She meant every word of her praise. Though Lily outshone them all with her doe eyes and perfect figure, many gentlemen would find Beatrice nice to look at, too. Even Claire, the eldest, was bound to have beaux--though she was in possession of a more frigid, stately beauty.
"I'm not all that concerned about the Season." Beatrice waved as if the idea of a husband wasn't at all exciting.
"I thought you wished to be married like the rest of us." Lily turned to her in question.
Beatrice smiled. "Of course I do. I just don't see the point in worrying about the Season ahead, that's all. If I meet the right someone, it will be lovely. If not, I'll continue to impose on our brother's largess."
Margaret gave a half-snort, half-laugh of agreement. Their brother was beyond generous. After he'd discovered how their eldest brother--the late Baron Cavendish--had squandered the family's fortune through the worst kind of excesses, William had sent the eight Preston sisters to Paris while he picked through the rubble of what Richard had left behind.
In his sisters' absence, he'd restored the family home and reputation. Then he'd called the four eldest home so that they might have a London Season. The four youngest were still in Paris, waiting their turn the following year.
"I can't believe all the dresses he bought us," Lily agreed, smoothing down her green wool walking dress. "I simply can't choose a favourite--they're all so wonderful."
Margaret shook her head, smiling. "And if they'd only been half as pretty, you'd still be just as pleased."
"Which only goes to show how truly wonderful they are," Lily replied, her eyes wide.
Margaret smirked and looked out the window. If Lily weren't her sister, she might have been tempted to provoke her to see whether she truly was as patient and gentle as she seemed. But Margaret knew full well that Lily’s kindness was no act. It was a bit annoying that the most beautiful of them had been given a matching disposition.
Margaret thought her own voluptuousness might have been forgiven by societyif she'd been that genuinely nice. Instead, she tended toward sarcasm and inappropriate humor.
"Goodness, the traffic is dreadful today." Beatrice let the curtain of the carriage fall back into place."
"It's hardly a wonder," Margaret said. "We had to travel all the way across town to get to that bookshop of yours. What a ridiculous notion--a bookshop near the docks. It's a wonder they have any books at all, with the dampness in that part of town."
"It's damp everywhere in London," Beatrice said, raising her chin. "Besides, they have the best selection."
"They have a selection," Margaret agreed wryly.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. "You cannot blame me for how long this excursion took, not when you needed to go to four separate shops to find the perfect journal, and Lily needed to stop at the milliners and the bootmaker."
"Indeed." Lily frowned as if chastened. "I could have gone to those shops tomorrow."
Margaret rolled her eyes at her sister's endless forbearance. Sometimes the amount of patience Lily had tried Margaret's own.
"It hardly matters," she said. "We've finished the shopping now, and we're only sniping at one another because it's well past time for tea."
"You're probably right." Beatrice straightened and brightened. "Should we travel to the cafe and impose on Claire’s tête-à-tête?"
"Certainly not!" Lily's eyes were wide. "She specifically asked us not to attend."
"Precisely." Beatrice leaned forward and smiled. "Which means it would be vastly amusing to do so."
"I for one think that this Season will be more enjoyable for all of us if we agree to give each other as much privacy as the situation allows," Lily said.
Margaret grasped the edge of the padded seat as the carriage lumbered over a dip on the road. The closer one got to the docks, the worse the roads were. She bit back another remark aboutBeatrice's blasted bookshop preferences and said, "There, you and I agree, Lily."
"As if privacy will be an option when we're all accepting visitors in the same parlor," Beatrice grumbled.
If Margaret had a biscuit within reach, she would have winged it at Beatrice's head. There was no surer way to plunge Beatrice into a foul mood than to withhold sustenance. Though to look at them, one might have guessed Margaret the one who became displeased at a late meal, it was Beatrice who suffered the quickest. And her sister dearly loved company when she experienced said misery.
"It's a verylargeparlor," Lily pointed out. "I daresay it will be an embarrassment the other direction--how silly it will look when we don't have enough visitors to fill it!"
Beatrice and Margaret shared a sardonic look.
"I doubt that will be a problem," Margaret said.
On their shopping trip today, a gentleman had pressed his face to the plate window while Lily was choosing a set of gloves on the other side. Another had run directly into a lamppost. The lady in question had never noticed--she seemed as oblivious as she was beautiful to the notice she garnered.
