“Lady Caroline, would you care to dance with me for this set?”
“Yes, of course, my lord,” Caroline answered, beaming. And then she hesitated. A small moment that only a sister would notice.Caroline shot her hand behind her back and Harriet seamlessly took her eyeglasses. With that, she was off, leaving Harriet in the circle of Philippa’s friends without protection.
Despite her misgivings, and her previous experience attempting to converse with gentlemen, Harriet drew from her deep well of social graces and turned to the man next to her.
“Good evening, Lord Cockburn,” Harriet intoned.
“Good evening?” he replied, phrasing it as a question. Harriet knew what the question was:Why is this woman speaking to me?A lifetime in this role allowed Harriet the patience to offer up an explanation for her existence.
“I’m Lady Ellerton’s sister. We met two weeks ago at the Dunforth musicale. And a week before that in Hyde Park. Your new horse’s name is Kratos. You said you didn’t know why, and I told you Kratos is the Greek god of strength.”
“Oh yes, I remember you. Her sister. Well, the other sister. There’s another, isn’t there?”
“We have two other sisters, yes,” Harriet said with a tight smile. “One is not yet out, and the other is on the dance floor now with Lord Pendleton.”
Lord Cockburn’s neck nearly snapped from his effort to look.
“She’syour sister too?” he asked, wondrously, not taking his eyes from Caroline.
“Yes.”
“She wasn’t in Hyde Park.”
“No, she wasn’t. Excellent memory,” Harriet replied, though the man entirely missed her sarcasm.
“Does she have dances after this?”
“You know, Lord Cockburn, I’m not certain. As she is an entirely separate being from myself.”
The poor man was thoroughly confused, which was quite all right with Harriet. Men were often confused in her presence, and she did nothing to disabuse them of the feeling. Still, it stung a bit when he turned to the man next to him and took the conversation back up without even excusing himself from the one he and Harriet had been having.
“Lady Ellerton has a sister,” he informed his companion, rather loudly. “She’s with Pendy now, take a look.”
Harriet hadn’t even realized how much she’d been hoping for the interaction to go differently until it went precisely as it always did. Suddenly the low-cut bodice felt foolish. What was a wallflower doing in this gown? Why was she trying to look like Philippa at all? The more they looked alike the clearer it was that what set Harriet and Philippa apart was not their appearance, but something more ephemeral than that, an unnamablesomethingwithin Philippa that drew people to her, made people want to talk to her, know her, choose her.
Harriet preferred when she’d thought she was simply lacking Philippa’s good looks. She felt rather disheartened to discover that she lacked something much more fundamental.
Philippa returned then, as if summoned by Harriet’s maudlin thoughts. Next to her, one of the men she’d left with was juggling oranges and being ignored by everyone else in the group. Harriet felt badly for him, although what would give someone the notion that Philippa would be impressed with orange juggling?
To her credit as a sister, despite the gaggle around her, Philippa focused most of her attention on Harriet. The rest would pair up or dissipate soon enough without Philippa’s special attentions.
“Is there someoneyou’dlike to dance with?”
“I’m not sure that’s the order of things, Philippa—picking men like bonnet ribbons. Although I appreciate the compliment of you believing it to be within my power.”
“Oh, of course it is! I’ll introduce you to any man of your choosing, just point him out.”
“I prefer watching to dancing.”
Philippa leaned in close. “Any gentleman would count himself blessed indeed to be in such proximity to your … abundant assets … tonight. I hardly think he’d notice if you tread on a toe or two.”
Before Harriet could admonish her sister, Philippa abruptly straightened and focused her gaze across the dance floor.
“Is Father here?” Harriet asked, searching the ballroom, trying to find the source of Philippa’s regard.
“No, no. I’m sorry. It’s just, well.He’shere. He’s been trying to get an audience with me for ages. It’s become almost tiresome.” Harriet did not believe that Philippa had any idea how often shespoke about men wanting her or throwing themselves at her feet, or if she did, how these blasé announcements felt like pinpricks to Harriet. Philippa complaining about a man wanting her was as common as using a handkerchief.
Except that when Harriet’s eyes followed Philippa’s across the ballroom, she found herself staring at the least common man she’d ever beheld: Lord Alexander Stirling.
