Dorothea lifted a shoulder. “I suppose. Though I’ve no idea what they want with me.”
Tabitha turned back to the door. “Lady Warwicke will be down in a moment,” she informed Molly.
Dorothea rose from the window seat, brushing out the creases in her skirts. “I wonder what they want,” she murmured, half to herself.
Tabitha moved to the door and unlocked it, holding it open. “Lord Warwicke gave strict instructions that I am to accompany you.”
Dorothea gave a slight nod. “Then let us not keep our callers waiting.”
As they moved through the quiet corridor, Tabitha stole a glance at Dorothea before speaking. “Tristan informed me that Lord Warwicke has hired a tutor for him.”
“Yes, I believe that’s correct. He mentioned it briefly once.”
Tabitha’s brows drew together, her voice cautious. “Does he know that I cannot afford such an extravagance?”
“You need not concern yourself,” Dorothea replied. “My husband has grown rather fond of Tristan. I believe he sees something of himself in your boy. Perhaps it’s the curiosity… or the stubbornness.”
Tabitha’s lips curled into a small smile, tinged with surprise. “That is awfully generous of him. I shall be sure to thank him personally.”
Dorothea smiled back, but before she could respond, they arrived at the drawing room. She crossed the threshold, her gaze immediately falling on the two women awaiting her inside.
They were elegant—almost intimidatingly so. One possessed rich, dark brown hair pinned artfully into a modest chignon, while the other had a cascade of golden curls that caught the afternoon light like spun silk. Both were impeccably dressed, their gowns a clear mark of fashion and refinement. And both were smiling at her—wide, practiced smiles that made Dorothea wonder if she was being evaluated or pitied. Was she merely some new curiosity? A social obligation? Or worse, a charity case?
“Good afternoon,” Dorothea said, managing a polite smile of her own.
The brunette stepped forward with graceful confidence. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I am Lady Westcott.”
“And I am Lady Bedford,” the blonde woman added.
Dorothea clasped her hands together at her waist, unsure whether to feel guarded or grateful. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage since I do not know what occasioned your visit.”
Lady Westcott’s smile didn’t falter. “Our husbands are friends with Lord Warwicke, and we wished to introduce ourselves.”
Lady Bedford leaned in slightly, her tone more playful. “Although, my husband insists he is Lord Warwicke’s closest friend. He would be most put out if I didn’t extend an olive branch on his behalf.”
Dorothea gave them an apologetic look. “I must admit, my husband has never spoken of either gentleman.”
Lady Westcott did not look concerned. “That doesn’t surprise me. My husband says Lord Warwicke keeps to himself. A man of mystery, it seems.”
“That he is,” Dorothea murmured, gesturing towards the settee. “Would you care to sit for a moment?”
“That would be lovely,” Lady Bedford replied, sweeping over to the proffered seat with the grace of someone well-accustomed to drawing rooms and small talk. “We should have come earlier, but we thought it best to give you time to settle in. Newlywed life can be rather consuming, can it not?”
Dorothea took her seat and folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Did you happen to read the Society pages yesterday?”
Lady Westcott and Lady Bedford exchanged a glance, and then Lady Westcott nodded. “We did. Which is precisely why we felt it necessary to come. You see, we ladies must support one another when the gossip columns attempt to reduce us to a headline.”
“Aren’t you concerned about being caught up in the scandal? About what others might say?” Dorothea asked.
Lady Bedford gave a light, unbothered laugh, waving her hand in front of her. “I have weathered my own share of scandals. I emerged from each one wiser, more resilient, and far less concerned with the opinions of people who hide behind their fans and whisper behind your back.”
“You are not alone in this,” Lady Westcott remarked. “If there is one thing thetonexcels at, it is forgetting. The story will fade, replaced by the next bit of juicy gossip.”
Dorothea looked between the two women, still unsure what to make of them—but grateful, nonetheless, for the unexpected kindness. Whether it was pity, duty, or genuine outreach, it felt like a lifeline.
And at that moment, she needed one.
Lady Westcott leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You should know that my husband intends to vote against the annulment.”
