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“My girls have had the very best tutors.” A definite flash of side-eye at Lady Penrose, and Mrs. Sangford continued. “Our Amelia is sought after at gatherings. There is nothing she cannot play.”

Her Amelia was an obvious golden child. She had shiny, red-blonde curls that cascaded from a loose pile upon her head. Her chin was perfect. Her eyes green, like a cat’s. Her mouth pouted naturally in the way that gentlemen were so fond of. In short, she was a younger version of her mother.

Miss Sangford, on the other hand, must have taken after her father.

She was taller. Everything about her was elongated.

A sharper chin. A longer neck. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, as were her eyes.

There was an elegance to her, which made up for the fact that her youth had begun to fade.

She was clearly not the favorite. Perhaps that was why her mouth had an unhappy turn to its corners.

And perhaps that was why, despite her mother’s accolades, Miss Sangford picked their opponent’s side.

Her voice came out as a slow drawl, as if she were in no rush to have her say.

“Amelia is rather like Miss Penrose, don’t you think, Mama?

I would say they are equally talented. And Amelia has definitely missed the note on her Mozart more than once. ”

“‘Rondo alla Turca’ is a notoriously difficult piece!” her sister cried. “I should like to see you try to play it half as well!”

“It is not I whom Mama has spoken so highly of.” Miss Sangford spoke with a barely disguised bitterness.

Miss Penrose began to smile and quickly hid her mouth behind her hand. She pretended to yawn. “My, but it is warm in here. Unusual for early spring.”

Ah , thought Verity, we are retreating to the safety of platitudes about the weather . “It certainly is warm,” she replied. “I find it even more so, being from Fernbridge, which is farther north. Our spring remains chilly through the middle of May.”

“Ah, yes.” Miss Sangford chimed in, though “chime” was possibly not the best description for her languid speech. “Your family is acquainted with the Fernbridge Coles, are they not? The married sister, Mrs. Trenton, lives here in Munro, not far from our uncle.”

Verity cast a nervous glance at Hope. How much of recent events was common knowledge?

Hope shook her head almost imperceptibly, and Verity exhaled relief.

“I have not seen Charlotte… I mean, Mrs. Trenton, since we were children. But I hold her in the highest regard. She has always been a good friend to Hope. More than that, I cannot tell you.”

Miss Sangford leaned forward—a little hungrily, if her gleaming eyes were any indication.

“Perhaps you are more recently reunited with Mr. William Cole, her younger brother? He returned home rather abruptly last year. We wondered what took him from us so suddenly. We heard he had gone to claim a bride. And yet he has returned to Munro an unmarried officer. Can you cast any light upon the matter?”

“Oh!” Verity’s stomach clenched. “Er… I hardly saw him at all. He came to tea a few times but did not mention his plans for marriage as such.”

My face is an open book! Verity squealed silently, praying that her discomfort would not be conspicuous enough to create suspicion. She felt quite naked under Miss Sangford’s searching eyes.

“ I saw him at our Twelfth Night celebration,” said Miss Penrose proudly. “He kissed me under the mistletoe.” She brought her fingertips to her lips. “My first kiss. And I shall never have another like it.” She sighed dreamily.

Of course he had , thought Verity. So, he had returned to his rakish ways.

How disappointing. Or was Miss Penrose now the focus of his attention?

If so, it was equally disappointing. She had hoped for better judgment on his part.

Miss Penrose lacked any of the qualities that would help make a real man of him.

“I’m surprised, Lady Penrose, that you thought it wise to include your daughter in such frivolous games,” tutted Mrs. Sangford.

“Many a fine gentleman looking for a wife would prefer to be the one who claimed her first kiss. And I cannot imagine you consider Lieutenant Cole among those you would consider for Miss Penrose.”

“Oh, no, not him, certainly!” cried Miss Amelia Sangford. “I’m sure he kissed a great many young ladies that night.” She sniffed. “Men like him take every advantage of naive, young women, and mistletoe is a ready excuse.”

Miss Penrose scowled. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘men like him.’ He was the perfect gentleman. And he kissed none but me.” She preened a little, touching her hair at the base of her neck and lowering her lashes coyly.

Her mother cut in sternly. “I don’t think these ladies”—Lady Penrose paused, as if the term “ladies” could not be applied to all present—“wish to hear an account of a young woman’s first Twelfth Night.

After all, since it is not the first season for most here”—she was met by a glare from both Miss Sangfords—“they have no doubt had similar experiences without feeling a need to share the personal details. Really, Frances, have I taught you nothing?”

“Why, Mama!” The brazen Miss Penrose continued.

“I don’t think Miss Lockhart would have been permitted such a worldly encounter, being the daughter of a country vicar.

” She smiled with pity at Verity. “And the elder Miss Sangford has been saving her attentions for a man of rank. Is that not so?” She offered an innocent cock of the head to the opposing party.

“Well, it is only natural!” Mrs. Sangford protested. “Should we demand anything less than suitors of nobility, since we are distant cousins to the queen?”

“How distant, exactly?” Lady Penrose replied, her face a mask of sweetness.

“Ah, tea!” Hope almost shouted with relief as the footman entered with a tray. “Shall I pour? Two sugars, I believe, Lady Penrose?”

As Hope served the guests in a very particular order, a careful dance of hierarchy ensued, in which the Sangfords were obliged to concede that their relation to the queen—such as it was—ranked lower than an actual title.

With everyone’s place confirmed, the conversation proceeded rather more sedately, and Verity found herself the focus of their now-undivided attention.

“Which will be the first ball your sister attends, Mrs. Sinclair?” Lady Penrose wanted to know.

“I believe it to be hosted by the Macraes,” Hope replied. They always draw a lovely crowd, and Verity will be able to meet a wide range of Munro’s inhabitants.”

“Yes,” Lady Penrose agreed, but without the same enthusiasm. “They are rather modern in that way. But what can one expect from descendants of Jacobites? They may be loyal to the Crown now, but their thinking has always been a little… different.”

Verity’s ears pricked up. Different? Bless Hope’s heart!

The Macraes sounded exactly like the sort of people Verity would get along with.

And everyone attending would feel the same way.

How wonderful! Even better, it meant that the backstabbing, two-faced Penroses and Sangfords and their ilk would avoid the gathering at all costs. How positively heavenly!

“Of course,” Lady Penrose continued, “ we will be at Munro House for the viscount and viscountess’s ball. The event will be for gentry only. Rather different than the Macraes, who throw their home open to just about anyone.”

“I believe Lord and Lady Howell intend to grace the Macraes with their presence,” Hope said in a measured tone.

“And several other estate balls besides. The new viscountess is apparently a total delight. I imagine his lordship cannot wait to show off his new wife. They have been married but a six-month, and yet all who encounter them say the change in the viscount is marked. He has quite shed his previously taciturn nature. How lucky we are when we find someone who brings out the best in us!”

“I shall see that with my own eyes before I believe it,” Mrs. Sangford mumbled. All heads—bar those of the Misses Sangford—turned to her in surprise. She shifted in her chair.

“Why, my dear Mrs. Sangford,” Lady Penrose retorted, “how can you speak thus of our finest citizen? He has done nothing but good for our fair city.”

“Cities don’t have feelings,” Mrs. Sangford answered bitterly.

Lady Penrose’s head jerked up. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure I don’t understand your meaning. Would you be so good as to explain?”

Mrs. Sangford glared at the baroness. She did not answer immediately. If Lady Penrose had meant to humiliate her, she was unwilling to take the bait.

She glanced at her daughters. They sat in equally uncomfortable silence. At the sight of her unhappy children, Mrs. Sangford was at once transformed. She lifted her head and sat taller, her mouth tightening, eyes blazing, as the mother tigress within rushed to the surface.

“Both my daughters have been slighted by that man.” She growled.

“Some viscount he is. He has the manners of a peasant!” She almost spat the words.

“ No wonder he married a commoner. And a merchant’s daughter, at that!

What can she offer the people of Munro but country manners to match those of her boorish husband?

” Her hand waved in unison with her disdain.

“ Of course they are a good match! He would never have found a suitable wife among the ton of our fine city.”

Mrs. Sangford breathed heavily, her tirade paused but threatening to resume at the slightest provocation.

Verity, who had never met either the viscount or his “country” wife, felt at once that she must like them very much if they drew such ire from Mrs. Sangford.

How wonderful that Lord Howell had found happiness.

He must have, else the Sangfords would certainly have reveled in his misery.

She could only respect a man who had the wisdom to look farther afield when the Munro ton seemed to offer such a meager supply of worthy women.

“Perhaps,” Lady Penrose said smoothly, “if he had waited one more season until my Frances was out in society, things would have been different. A young woman of good breeding might have offered him a better outcome.”

“Oh, no , Mama!” Miss Penrose cried. “I could never marry someone so high in the instep and always in the dudgeon. I would far rather have a simple officer like Lieutenant Cole, who is charming and kind.”

Lady Penrose was unamused. “You can rid yourself of such thoughts immediately, Frances. Perhaps Miss Lockhart would find a young officer enticing, but he is not for you. Your father would disown you at once.”

Miss Penrose considered Verity. Envy lay shallow in her hooded eyes and scorn twisted her pouting lips.

Verity could only imagine the extent of the young lady’s rage if she should discover that this very vicar’s daughter had been the bride for whom Mr. Cole had returned to Fernbridge.

And, worse still, that she had written him off as husband material!

The urge to scratch her itching arm returned and it was all Verity could manage to restrain herself under the hawkish gaze of Miss Penrose.

By some merciful stroke of good fortune, the hallway clock began to steadily announce the noon hour.

“Ah,” said Lady Penrose upon the first gong.

“Mama,” chimed in Miss Penrose along with the timepiece. “Did you not say…?”

“Yes, indeed,” her mother answered upon the third strike.

All the visitors rose and began their polite goodbyes.

“Well, this has been lovely,” Mrs. Sangford said to no one in particular.

“Yes, just lovely,” Miss Amelia echoed with a smile that shone like her Venetian-blonde locks. Her mother beamed at her. The dark and broody Miss Sangford remained silent.

“Such a pity we must leave so soon,” Lady Penrose insisted, shooing her daughter out before her. “So many other commitments. You understand.”

“Of course,” Hope assured them, walking with them toward the door.

A footman returned wraps and coats to each in turn. Hope waved the guests into their carriages from the steps. The front door closed. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

Verity could stand it no longer. “If that is what Munro has to offer, I want none of it,” she declared firmly. “You and Mother can think of me what you will, but there is no universe in which the Penroses or Sangfords and I could ever form an alliance.”

“Well, that is good to know,” Hope answered pleasantly. “You would have greatly fallen in my esteem if it were otherwise.”

Verity stared at her sister. “I don’t understand. If they are not suitable companions, why did you introduce us?”

“You were so very reticent about what Munro has to offer,” Hope explained.

“I thought it best to show you the worst at your earliest introduction. Then all that followed would be less daunting. Even enjoyable, given half a chance. Our fair city has its share of disagreeable, gossiping, uncharitable persons. But there are also families worthy of your acquaintance. You will meet several such individuals at the Macraes’ ball.

And now that you have survived the worst of us, you can relax and enjoy the best of us. ”

Verity folded her arms. “I suppose you think you are very clever to manipulate circumstances thus.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” Hope grinned. Then she slipped her arm into Verity’s. “Come on, let’s put you back into one of your old dresses. This one’s color does nothing for you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

At the thought of the imminent release from the loathsome gown, Verity was instantly cheered and willing to forgive Hope just about anything.

She no longer feared an enforced friendship with the girlish Miss Penrose, nor did she dread further probing questions by Miss Sangford.

She did, however, still have a letter to write to Mr. Cole’s sister.

Once the butterfly had been returned to him and an explanation offered, all that was immediately problematic in her life would be dealt with.

Perhaps, after all, Munro was the fresh start her mother had hoped it would be.

For the first time, Verity felt a rush of optimism toward the future.

Really, she should give it a fair chance.

In fact, she pondered, as she slipped the familiar soft muslin over her hips once more, she had already survived the worst. Hope was right. Better things awaited her.

Such pleasant anticipation did not fit as comfortably as her well-worn dress, but she was willing to let it linger.

After all, what did she have to lose? If the Sangfords and Penroses of the world could be so easily discarded, she was free to risk without danger.

And that was something she might just be brave enough to do.