because you’re all together and you’re all magical-looking and Buttercup likes you, and he only likes magical people.”
“Well then,” Lady Densham said dryly, “I suppose we’ve been found out. Though I prefer sorceress. Witch sounds so terribly common.”
The ladies dissolved into laughter, and Louise felt some of her tension ease. Emily settled in a corner with Buttercup, whoimmediately sprawled across her lap despite being roughly three times her size.
“Now then,” Lady Harbury said, pouring tea with the efficiency of a general planning a campaign, “Cecilia tells us you’re keeping her company while your brother is abroad for his health?”
Louise accepted her teacup carefully. “Yes, my lady. Lord Sulton is recovering in the country. The London air didn’t agree with him.”
“London air rarely agrees with anyone,” the Dowager Duchess observed. “All that coal smoke and horse droppings. I’m surprised we haven’t all died from the fumes.”
