With a hand on her hip, reticule swinging, Frederica shook her head. “No. Out with it.”
People stared now, with scrunched-up faces and quizzing glasses, as if they wondered if Ester or Frederica had stolen some wealthy traveler’s clothes. “I wish they wouldn’t look at us.”
“Who?” Frederica starting peering over Ester’s head. “Who?”
“People,” Ester said. “Maybe they think some imperial guests are about and we are their elaborate servants. That would be easier to accept than what we are.”
“Lucky?” Frederica gripped her by the shoulders. “Don’t curse our fates now by having secrets. I won’t be able to concentrate.”
Resigned, Ester lowered her head. “The Croome’s money and the need to grow it have collided. My father has decided to sell me off in marriage to a bore because it will benefit his bank coffers.”
Wide hazel eyes grew even bigger. “Wait. You. What? Who?”
“Jordan’s son, Charles.”
“The womanizer? He has mistresses. They say he’s bedding a widowed countess whom he teaches fencing. That’s the rumor.” Frederica bit her lip. “It could be wrong. He might not be so bad.”
Ester clutched Frederica’s hand. “You’re not going to tell me that the love of a good woman will change him. That he will behave once we wed.” Tears clogged her throat. “I’m doomed. Accepting this fate is better than the hypocrisy of believing things can change. That Charles will change.”
“You and Theodosia call me the dramatic one. There’s always another way. Hope doesn’t disappear because we are too frightened to look for it.”
But Esterwasfrightened, terrified. Her sister’s arranged marriage had made her live far away, never coming back to London, even for Yuletide. They’d been so close once, and happy when they’d lived above the warehouse. Moving up in the world had cost so much—was still costing. “I don’t know what to do.”
Frederica put her arms about Ester and drew her in tightly. “You could put an advertisement in the paper. We might be able to find someone for you, too, someone kind and faithful.”
Ester shook her head. “Jordan’s proposal will come tonight with a wedding in four weeks, on my birthday.”
More travelers scooted by, fewer of them looking over at Ester and Frederica. Perhaps, for the moment, they blended into the deep brown of the coaching inn’s facade. Ester wanted to disappear.
“You could say no, Ester. You could choose to say no.”
The wordnoand Frederica seemed quite foreign to each other, and the concept was something Ester couldn’t grasp, either. She whipped her head around. “I can’t say no to my Papa any more than you can to yours.” She exhaled, put on a brave smile, and began acting again. “Look at me getting us both flustered. This is your day. Everything will work out. I’m sure.”
Frederica had that look of disappointment, a deep frown that made the luster in her hazel eyes dim to a sad sherry. “I pretend a great deal, too. In another few months, I won’t have any hope, either.”
Ester grabbed her and hugged her until a seam or two popped. “You listen well, Frederica Burghley. No one should count us out, not yet. We’ll both be saved or go down in glorious flames. I may even enjoy knitting in silence.”
“What?” A brow popped up on Frederica’s fair countenance. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing, silly goose. So how do we meet this man?” Ester smoothed the rim of her bonnet in a slightly showy manner, something she’d seen Frederica do a hundred times. “Come on.”
Ester led her friend into the crowded inn.
Crowds. Ester froze, her fake courage slipping to her boots.
People were packed in the lobby and at tables in the main area.
Frederica clasped her hand. “What’s wrong, Ester?”
“So many travelers.” A chill crept up her arm, but she accepted her friend’s nudge forward through the dining room.
Too many strangers. She could feel her throat getting dry. “Frederica. How… How do we see your newspaper beau? It’s easy for him, as we are the only ladies like ourselves here. The dishwasher or a maid doesn’t count to most men seeking a wife of means.”
Frederica pulled a sprig of lilac from her reticule and handed it to Ester. The bright purple of the tiny flowers looked like embroidery on the lapel of her jacket. “To gain more responses, I didn’t exactly say I was Blackamoor.”
What? Now Ester truly couldn’t breathe.
“But the lilac will help us spot him. He will have a sprig, too. It will be all right, Ester.”
