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“Papa, I have some news. I’m to be married.”

The pen stopped, and slowly he looked over his shoulder. “To whom?”

Unused to his attention, she clasped her hands in front of her. “Gavin. There was another gentleman who tried to . . . make advances. He was stopped, but there was a maid who saw. Gavin offered to marry me in order to—”

“Will there be any scandal?”

She nearly flinched under his scrutiny. “No.”

That at least wasn’t a lie. There would be rumors—always rumors—and she was certain some people would speculate as to why, after all this time, Gavin Barrett had made up his mind to marry Ina Duncan. Mrs. Sullivan had offered to help assuage some of that, promising to secure them invitations to dine at some of the most important homes in the city. It seemed that the matchmaker’s secret network of happy couples was wide-reaching indeed.

“Good,” he said, turning around again. “Can’t abide people showing up with their prying eyes, trying to get a bit of gossip. Tell Cappleman I’m not to be disturbed. And you can also tell him that I won’t touch another tea tray. I don’t need food. I need time.”

“Papa, I—”

But when he finally looked up from his paper, glasses perched on the very end of his nose, and peered at her as though she were some intruder rather than his daughter, her chest constricted. Rather than containing the fatherly warmth she sought, his expression was vacant. It was as though he could look right through her to the back wall.

“I will tell Cappleman,” she said quietly.

Ina let herself out of the study as quietly as she could and the door closed with the click of metal against metal. She sagged against the wall, looked up at the ceiling, and tried her best to contain the tears that threatened to spill. Temper she could have handled, but this . . . this vacantness was too high a mountain to climb. Her father’s work wasn’t just his first priority. It was his second, third, and fourth too. Ina, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, ranked somewhere near the house that sheltered him and the wealth that supported him. It had been that way ever since she could remember, and she didn’t know why she ever expected it to change.

“Enough,” she murmured, touching the sides of her index fingers to her lower lashes and wiping away the tears. “Enough.”

There was nothing more she could do tonight. Tomorrow she’d have to face the world as an engaged woman.

Chapter Five

INA SAT IN a small room off the entrance of St. Giles’ Cathedral, waiting for her wedding to begin. Lana, Christine, and Anne all stood around her, fussing with her veil and the profusion of roses her aunt had tucked into her bodice to hide the deep V-neck of the evening gown that would serve as her dress. All of the embellishment left her feeling rather like an overstuffed, fussy centerpiece.

“It’ll be a miracle if anyone can see me through all of the blooms,” she said, toying with a petal.

“You look lovely,” said Lana with a tsk of her tongue.

“I wore a dress like this for a recital once,” said Christine, the opera singer’s throaty, deep American accent filling the room with warmth.

“Yes, but you need to be seen by thousands of people. There aren’t even a dozen guests at this wedding,” Ina said.

“Gavin’s family wasn’t able to make the journey from England?” Anne asked from her seat, where she was inspecting Ina’s bouquet.

Ina shook her head. “They elected to remain in London. His mother wrote to say that they have obligations and noted the exhaustion of travel on such short notice.”

“No matter that there are railroads all up and down the country now,” said Christine, who was peering in the mirror and patting her tight, ebony curls that she wore piled on top of her head in a series of twists.

“What of his brother?” Lana asked.

“Richard and his wife, Grace, are in London as well,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t help but think they don’t approve. Who doesn’t come to their son’s wedding? Or their brother’s for that matter.”

Lana covered her hand and gave it a squeeze, her clear blue eyes wide with sympathy. “They just don’t know you yet. When they meet you they’ll love you as much as we do.”

Ina sucked in a breath and nodded, wanting to believe her friend was right.

“Now, it’s time for you to get married,” said Lana, while Anne handed her the spray of orange blossoms and white roses she’d carry down the aisle.

She stood and looked at the mirror, out of which a bride stared back. Improbable as it was, she was about to become Mrs. Gavin Barrett.

Her friends hurried her out of the room, and her father stepped up, silently giving her his arm. The long stone path to the altar stretched before her, and her heart pounded fast.

“Are you ready?” her father asked as Lana, Christine, and Anne scurried to their seats. At the head of the church, the priest invited the guests to share in the service.