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She had not always been that way. When they were children, she was as energetic and enthusiastic about life as Marianne. But Beatrice had become far more serious once she had entered Society at fifteen, when Marianne had just turned ten. No doubt she felt the pressure to marry and marry well.

“I shall bring to your attention a few men in attendance here, then you will tell me if you believe the two of you would make a fine match,” Marianne offered.

Beatrice frowned, staring at the field in silence. Had she seen through to Marianne’s true motives?

“I do not know if I am up for such a game, Marianne,” Beatrice said.

Marianne scooted to the edge of her white chair. “Come now. It will be fun. Here, I shall find the first for you.”

She pointed out a gentleman nearby with a red waistcoat—the first man Marianne had accosted with her questioning that morning. “He is charming, is he not?”

He was also clearly wealthy and had answered all her questions without fault. Born and raised in a renowned city, did not care for cricket, enjoyed reading. All of these added up to what could potentially be a very fine match for Beatrice. If the match was realized, Marianne would finally be free.

Yet, with Beatrice’s disinterested gaze, Marianne’s hope floundered.

“You don’t find him the least bit attractive?” she asked.

“Certainly. But he’s too tall.” This was exactly why Marianne had taken it upon herself to narrow down the potential candidates. Beatrice had become unbearably fussy with prospective husbands. She had to be aware what her hesitant behavior was doing to Marianne, did she not?

Marianne wasn’t sure she wished to know the answer. Either Beatrice knew and willingly continued to injure Marianne—or she didn’t, thereby revealing her lack of consideration for her sister.

Marianne shook the demoralizing thoughts from her mind. “Very well, what about him?” She pointed out the second gentleman she’d questioned, a man with fair hair and a chest reminiscent of a barrel.

Beatrice nodded. “He is handsome. But he does not appear as if he would enjoy reading.”

“He enjoys reading,” Marianne blurted out before thinking better of it. “I mean, I’m certain he would.” She was certain because he’d told her as much.

“Even still, you know I am more partial to darker hair on a gentleman.”

Marianne bit the inside of her cheek. Each man had answered her questions hesitantly but none so much as the third. He was dark-haired and by far the handsomest of all the men she’d spoken to.

She strained her neck forward, and to her delight, she caught sight of him making his way to the refreshment table again. Would he hide another bundle in his satchel?

“What of him?” she asked next.

“Who?”

“The man at the refreshment table.”

Beatrice’s eyes lingered on him before pulling away. “He is of a lower class, Marianne.”

“And?”

Beatrice gave her a dubious look. Obviously, Marianne knew exactly what the issue was, but he was perfect. From what she’d gathered in the few moments she’d spoken to him, anyway.

“You know Father would never approve.” Beatrice raised her chin. “Nor would I. Papa worked too hard to leave behind that life, only for his daughter to return to it.”

Marianne sighed. She was right, of course. As a young family, the Coventrys had never been truly destitute, but there were moments she recalled her parents voicing their fear of not having enough money for food. Before Marianne was ten, Father had realized his dream of making money through trade and various investments enough to purchase an estate of his own. But if the working class was where Father had started—was how he had become who he was today—how terrible could it be?

“He still appears to be relatively wealthy, does he not?” Marianne pressed, eying the man’s fine jacket.

She hardly cared about wealth. She could go without new gowns and the latest fashions if she was simply around the people she loved.

Beatrice didn’t look at him again. “You and I both know wealth only plays a small factor in all this. Father is adamant about keeping up appearances.”

Marianne knew this to a fault. It was the very reason she was still not out in Society. When Father had first made his fortune, he’d been snubbed by a certain number of upper-class individuals. Not wishing to be looked down upon, he swore to obey Society’s standards to a fault, whether that was in his daughters’ best interest or not. Marianne obviously believed the latter, though she did her best to do what Father requested of her.

“As I said before,” Beatrice continued, “I shall not marry anyone I do not love, especially if he is not a gentleman, and neither shall you.” She stood abruptly, clasping her hands before her. “Excuse me. I’m tired of both games now.”