Vanity did get the better of her, however, and she stopped to study her reflection in a mirror over a table in the hallway. As a result of the outdoor air, her cheeks were a rosy hue. Her skin and eyes were aglow, wrought by happiness and having spent a good part of the morning making love and being made love to. She wouldn’t allow them to dim her joy. They could have their say and then take their leave.
Shoring up her resolve with a deep breath, she strode into the drawing room to find them providing a united front, their backs to her, standing near enough to each other she doubted a shadow could pass between them. Muttering something, they were staring at the landscape above the fireplace. She refused to acknowledge the bite of hurt the image caused or how she’d longed for a sibling with whom to share her troubles. “Ladies.”
In unison, they spun around, and while she knew she should curtsy—they were actual ladies after all—she was too shocked to do much of anything except stare at what they were each holding: her book.
“You naughty girl,” Lady Barrington—Clara—said, “not to tell us you were the author.”
“We were hoping you might sign our books,” Lady Warburton—Josephine—said.
Confused, she shook her head. “That’s the reason you’re here?”
“Not entirely,” Clara said kindly. “When we saw your letter in the newspaper this morning, we realized it was your name our brother intended to announce last night.”
“We deduced he’d invited you to the ball for the sole purpose of doing so,” Josephine added. “He wasn’t truly attempting a reconciliation as he’d informed us. He was using us as... props. As a bit of stage scenery in order to lure you into complacency until he was ready to make his proclamation to all and sundry.”
“You truly didn’t realize what he was about?”
They shook their heads, their faces reflecting embarrassment and sorrow.
“You must believe us,” Clara urged. “We didn’t know about his plans, and now that we do, well, we don’t approve of them in the least.”
“This morning, we didn’t half give him a piece of our minds,” Josephine said, “venting our immense displeasure with him. It was a cruel thing to attempt to assert. If you’d wanted people to know who you were, you’d have put your name on the book. For some reason, you wanted anonymity, and he should have left you to it. It’s so unlike him to be... duplicitous. It took us until this afternoon to work up our courage to visit you. Surely, you must think the worst of us.”
“I... I’m not certain what to think, honestly. I try not to judge.” But she had earlier, assuming they werein on his cruel prank. She gestured toward a small sitting area. “Please sit.”
The sisters settled on the settee, and Regina took the chair opposite them. Before another word could be uttered, a maid appeared with a tea tray and placed it on the low table nearest to Regina, who set about preparing tea for her guests. When they all had a cup and saucer in hand, they took a moment to sip and enjoy. Some of the tension drained from Regina’s body. “I think your brother was searching for a way to have my trusts converted back to the earldom.”
“He confessed as much,” Clara said.
“We gave him what for,” Josephine added. “Father arranged those trusts to see to your care. Bremmie should leave them be.”
She smiled. “I’m so glad you came to explain things.”
“Well, we”—Clara looked over at Josephine who nodded—“we found you to be rather pleasant and enjoyed the small bit of conversation we had.”
Regina couldn’t help it. She arched a brow. “You really do want to learn how to win at cards, don’t you?”
The woman blushed. “No! I mean, well yes, but that has no bearing on our being here.”
“I’m teasing.”
“Oh! Jolly good. I see. Yes, that was rather funny.”
Although she didn’t sound like she’d truly thought it was. Perhaps Regina should wait and get to know them a little better, to understand their sense of humor, before trying to tease. But she did feel a need to be honest with them. “I always wanted sisters.”
“Hopefully you will find us to be quite adequate.”
She suspected she’d find them more so, especially when they became exceedingly comfortable with each other.
“It was terribly sweet of Lord Knightly to claim to be Anonymous,” Josephine said slyly. “He is Lord K, is he not?”
How did she respond to that? “Lord K represents my memories of Lord Knightly. There is some truth to him and some fantasy.”
“But mostly truth?”
She smiled warmly. “Yes, mostly truth.”
“And in the book you’re writing, the one you mentioned in your letter, he does return to his lady, doesn’t he?”
