Page 79 of The Trouble with Tweed

Beatrice shook her head as if she knew the moment was lost. She and Claire pressed through the crowd with many “pardon me’s” and soon joined Margaret and Lily at the edge of the crowd.

“You look very flushed,” Claire said to Margaret.

Her sister’s cheeks and neck were pink; she fanned herself with a feather-tipped fan.

“It’s the crowd,” she said, just a little too loudly to be believable. “Nothing more.”

Claire frowned. Lily gave a hiccup of a giggle.

“Let’s find our seats before Margaret melts into a puddle, shall we?” Beatrice said. “Honestly, you two can’t be left alone for moments these days without getting up to something inappropriate.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Claire asked.

Beatrice widened her eyes. “While you’ve been cloistered away these past few days, our sisters have become exceedingly shocking.”

“Don’t say such a thing where others might hear you, even if you are only joking,” Claire chided.

“I’m altogether serious. As if the sheer number of beaux that have trampled through our parlor wasn’t enough, now they’ve narrowed it down.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I beg of you, Beatrice, be silent on the matter,” Lily pleaded. “It isn’t funny. Nothing at all is settled, and you well know it.”

“What will you give me?” Beatrice stopped dead in the hallway; Margaret plowed into her with a grunt. “What will you give me if I say nothing more?”

“Our sisterly affection, of course,” Margaret said.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “I already have that for free.”

“What do you want?” Lily said.

Beatrice’s eyes flicked up to her tiara, her lips pulled to the side in a thoughtful expression.

“You may have it,” Lily said. “It’s quite twisted and pinned into my hair at the moment, but I’ll give it to you when we get home.”

“No, thank you,” Beatrice said, sailing down the hallway once more. The others hurried to catch up with her. “I have plans on how to acquire one of those myself. Besides, pearls suit your complexion much more than they do mine.”

Lily turned to Margaret with pleading eyes.

Margaret shook her head stoutly. “I didn’t offer her mine for a reason, Lily. Aquamarines are my favorite, as you well know.”

“Fine.” Lily threw up her hands. It appeared her eyes might be welling with tears. “You may as well tell everyone.”

“Sisterly affection will suffice,” Beatrice grumbled. “There’s no need to cry about it.”

“Apparently, crying is the key to tiaras—both obtaining them and keeping them,” Claire said dryly.

William was already seated in their box. It was one of the best, with a full view of the stage and, more importantly, the entire crowd.

“I’ve heard rumor that Lord Doyle will attend with Miss Meyer tonight,” Beatrice said, all irritation from the former conversation seemingly forgotten. “And someone saw him at Rotherton’s yesterday.”

“It is the end of the Season,” Lily said, nervously pleating her shawl between her fingers. “I’ve no doubt that several gentlemen will be making their declarations soon.”

“One wonders if our brother will be among them,” Claire murmured.

She’d noted how often his eyes strayed toward the seats occupied by Miss Dahlia Warrington and her sister, Rachel.

“If he’d been smarter, it could have been done before the Season began,” Margaret whispered back. “Would have saved him an entire heap of trouble.”