Page 55 of The Highlander Is All That

Esmeralda glared them down. “Nonsense. No megrims will be tolerated. We are going to that damned musicale and we are going to enjoy it.”

Mary gasped and put her hands over her ears. “Such language.”

Esmeralda crossed her arms. “As though you’ve never heard the word before.”

“As though she’s never said it before,” Victoria offered, sotto voce, but everyone heard.

“Enough.” Esmeralda clapped her hands, as though that would have any effect. “We are going to the musicale. No more discussion. For now, a celebratory tea, I think. Jamison!” she bellowed at a passing footman.

“Yes, milady?”

“Have Henley bring a tea tray.”

“Yes, milady.” He bowed and scuttled from the room, but not before Elizabeth saw him glance at Mary, and Mary’s responding blush. When Mary caught her staring, her eyes widened—a sure sign of guilt—and she bent her head to her needlepoint, effectively destroying her prior work.

“Really, Mary,” Elizabeth said softly, taking a seat at her sister’s side. “I think you’re making a mess.” She nodded at the needlework, but they both knew she referred to something else entirely. Elizabeth worked at pulling out the stitches while she waited for the others to become engaged in a debate on whether or not they should plan a ball at Sinclair House. Then she whispered to her youngest and most flighty sister, “Well?”

“Well?” Mary’s cheeks were red, but she held her head high.

“He’s a footman.”

“He’s very handsome.”

Was he? Perhaps, in a young, too-pretty kind of way. “Esmeralda will have apoplexy if she notices your flirtation.”

Mary thrust her chin out. “It’s more than that.”

Oh dear God.

“We’re in love.”

Elizabeth gaped at her sister. Love? “How can you be in love? He’s a footman.”

“That does not signify. He is a man. I am a woman—”

“You’re sixteen!”

Mary sniffed. “The duke wants to marry me off, that makes me a woman. You cannot have it both ways.”

“You realize the duke would not approve of a footman.”

“You can’t know that.”

Yes. She very well could. She sucked in a breath and tried again. “The world we live in—”

“I hate it.”

“What?” Elizabeth stared at her sister. “I thought you loved the parties and the balls and the dresses.”

“I do love the dresses.” She smoothed down her silk skirt. “But I would give it all up for love. Wouldn’t you?”

Oh dear. There was no answer for that, was there? Especially when that was exactly what Elizabeth had decided to do—should Hamish have her.

But this was Mary.

It was different.

Mary was far too young to make a decision of this magnitude. Did she not see what a foolish mistake this was? Did she not understand—?