“You?”
Lavinia gestured to the card. “From Lord Dawnford.”
A flash of calculation darted across Lady Montfort’s face. She stepped to the table and scrutinized the bouquet with a jeweler’s precision. “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”
“Aunt!” Frances sounded genuinely aggrieved.
“Oh, do not be offended, child. Lord Dawnford is infamous for his—how shall I put it—eclectic tastes.” She plucked a single rose from the vase and sniffed it with something like suspicion. “Regardless, it is not every day one receives a proposal before breakfast. He is eager, I grant him that.”
Mrs. Down began gathering the deadheaded blooms from the basket, quietly exiting the scene.
Frances hovered in the wake of Lady Montfort, all nerves. “Do you suppose he will really call today?”
“If he does, you will be prepared,” Lady Montfort said, turning her attention to Frances and smoothing an invisible wrinkle from the girl’s sleeve. “We must find you something suitable to wear?—”
“It’s for Lavinia,” Frances reminded, with the stubbornness of one who had spent her whole life being overlooked.
“Exactly,” said Lady Montfort, “and what Lavinia needs is to be presented as a woman with options. One must always negotiate from a position of strength, Frances. You’ll recall the story of your late uncle and the Prince Regent’s cat?—”
“I do not,” said Lavinia, but this was ignored.
Lady Montfort returned her focus to the flowers, as if seeking some coded message within the petals. “You must accept the call, Lavinia. Refusing would be a tactical error.”
“Tactical,” Lavinia repeated, only just resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
She glanced at Frances, who watched her with a worried hope. The room, so full of fragrance, felt suddenly airless.
“Very well, Aunt,” Lavinia said. “If Lord Dawnford wishes to call, let him call. But I must remind you?—”
“Remind me what?” Lady Montfort said, already eyeing the next vase, probably envisioning how it would look on the mantel at her own house.
“I have no intention of marrying him,” Lavinia said.
Lady Montfort turned, her expression gone brittle. “Oh, child. Intentions are so rarely relevant.”
The line was meant to be flippant, but it landed with a weight that lingered.
Lavinia excused herself, brushing a rose petal from her sleeve as she left the room. “I must prepare for my lesson with Lady Sophia,” she said, and the door swung quietly shut behind her.
Left in the parlor, Frances and Lady Montfort faced the mountain of flowers as if it were a siege to be withstood.
“I am not even out yet,” Frances whispered, looking at the blooms.
“Investments are made early,” Lady Montfort said, not unkindly. “Some girls are betrothed to dukes before they’ve lost their milk teeth. One must not fall behind.”
Frances nodded, but her eyes followed the door where Lavinia had gone.
She, too, knew what it meant to be overlooked.
“His Grace requests your presence in the study, My Lady,” the butler said as soon as Lavinia arrived at Evermere. “Immediately, if convenient.”
“Which is to say immediately, regardless of convenience,” Lavinia muttered, surrendering her bonnet and gloves. “Is Lady Sophia in the conservatory?”
“She is, my lady. Shall I announce you to His Grace?”
“No need,” Lavinia said. “I know the way. And the hazards.”
She walked down the hallway and paused just outside the study door. Tristan’s voice sounded within, low and controlled. She took a single breath and stepped inside.
