A crowd of women burst into the Necessary Room, the ostrich feathers in their hair bobbing with their loud gossip. Several of them invaded Dara’s sanctuary, and she knew it was time to leave. She was considering the proper way to return to her sisters without appearing as if she was wandering around alone when she heard one of the women say, “Lanscarr.”
She eavesdropped as the women discussed how lovely her sisters were. That all the men appeared taken with them. Dara’s heart filled with pride. This was what she had wanted. It was what she and her sisters deserved.
A sense of peace settled around her. Her actions toward Mr. Brogan had been justified. She quietly rose and left the Necessary Room. The hallway was more crowded as guests gathered waiting for the Supper Room to open. Dara found a new pair of ladies to follow back to the ballroom.
Tweedie was right where Dara had left her, sipping a cup of punch. She introduced Dara to her new friend, Lady Ponsby. Tweedie wasn’t trulya good chaperone. She did not question where Dara had been. Dara would have to support her in her duties. She didn’t want her sisters’ success to be marred by unintentional mistakes.
While Dara had been gone, liberal libations had done their job on all the guests. The conversation was louder and the dancing more enthusiastic. Dara took it all in with the knowledge that the Lanscarr sisters had arrived. They were now part of Society.
Gwendolyn stood not far from Tweedie and Dara. She and two other young women were being teased by several dashing men who begged for the next dance. Lady Byrne and her daughters stood in a lonely little clump, their sour expressions showing the spitefulness in their hearts as they glared at Gwendolyn.
When they caught Dara watching them, they walked off in a huff.
Good.
And Elise? Dara scanned the room for her youngest sister. She was on the dance floor, stamping and clapping to the lively music of a reel. She appeared breathtakingly happy—
Dara’s self-congratulations ended abruptly.
Instead, her blood boiled in her veins.
Elise’s dance partner was Michael Brogan.
So this was the way he wished to play. Very well. She was unafraid.
If she told Elise that Mr. Brogan was unacceptable, her sister would listen. After all, Dara had a lifetime of experience guiding her. Elise trusted her.
Of course, Dara needed to be careful with her warning. So she plastered a smile on her face, danced with her own partners, and ignored Mr. Brogan.
Later, as she, Tweedie, and her sisters rode home in the hired hack, all tired after an exciting evening, Dara didn’t talk about Mr. Brogan.
No, she focused on the gentlemen shewantedher sisters to marry. Viscount Morley, numerous lords, and one duke. The duke had been aged, but by any measure, the Lanscarr sisters had shown to one and all that they could make spectacular matches.
Elise didn’t mention Mr. Brogan on the ride home.
And Dara was very happy.
Chapter Eight
A gentlewoman never lifts her skirts above her ankles.
The Rules (according to Dara)
Unless it is the fashion to flash ankles. We will do anything for fashion.
Tweedie’s observation
The day after the Royston ball,The Morning Postchristened the sisters the “Lovely Lanscarrs.” The author declared they were exactly what was needed to perk up what had been a rather “humdrum” Season.Their manners are impeccable, their grace to be envied. Now, the only question is, who will capture the interest of the Divine Miss GLanscarr? Or claim the hand of Miss E, whose Beauty rivals Venus’s?
Dara wasn’t mentioned. It didn’t bother her. She was proud of their success. After all, she had orchestrated it... well, with a bit of help from Mr. Steele. But Dara had been the bold one.
When she read the article to Gwendolyn and Elise, they laughed at hearing themselves described in such a manner. They also protested Dara not being mentioned. They had always been modest. That was part of their beauty.
Dara lowered the paper. “No door will be closed to us. Watch and see.” And she was right.
Over the next few days, invitations poured in. The sisters were invited to every ball, rout, and garden party planned for the next two months. There were even personal invitations to join titled and important people in their boxes at the opera and theater or to dine at their tables—people Dara had read about in the papers. Now she was going to meet them. To move among them.
She wasn’t naive. These people wished to use the presence of the Lovely Lanscarrs to draw attention to themselves, to burnish their guest lists, to ensure they were mentioned in the latestondits. This was the way the world worked, she told herself.
