“He’s an attractive man.” Gwendolyn shrugged as if to pretend Mr. Steele’s looks meant nothing to her, when in truth, she adored his dark wildness.
“You can do better,” Dara said. “The whole reason we made this trip to London was to find husbands ofoursocial class. You could have married a squire or a pig famer back in Ireland.”
An edge came to Gwendolyn’s tone. “Mr. Steele is not a pig farmer. Far from it.”
“He’s handsome,” Dara murmured with a shake of her head. “But he is no viscount.”
“I turned down Viscount Morley,” Gwendolyn was pleased to say.
Dara’s reaction was as Gwendolyn had anticipated. She collapsed onto the settee in shock. “Refused him? I thought you liked him.”
“He is a nice man, but I don’t wish to marry him.”
“You could be a viscountess.”
“That is an interesting point, Dara.Youdon’t have a title. However, I didn’t quibble over your choice, because you were marrying a man who I believed you loved.”
“I do love him.” Dara’s features softened. “He is the most admirable man I’ve ever met. However, all that being said, heisa Member of Parliament. He has a good reputation.”
“Mr. Steele has a good reputation.”
“For doing shadowy things.”
“Andhe excels at them.”
Dara looked wildly around the room as if she could not believe what she was hearing, and Gwendolyn took pity on her. She sat on the settee next to her sister, moving the book she had tossed aside earlier. “Dara, I like Mr. Steele.”
“You more than like Mr. Steele,” her sister muttered.
“True. And I appreciate that you would prefer for me to be viscountess.”
“I’m not trying to be pompous. I just want to save you from a horse thief.”
“Mr. Steele is not a horse thief.”
“We don’t know what all he does,” Dara reminded her.
True. It was also true that if he was a horse thief, Gwendolyn would still be madly attracted to him.
She also believed she had enough sense of his character to vouch for him. “He is not a horse thief or a highwayman or a pickpocket or a smuggler—” She stopped. Hecouldbe a smuggler. He could always be found at a tavern down by the docks that was rumored to be the havenof smugglers. So she ended her disavowals right there.
Instead, she took Dara’s hand and said as kindly as she could, “I’m not like you and Elise. Your mother was a noblewoman. Your family has been Irish nobility for generations. I’m your half-sister. I don’t have those bloodlines.”
“Our father was knighted,” Dara declared. “That gives you some weight in this world.”
“Not much,” Gwendolyn countered. “And Father may have been knighted; however, knowing what we do of him, we, his own daughters, don’t understandwhyorhow. Nor was he ‘Sir John’ when he married my mother, who was just the daughter of a British civil servant. My mother and my grandfather were wonderful people, Dara, but I have no pretense to nobility—”
“You aremysister.”
“I am yourhalf-sister.”
Dara made an impatient sound. “Half? Whole? Who cares? Those are just words, and they don’t matter, Gwendolyn. You are the most caring person I know. After Mother died, you watched over and guided Elise and me—and we were so afraid, Gwennie.” She used the pet name that her sisters had called her when “Gwendolyn” was too much of a mouthful for them. “You let us cling to you because you understood what it was like to lose a mother. Then, after Gram’s death and Richard taking over our home, you would have sacrificed your own happiness for us. Again, to keep us safe. Well, now, Elise and I are in a position to help you. We want you happy.”
“Mr. Steele makes me happy.”
Dara rocked back at the simple statement. She searched Gwendolyn’s face as if testing its veracity. Finally, “I fear he will break your heart. Or worse, you find yourself married to a scoundrel like our father.”
There it was—the truth. Dara had finally admitted it.
