Hunt laughed at his sister. “You shout at everyone.”
“True, but I’m still sorry. I know you would never do anything to hurt me or Mother.” She raised an eyebrow at him. The gesture made her look more like him than he’d ever thought before.
“I wouldn’t, and that is why I’m going to get through the next fourteen days without being in a single gossip sheet.”
“Really? You’ll do that for us?” she asked, peering down at him.
Hunt stood, bumping his shoulder with hers. “My dear sister, I’d do anything for you and Mother.”
It was true. His mother and sister were his only family, and despite the occasional argument, he loved them more than anything.
He could survive a fortnight without being mentioned inTheRake Reviewagain. Once it was all over, he’d be free to do all manner of debauchery.
Chapter Two
Adelia St. George sat in front of the mirror, trying desperately to drown out the incessant chatter of her sister. It wasn’t that she did not love her younger sister—she did, immensely. However, when Margaret St. George began talking, she never stopped.
Never.
They were preparing for yet another ball, at the home of her sister’s aunt Francis. It was a small room that they shared, with dull green walls, a brass bed, and a large wardrobe that contained both girls’ clothing. Despite being daughters of a duke, neither one of them was in possession of the latest fashion, especially not Delia.
“Everything will change tonight. He’s a little older than I, but oh Delia, I really think he’s my Mr. Knightly.” Her sister released a breathy sigh.
Oh, for the love of God.
Delia tried—she really did try—not to grimace in horror over her sister’s obsession with the bookEmma,but Margaret was using it as a road map for her life.
It was slightly disturbing.
She was happy for her sister. Delia herself had never experienced the excitement of infatuation or the thrill of falling in love. Conveniently, she chose to have a dalliance with her sister’s music tutor, two years earlier. It lasted a few uneventful months, and then it faded unceremoniously like it began.
When Delia was younger, the idea of falling in love with someone who accepted her completely, in spite of the circumstances of her birth, had filled her days with longing. But now, at five and twenty, she was officially on the shelf and was well aware of the realities of being born on the wrong side of the blanket.
Perhaps if she had been born legitimate, life wouldn’t have been cruel to her. However, her mother was a courtesan, paid for her favors. Her father, the Duke of Cliffbury, was instantly riveted by her beauty, among her other qualities, at least according to her father’s servants. It was a tumultuous affair, armed by passion and infatuation, in which an unwanted child was born.
“You’re aware that Mr. Knightly isn’t a real person, aren’t you, Margaret?” Delia looked over at her sister.
Margaret’s beauty shined bright as she waited for one of her aunt’s maids, Jenny, to tie the pink ribbon around her waist.
The differences between Delia and her sister were shocking to those who learned that they shared the same father. Her sister had pale white skin, whereas Delia had smooth brown skin, exactly like her mother’s. Delia’s thick brown curls made Margaret’s silky dark hair look fragile in comparison.
They were as different as night and day, yet their love for each other was instantaneous from the moment Delia’s mother abandoned her on her father’s doorstep.
“Yes, Delia,” Margaret said in her annoyed tone. “I’m perfectly aware that Mr. Knightly is not real.” She let out abreathy sigh. “But he is the ideal man, and I do believe Hunter is perfect for me, with his blond hair and green eyes.”
Blond hair and green eyes did not sound perfect to Delia at all, but she was happy for her sister. If only she could meet the man in question to ascertain his true intentions with her sister. She had seen this earl only in passing, and it seemed every time Delia was in his vicinity, he was rushing off in pursuit of other adventures.
It was strange to be sure. Delia did not know why the man was adamant about not meeting her, but it was not unusual for someone in Society not to want to associate with the bastard daughter of the Duke of Cliffbury. Besides, it mattered not how Delia was treated by some pompous earl. If he made Margaret happy, then she would be happy for her.
Once her sister was wed, Delia would be free to do as she pleased. Without Margaret to look after, her life would be her own. It didn’t matter that she had no funds and no connections. All that mattered was that she could live.
Her father would grant her that one request, once Margaret was married.
“Will tonight be the night I am provided a proper introduction to the mysterious Earl of March?” Delia asked, turning away from the mirror to grace her sister with a stern stare.
Jenny stiffened behind Margaret, her eyes wide with knowledge, at the mention of the Earl of March.
That is interesting.
