PREPARING FOR A PARTY
Meanwhile, over at Norwick House
“What are you going to wear to the garden party?” Dahlia asked as she leaned against the door jamb of Danielle’s bedchamber.
Danielle turned in her dressing table chair, which had her lady’s maid, Peterman, stepping to the side as she held a curling iron aloft. A lock of Danielle’s dark hair was wound around the cylinder, and Danielle feared her hair might burn at any moment. “Let’s not dress alike,” she suggested.
Dahlia sighed. “Not up for a bit of fun with the Comber twins?”
Her eyes rounding in shock, Danielle gasped and considered what Dahlia might have in mind—her posing as Danielle whilst Danielle pretended to be Dahlia. “You wouldn’t,” she said.
“Not interested in becoming a viscountess?” Dahlia countered, making it sound as if the position of Viscountess Breckinridge was Danielle’s for the taking.
“Although I like Lord Breckinridge—I truly do—I cannot imagine being married to him,” Danielle replied. “Anyway, neither one of us is interested in marrying, so it’s moot.”
Dahlia’s eyes narrowed. “Father made a good point, though. The one about... about a title and protection should I agree to marry Anthony. It would no doubt come with an allowance, too, and an apartment of my own in Aimsley House.”
Danielle breathed a sigh of relief when a ringlet appeared from the curling iron, her lock still intact despite the odor of burnt hair hovering in the air. The lady’s maid moved onto a different section of her hair. “You wouldn’t be in charge of your own household until...” She paused a moment. “Well, until Lady Aimsley died or... or moved to a dowager cottage somewhere,” she said, more of a reminder rather than a recommendation that Dahlia marry Anthony Comber.
Shrugging, as if she didn’t want the responsibility, Dahlia countered, “Whereas you will no doubt have an entire house to oversee whenever you do marry. Or even if you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Danielle said. “Especially if the housekeeper is particularly good.” The thought of having her own household to run appealed to her. Whether or not she was married.
“Will you do me a favor?”
Danielle stiffened, her eyes turning up to watch another ringlet fall from the curling iron. This one was as tight as the last, and her hair didn’t suffer the consequences of the heat. “What favor is that?”
“Wear a matching dress. The peach frock with the floral motifs along the hemline. Pretend you’re me, and I’ll pretend I’m you.”
Scoffing, Danielle said, “We’ll never get away with it. You have that scar and—”
“I can hide it.”
Furrowing her brows in suspicion, Danielle stared at her sister’s reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. “Are you asking because you wantAndrewto kiss you behind a hedgerow?” For some reason, the thought of Andrew doing such a thing had a hint of the Green Monster forming inside her.
She had replayed the kiss he had bestowed on her in the park the day before over and over as she had attempted to fall asleep the night before. When she had awakened that morning, the kiss was her first thought. She had felt a stab of disappointment when she realized she was alone. That Andrew wasn’t there to continue what he had started in the park.
“No,” Dahlia replied. “I’m asking because I’m curious as to if Lord Breckinridge will attempt another proposal. With all those conditions Father’s ghost mentioned.”
Her eyes rounding once again—this time at the mention of the ghost—Danielle dared a glance at her lady’s maid’s reflection and winced.
“Ghost, milady?” Peterman whispered, Danielle’s hair forgotten. The poor girl appeared paler than milk.
Danielle took hold of her lady’s maid’s hand and managed to pull the iron from her hair without burning her fingers. “It’s just an expression we use when... when Father’sattentionisn’t all there,” she stammered. “His mind is always on other matters these days.”
Peterman seemed to relax and moved to reheat the iron in the fireplace whilst Danielle gave Dahlia a quelling glance. “If I do pretend to be you and Lord Breckinridge does propose, what am I to say?”
Dahlia shrugged. “What do you want to say?”
Danielle scoffed again. “Well,no, of course.”
“Why?”
Reeling as if her sister had slapped her across the face, Danielle gave her head a shake, sending a half-dozen ringlets in all directions. “He thinks me... ridiculous,” she replied. “Besides, Anthony is far too serious for me. And now that hehasto marry, I cannot help but think he would hold me in contempt for that very reason.”
“Now you know exactly how I feel,” Dahlia huffed as she crossed her arms. She rested the back of her head against the door jamb as she stared up at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to marry him,” Danielle murmured.
