Gertiehad never been invisible. That was a large cause of her anxiety. She was used to people staring at her everywhere she went.
“I’m an ‘ape leader,’” Cynthia reminded her. “I don’t care.”
“I hate that term,” Gertie said fiercely. “Why are unwed dukesmoreeligible as they get older, and women less eligible by the day? It’s not fair!”
“Lesson number one,” Cynthia murmured. “Nothing is fair.”
Gertie’s eyes flashed. “They talk about you like you’re a... acautionary tale.”
“I prefer ‘folk legend.’ You recall this past February when the river Thames froze over and I helped an elephant to cross the ice? Jolly good fun!” Cynthia wiggled her eyebrows. “Proper matronsdreamof amusing themselves half as well as thirty-year-old spinsters with no prospects. I enjoy being me.”
It had taken catastrophic failure in the Marriage Mart for Cynthia to realize being a wife was like losing at whist. You played the game and lived with the consequences. It was about stratagems, not soulmates.
Love was an illusion. None of the young ladies in this room wanted to marry Nottingvale because theylikedhim. They wanted his money, his title, his status, his security. Those were the cards on the table.
In turn, he won a pretty bauble. A malleable, impressionable, unobjectionable young lady capable of being molded into the finest duchess England had ever seen.
Huzzah! A winning hand for all.
Unless you wantedmore.
“Maybe I should be a spinster like you,” Gertie said. “Would I make a good ape leader?”
Oh no.
“You cannotdecideto be an ape leader,” Cynthia whispered. “That’s as bad as deciding to take the first churl who offers marriage, just because he asked.”
“Nottingvale will be the first to offer,” said Gertie. “If he asks.”
“Nottingvale is not a churl,” Cynthia said firmly. “He has all of the material things any woman in search of a secure future could possibly want, and...”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “And?”
And I like him.
It would not do.
“He’s clever,” Cynthia forced herself to continue. “I’ve heard him debate with other gentlemen. He’s honest to a fault. We all know why we’re here. He’s kind. He cares about all of his friends, even the local ones who’ve never stepped foot in Almack’s assembly rooms. He’s a dreadful singer.”
Gertie blinked. “That’s a good quality?”
“A wonderful quality. He doesn’t let it stop him from enjoying Christmas. Don’t let your shyness stopyou.”
Gertie gazed doubtfully about the crowded room, then visibly straightened her spine.
“All right.” She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll take him.”
There.
Cynthia got what she wanted.
She should be over the moon.
Gertie’s mother had been Cynthia’s sponsor all those years ago. The countess had arranged invitation after invitation, year after year, her faith in Cynthia never flagging.
Although the effort hadn’t borne fruit, Cynthia would never forget what it had felt like to be believed in, fully and unconditionally. The countess was the reason Cynthia had started to believe in herself, despite all evidence that no one else did. The countess was the reason Cynthia wasn’t afraid anymore. The reason Cynthia was happy.
And the countess was no longer with them.
