Unlike other unmarried ladies of theton, the Merriweather sisters knew all those ways, unnerving or not. After their mother’s death, they’d discovered her library of erotic books. They’d also discovered she’d loaned them out to a select group of ladies among theton.Andthey’d discovered they enjoyed loaning out, and reading, the books themselves. They’d passed the task off to a good friend, Viscountess Norton, several years ago, but they still remained active participants in the scheme.
“I do not find it unnerving,” Isabella said, “but I would not play Miss Haws’s game, either. The gentleman must make the first advance.”
“But agentlemancannot,” Imogen said. “Only a rogue will try his luck with a lady.”
“Then let a rogue find me if a gentleman will not try his luck. I wish to be chased.”
Imogen snorted. “This is why you’re on the shelf. You ask too much.”
“And you do not possess a sturdy, dusty shelf yourself, Sister? We were given choice, and that allows us to take our time. No matter how dusty we get.” At least they would be dusty together. She smiled.
“I may be closer than you think to diving off the shelf.”
Isabella’s smile slipped. She grasped her twin’s wrist, her stomach tying a knot that shot into her throat. “Are you keeping secrets?”
“I’m not,” Felicity said. “I would very much like the Earl of Bransley to set his cap for me.” Her brows pulled together. “He seems unlikely to do so.”
Isabella whipped in front of her sisters, pressing her palms out. “What is this? The both of you? Infatuated?” Her heart thumped in her ears. This was good. This was the natural order of things for women. Her sisters were merely following the desires of their bodies toward an end that would hopefully benefit their hearts as well.
But Isabella… Isabella had no one. Had never met a man who roused her curiosity or those parts more southern the books spoke of. Even though her silly little dreams kept her hopes high.
Princesmustexist among men, and one day one would find her. And one day, she would have the love her parents had shared.
Felicity stopped, biting her lip, nodding.
But Imogen smoothly strode around Isabella to keep up with the others. “Perhaps I am infatuated.” If Imogen took it into her head to fall in love, she would. Efficiently and with every ounce of her being committed to the goal.
Felicity and Isabella rushed after her, demanding to know who, and Imogen seemed about to tell them. Really, how could her twin have kept this from her? Isabella told her everything. Every little thought that flitted through her brain, if she had a stuffy nose, if she missed Lottie, when she dreamed of Mother and Father, that time she’d tried pantaloons and one had fallen off as soon as she’d stepped out the front door.
She told Imogeneverythingbecause she understood the importance of knowing every detail. Every strand must be tightly held to keep the world from falling apart.
“Please,” Isabella said. “Who is it?”
Imogen stepped between Isabella and Felicity and draped her arms about their waists, pulling them closer together as they stepped back into a stroll behind their brother. “It is less of a passion and more of a plan. I am not infatuated, but—”
A cry filled the park air, breaking the sisters apart. Ahead of them, Miss Haws spiraled through the air toward the ground, her skirts flying above her knees. And just before she crashed, she was saved. Diving, reaching out, tucking one arm around her hips, Samuel caught her, heaved her upward. She dangled like a reticule from his arm until their brother set her on her feet. Oh dear, his eyebrows promised thunder. And lightning. And perhaps a flood. Miss Haws did not appear capable of reading the weather. She threw herself at him, clutching and crying.
“Thank you, oh,thank you, Your Grace.”
Behind Samuel, Lady Margaret now scowled, a tiny thing, barely noticeable except by another woman used to showing the smallest amount of acceptable public emotion. But feeling much more inside.Beneath the hem of her skirt, her toe tapped. Not pleased, clearly, with Miss Haws’s theatrics.
Samuel was not pleased, either. He stoutly set Miss Haws away from him and smoothed his jacket, his waistcoat, his cravat in gestures that appeared more to wipe away the remains of Miss Haws than temper possible wrinkles. “Are you injured?”
“Not at all,” Miss Haws said, “because of you.”
Lady Margaret pursed her lips, and Samuel gave Miss Haws a curt nod before saying, with absolutely no hint of emotion, “Shall I return you both to your mothers?” He faced the way they’d just come, and like recently reprimanded children, his ladies followed. When passing through his crowd of sisters, he offered only a look that said,Do not laugh.
They would not. Now. But later, alone in their rooms, they’d share a bottle of wine, relive the moment, and make the ceilings shake. Felicity and Imogen gathered June and Gertrude and set off after their brother, but Isabella hung back.
She waved her sisters away. “I just remembered I promised Prudence I’d visit her at the print shop. Tell Samuel, if he asks, that I ran into Andromeda at the park and decided to walk with her a bit.”
Imogen raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Be safe, please.”
Isabella nodded and watched them until they disappeared. Then she set out for Conduit Street. A quarter hour walk brought her to Hotel Hestia, where the Mr. Haws and his daughter kept rooms for the Season. She was taking a risk; she did not wear her maid’s uniform, after all. But after Miss Haws’s performance in the park, Isabella needed more information. Samuel still gave the woman attention, and that meant he’d not yet made up his mind. If she could find something concrete against Miss Haws, she could slip it into Samuel’s ear. Then Lady Margaret would be his choice. And a much more sensible one, too.
There would be extra green gowns and aprons in the washroom. Maids were not allowed near guests in anything other than spotless attire. She waited until the room was all but empty, then she ducked in, grabbed the nearest gown, apron, and cap off the drying line, and bolted. She had to change behind a screen in an empty parlor, quickly,messily, but soon she pushed wayward strands of hair into the simple coil at her neck, shoved a too-big lace cap onto her head, and stepped into the hallway.
She headed for the kitchen—the best place to find out where the guests were and what they needed. As always, the kitchen was an explosion of sound and smell. Her belly rumbled, and she fought to keep her face from breaking into a smile. Keeping her face down, she listened as she made her way around the perimeter of the room. Ah—there, the nameHawstossed into the air as if of no importance. She sidled over to the maid who’d thrown it.
