Gwendolyn strode through the door of the house almost before their butler, Herald, could open it. He was a tall, stately man with a head of white hair. He had accompanied them from Wiltham.
“Thank you, Herald,” she said politely before launching into, “Has anyone sent an invitation to me?” The question came out in a rush of words.
“I—ah, um, no, Miss Gwendolyn,” he managed to stammer out in surprise. She wasn’t usually this forward. Dara was the inquisitor of the family. “There have not been any cards received.”
She huffed her frustration and then instructed, “Expect one.”
“Expect what?” Dara asked, catching a bit of the conversation. She came from the direction of the back sitting room. She held a sock she was darning in one hand. “I’m surprised you are home so quickly. Usually you are hours at Hatchard’s. Has something happened? And look at you, Molly. Why are you so red in the face?”
The maid had come in several steps behind Gwendolyn. She held her hand to her side as if she suffered a stitch. “Miss Gwendolyn ran me home, Mrs. Brogan.”
“I did not,” Gwendolyn shot back at the maid as she handed her bonnet to Herald. She still held the slim book in her hand and set it on a table beside the door to remove her gloves. “I just set a quick pace.”
“Miss Gwendolyn, your legs are much longer than mine,” Molly didn’t hesitate to complain.
“And mine,” Dara noted dryly.
Gwendolyn frowned and pulled off her second glove before putting it into the bonnet Herald held. Then, taking both items from him, she handed them to Molly. “Please, carry these upstairs?”
Molly puffed air out of her cheeks in annoyance before mumbling, “Yes, miss.” She marched toward the stairs, her back as stiff as a governess’s.
“Excuse me,” Herald murmured and went down the hall to see to some other task. He filled several roles in the household.
“What is this about an invitation?” Dara said.
“You hear everything,” Gwendolyn accused her, but without heat. She picked up the book and walked into the front sitting room. It was more formal than the other rooms in the house.And, there was a window that overlooked the street. She sat on the settee, positioning herself so she could watch the traffic and be the first to notice the arrival of a messenger. She flipped open the book so she could pretend to read. Shewasn’t about to share Mr. Steele’s message with her sister—
“What is this?” Dara asked. She bent to pick up something on the floor.Mr. Steele’s card.It must have fallen from the book.
Gwendolyn set the book aside on the settee and came to her feet. “That ismine.” She started for her sister, but Dara was already frowning at the handwritten message. She turned over the card.
Just as Gwendolyn reached her, Dara whispered, “Steele?” Her blue eyes met her older sister’s brown ones. “Hewas at Hatchard’s? He gavethisto you?”
“No.” That was actually true. Mr. Peters had given it to her.
“Then how did you come by this?” Dara waved the card. “An invitation to what?”
“I don’t know.” Gwendolyn decided not to dissemble. She held her hand out for the card. “I’m waiting to find out. Please, hand that to me.”
But Dara did not obey.
Instead, she walked right by Gwendolyn and into the sitting room. “This is not good, Gwendolyn. Not good at all.”
“I see nothing wrong with it. He is just advising me to expect an invitation. “
“For something he hasobviouslyorchestrated. And any invitation he could send you wouldnotbe to your benefit.”
“I disagree. He has been a good friend to us. Dara, he is the one who saw that we received invitations to our first ball when every door was shut to us. You would not be married to Michaelor Elise to Winderton if not for him. I find that admirable.”
“He did those things because he wants something from us. No, not us,you.”
“We owe him a favor. That is the payment for his help, and he has helped us greatly.”
“But at what cost?” Dara shook her head. “He is not accepted in Society. Not truly.”
“Unless they find him useful,” Gwendolyn felt honor bound to point out. “But sooner or later, we need to pay him back. It is the right thing to do. He is asking me to accept an invitation.” She shrugged. “I see no problem. Let us discover what the invite is, and then we can argue.”
“The problem is that you find him attractive.”
