“Promise you will come to my salon on Thursday,” Lady Whitby was saying to Gwendolyn and Elise. She smiled at Dara, including her.
“That would be lovely,” Gwendolyn answered for them. “Will you be there, Mr. Brogan?”
“How can I not be?” he said gallantly.
“Then it is settled,” Lady Whitby said. “Now, Mr. Brogan, I have some thoughts about that land bill you and your compatriots are championing. You will give me a moment of your time, won’t you?” She placed her hand on his arm, commandeering him so he had no choice but to acquiesce. As they walked away, he gave one glance back, looking right at Elise, whose expression took on a dreamy look.
Gwendolyn, too, seemed a bit under his spell. She smiled at Dara. “Well, we have been introduced to someone very important. That is what we’ve hoped for.”
“I suppose,” Dara replied, purposefully vague. She began walking, taking the path toward Willow Street and home.
“Wouldn’t Mr. Brogan make an excellent husband?” Elise asked.
Gwendolyn opened her mouth as if to agree,but Dara jumped in quickly. “I suppose, if one wishes to be poor.”
“He’s poor?” Gwendolyn questioned.
“I’m certain of it,” Dara answered.
“But he is an MP,” Gwendolyn pointed out.
“AnIrishone.” Dara didn’t elaborate. She let the implication hang in the air.
They walked on as if each kept their own thoughts, and then, “He dressed well,” Elise said.
“He wears his clothes well,” Dara agreed. “However, don’t you want more than an Irishman?”
There was a long beat of silence, and then Elise said, “I don’t know that there is anything wrong with an Irish husband.”
“After all we’ve done to come to London and then...settle,” Dara answered, ladening that last word with all the dread she could muster.
Elise didn’t like her response. Dara held her tongue, giving her younger sister a chance to muddle around in her thoughts.
“I found him very nice,” Gwendolyn murmured.
Dara swallowed her frustration. She needed Gwendolyn to support her. “He isn’t a duke,” Dara reminded them. “What is our purpose? What have we set out to do? What did we promise ourselves?” They had reached their front step. She turned and faced her sisters, challenging them.“We can’t give up. Not yet. There are so many gentlemen we have yet to meet.”
“I’m going Thursday,” Elise answered.
“You may,” Dara responded, sounding more serene than she actually was. “I just ask that you not lose hope yet.”
“After what happened with the Byrnes, it isn’t easy to be positive,” Elise said, but before Dara could argue, the front door behind her opened.
Herald was grinning and Tweedie was almost dancing as she waved a vellum envelope in the air. “Look at what we have,” she said. An invitation.
Dara pounced on it. The back was addressed to all three of them and to Dame Eleanor, Tweedie’s title. But then, controlling her excitement, Dara handed the invite to Gwendolyn. “You should open it. You are the oldest.”
Gwendolyn took the invitation. “Who sent it?” she asked as she led them inside the house and into the front sitting room.
“A very officious footman delivered it two hours ago,” Herald reported.
“We know it didn’t come from Lady Byrne,” Elise said.
“Of course not,” Gwendolyn agreed. “However, let us open it and solve the mystery.”
There were twin settees in the room. Gwendolyn and Dara sat on one, Elise and Tweedie onthe other. Herald stood by the door with Molly lingering in the hall. There wasn’t a soul in the house who didn’t know how important this correspondence was.
Gwendolyn broke the seal and unfolded the invite. She read it quickly. “It is from Lord and Lady Royston. We don’t know them.”
