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“I find the confines of society utterly suffocating. However, your statements have merit,” Penelope agreed with a pout.

To keep from laughing, Vivian bit her lip. The youngest, while a delight, was proving to be as adventurous in nature as Clara. Both of her sisters often disguised themselves by borrowing the maid’s clothing to go about town on whatever outlandish adventure called to them.

As much as Vivian agreed with some of the things they did, she’d always been more reserved. The curse of being the eldest and feeling responsible for them, she supposed.

“Ladies,” Gerard, the butler, stood at the doorway. “Misters Rutherford and Jameson are here.”

Her stomach dipped and her breath caught. “Oh goodness, I’d forgotten that I mentioned Christmas dinner to Mr. Jameson,” Vivian said, jumping to her feet. “I must inform Mother.”

As she dashed from the room, Penelope’s voice was loud. “This will be a most enjoyable Christmas, will it not?”

“Mother?” Vivian entered the kitchen to find only the cook and another cook’s maid, along with Mary, her companion, and Molly, Clara’s companion, scurrying about.

“Your mother and Duchess Torrington have gone to the sitting room,” Molly said, rushing to her. They embraced. “I miss you so, Miss Vivian.”

“I miss you as well,” Vivian replied, meaning it.

She hurried to her mother’s small sitting room to find the two women, each with a cup of tea, at ease with each other’s company. “Mother, Mr. Jameson is here, and Tommy has also arrived.”

“Oh dear,” her mother said, immediately getting to her feet. “I will have to direct that two more place settings be added.” She hurried from the room, leaving Vivian with Duchess Torrington.

Theresa Torrington was a striking, youthful woman with hazel almond-shaped eyes and a bright expression. She gave the illusion of being much younger than her true age, a number Vivian did not venture to guess.

“Come sit, Vivian,” Duchess Torrington said, motioning to the chair her mother had just vacated. “We have never had the opportunity to get to know each other privately have we?.”

“I am pleased that you and your husband came tonight,” Vivian said, sitting. “She purposefully left out Mr. Yarnsby’s unexpected presence.

The woman smiled brightly. “We were delighted that the invitation was extended. We expected a quiet evening at home with only Alex for company.”

“Yes, well, we could not allow it,” Vivian said. “We look forward to seeing you and your family whenever you come to London.” She looked to the doorway. “When you return to the country, will Mr. Yarnsby go as well?”

With a delighted chuckle, Duchess Torrington patted her hand. “Of course. Is he not lovely? I do hope that you or your younger dear sister catch his eye. I do love Alex and wish for him to be happy.”

Why would the arrogant man not be happy? In Vivian’s opinion, if the man was alone, it was his own doing.

“I am not sure that he will consider either of us. He seems preoccupied with . . . himself.” Vivian stopped speaking at her unfortunate choice of words.

Once again Duchess Torrington laughed as Vivian covered her cheeks in mortification.

“I did not mean to say he is self-absorbed. Oh dear, what I mean is that he seems to prefer his own company.” It didn’t sound much better; there was nothing to do that would erase her gaffe.

“Do not worry, dear, I will keep this between us.” Duchess Torrington became pensive. “Alexander is naturally reserved, which can at times be off-putting. You must believe me when I say that he is the least arrogant person ever. When you get to know him, you will agree.”

“I do apologize,” Vivian started. “He is part of your family, and the last thing I wish to do is to speak ill. It is the way of the Humphries to have a hard time curtailing our tongues.”

“Which is what makes each of you so delightful.”

Thankfully, her mother returned and took Duchess Torrington’s attention. “Everything is prepared and settled. Let us go to the dining room. I believe the gentlemen are already there.”

Upon arriving at the dining room, Clara and Penelope met them at the doorway. The men stood and held out chairs. Vivian wasn’t sure where to look. While she wished to greet Mr. Jameson, she hoped to avoid looking at Mr. Yarnsby.

“Miss Vivian,” Melvin Jameson said in greeting. His hand on the back of a chair, he motioned for her to sit.

“I am pleased that you accepted my invitation. I did not expect you’d be free,” Vivian replied, smiling at him. Melvin Jameson had never lost the plumpness from youth. He had a cherubic face that was not unpleasant to look upon. The slight lift to the corner of his lips gave the impression of being continuously in good spirits. With dark eyes and overly pink lips, he reminded Vivian of youths in Rubenesque paintings. Melvin was the likeable sort that everyone felt at ease around.

A total contradiction to Mr. Yarnsby, who stood on her left side.

Vivian slid a glance past Melvin to Clara, who was having a horrible time keeping from smiling. Narrowing her eyes, Vivian pinned her youngest sister, who sat next to family friend, Tommy, across the table from her.