Page 32 of The Duke’s Matchmaker

Honora and Abigail looked at one another.

Dorothy regretted her sharp words. “Of course you’re always welcome here,” she amended. “You know that isn’t what I mean. I’m fortunate that I was able to retain this house after our parents’ death. I know that.” There was a distant cousin who ought to have inherited, but he had written of his lack of interest and offered the place to Dorothy. That had been years ago. While there had been some fear, at first, that he might someday change his mind and arrive on the doorstep, it was clear now that he would never come.

The fact that both Honora and Abigail were widows was a painful detail that hung like a cloud over every conversation. Dorothy ached constantly for her sisters, for their loneliness, for the grief she’d seen them endure. She would never tell them that they couldn’t spend time here in her home, nor did she really feel she had the right to do so. As children this place had belonged to all of them, and even though they had homes of their own now, Honora and Abigail still felt like a part of it.

“It isn’t safe for you to ride around at night like that,” Honora told her firmly. “And besides, Dorothy, you said yourself that you didn’t know we were going to be here, so why would you go somewhere else just to avoid us?”

“My question is why you left the party without telling anyone you were going,” Abigail said. “People did notice, Dorothy. It wasn’t just the two of us.”

“I’m sure you two called attention to it once you realized I wasn’t there,” Dorothy countered. “You probably started asking everyone whether they had seen me. Am I right?”

“We wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t frightened us,” Honora snapped. “If you hadn’t run off without so much as a word.”

“Dorothy, you must realize that the three of us are all we have,” Abigail said. “Now that Mother and Father are gone, and…”

She looked away and pressed a hand to her mouth, stopping her words.

Honora put a hand on Abigail’s shoulder, but she didn’t speak either.

Dorothy couldn’t find words. Her sisters had been through so much with the loss of their husbands. Tragedy had hit this family too many times already. Of course they were anxious that it might happen again. Of course they didn’t want to take chances with Dorothy’s safety.

“It won’t happen again,” she pledged, knowing that it was true. This had certainly been a one-time event. “I can promise you that, Abigail, Honora. You won’t have to worry about this in the future. I’ll come straight home from now on, and I’ll tell you where I’m going at all times.”

Honora sighed. “I’m glad you understand, Dorothy,” she said. “But you know that it isn’t just about us, don’t you? I mean, we were worried. Very much so. But that’s not the only concern. It’s not even the main concern.”

“Of course it is,” Dorothy objected. “That’s what I care about most, Honora. That I caused you to worry. That’s not something I ever want to do.”

“But what matters most to me is what you did to your reputation,” Honora said.

“Honora,” Abigail murmured, “I don’t think we need to focus on that right now. Dorothy has promised not to do it again.”

“But she needs to understand the full impact of her choices,” Honora insisted. “Don’t you remember what it was like after she left the party?”

“Nobody said anything,” Abigail said. “Nobody suggested that she was doing anything scandalous.”

“They may not have said it aloud, but I can tell you for certain that everyone was thinking it.” Honora’s tone darkened. “Did you see the way people looked at me? At one another? Everyone was speculating. People will have rushed to the scandal sheets this morning to see whether there is any mention of her.”

“And there isn’t,” Abigail pointed out mildly.

“You already looked?” Dorothy asked.

“I looked first thing,” Honora told her. “You don’t seem to understand how much worry this has caused, Dorothy. You don’t seem to realize how much trouble you might have made for yourself.”

“Well…but you said there was nothing reported,” Dorothy said. She lifted her chin. “And of course there wouldn’t be, because nothing happened. The worst anyone could possibly say is that no one knew where I was for a little while. That’s hardly a story.”

“People can say worse than that, Dorothy,” Abigail told her gently. “People can say anything they like, and the ton loves to gossip. You know that as well as we do. You know how likely it is that you might find yourself at the center of a rumor, whether it’s true or not. How many young ladies have we seen that happen to?”

“Abigail is right,” Honora said. “And if you don’t manage to keep your behavior under control, if you ruin your reputation, you’ll spoil any chance at finding a husband.”

For some reason, all of a sudden, that was more than Dorothy could bear.

She was used to having this conversation with her sisters. They’d had it many times before. But this time, it got to her. “Why are we talking about husbands?” she demanded. “Why does everything in every conversation have to come back to that? I’m nearly a spinster as it is. A young lady of my age, who has been out as long as I have without finding a husband…the one good thing about my position is that I ought not to have to worry with every move I make about what people are thinking. No one is thinking of me at all, and we all know it. I deserve to have the luxury of a little freedom, because I’m not going to have a courtship.”

“What are you talking about, Dorothy?” Abigail asked. “What about the Duke of Henshaw. He’s taken an interest in you.”

“The Duke of Henshaw is not interested in me,” Dorothy said firmly. “We share the same friends. That’s all it is. That’s the only thing that has ever been between us. You two think you see something else, but you’re wrong, I promise you.”

Dorothy’s sisters looked at one another again.