Tweedie made an impatient sound. “Don’t be foolish. And now I really do need to lie down. Gwendolyn, don’t let her, you know, be silly.” With that, she started for the stairs. “I will be down for dinner.”
“She’s right,” Gwendolyn said. “No one forced Mr. Brogan to make an offer.”
“Elise is so hurt.” Her sisters had been the one constant in her life. And having Elise leave? Dara felt as if a part of her had gone out the door.
“She will work her way out of this.”
Dara didn’t see how, not unless she took action.
That night, Dara had trouble falling asleep. She was too aware of the empty side of the bed. She understood why Elise was so angry. Herhopes had been dashed, and Dara knew that disappointment.
Nor was Dara at peace with the solution that would make Elise happy, because her sister was right—there would be no winner.
The problem kept Dara awake most of the night.
Consequently, she came down the stairs almost an hour and a half later than her usual time for her breakfast, feeling heavy-lidded and without any enthusiasm. She had reached a decision. She had one purpose for this day. She needed to inform Mr. Brogan that she could not accept his marriage offer. Salvaging her relationship with her sister was more important than her reputation.
She was halfway down the stairs when Gwendolyn, her eyes bright and her smile wide, popped out from the sitting room. She held several envelopes, which she spread out in her hands like a fan.
“Can you believe this?” she said.
“What is it?” Dara asked, too sleep-befuddled to be quick.
“Invitations. We are being re-invited. There are also congratulations on your match with Mr. Brogan.”
Dara stopped on the step. “Has the announcement been published?”
“I don’t believe so,” Gwendolyn answered. “There hasn’t been time.”
“And yet people know?”
“Good gossip spreads fast,” Gwendolyn said.
Dara wanted to wail her frustration... because her decision to refuse Mr. Brogan would probably anger Society. Everyone adored him.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Herald opened it and received another letter, which he handed to Gwendolyn. She closed her invitation “fan” to accept it, setting them on the hall table.
She paused to look at the seal and then cracked it open. Her brows lifted. “It is from the Duchess of Marlborough.”
Dara practically flew down the last steps. She was wide awake now. The duchess, their mother’s second cousin, had not ignored their letter. “What does she say?” she demanded as she trailed after Gwendolyn into the sitting room.
Scanning the letter, Gwendolyn said, “The duchess writes that she is still in the country, and she appreciated our letters of condolence—”
Another knock on the door interrupted her. Dara ignored it. “Whatelsedoes she say?”
“That is about all.” Gwendolyn looked up, confused, and then shrugged. “It is as if our letter just reached her and she wished to acknowledge us?”
“At least she knows where we live,” Dara answered, taking the missive from her. She wanted to see the words, to know how a duchess madethe loops on anhor anl, and the sort of ink she used. It must be very special ink. Something fitting her station in life.
The door knocker was lifted again. While Herald hurried to answer it, Gwendolyn was going through the other mail. “These invitations, I’ve never seen the like. This one is for the Countess Fitzgibbon’s ball Friday night.”
“The Countess Fitzgibbon? She invited us? Why, she has barely given us a passing glance, and only the cream of thetonhave been invited. Oh, and look here.” Dara held up a heavy, embossed card. “This is for Lord and Lady Reeve’s rout this evening. Didn’t they disinvite us?”
“They have changed their minds,” Gwendolyn said with great satisfaction. Apparently she hadn’t lost sleep over Elise. “Lady Reeve included a note saying she regrets any ill feelings and prays we will attend.”
At that moment, Herald appeared in the doorway to announce, “Lady Byrne is here to see you.” Of course, her ladyship was practically at his elbow. She wore a gown and pelisse of Pomona green that did nothing for her complexion, especially topped off with a yellow chapeau.
“Why don’t we have a door on this room for privacy?” Gwendolyn muttered under her breath, because they could not claim to be away from home when they were sitting right there for anyguest to see. She rose, plastering a smile on her face. “Hello, Lady Byrne. My, you are a lark today, are you not?”
