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“There’s nothing worse than a prude,” her aunt said firmly. “I haven’t said anything to this date, darling, because I know that you prefer to be invisible. But tucking yourself into a neat little bundle isn’t the way to escape who you are. You are a Wilde.”

Viola nodded and rubbed a finger in the rosy-colored ointment.

“That dress is made to stand out,” Aunt Knowe said. “Not blend into the wallpaper.”

Viola took a deep breath and joined Joan at the mirror. Her stepsister was objectively one of the most lovely women Viola had ever seen. If Joan had been allowed to become an actress, she would be a star from the moment she sauntered from behind the curtains.

But that didn’t mean Viola was nondescript.

Joan’s lips had turned a deep rose that made her terrifyingly beautiful. As unattainable as Venus or Aphrodite.

Lip salve gave Viola an entirely different look.

“Oh, my goodness,” Joan exclaimed, turning from the mirror to stare at Viola. “You look so—what’s the word?”

“Desirable,” Aunt Knowe said, coming up behind them. “You are beautiful, Joan, but if Viola were not so shy around men, she would have them all on their knees before her.”

Viola saw what she meant. One might admire Aphrodite, but one wouldn’t necessarily want to marry her. Lavinia’s design for her walking dress emphasized her curves, and the buttons drew attention to her bosom. The lip color did something too.

“Look at the two of us together,” her stepsister said as she turned back to the glass. “I look overly bold; in fact, I think lip color probably isn’t right for me.”

“I agree,” Aunt Knowe said. “That’s why I didn’t buy you a tin, Joan. You’d terrify anyone under thirty.”

Joan pulled out a handkerchief and began rubbing off the color.

“But, Viola, you look enticing,” Aunt Knowe said, meeting her eyes in the mirror and smiling. “Like a perfect lady—but one with hidden depths. And believe me, darling, gentlemen like hidden depths. They long for them, in fact.”

“I don’t believe I have any hidden depths,” Viola said uncomfortably.

Aunt Knowe wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “The right man will take pleasure in helping you investigate the question.”

“I spoke to the Duke of Wynter yesterday,” Joan said, her face gleeful as she tucked away her handkerchief. “Did Devin ask me about myself? Did he?”

“No?” Viola asked.

“He was too busy inquiring why you were afraid of horses, and whether you had a mare of your own. I told him that cows were more to your liking, and he could buy you a nice Hereford if he wished to impress.”

“Joan!”

Aunt Knowe was laughing so hard that they didn’t hear the door open, and it wasn’t until Prism cleared his throat and announced, “Lady Caitlin Paget,” that they all turned.

“I didn’t know Caitlin was joining us,” Joan exclaimed.

“Miss Pettigrew is not a good choice for Mr. Marlowe,” Aunt Knowe said quietly. “I assured Caitlin’s father that I would chaperone her. I want to give the two of them a further chance to know each other, albeit in the presence of Miss Pettigrew, which is awkward. But necessary.”

Viola frowned, but Aunt Knowe shook her head. “You merely want to rescue him,” she said. “He’s a good man, Viola, and he deserves better than that.”

“I would have made a good vicar’s wife,” Viola said, feeling a little hurt.

“You would have tried with all your heart,” Aunt Knowe said, neatly dodging the point as she walked toward the drawing room door.

They had barely finished bobbing curtsies when the door opened again. “Mrs. Pettigrew. Miss Pettigrew. Mr. Marlowe,” Prism intoned.

“Such a pleasure,” Aunt Knowe said, turning to Mrs. Pettigrew. “You’ll have to forgive the duchess; she is suffering from an attack of the vapors.”

In truth, on hearing that Mrs. Pettigrew was bid for tea, Ophelia had promptly been afflicted by a nervous headache that could be relieved only by retiring to the nursery and playing with Artemisia’s new dollhouse.

Tea had been poured by the time Devin and Otis were announced.