Lavinia fought down the hot bloom of shame, and hugged Frances closer. “Nonsense. You are barely out. Lady Montfort is unserious.”
Frances shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Lady Montfort says that if I refuse him, he will see to it that no other man calls for me. That we will be ruined, and you?—”
Lavinia’s jaw tightened. “We are already ruined,” she muttered, but not loudly enough for Frances to hear.
Frances looked up. “But he is so—” she struggled for the word, “—so loathsome, Lavinia. You have seen how he is. I could not bear it.”
Lavinia smoothed her hand over her sister’s back, trying to quiet the tremors in both of them. She found the strength to summon a small smile. “You will not have to. No one can force you to do anything you do not want.”
Frances whispered, “But what if it is the only way?”
Lavinia saw then what Frances feared most: that there might be no future for either of them, if not this. She had protected her sister from every wolf at the door since the day their father died, but now the wolves had come in through the window.
She sat there for a long while, holding Frances, staring at the worn carpet. She remembered the first time she had met Lord Dawnford, the glint of calculation in his smile, the wayhe assessed everything and everyone as if they were horses at Tattersall’s. She remembered the rumors—how he had ruined women for sport, how he boasted of his conquests even when the ink was still wet on their marriage settlements.
She remembered, too, Tristan’s warnings, the way he had looked at Dawnford as if seeing an adder in a basket of fruit.
She pressed a kiss to the top of Frances’s head. “It is not the only way,” she said. “It cannot be.”
Frances sniffed and sat up straighter. “I do not wish to marry anyone, Lavinia. But what choice do we have? If we lose the house—” Her hand closed tight on Lavinia’s fingers.
“You will not marry him.” Lavinia set her jaw, then forced it to unclench. “I will make our aunt and Lord Dawnford see reason.”
Frances laughed, but it came out watery. “You cannot make Lord Dawnford do anything he does not wish.”
“Then I will find another way.” She squeezed Frances’s hand. “Even if I must become a governess in the Antipodes.”
Frances leaned her head on Lavinia’s shoulder, her breath slowing. “You would never leave me.”
“Not unless you married a sheep farmer and insisted on a cottage in Scotland,” Lavinia teased, though her mind wasalready turning and racing through the list of every possible option. There were none.
In the silence that followed, Lavinia tried to untangle her own thoughts. She could see, in the stained glass of her mind, the faces of everyone she’d ever tried to please or save or keep from harm.
She saw her mother, gone before Frances could even see her; her father, growing frailer each day until his debts became hers; Sophia, clutching a trembling kitten and eyes shining with hope; and Tristan, standing apart from all of them…
She remembered the storm and the feel of his mouth on hers, rain and hunger and regret all tangled together.
He would never choose me, she thought, and the truth of it was so sharp it nearly doubled her over. She had seen the wall behind his eyes the day Sophia called her “Mama,” had felt the iron gate clang shut.It was always going to end like this.Lavinia realized she was breathing fast, and her hands had gone numb.
She stood and gave Frances a bracing smile. “I will resolve this,” she said. “I promise.”
Frances looked up at her, still pink-eyed but trusting, the way only a sister could be. “You always do.”
But Lavinia knew that this time, mending things would mean destroying herself.
She left Frances curled on the chaise and moved to her bedchamber. There, she stripped off her gloves and bonnet, then stared at her reflection in the small oval mirror. Her eyes were red, too, now, but she did not allow herself the comfort of tears.
She opened the writing desk, found a blank sheet of parchment, and began to write:
My Lord,
I am writing in regard to your recent communication, and in light of the conversation held today with Lady Montfort. I believe there may have been a misunderstanding, which I hope to rectify at once.
If it is your wish to arrange a union with a daughter of the late Lord Fairwick, I must insist that I—Lavinia, the eldest—am the only appropriate candidate. My sister is not yet of age and, in all frankness, lacks the experience required to manage a household of your consequence. As such, I am prepared to consider your proposal favorably and would be willing to receive you here in Pembroke Manor to discuss terms.
I await your reply.
Sincerely,
