“I suppose he is a bit like the elephant in the drawing room,” Clara said.
“Yes, exactly.” Irene laughed. “Everyone knowing he’s there, but no one wanting to admit it. Whenever I did have the chance to slip in a word or two of concern about him, all she did was tell me how marvelous he is, or how lovely the house is that she’s bought for them, or how exciting it is to be wanting to marry instead of dreading it. Her first husband, I gather, was not an easy man.” She paused, her hands stilled on her sister’s corset laces. “I’m not sure I can dissuade her. I’m not sure I even want to try. She seems so happy. Oh, Clara what am I to do?”
Her sister considered for a moment, then said in a small voice, “Must you do . . . anything?”
“Of course I must. You know what’s at stake for me.”
“If you don’t succeed,” Clara said, turning around to put a hand on her arm, “would that be so terrible?”
“Yes! I could lose the paper altogether.”
“True, but . . .” Clara’s arm slid away and she gestured to their surroundings. “Would a life such as this truly be such a bad alternative?”
“It wouldn’t be like this, not for us, whatever happens. We won’t be eating at the Criterion and going to the theater all the time. Ellesmere isn’t nearly so rich as the duke. Unless you are clever enough to snag an enormously wealthy peer, we shall never have a life like this.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. But . . .” She paused, trying to find a way to explain her point of view. “A life of engagements and amusements, doing the season and raising funds for charity and giving house parties—it’s a busy life, certainly, but it’s not . . . substantial enough to satisfy me. A year or two ago, it might have been, but now? No. I love what I do.” She tilted her head, studying her sister’s face. “It’s different for you, I know. You dream of a life like this.”
Clara bit her lip, telling Irene the truth even before she lied. “I shall be content to return to our life as it has always been.”
“But not as content as you’d be if you had a place in society.”
“I’m not sure. I doubt I’d have the nerve for it without you close at hand.” Clara looked pained. “Is it selfish of me to want it for both of us, knowing you don’t want it at all?”
“Of course not. But I can’t bear the idea that my life would be one of observing rules that seem so trivial, or even downright silly, and obsessing about what dress to wear at this hour and to this ball, and who sits by whom, and watching as conversations come to a stop the moment someone—probably me—says anything controversial. Everything controlled for me, nothing controlled by me. Do you see at all what I mean?”
“I suppose I do.”
“Still,” she added at once, “I will do what I can to see that you do not suffer for my choices. Ellesmere may not like having his eldest granddaughter publishing a newspaper, but if he can be made to overcome that scruple enough to grant you society, I will be delighted. You, dear sister, deserve all the balls and plays and dinners at the Criterion you can stand.”
Clara laughed. “And water parties, too, I hope? Did the duchess tell you about that?”
“She mentioned it was being arranged, but that was all.”
“Torquil is arranging it for five days hence. If it’s a fine day, we shall set sail from Queen’s Wharf at ten o’clock, journey down to Kew Gardens and have a picnic luncheon, then sail back. Do say you’ll take the day and come with us. It’ll be lovely.”
“Only if we don’t become seasick.” She grinned. “That would put a damper on the party.”
“The duchess did warn me that could happen, but she also said it’s unlikely on the river. Sailing on the ocean is the real worry. But just in case, she said I should eat several soda crackers the moment we come on board. And she assured me that if I were to become ill, the ship would dock immediately. You will come, won’t you?”
“The important question is: Do you need me to come?”
“It isn’t that. There shan’t be any other guests, I’m told. Just us and the family, and I shall do well enough in their company, now that I’ve come to know them a little. Lady Angela and Lady Sarah are ever so nice. But you ought to come, too.”
Irene was tempted. Sailing on a yacht, with a nice deck chair and a champagne cup and the river rolling by, sounded just as delightful now as it had yesterday. And how often would she have the chance for such an excursion? Before she could decide, however, Clara spoke again.
“There is another thing you should know. Torquil has called on Ellesmere, and the viscount has agreed to be at Kew for luncheon at the same time as we. His home, I’m told, is very near there, at Brentford, so Kew shall be an easy distance for him. He has promised to bow when he sees us, making the acknowledgement.”
Irene snorted. “How good of him. I know, I know,” she added as Clara started to speak. “I understand how these things are done. First the bow, then the introduction, then the calls, then the invitations . . . I comprehend it all. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off and she sighed, remembering Torquil’s words from breakfast. “Oh, Clara, I’m just so devilishly proud. I hate that a man who never took any notice of us is now inclined to do so because a peer of higher rank has asked him to.”
“I know. But if our grandfather bows to us, will it be so very hard for you to return it?”
“Oh, terribly,” she said with cheer. “I shall do it, of course, for your sake.”
Her sister smiled, making the sacrifice to her pride a small one. “Then it’s settled, and you will come sailing with us?”
“I suppose I have to, now. Josie can handle things for one day.”
