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2
Romy picked at the lamb on her plate as Cousin Winnie prattled on and on about Lady Ralston’s ball the previous winter. Cousin Winnie, Lady Richardson to those outside her family, could recall with startling clarity the color of each lady’s dress in attendance, how many gentlemen had danced with her daughter Rosalind, and who had been caught on the terrace in a compromising situation.
Romy tried desperately to remember exactly how Cousin Winnie and Rosalind were related to the Barringtons. On her father’s side, she was certain, but the actual connection had never been made clear.
“Goodness, Winnie. Your memory certainly rivals my own.” Romy’s mother picked at a piece of lamb with her fork, smiling at their guest.
A foot nudged Romy’s. “What a coincidence business called Tony away just as Cousin Winnie’s carriage arrived,” Romy’s younger sister Phaedra whispered. “I find it all rather suspect.”
“And poor Freddie,” Theo said to Romy’s left. “Imagine—our nephew suddenly had a new tooth come in just as Cousin Winnie stepped into the foyer. And Maggie had to tend to him personally. I’d not thought our sister-in-law so devious.”
“Olivia,” Phaedra said in a hushed voice to their mother’s ward who sat just across the table. “You look quite ill. Pale as a sheet, in fact. Perhaps I should escort you to your room and read to you until you feel better.”
Olivia calmly chewed a sliver of carrot, barely raising a brow at Phaedra’s audacious suggestion. “I don’t think your mother would approve. And I resent being told I resemble a bedsheet.”
“Approve of what?” Amanda Barrington, the Dowager Duchess of Averell looked down the table at them, a slight frown marring her pretty features.
“Why, attending Lady Molsin’s house party.” Cousin Winnie clapped her hands sharply. “Knowing you girls haven’t been out much”—she gave Romy’s mother a pained expression—“and justifiably so, I have asked Lady Molsin if she has room for two more guests in addition to myself and Rosalind. Isn’t that so, dear?”
Rosalind, seated next to her mother, gave the table a weak smile.
“How wonderful,” Romy said before Cousin Winnie began to regale Romy’s mother with the lavish details of a dinner party she’d once attended at Lady Molsin’s, right down to the pattern on the china the meal had been served upon.
“Rosalind.” Romy waved her fork in Rosalind’s direction and mouthed, “I shall never forgive you.”
Rosalind shrugged and mouthed back. “I had no choice.”
“I should love a house party,” Phaedra said happily.
“Oh no, dear.” Cousin Winnie shook her head, graying ringlets dangling at her temples. “You’re far too young for such a thing. Only Andromeda and Theodosia.” She stopped. “With your permission, of course, Amanda.”
Romy’s mother stopped picking at her plate. “You have it if the girls wish to attend, which I’m certain they do. I am acquainted with Lady Molsin, though I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”
“She’s throwing the house party to celebrate the expected engagement of her nephew, but there will be several eligible gentlemen in attendance, including the Earl of Blythe.”
Theo’s fork slid from her fingers, propelling a pea into Romy’s cheek.
“Theo,” she said quietly watching the pea bounce and roll beneath her chair. “Whatever is wrong with you?”
“She’s pelted you with peas,” Phaedra whispered in a sing-song voice. “Because of Blythe. You don’t know because you’ve been at the modiste’s and not the park.”
“Not another word.” Romy didn’t bother to ask how Phaedra knew about Madame Dupree. There were few secrets between the sisters and Olivia. It was a struggle to keep anything quiet. “You will say nothing of that,” she hissed under her breath.
Phaedra’s attention returned to her plate.
“I should love to attend, Mama.” Theo addressed her mother. “If Cousin Winnie is certain of our welcome.”
“Yes, of course. You and Andromeda would be graciously received. Don’t you think so, Rosalind?”
Rosalind nodded.
Romy glared at her cousin, who refused to meet her eyes. She’d no desire to attend a bloody house party; the family had only just returned to London. At least a dozen new sketches sat in her portfolio upstairs just waiting for Madame Dupree. Now was not the time to dash off to the country, especially since she was now asilentpartner in a modiste’s shop.
“Perhaps Theo should go—” she started, deciding to decline the invitation.
Another pea hit her cheek. This time deliberately.
“Romy and I would be delighted to attend, Cousin Winnie.” Theo gave their cousin a demure look, which wascompletelyout of character. Theo hadn’t been demure a day in her life. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
