“Tomorrow morning, Your Grace, as we agreed.” Her father’s voice was firm. He had recovered some of his dignity now that catastrophe had been avoided, and he was using it. “For now, we must go home. The hour grows late, and I think the Worthingtons would rather not host us much longer. Tomorrow morning at ten. You may say what you like to me then.”
“As you wish, My Lord.”
“Come, Alice. Daphne. Lord Dowton, Lady Westbury, we shall see ourselves out.” He turned.
Her mother, still beaming, gathered Daphne under one arm and Alice under the other and steered both of them toward the door.
Alice did not look back. She could feel the Duke’s gaze on the back of her neck for the length of three steps, and then it lifted, and she was permitted to walk away.
The ride home was silent. In the dark, Daphne reached for Alice’s hand. Alice let her take it. They sat with their fingers tangled in the space between them.
Alice watched the gas lamps slide past, thinking,I have done it. I have done it. Oh, I have done it. What have I done?
The knock on her door came at half past one.
Alice had not undressed. She was sitting in her gown on the edge of her bed, her hair half down, her slippers still on.
She had not been able to bring herself to ring for her maid. The thought of Sally undoing her stays, asking her brightly how the ball had been, was more than she could bear.
“Come in,” she said.
It was not Sally.
Daphne stood in the doorway in her white nightdress, her hair pulled in a braid, her feet bare on the floorboards. She had her robe folded over her arm, as though she was not sure she would stay long enough to put it on.
“May I sit?” she asked.
“Always.”
Daphne came in and sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Alice could hear the clock in the hall striking the half hour. She could hear, very faintly, somebody moving in the kitchen below. She watched her sister fold her hands in her lap, the way Daphne always folded her hands when she was trying not to cry.
“Are you all right?” Daphne asked at last.
“I am quite well.”
“Truly?”
“Truly, dearest.”
Daphne nodded slowly. Her eyes stayed on the floor between them.
“And the Marquess.” Her voice was very small. “You truly never…?”
“Truly never,” Alice assured. She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders and pulled her close. Daphne came easily, the way she used to come when they were children. “I liked him, Daphne. As a friend. As a kind, awkward, sweet-tempered young man who I think will spend the rest of his life cataloging beetles and being very gentle with his wife. I never wanted to marry him. I was going to. I would have. But I never wanted to.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Daphne let out a breath she had clearly been holding in for a while. “Well then.” She sat up and rubbed her face with the back of her hand. “I am glad. I just never knew you cared for the Duke. I thought you hated him all this time. Otherwise, I would never have accepted, Alice. You know that, do you not?”
Alice’s stomach dropped. “Oh yes.” She kept her voice even. “Yes, I do, little one.”
“I am not little anymore.”
“You are always little to me.”
