“So, it is official?” Chastity squealed.
“You are engaged?” Patience was practically dancing in place.
Hazel pinched the bridge of her nose. “No one is engaged yet.”
“Oh, but you are,” her mother corrected, patting Hazel’s cheek. “Your father is sending the letter back this very moment. Now, sit, sit. I want to heareverything!”
Hazel stared. Her mother had never asked to hear everything, not when Hazel debuted, not when she won the charity garden prize, not at any point while she managed to keep her sisters alive through adolescence. But now, she was glowing with excitement, hanging on Hazel’s every breath.
Hazel inhaled slowly. “Very well. But you should know there is a… complication.”
Her parents leaned forward. Her sisters froze.
Hazel continued, “The reason all of this happened was… there was a bet. A foolish dare among the young ladies. They meant to sneak into his bedchamber.” She shot her sisters a hard look. “Which Chastity and Patience attempted to join.”
“Mama, it wasn’t—” Patience began, but Hazel silenced her with a glare.
“But I,” Hazel explained, “went to stop them. I succeeded, but was unfortunately seen leaving the duke’s chambers at the exact wrong moment.”
Her mother gasped theatrically, with her hand to her chest. Hazel braced herself for scolding, or fainting, or horror. Instead, her mother beamed.
“Oh, Hazel, how inelegantly romantic! It is not a scandal. Why, it is fate!”
Hazel gaped. “Fate?”
“Yes!” her mother declared. “You were found exactly where the fates needed you to be. And now you will marry a duke. Aduke, Hazel! Do you understand what this means? Our family, our standing… oh, heavens, I must fetch my old engagement gown to see if it still fits!”
Her father nodded approvingly. “A fortunate outcome after all.”
Hazel slumped into her chair, staring at her plate as if it could offer escape.
Chastity whispered to Patience. “Mama doesn’t seem angry.”
Patience whispered back. “Mama seems… thrilled.”
Hazel closed her eyes. She had foolishly hoped that revealing their part in the mess might earn her some sympathy. Instead, her mother looked ready to redecorate the house in celebration.
Her father folded his newspaper and gave her a firm nod of approval. “I must say, Hazel, I am proud of you.”
She blinked. “Proud…? Papa, I was seen leaving a man’s bedroom. This is not an accomplishment.”
He waved this aside. “And yet look at the result. Exceptional, really.”
Her jaw dropped. “Papa, I barely know the man.”
“And yet,” he said calmly, “you have always been a good judge of character. I trust your instincts.”
Hazel nearly choked on nothing at all. “My… myinstincts? Papa, I have spoken to him for a combined total of six minutes. And four of those were me attempting to leave.”
Her mother took Hazel’s hand again. “Oh, sweetheart, do stop worrying. Your father and I met twice before our betrothal, and look at us, thirty years and perfectly content.”
Hazel stared. “Mama, you and Papa barely speak at breakfast.”
“Well,” her mother sniffed, “contentment comes in many forms.”
Her father nodded sagely. “Besides, the Duke of Callbury is a highly respectable man. Impeccable reputation. A solid lineage. Excellent estate management. Never one whisper of impropriety.”
Hazel muttered, “Except now.”
