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She sounded as though she believed it.
Prue snorted. “I don’t think there’s a gentleman who has looked at me beyond the quality of my dress or jewelry this evening. Certainly, none of them have thought to ask after my temperament or personality. Half of them fish for my connections in thetonand aren’t satisfied until I tell them the date and time of Aunt Beatrice’s marriage. And Papa expects me to marry one of them? Oh, Temperance, I want so much more.”
“Your popularity is a blessing.”
At that, Prue sighed. Even Temperance wasn’t on her side this time.
Temperance leaned forward enough to companionably bump Prue’s shoulder with her own. “It is,” she insisted. “It means you can have your pick. It means you have a say.”
For the first time in months, Prue recalled how frightened Temperance had been not to have a choice in her marriage. Despite how she’d threatened, she hadn’t run away, but had faced the day with grace.
Softly, Prue whispered, “I don’t want an arranged marriage. I most certainly do not want a man to marry me for my wealth. I want to marry for love. We must love each other. Isn’t that what a union, especially one so permanent, should be based on?”
The confession hung thick in the air between them. Temperance mustered a smile. “It isn’t all bad. You’ll be well taken care of. You will be a Lady in the end, with a proper title and everything.” She rearranged a lock of hair that had fallen free from one of Prue’s pins. “You’ll be the jewel of the family.”
“I’d rather it had been you.”
Temperance dropped her hand. “Papa needed my marriage to secure the business deal that made you into the heiress you are. Don’t turn your nose up at my sacrifice now.”
Despite the dour topic, her mouth turned up in a sly smile, and her tone was almost playful.
Prue looked her in the eye. “Are you happy?”
Perhaps she should have asked sooner, but she had been so terribly afraid of the answer.
Temperance looked contemplative, then an unexpected, dreamy smile touched her mouth. “Surprisingly…yes.” She turned the word over on her tongue as if shocked to hear it aloud. “I was lucky.”
Prue’s throat tightened again. “I may not be.”
Temperance shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. You have a choice. Tell me, isn’t there any man you like?”
When Prue remained silent, Temperance turned bolder.
“I’ve seen you casting secret looks at the Earl of Wycliffe all evening, Prue. You might as well admit it.”
She swallowed back the lump in her throat. Had she been that obvious in her admiration? Mortification swamped Prue and her cheeks heated against her will. “He is…handsome.”
Knowingly, her sister asked, “Onlyhandsome?”
Prue bit her lip to hide her smile. “More than handsome,” she admitted. “Kind, too. He just stood up with a lady every gentleman has ignored all evening. I admit he makes my heart race. But he hasn’t approached either me or Aunt Beatrice.”
“Then perhaps you ought to approach him.”
Prue glared at her sister. “That isn’t helpful. You and I are both familiar withtonetiquette. It isn’t done.”
Temperance opened her mouth, but Prue cut her off. “We are grasping higher than our station just by being here. We cannot hope to align with an earl. Perhaps a baronet or baron, if we’re lucky. I could repeat Aunt Beatrice’s success.”
Temperance turned her head, and for a moment, Prue thought she was reaching for a rejoinder. Instead, she simply stood, smoothed her gown, and offered Prue her hand. “I suppose you’d best be getting back.”
She knew her sister was right, even if she wasn’t looking forward to another excruciating evening.
She took her sister’s hand, and from there, she wasn’t quite sure what happened. Prue could be clumsy at times, but never this much. How she could both clasp her sister’s hand and trip over her sister’s foot at the same time, she’d never know. However, the jarring pain in her ankle and the angry throb in her knees as she hit the gravel were proof enough. A soft cry tore from her, and she struggled to stand to no avail. This was a disaster.
With a gasp, Temperance crouched beside her. “Prue, are you okay?”
Prue grimaced. “Yes,” she said between clenched teeth and reached for her sister’s hand again. She had no idea which devil of ill luck she had offended, but this time her hand slipped from Temperance’s altogether. When Temperance blindly grasped to catch her, this time by the sleeve, Prue heard a resounding rip.
The sudden wash of cool air against her bosom shocked her enough to look down. Her sleeve was ripped from the seam across her bodice, which now gaped enough to expose half of Prue’s breasts. She sat there, agape, unable to muster the sense to laugh. And laugh she must, because if she didn’t laugh, she would cry.
