Gertie shook her head. “I didn’t want him to.”
“You should have done so anyway.” Cynthia sighed. “Gertie, at this point... I don’t see how we’re going to find you an alternate match capable of appeasing your father. We’ve less than a week. I can’t go anywhere until these stitches heal a little, not that my presence would help you even if I did.”
“Nottingvale isn’t the only man at the party,” Gertie said. “I had a lovely chat with Timmy Wilson while we were waiting for the duchess to summon tea. He’ll be eighteen in six months. Timmy is new to archery, but he’s very good at—”
“Gertie,” Cynthia interrupted. “No.”
Her cousin’s shoulders sagged, and she looked suddenly much older than her eighteen years.
“I know.” Gertie’s lips twisted in a sad smile. “This was my last chance to pretend.”
Cynthia kissed her forehead. “Come on. There’s a party out there. Mayhap there’s a gentleman or two you’d do well to meet.”
“What about you?” Gertie asked. “Did you ever consider any of the gentlemen?”
Yes.
There was one.
With soft brown hair and warm brown eyes and a kiss that could melt the snow from a mountaintop.
“No,” she said firmly.
Gertie’s eyes were sympathetic. “Are you in love with him?”
No.
Yes.
Damn it all!
“No,” Cynthia said even more firmly.
Or itwouldhave been firm, if the word hadn’t wobbled coming out of her throat, only to audibly crack at the very end.
She blinked hard and pasted on a smile. “It’s time to meet the ladies for Speculation. You remember how to count the cards, don’t you?”
A knock sounded on the door.
Cynthia and Gertie exchanged glances.
“Did you ring the bell pull?” Cynthia whispered.
Gertie shook her head and whispered back, “It could be Doctor Quinney.”
“And it might not be,” Cynthia pointed out.
The knock came again.
She rolled back her shoulders and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through her as though the arrow had struck again.
Gritting her teeth against the injury, she wrenched open the door.
It was Alexander.
“I won’t come in,” he began.
“You’re not invited in,” she told him.
