Last spring, the Lanscarr sisters, Gwendolyn, Dara, and the youngest, Elise, had gambled everything for a Season in London. The venturehad been Dara’s idea. After their father had disappeared and was presumed dead, their cousin Richard had taken over Wiltham, the family estate in County Wicklow, Ireland. He’d not been keen to provide the girls with dowries. However, they were from a good, albeit impoverished, family. They also had looks, intelligence, and youth. Dara claimed they deserved dukes for husbands, and they could certainly snag them. She had been very convincing. After all, the Gunning sisters, who had also been poor Irish beauties, had succeeded fantastically in London during their Season decades ago. They had married some of the most important men of their day.
It was possible it could happen for Lanscarr sisters, or so Dara had argued.
Besides, what choice did they have, other than Gwendolyn sacrificing herself to a marriage with a local squire so they could have a roof over their heads? Richard had made it clear he would happily hand them over to the first men willing to pay to take them off his hands.
The most challenging aspect of their venture had been money. London Seasons were expensive. To understand what they needed, Dara had pored over the papers from London, searching for details and clues. The sisters did have some funds. They had carefully squirreled away a coin or two without Cousin Richard’s knowledge. Dara had suggested that they take this small hoard of coins and gamble with it.
This idea was not far-fetched. Their father was a keen gambler. He’d not spent much time with his daughters, but when he was there, hetaught them how to play cards. Of the three sisters, Gwendolyn had his talent. She could sense which cards would come up next. Therefore, she was the one, disguised as a widow with a heavy black veil, who had been sent into the Devil’s Hand, a Dublin gaming hall. The goal was to win the three hundred odd pounds needed for a Season.
Gwendolyn had been successful, in large part because of a gentleman named Beckett Steele. He had helped her win the money when the unscrupulous faro dealer had tried to trick her.
Consequently, the sisters had come to London and conquered Society, just as Dara had hoped.
Dara had married first. Michael Brogan might not be a duke, but he was an important Member of Parliament representing Ireland. The couple was very much in love.
To everyone’s surprise and delight, Elise married the duke. The wedding had only been two weeks ago, and now Elise and her Winderton were visiting Ireland. He’d wanted to see where his love had once lived.
That left Gwendolyn, who, as the unmarried sister, resided under Michael and Dara’s roof, as one must.
“I’m not ready to marry, Dara,” Gwendolyn said.
The corner of Dara’s mouth tightened. “But you are five yearsolderthan I am.”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “True. So?” She silently dared her sister to say something about the dangers of Gwendolyn being declared a spinster.
Dara was wiser than that. “Morley is very handsome and well-liked. You would be a viscountess.”
Except the truth was, Viscount Morley had already asked Gwendolyn for her hand in marriage. He’d done it while the two of them were strolling in Hyde Park the week before.
He had not first spoken to Michael because he’d wisely surmised that Gwendolyn would not appreciate him doing so. He had been right. She would never understand why her male relatives were allowed by Society to make decisions for her. As Dara had pointed out, she was six and twenty. She could speak for herself.
And Morley had been grateful he hadn’t approached Michael when Gwendolyn had—tactfully, she thought—refused his offer.
Of course, she hadn’t shared this information with Dara because she didn’t want the argument. Or to be reminded she was six and twenty. Gwendolyn might be the oldest, but Dara was the force in the family.
Gwendolyn and Elise had learned long ago to dodge topics that would churn up Dara’s meddlesome ways. Refusing an offer from a viscount was one of those topics.
She rose, closing the book. “I’m to Hatchard’s.” Gwendolyn referred to the circulating library.
“Again? You were there earlier this week.”
“I’ve finished my book.”
“Just this moment?”
“Yes. I need another.”And to escape Dara and her matchmaking talk.Reading was an excellent escape.
“Don’t forget to take Molly with you,” Dara said, as shealwayssaid. Molly was the maid. Being chaperoned everywhere was another trial forGwendolyn. She missed the days when she could walk Wiltham’s green moors and hills without a maid’s shadow.
Before Dara could offer more advice that Gwendolyn didn’t need, she was out of the room and calling for Molly to come down with her bonnet and gloves. A few minutes later, Gwendolyn and the maid were out the door.
Hatchard’s was not far, and Gwendolyn enjoyed a good stretch of the legs. She smiled, enjoying a little taste of freedom. The air carried the stirrings of summer’s end and autumn’s beginning.
She also knew that Dara would bring up Morley again. Eventually, Gwendolyn would have to confess she had refused him. Her sister would just shift her focus and begin the search for someone else for Gwendolyn to marry.
Gwendolyn would resist that suitor as well... because the truth was, she was already in love with someone—Beckett Steele.
She’d fallen for him the night he had helped her win the money she and her sisters had needed. He’d almost kissed her then. Gwendolyn had wanted him to. Looking back, she wished she had grabbed him by the ears and planted her lips on his mouth.
