Four boxes from the House of Chance had been delivered, Burton informed the Rutherford ladies when they returned from their morning ride. The boxes were upstairs in the relevant bedchambers. Each box was clearly labeled with the name of the recipient.
With squeals of excitement the girls raced upstairs, breakfast forgotten.
Emm gave Cal a rueful look. “We won’t be able to stop them going to the Braxtons’ party now.”
At her party, Lady Peplowe had spoken to her friend Mrs. Braxton, who’d immediately sent a written invitationthat included the three girls in Emm and Cal’s invitation. At that stage the nasty rumors about Emm hadn’t surfaced.
Naturally the girls were excited to be invited to their first London party, but Emm had demurred, privately hoping Miss Chance wouldn’t get the girls’ gowns finished in time. She knew there would be some kind of scene at the Braxtons’, had been metaphorically girding her loins for it, and she didn’t want the girls to witness it, especially not for their first society party.
“We’re going to have to tell them,” Cal said.
“I know. But let’s let them enjoy their dresses first.” She wasn’t in a hurry to see hers—she was dreading the night too much—so she and Cal went into the breakfast parlor and shared a quiet, companionable meal.
“Ahem.” Burton stood at the door and cleared his throat portentously. His face was its usual bland self, but his eyes were dancing. “May I present Lady Rose Rutherford.”
Rose, a vision in long white gloves and a gown of soft dusky blue, glided in, her head held high as if she were about to meet royalty. Or as if she were royalty. The dress was perfect for a young lady who was not an ingenue but who was nevertheless making her first appearance in society. It was simple yet sophisticated and floated around her body like dark flame.
“Oh, Rose, that’s—” Emm began, but Rose raised her hand, as if to saystop, her expression stern. Clearly they were to admire in silence. Rose looked at the butler and inclined her head graciously.
“A duchess in the making,” Cal murmured in Emm’s ear. He was rewarded with a ducal frown.
“Lady George Rutherford,” intoned Burton from the doorway.
George paced in like a lithe young leopard, not exactly the glide that Rose had achieved, but with a charm all of its own. She looked splendid in a gown of rose-tinged bronze, the gown cut to emphasize her high bosom, upright bearing and slender legginess.
“By George, she’s a stunner too,” Cal murmured, and Emm chuckled softly at his inadvertent pun.
“Hush!” Rose hissed, and turned to the door.
“And finally, I would like to present Lady Lily Rutherford,” Burton said.
Emm took one look at Lily, framed in the doorway, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my, Cal, will you just look at Lily.” She blinked away tears as Lily, proud and straight as a young duchess, glowing like a candle lit from within, glided into the room. Her dress was the softest, palest shade of peach, cut simply yet cunningly to frame her unique beauty. She looked, as Miss Chance had promised, round and feminine and utterly delicious.
“Oh, lord, my baby sister! I’m going to be beating them off with sticks,” Cal groaned.
Lily heard him, blushed and gave a happy little twirl. “Don’t we all look pretty, Emm? I think I love Miss Chance.”
Emm nodded. She did too.
“So we can go to the party after all?” Rose said. “Now that the dresses have arrived.”
Emm sighed. “Yes, but run upstairs and change into a day gown first. There’s something I need to explain to you—warn you about actually, seeing as you’re going to the party.”
“You mean about those horrible stories people have been spreading about you?” Rose said.
Emm’s jaw dropped. “You knew?”
All three girls nodded. Rose said, “Penny Peplowe told us the other day. Everybody knows.”
‘That’s why we were so desperate to come,” Lily added.
Cal said, “I thought all the subtle nagging was because you wanted to go to the party.”
“We do, of course,” George said. “At least Rose and Lily do, though I don’t think I’m going to like parties much. But you don’t imagine we’d let Emm face those bitches alone, do you?”
Emm had a large lump in her throat. The dear, sweet, loyal girls.
“But you’re not allowed to punch that Oates woman, George, remember—you promised,” Rose said severely.
