“Gwendolyn,”Elise called sunnily in greeting. “Oh, Squire Davies, I didn’t know you were here. Am I interrupting anything?”
Richard was the one who answered. He stormed to the door, his arms flung wide in fury. “You certainly are interrupting. Out of here—”
Dara slipped under his outstretched arm and into the room, even as she felt the wind stir as he reached to stop her.
She quickly summed up the situation. Squire Davies was proposing, as they had suspected. Gwendolyn leaned back as far as she could on a threadbare settee while the squire held her handin that limp manner of his. “I requested privacy,” he complained to Richard. “I haven’t asked her for the honor of—”
“No onetold us you were calling today, sir,” Dara cut in with loud cheerfulness, pretending to bedelightedto see him. “We wouldallhave been waiting for you if we’d known.”
“R-Richard knew—” he stuttered and then shot a frown at their cousin.
“Did he? He didn’t mention it.” Dara marched to the settee and squeezed herself between the squire and Gwendolyn, forcing him to let go of her hand. Gwendolyn’s expression was a mixture of relief and... what? Resignation? Fear?
Dara knew Gwendolyn believed she must do something to help their lot. Richard and Caroline were overbearing and thoughtless. They had been doing everything in their power to make the sisters and their great-aunt Tweedie feel unwelcome in their own home. However, becoming Squire Davies’s wife was not a solution.
Before the world had believed their father dead and back when Gram was alive, the Lanscarr sisters had been lauded as the Beauties of County Wicklow. That they lived in the stately Wiltham was enough to attract suitors, especially those with the mistaken belief they had huge dowries.
Furthermore, they also had good looks. Gwendolyn’s hair was the rich color of a blackbird’s wing. Intelligence sparkled in her golden-browneyes. She had an exquisite figure with enough height to meet most men’s gazes. In fact, she had to look down quite a bit at Squire Davies.
Most notable was her delicate, aloof manner, which spoke of excellent breeding. Their father had met Gwendolyn’s mother when he served in the Indies. Sir John had never tired of lauding the beauty of his late first wife—and Gwendolyn obviously favored her mother. The marriage had come with a plantation that Sir John had gambled away shortly after his wife’s death.
He’d then brought Gwendolyn to Ireland, where he’d met and courted Lydia Walsh, the heiress of Wiltham. Their marriage had given him the manor house and two more daughters, Dara and Elise, but then tragedy struck. Lydia had died of childbed fever. That baby, a boy, had died with her. Sir John had not married again. He claimed he was unlucky in love. Instead, he had supposedly dedicated himself to his military career, and later his enjoyment of gambling, while leaving all three daughters in the care of their beloved Gram, Katherine Walsh.
Gram had doted on all of them, but especially Elise, whom she had claimed took after their mother. Elise was a golden beauty whose shy smile stopped men in their tracks. Even women couldn’t help but stare when she passed. Her cheeks were rose-tinted, her skin clear and unblemished. When she turned the full force of heralmond-shaped eyes on a person, she usually received whatever she wanted.
Elise was almost as tall as Gwendolyn. “A proud woman like my Lydia,” Gram had been fond of saying. Gram had also claimed Elise had Lydia’s spirit. “I could never tell that child what to do, and Elise is exactly like her.”
Fortunately, Elise was rather oblivious to all the attention she attracted, especially from men. “They are so shallow,” she complained on many occasions. She’d rather read than accept callers. She claimed, quite rightly, that reading was vastly more entertaining.
In contrast to her beautiful sisters was... Dara.
She was the petite one in the family. The one who always had to stand on a stool to reach things. Her hair was brown, like their father’s, with some strands of her mother’s gold but not enough to matter. Her figure lacked Gwendolyn’s grace or Elise’s buxom perfection.
She had blue eyes, but hers lacked any memorable quality. It wasn’t that her features weren’t pleasant enough. If she were a member of any other family, she would have been considered quite lovely. However, her sisters were spectacular.
What did set Dara apart was her ability to think through a situation. She had guided her sisters ever since Gram died. She was the onewho had big dreams for her little family—and she wasn’t going to let Gwendolyn sacrifice herself by accepting an offer from the squire.
Not when she had a better idea in mind.
“Elise, Gwendolyn,” she said, “please, go find Tweedie.” Tweedie was Gram’s sister, Dame Eleanor Roberson, who had lived with them at Wiltham for the past decade. “She will enjoy knowing Squire Davies is here.”
“I did not wish to call on Dame Eleanor—” the squire started.
“No, you did not,” Dara agreed. Her sisters had already escaped the room, using one of the Green Room’s many doorways. “So sorry. I should have known. But then, I can’t call them back now. They’ve already gone for her.”
“Dara,” Richard bit her name out. “You were not invited here. Squire Davies requested a moment alone—”
“Not invited? Here? In my own house?” Dara pulled a face as if Richard was being silly.
“You know what he means,” Caroline replied.
“I believe I should leave,” a highly insulted squire said.
“No, don’t take off,” Richard said, even as Dara spoke over him.
“Farewell. Lovely to see you.” On those words, without waiting for an answer, Dara turned on her heel and left the room, following the path sheknew her sisters had taken. She found them on the second floor, standing in front of Tweedie’s room.
“Richard locked her in,” Gwendolyn said. “That is why she wasn’t down there to help me ward off the squire. We don’t have a key to let her out.”
