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Nancy clapped.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Do you have any plans to see the modiste beforehand?”
Rowena felt the color drain from her face. She knew well that there was no money for new dresses. But she couldn’t tell her sister that without having to divulge what her mother had told her. She glanced at the viscountess for any indication of what she should say. Fortunately, her mother was smiling at her eldest daughter, albeit a bit too brightly.
“Rowena has decided to wear her dresses from the previous Season,” she said.
Nancy frowned.
“But why don’t you wish to buy new dresses, Sister?” Nancy asked, looking at Rowena in confusion.
Rowena shrugged, loathing her father’s drinking with her entire soul in that moment.
“This has all happened so suddenly,” she said quickly. “I suppose I just thought it would be easier.”
She felt miserable at the lies she was having to tell. But ever-caring Nancy smiled softly at her and shook her head.
“No, Sister,” she said. “We can’t have you wearing old dresses. I have some I can no longer wear. We can have you try them on, and we will have any necessary alterations made.” Rowena silently breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, she had feared that Nancy would offer to make time to take her shopping. Her sister would have found out then that their parents were close to ruined.
“Thank you, Nan, that sounds lovely,” she said, her smile genuine this time.
Nancy grinned, clearly pleased with the compromise.
“Come, then,” she said, walking over to her sister and taking her hands. “Let us get started.”
The women followed Nancy to her bedchambers, where there was a wardrobe filled with dresses. Rowena secretly admitted they were much nicer than her old ones. She hardly paid them any mind, however. All she could think about was how close her sister had come to learning the truth which their mother was trying so hard to keep from her.
She was also thinking about the upcoming Season and the humiliation that surely awaited her. Was this truly the right thing to do to save her family? Or would they only end up suffering more shame?
Chapter Three
He still couldn’t quite believe that Lady Elsbrook had compiled a list of all the Season’s debutantes. She could hardly have made it clearer that she would settle for nothing less than him marrying that Season. She had even put Lady Viola’s name at the top of the list.
He shook his head as he thought about the list. He had no interest in pursuing unwedded misses who only knew how to engage in a conversation about the weather. Or worse, dresses and dancing.
Two days after the dinner with Lady Viola and her parents, Andrew was making his way down the stairs when he heard voices coming from the hallway. He braced himself for unwanted guests, until he recognized the voices. Then, he grinned, bounding down the stairs and running toward the entryway.
“Andrew,” cried Gemma Spencer, Countess of Spenshire and Andrew’s older sister, turning away from her husband and mother to rush into her brother’s arms. “Oh, it is so good to see you again.”
Andrew kissed both his sister’s cheeks and then looked from her to her husband, Edmund.
“It is wonderful to you both, as well,” he said, nodding to the earl. “But we weren’t expecting you for a few more days yet.”
Edmund approached, clapping Andrew on the back and smiling.
“We returned earlier than expected from our travels,” he said. “We hope we aren’t imposing by arriving so early.”
Andrew laughed heartily and shook his head.
“Not at all,” he said, taking his sister’s hand and patting his brother-in-law on the back. “Please, come and join us for tea. I shall order the servants to put away your things in the guest chambers.”
Andrew did just that as everyone else made their way to the parlor. He and Gemma had always been close growing up. Even though he was the younger sibling, he had always been as doting and protective as any elder brother ever had been to his sister. He had not seen her since her wedding, and the house suddenly felt a little more like home with her there.
The tea was served as they took their seats in the parlor, which was furnished with comfortable sofas and chairs upholstered with deep-blue velvet and tables and cabinets of rich, dark-brown wood. Gemma gazed at a portrait of their father above the mantel, painted just after he had inherited the baronetcy from his father.
She smiled sadly at it but said nothing. Like Andrew, she had experienced their father’s cold neglect of his family. They had both loved their father, but they had learned to do so from a distance, and without expecting his love in return. When his sister looked at him, Andrew winked at her. She cheered instantly, returning the secret gesture, just as she always had when they were children.
“Oh, darling, have you heard?” the baroness said, beaming at her daughter. “There is a lovely soirée at Cresingdale Manor this evening. It is sure to be a most lovely affair.”
