“Miss Wynchester.” The syllables dripped like poison from Mrs. York’s curled lip. “I hope you don’t think you are welcome here.”
Ah. Respectable Mrs. York would not be appeased by aHow do you doand a smile. When Philippa had lost Lawrence, Chloe had lost her usefulness.
She held her ground. She was visible; that was step one. Mrs. York might sneer down her nose at the Wynchester family, but she remembered Chloe’s name and face.
“Thank you,” Chloe said, and meant it. “That means more to me than you could know.”
Mrs. York blinked. “Er…what?”
Philippa floated into the corridor in a cloud of delicate lace. “Mother, what are you… Oh, Chloe, there you are. Come on in. We’re waiting for a few more guests before we get started.”
Visible. Remembered. Recognized.
Wanted.
“I’d be happy to.” Chloe started forward.
Mrs. York’s arm flashed out to block her.
“Mother, desist at once.” Philippa’s voice was cold. “If you want me to consider reentering the marriage mart, you will unhand my friend.”
Friend.The word made Chloe dizzy. Or perhaps that was due to being defended rather than dismissed.
“If your acquaintance in any way harms my daughter’s chances…” Mrs. York hissed beneath her breath. “Mind yourself. Or I will pay you back in kind.”
But she lowered her arm and allowed Chloe to hurry past.
Upon reaching the noisy parlor, she paused inside the doorway to catch her breath. Her tense muscles began to relax.
She liked the reading circle. No, sheadoredthe reading circle.
During the previous weeks, they’d all been the heroines they read about. They’d fought invading armies or escaped crumbling abbeys or won the handsome prince. They argued over the parts they liked best and least. Wouldn’t it have been better if this? Or more logical if that?IfIwereEmily St. Aubert, howIwould have felt and whatIwould have done was…
Those were Chloe’s favorite moments. It made Chloe think that if young ladies with family titles could imagine themselves as ordinary people in popular novels, surely some of them could imagine life from her perspective. It made her think that instead of pretending this was her group of friends, perhaps she couldreallybelong.
“Next month,” Philippa was saying, “we’ll need a new book. Who’s next on the list to choose?”
Immediate chaos broke out as ladies vied against each other, complaining that it had been months since they last chose, and they were positively brimming with suggestions on what everyone else should read.
A voice cut through the din. “Miss Wynchester hasn’t had a turn.”
All eyes swung toward Chloe in unison.Seen. Remembered. Recognized.Her cheeks flamed with heat.
Lady Eunice was the one who had spoken. She was the daughter of a marquess.
“All right,” Philippa agreed. “Chloe, your turn. Bring your selection next week so we can all note the title. Where on earth is Gracie?”
“Her tardiness gets worse with every passing week,” groused another young woman. “If she hadn’t been waltzing with rakish scoundrels all night…”
“Inconsiderate hen,” said another. “Some of us want to talk about books.”
“Let’s start without her,” someone else suggested. “The rest of us are here.”
The rest of us.Chloe was part of an “us.” Her limbs lightened with joy.
“Did you hear the Duke of Faircliffe is on the market again?” whispered one young lady to another.
Chloe froze and pretended every iota of her being wasn’t trying desperately to overhear.
