After all, it was well-known he attended Lady Whitby’s salons. The Reverend Hastings’s topic would appeal to him. It would appeal to Dara, but she had made a commitment—one Elise had made as well.
“You can’t just leave Gwendolyn and me to entertain the gentleman callers,” Dara argued.
“I can. We’ve been entertaining them for weeks. And do you know what I’ve observed? Most of them aren’t that serious about us. They are either old, have unfortunate habits, or, like Lord Painswick, have relatives who would move the heavens to prevent a match between us. Besides, Gwendolyn and I are not interested in any of them. I prefer cerebral men. Men who serve their government.”
“Like Mr. Brogan?” Dara’s voice sounded more brittle than she had intended.
Elise didn’t blink. “Absolutely like Mr. Brogan. And I believe our sister is interested in mysterious men.”
“What does that mean?” Dara asked and looked up at Gwendolyn, who started down the stairs.
“She is jesting,” Gwendolyn said. “She is talking about Mr. Steele, whom we have not seen since the Royston ball.”
“Lord Salcott may call.” Dara was hopeful. “We know little about him. That makes him mysterious. The two of you are a dashing couple on the dance floor.”
“His stays creak,” Gwendolyn said.
Dara felt her face fall. “He is trying to look his best.”
“They are noisy.”
“I’d hate to see him without them if they are that loud,” Elise murmured, and earned a furious frown from Dara.
“That comment is not helpful.”
Gwendolyn ignored their little battle. “In truth, Dara, I wouldn’t mind not receiving callers today either. May we just tell them that we are not at home?”
“But they expect us.”
“And you are saying they can’t do without us for one day?” Gwendolyn acted somewhat regretful. “I will go with you and Tweedie to themusicale, but I would appreciate a few hours to read. Perhaps I am like Elise. I tire of listening to poetry about my ‘elegant neck’ and to men anxious that I think the best of them.”
“This is a mutiny,” Dara declared. She took a few frustrated steps away from her sisters. “We came to London to meet exactly these men.”
“That was before we realized how boring they were,” Elise said.
“They are ten times better than Squire Davies,” Dara shot back.
Elise shook her head. “I’m not certain about that.”
“You would change your tune if you found yourself watching his brood of children,” Dara predicted.
Gwendolyn spoke up. “You are so angry, Dara. What is wrong with not accepting callers for one afternoon? Elise has a good reason to attend Lady Whitby’s.”
Yes, Michael Brogan.
Dara whirled toward Gwendolyn. She lowered her voice. “The Reverend Hastings is not why she wishes to go to Lady Whitby’s.”
“I understand,” Gwendolyn said. “However, you must stop trying to control our every action. Or what we think or what we say.”
Dara rocked back. Gwendolyn had always supported her. Elise might grouse, but Gwennie backed her up—until now.
“We all need room to breathe, Dara,” Gwendolyn offered as an explanation.
Elise came up beside her and touched Dara’s arm. “Please, one afternoon. That is all I ask. I need to speak to him. To discover why he has not called.”
She hadn’t even bothered to say who “he” was. Or to pretend he was the Reverend Hastings.
“A lady doesn’t chase a man,” Dara murmured.
