Page 7 of Marry in Scandal

“What? What are you doing?” Lily asked.

“Going with you, of course. You don’t think I’d leave you to face a deadly dull partyandthe dreary Sylvia Gorrie alone, do you? She might pinch your pearls while you’re not looking.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Lily said firmly. “I don’t need you or anyone to hold my hand. If anything, you need me to keepyoufrom getting into mischief.”

Rose laughed. “True enough. It’s going to be a tedious night with Aunt Agatha and her duke. I might have to do something desperate—shoot a duke, perhaps. But seriously, Lily, are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?”

Lily hugged her. “Perfectly sure. And I won’t be on my own, I’ll be with Emm and Cal and a hundred other people.”

“I know. It’s just...”

“It’s just that you’re my big sister and you’ve looked after me all my life. But I’m all grown up now.”

“You’re only eighteen.”

“George is only eighteen too.”

“Yes, but George has looked after herself all her life.”

“Then perhaps it’s time someone looked after George for a change,” Lily said softly. “Now, stop worrying. I’ll be perfectly all right. If anything, I should be worrying about you.”

“Me?”

Lily laughed. “I know that look. You’re up to mischief. You don’t like opera any more than I do. So what is it? Are you meeting a man?”

“Yes, a duke. Have you forgotten Aunt Agatha’s triumph already?”

“You know what I mean.” In all the illicit adventures they’d had in Bath, Rose was the instigator, Lily themoderator. Rose was easily bored, and the restrictions of society life made her restless.

Rose’s eyes danced. “What if I am?” She handed the last bun to Lily.

Lily looked down at the bun in her hand, soft, squidgy and delicious. She should put it back on the plate. Lemon icing. “Just be careful, Rose. We’re not in Bath now, you know.”

“And I thank God for it every day. Although I do miss dear Aunt Dottie.”

“Me too.” Lily tried not to inhale the rich, sweet, yeasty fragrance. She had to resist. Finn was eyeing the bun with the mournful air of a dog who hadn’t been fed in weeks. “But you never know, you might even like this duke or one of his friends.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Rose rolled her eyes. “How many dreary old dukes has Aunt Agatha thrown at me so far? I can’t imagine where she digs them up from. I didn’t know there were so many unmarried dukes in the country.”

“I suspect she had the last one exhumed,” George said.

Rose laughed. “Exactly. And if he isn’t stodgy and ancient, he’ll be the kind of bachelor that has a string of beautiful mistresses. He’ll want a respectable young bride to bear him an heir, but he won’t change his habits at all. He’ll continue to keep a mistress or two, but expect his wife to be like Caesar’s—beyond reproach.”

“Men are horrid,” George agreed.

“Cal doesn’t have a mistress,” Lily pointed out. Not all men were horrid, surely. She picked a little bit of icing off her bun.

“It’s different for Cal,” Rose said. “He and Emm are in love. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lily, stop drooling and eat that bun. Consider it breakfast.” She picked up the wafers and tossed them to Finn, who gulped them down in two bites.

• • •

Where was Sylvia? Lily scanned the crowded ballroom for the dozenth time. After braving Aunt Agatha’s displeasure—well, it was as much for her own sake as forSylvia’s—it looked as though Sylvia wasn’t coming after all.

“Would you care for this dance, Lady Lily?” Mr. Frome, a pleasant middle-aged gentleman, bowed before her.

Lily glanced at Emm, who nodded her permission. As Mr. Frome led her onto the dance floor, she reflected that Sylvia or no, she was having a much nicer time than she would have had at the opera. She’d danced every dance, and although her partners were mostly older gentlemen, they were attentive and charmingly flirtatious, paying her extravagant compliments and telling her how pretty she looked—not that any of them were the slightest bit serious, but it was fun all the same.

Much better than sitting under the eye of a dragon and having to try to make conversation with dukes and their friends. How was Rose getting on, she wondered. George would have no interest in dukes—the opera was all about the music for her.