“Let me see.” Dara pulled a wire pin from her thick hair. She bent over the lock, and in less than a blink, there was a click.
“You need to teach me how you do that,” Elise said.
Dara opened the door. “Tweedie?”
Their great-aunt was sitting by the window. She had her blackthorn walking cane beside her. Her expression was one of foreboding. “Is it done? Did Richard force you to marry that lout? We had such an argument, and then he locked me in.” For being in her seventies, Tweedie was still spry and had all her mental faculties. She was how Dara imagined a leprechaun to be—feisty and sly. She never held back her opinion, and Dara adored her.
Gwendolyn knelt beside their aunt. “Richard said you were in the Green Room, asking for me. When I went in there, Caroline was waiting with the squire—” Her voice broke off. “I knew why he’d come. And I thought maybe I should marry him. Then you, Dara, and Elise would have a place to live without worrying about Richard’s threats to send us to the poorhouse.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Dara replied.
“The county would be up in arms,” Elise predicted.
“But we need a place to live,” Gwendolyn said. “One where I know you both will have opportunities to find good husbands. We can’t trust Richard. I need to protect you.”
“So, you would marry the squire?” Elise asked, doubtful.
“For you two I would,” the ever-sweet Gwendolyn answered.
“You do realize that if you marry the squire, you will have to see him naked?” Elise questioned. “I wouldn’t want that sight in my mind.”
“Exactly,” Dara said, adding her own shudder. “It is too much of a sacrifice to ask of you, Gwennie.”
“But we must do something,” Gwendolyn said. “Caroline and Richard want us gone.”
“Wiltham isourhome,” Elise said. “It belonged to our mother’s family.”
“True, but it became Father’s possession once they married. It always will go to the next male in line no matter who lives under its roof,” Gwendolyn reminded her. “We have no claim.”
“It is not fair,” Elise answered. “Women should have the right to own property in spite of a husband.”
“And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Tweedie answered.
Elise practically growled her frustration, and Dara knew the time had come for her to speak. “I have a suggestion,” she announced. “Why don’t we go to London for the Season and find ourselves dukes to marry?”
“What?” Gwendolyn said, as if not hearing Dara correctly.
“The Season?” Elise repeated.
“How?” Tweedie wondered.
“We just go.” Dara sat on the edge of Tweedie’s bed. “I’ve researched the idea.”
“Researched?” Elise asked.
“All of those papers from London I’ve been collecting?” Dara reminded her. For the last six months, Dara had pleaded with neighbors and acquaintances for any London papers they might have received. “I believe we can let a house, and with Tweedie as our chaperone, we can participate in the Marriage Market.”
Her sisters looked at her as if she had lost all good sense. They knew what the Marriage Market was. During the London Social Season, families from all over Britain would bring their eligible daughters to show off at balls and events with the hope of finding an even more eligible husband for them.
“But don’t you have to know someone of consequence to be invited?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Or be part of theton?” Elise wondered, using the word for those who were members of the highest ranks of society.
“Oh, please,” Dara said, annoyed. “We are young women of consequence. Father was knighted for serving his king brilliantly.” She wasn’t certain that was true. Their father was a bit of a ne’er-do-well, and many had wondered how he’d managed a knighthood. “Also, our mother was related to the Duke of Marlborough.”
“Distantly related,” Elise reminded her.
“Related is related,” Dara assured her airily. “She was the second cousin to the Marchioness of Blandford, who is the duke’s daughter by marriage. There.Related.”
