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“E xtortion is a very ugly habit,” Grace whispered to Joy as they pretended to listen to Serendipity’s elaborate plan of attack for the annual picnic.

“Quite a necessary habit in this family,” Joy replied. “And you very well know it.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Serendipity swooped in closer, singling them out.

With a petulant stomp of her foot, she pointed at them.

“Not only did you shirk every responsibility by traipsing off to the village, you came home empty-handed after promising to find presents for little Rorie and Quill. I mean, really! And now you can’t even show me the common courtesy of listening to all I have in mind. ”

“You deserted us,” Felicity whispered to Grace as she offered a tray of petite sandwiches.

She angled herself so their irritated eldest sister couldn’t see her face and gave a long-suffering roll of her eyes.

“Try these,” she said, loud enough for all to hear.

“They are my latest recipe. I thought to help Cook prepare them for the picnic. Seri does not like any of them.”

“I simply told you those were not exactly what I had in mind,” Serendipity said, then turned back to Grace and Joy. “Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“Next time,” Merry whispered from behind them, “take me with you.”

“I heard that,” Serendipity told her.

Merry gave an exasperated snort and sagged back into her seat as if trying to disappear.

“Forgive us, Seri,” Grace said in a placating tone that almost choked her. “We got so caught up in visiting with Mr. Herbert and Mrs. Beatrice, whose hearing is becoming sadly impaired, I fear, but don’t make mention of it, by the way—”

“You are babbling, Grace Elena Daisy Abarough.” Serendipity glared at her. “You only babble when lying. Confess now and disarm Joy. You know she will use whatever you are hiding as a way to get whatever she wants.”

“Seri!” Joy fired off an indignant huff. “You are so insulting.”

“Yes—but am I incorrect?” Serendipity arched a brow to a lofty angle, then turned back to Grace. “Disarm her, Gracie. For your own sake as well as ours. The truth, if you please.”

A knock on the door of the sisters’ shared parlor provided a much-needed interruption.

Grace wiggled in the uncomfortable chair that was sorely in need of thicker padding and new upholstery.

Unfortunately, the sisters had yet to agree on a style or color for freshening the look of their private sitting room that linked their bedrooms and dressing room.

Since each of them stubbornly clung to their favorite colors, the parlor remained decorated in the same faded yellow florals their mother had chosen well before Merry and Felicity were born, and the upholstery was almost threadbare.

“A delivery from Mettlestone’s,” Walters, their ancient butler, announced as soon as Serendipity opened the door.

“For whom?” She stepped back and swung the door open wider while pointing to the large, claw-footed mahogany table at the center of the room.

“A parcel for Miss Aurora, one for Master Quill, a bundle labeled banners and ribbon for the picnic , and a package tagged a gift. ” Walters waved the pair of footmen into the room, directing them to place the items on the table Serendipity had pointed out.

“Thank you, Walters,” Serendipity said as she turned and narrowed her eyes at Grace and Joy. “That will be all.” After the servants left the room, she tipped a curt nod at the parcels on the table. “Care to explain? What lie have you to tell about those, Gracie?”

Apparently, it was time to take a stand about Serendipity’s picnic-planning madness, and since no one else was brave enough to do it, Grace took the mantle upon herself.

“Enough of your bullying, Seri.” She rose from her chair and squared off in front of her eldest sister.

“We do our best to tolerate your impossible behavior when you are planning the family picnic each year, but you overstep every modicum of civil boundaries this time. We are not your enemies, nor are we your servants who must account for our every waking hour to ensure our actions meet with your approval until your infernal picnic is deemed a bloody success. Now, stop this foolishness at once!”

Serendipity went stock-still as if turned into a pillar of salt, her fists clenched to her middle.

Grace couldn’t decide if her sister was about to burst into tears or fly into a rage and start throwing everything within reach.

Serendipity was normally the voice of reason and often the peacemaker.

At least, she always had been before Mama died.

But, sadly, a new pecking order among the sisters had evolved after the death of their parents and Chance’s ascension to the title.

Not only had Serendipity promised Mama to watch over them until they all married, she had apparently vowed to be their taskmaster, their consciences, and their judge and jury.

And Serendipity kept her vows with the tenacity of a Templar Knight.

“We love you, Seri,” Grace said, gentling her tone, “but sometimes, you make loving you quite the chore.”

Serendipity jutted her chin higher, but her fists slowly relaxed, and her hands gracefully dropped to her sides. “I see.”

While Grace didn’t usually worry about bruising anyone’s feelings, she felt bad about hurting her eldest sister.

After all, Serendipity was only doing her best to keep the promises she had made to their dear mama.

“I should not have spoken so harshly, Seri. I know the picnic means a lot to you and is quite the ordeal. Please forgive me.”

The rest of the sisters remained silent.

Not a single one of them moved to add their opinion.

It was an unwritten rule among them when two openly battled.

There would be no pack behavior , as Papa had called it—or at least they should attempt to observe that rule.

The two at odds should work out their differences without the threat of the rest taking sides and collectively attacking the one.

Mama and Papa had usually done the same, allowing the pair at odds to sort out their differences on their own unless one picked up a weapon that might do the other bodily harm.

Their parents had once laughingly admitted they had adopted the rule of stepping in when a weapon was drawn to save poor Chance’s life.

As the only brother trying to survive a herd of seven sisters, he was terribly outnumbered.

Grace went to the parlor door, peeked out into the hall, then closed it once again and locked it.

“Gather round, and I shall confess. However”—she swept a threatening look around the room—“one word about this to Chance, and I shall declare war upon each of you. Frogs in your beds. Knotted stockings in your drawers. Crickets in your chamber pots, and Gastric with a case of the winds in your wardrobes to perfume all your gowns. And that is just a hint of my arsenal. Understood?”

The four sisters nodded, easing in closer. Anticipation tingled through the room like an excited shiver.

“The reason Joy and I returned from Mettlestone’s empty-handed is because the Duke of Wolfebourne and his young brother and sister interrupted our shopping.” Grace waited for the obvious question. She didn’t have to wait long.

“How did they interrupt your shopping?” Serendipity asked. “And is he as beastly as the rumors?”

“He is meek as a lamb around Gracie,” Joy said with a wicked grin. “She attacked the poor man when he’d barely come through the door.”

Serendipity turned to Grace with an open-mouthed stare, apparently struck mute by Joy’s colorful description.

“I did not attack him.” Grace gave Joy a somewhat gentle shove, then shook a finger at her. “This is my confession, if you please.”

Still grinning, Joy threw up her hands and backed up a step. “By all means, proceed.”

“As I said,” Grace began, “I did not attack him. I merely corrected his opinion that children should be seen and not heard. His brother and sister are but seven years old and quite delightful, but the man appears unable to appreciate them.”

“Unable to appreciate them how ?” Serendipity folded her arms across her bosoms, adopting the same look of suspicion Mama had always assumed when listening to any of their confessions.

“They are more than a handful for him. Sharp and cunning as young foxes, but sweet as can be when treated as they should be. The duke has had issues with inadequate nannies and loathsome governesses, and his future mother-in-law is already attempting to ship off the children to the farthest destination she can find.”

“And you discovered all this during your brief encounter in Mettlestone’s?” Serendipity’s silvery-blonde brow, the left one that always betrayed her emotions, angled higher. She knew there was a great deal more to the story without having to be told. “What have you done, Gracie?” she asked quietly.

“The other day, during my ride, I rescued the children’s poor little dog and helped get them and their pets home.”

Serendipity slowly closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead as though stricken with a terrible ache. “Oh, Gracie. Not the clothes.”

“Little Hector was hopelessly snarled in the woodbine ravine. I couldn’t very well leave them to their fates just so they wouldn’t see me in my buckskins.”

“And Hector is?” Merry asked.

“Connor’s dog. Galileo is Sissy’s cat. A huge feline who is quite protective of the children and the dog. It took some coaxing for Galileo to trust me. Sissy said one of the governesses had been mean to him, and that was why he has difficulties with new people.”

“Oh, Gracie.” Serendipity lowered herself into the chair beside the table bearing the gifts. “Did the children tell the duke about your clothing?”