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“The militia have returned to the barracks across town,” Betsy announced with a dramatic flounce into an armchair in the drawing room. “The militia, Caro! Even you must be delighted.”

“Oh?” Caroline slipped the page she had been writing on under a book. She had been making a list of prospective suitors for her sisters. Given the lack of red-coated gentlemen on it, Betsy wasn’t going to be receptive to her suggestions.

“You may have turned your nose up at the local boys that courted me before we inherited, but the chance to have anofficeras a husband! This shall be the making of us all.” She propped her chin on her hand and gazed out the window that overlooked the street, clearly dreaming of strong arms and chiseled jaws and marching drills.

“The militia have been stationed outside of Inverley for three years.”

“Yes, but they have been away on training for months, and Susan and I have missed them so. Do you not see what a grand opportunity this is for us all—including you?”

“I have told you time and again that I am not interested in soldiers. I am not interested in marrying. At least not until every last Reeve is well settled, and Will and George have years ahead of them before that happy occasion.” The last thing Caroline wanted was for it to be bandied about town that she was too proud of her new station to consider their local militia. That was nowhere near the truth of why she never wished to wed.

She thought of Maeve and Grace and Arabella, and her mind reeled again at what they had tacitly revealed at the tea shop yesterday. Did they all truly share the same reason for spinsterhood?

“Why must you be so stodgy?”

“I’m not stodgy. I’m responsible.”

“Caro Lamb would have been best pleased with an officer,” Betsy muttered.

“For the last time—you are not to base your life on a woman whose main goal is to ruin herself over a poet. Why do you even wish to be like her?”

“I wish you were like her,” she snapped. “Then you would understand me.”

“I want to understand,” Caroline said softly. “Tell me what you need me to know.”

Betsy had always been difficult, and Caroline had never known best how to handle her. All too often, she thought of the dreadful fever that had taken their parents, and had almost taken Betsy too. She had been ill for days after their parents died, lying there wan and listless. The doctor that they could hardly afford had told them to prepare for the worst. Her pale face had haunted Caroline’s nightmares for years afterward. But maybe she had indulged her too much over the years. Maybe if she had been stricter, Betsy would be better behaved.

Her heart ached. All she wanted was for her brothers and sisters to be happy.

Betsy rose from the chair and paced about the room. “Caro Lamb understands passion. There is nothing in the world so grand as love, and she grasps at it with both hands and refuses to let go. She’s an inspiration!”

“She’s a married woman who had an ill-advised affair with Lord Byron, who now scorns her affections at every turn. Where is the happiness in that?”

“Love is more important than reputation.”

“Luckily for you, you can have both,” Caroline said. “You need not ruin yourself to prove that you have a love for the ages. You simply must marry after finding the right man.” She hesitated, but decided it was best to be frank with her sister. “I have heard that people are calling the Reeve familyvulgar. Do you have any idea why rumor mongers may be calling us so?”

Betsy crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “If anything dire should happen—and I am confessing tonothing—then I could run off to Gretna Green with my lover, and the papers wouldbe all agog at our grand romance. It would be wonderful. There are far worse things than common vulgarity.”

Caroline wanted to weep. Her little sister, caught up in a situation that she knew far too little about. “But what if he is a scoundrel who leaves you before taking you to the altar?”

“Then I shall be considered notorious and fascinating forevermore, and invited to dine out on tales of my heartbreak.” She shook her head. “But these are rumors. I have done no more than kissing, Caro. I swear.”

“You have the chance at a decent match if you don’t throw away your name.”

“I wish my name to be associated with more than being a girl from Inverley who did nothing of interest and sat out every dance not pre-approved by her older sister.”

Caroline snorted. “You have been reading far too many novels.”

“Well, if marriage is so worthwhile, why aren’tyousnapping up any of the men who look your way?”

“I told you—”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Betsy cried. “You know perfectly well that with our new circumstances, you need not be soinvolvedin order to make good on your promise to take care of us all. We are all grown now, except for Will and George. And if you are worried about a suitor not wanting the boys underfoot, they will soon be sent to Eton and not a bother to anyone except on holidays.”

Panic clutched at Caroline’s heart. Did her siblings feel like they didn’t need her anymore? “I have no plans to marry. But I want to see you and Susan as respectably wedded as can be, and I wish to help Jacob settle into his new responsibilities as best I can.”

“What makes for arespectableunion?” Betsy rolled her eyes. “It sounds dull. What do you consider to be the ideal for such a suitor?”