She’d struggled to say the words. The notion of marriage remained impossibly... unbelievably... like something thatdid not,would nothappen to her.
“Uncle and you are...?” prompted Imogene. She stopped laughing but a smile remained. She eyed them as if she and Lachlan were performing magic tricks. She was waiting to catch the sleight of hand.
“We are getting married,” Lachlan said blandly.
“Stop,” Imogene said.
“Congratulations,” Ivy said sweetly.
“What do you mean, ‘stop’? Imogene?” Lachlan demanded. “You’ve heard Miss Trelayne. Her reputation will be ruined if we don’t. She couldn’t find work. Friends would refuse her. I was left with no choice but to marry her. Ordeporther.”
“Stop,” Imogene repeated, louder this time.
Lachlan nodded. “It’s true. Not to mention, the reputations of the two of you would suffer. No debutante can take advice about manners and comportment from a woman who—Well, from Miss Trelayne. Not after last night.”
Drew’s blush turned fire hot. She closed her eyes. The sky above was not high enough to contain her discomfort.
“Married when?” Imogene asked.
“Saturday,” Drew rasped. She cleared her throat. She must take control of this conversation.
“But have the two of you been kissing in darkened rooms and cushioned benches all along?” asked Imogene. “From the first day?”
“No,” Lachlan answered calmly, “we have not done. I’d never met Miss Trelayne before the day she arrived.”
“And now you will simply... marry her?”
“Yes. Now Iwill simply marry her. But can you see our point, Imogene? In all its life-altering finality? This behavior ends only in marriage. Or ruin. Regrettably.”
“But you cannot mean to lectureus,” Imogene retorted, making a face. “We weren’t found cavorting in the smoky gallery with Miss Trelayne after dinner.”
Imogene shoved up. She stared from Drew’s face to Lachlan’s, no trace of artifice. “But do youloveher, Uncle?” she asked.
Drew, to this point, had been mostly speechless; her memorized speech forgotten, along with her pride. But now she found her tongue. This was one question she could not hear the duke answer. She would burst into song to prevent hearing that he did not love her.
“The important thing is—” Drew said—but then she stopped.
Voices and footsteps interrupted her, there was some commotion from the garden door.
“Hello?” called a familiar high, airy voice.
Cynde.
Tears shot to Drew’s eyes when she recognized her stepsister’s voice.She’d come.She’d received Drew’s note and sought her out. Within hours.
“You’re joking,” Lachlan muttered. “Not the prince, too, I hope.”
“Pray forgive my rudeness,” sang Cynde, bustling up the path in a dress so yellow the four of them squinted. Maids and footmen from Lachlan’s household trailed the princess at a respectful distance, their expressions awed. Greenly, the butler, endeavored to lead the way, but the princess slid past him.
Drew remembered that she’d not yet gone over royal address with the girls. She darted to the fountain and hustled the twins up.
“Girls,” she began, “may I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Cynde, wife of the king’s seventh son, Prince Adolphus, known also as the Royal Duke of Cambridge. Pray excuse us, Your Highness, as I quickly review a proper curtsy with the duke’s nieces.
“Now,” Drew whispered to the girls, “for a member of the royal family we would—”
“But do you mean to instruct us?” marveled Imogene with skepticism. “Now? Even after—?”
“Yes, Imogene,” cut in Lachlan, “she will instruct you. The only difference is, now she will be youraunt.”
