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The rest of their time passed quietly, but at least their conversation had finished on a positive note. They thanked the modiste for her time before stepping out once more into the bustling streets.

“Can you believe the nerve of that woman?” Samantha fumed. “How dare she speak that way of the Duke?”

“Sister, you do not like him either.”

“No, but I would never speak of him that way in front of two ladies that I have just met, especially not when one of them is to marry him!”

“Yes, I suppose that she could have had more tact in that respect.”

“It was kind of you to defend him, though. Maybe your marriage shall be an amicable one, indeed.”

“One can hope. In any case, I shall still have you. Until you marry, that is!”

“Do you think that might be why Father is so sociable all of a sudden?”

“It might well be.”

“That would be a mistake on his part, though, would it not?”

“You cannot call it a mistake simply because you do not wish to marry, you know.”

“No, I know, but I am thinking of him. He shall need someone to care for him, will he not?”

“That was when he was indulging too much. He seems to have stopped that of late.”

“And how long do you suppose that might last?”

“I cannot say, but if you do not expect it to be forever, you might wish to take the first good match that he suggests and escape while you can.”

“Do you…” Samantha trailed off, as if she had begun to ask a question that she either could not finish or did not truly wish to know the answer to.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—Do you care for him?”

“The Duke? Well, not particularly as of yet, but perhaps with time he and I might?—”

“No, I mean Father,” Samantha cut in. “Do you care about Father?”

Diana had not, in truth, given the idea much thought before. She had a great deal of love for her father, as any child would, but did she care for him? She could not truly say.

He was her father, not that he had ever quite acted as one. He had been absent and neglectful and often downright cruel, but he had not been completely bad. It was as he had told them over and over in their youth—he could have sent them to the streets, but he allowed them to stay in his home.

“I care that he lives the life that Mama could not,” she replied finally. “If she could not stay with us, at least Father can. We are fortunate in that respect, whether we see it that way or not.”

“I certainly know that I do not see it that way. I do not think that I care about him at all. Does that make me a villain?”

“Not at all. It makes you human. This is why I think that you should?—”

“Marry, I know, but it is not what I want. Not yet, in any case.”

“It would give you freedom, you know.”

“And with all of the work you put in, I would make a wonderful match, too. That counts for naught if I do not want it. You must hate me for that.”

“Of course not. I could never hate you. I only want you to live the life of your dreams, and marriage can afford you at least part of that.”

“I do not want a part of it. I want it all. Marriage is not the only way for a lady to find freedom, you know.”