far as Tess could ascertain by staring in the mirror, she and Annabel certainly looked alike enough to be sisters, but their effect on men was utterly different. Something about Imogen and Annabel drove men into imbecilic paralysis in their presence, and whatever it was, she, Tess, didn’t seem to have it. They were all beautiful, thanks to their mama, who had been the most lovely debutante in London until she threw herself away on a horsemad, bankrupt Scottish viscount. But Tess never reduced anyone into stammering silence the way Annabel and Imogen did.
Tess sometimes thought the problem was that she not only looked like their mother but that she remembered her. Annabel would never speak of their mother, and Imogen and Josie had been too small to have clear memories. But Tess remembered. And remembered. And somehow since Papa died, it was all wound up together in her chest … missing her mama so much that her chest hurt, then missing her father with the same pulse of pain.
‘Now, if I marry the duke,’ Annabel said briskly, ‘one of us ought to marry that earl our guardian has so kindly provided.’
‘Better the earl than the duke,’ Imogen said. ‘I don’t think Holbrook has combed his hair since last Tuesday. Not that I’m marrying either of them.’
‘I’m too young to marry anyone,’ Josie said with satisfaction. ‘And even if I weren’t, the Earl of Mayne would never want to marry someone like me. There’s something rather arrogant about him, don’t you think?’
‘What do you mean by “someone like me”?’ Tess asked. ‘Because you are beautiful, Josie. He would be lucky to marry you.’
‘A plumpy partridge?’ Josie said, and there was a hint of shame in her voice.
‘Papa meant it as an endearment, not as a description,’ Tess said, cursing her father silently, then instantly following the impulse with a silent prayer for forgiveness.
‘Did you hear His Grace mention that he would ask Lady Clarice to be our chaperone?’ Imogen said, abruptly changing the subject back to her favourite topic of conversation. ‘Lady Clarice is Draven’s mother. His mother! We are bound to see him often. And if she likes me …’
‘The fact Maitland’s mother exists does not alter the fact that his fiancée exists as well,’ Josie noted.
‘I can tell that Draven’s heart is not engaged in the match,’ Imogen said with an edge to her voice. ‘Just consider, he’s been betrothed for over two years without progressing to the altar.’
‘I hate to be dour,’ Annabel said, ‘but there’s likely a great deal of money involved in a breach-of-promise suit. Maitland has never been one to consider money as other than fodder for his stables. Do you really think he would choose you over his stables?’
Imogen opened her mouth, and then lapsed into silence.
‘Enough,’ Tess said, sitting up and pushing back the counterpane. ‘We must dress for supper.’
‘I’m merely going to the drawing room briefly to meet our chaperone,’ Josie said. ‘Then Mrs Beeswick is going to serve me a comfortable meal in the schoolroom. I’ve been there while you were sleeping, and it’s all books. Lovely books!’
Tess gave her a hug. ‘That’s splendid, darling. And the duke told me that he’d find you a governess directly, so perhaps you could even start lessons in the near future. It would be nice if one of us were learned. Imogen, you mustn’t let Lady Clarice have even a hint of your tendresse for her son.’
‘I’m not stupid!’ Imogen clambered off the bed. She’d left her hair down, and it swept behind her in a great swirling gleam of black silk. ‘Just don’t ask me to marry anyone except for Draven. Not the duke nor the earl. I’m quite certain that — ‘
‘Oh, no,’ Josie moaned. ‘Can’t you just accept the fact that Maitland is unavailable, Imogen?’
‘I don’t agree,’ Imogen said stubbornly. ‘Don’t you remember the time that I managed to fall out of the apple tree at Draven’s feet, and he picked me up?’ She shivered. ‘It was lovely. He’s so strong.’
‘Yes, but — ‘ Josie said, but Imogen overran her.
‘I thought I might not see Draven until we travelled to London, but here he is living down the road, and his mother is to be our chaperone.’ Imogen’s eyes were glowing with fervour. ‘Obviously, it’s fate! We belong together.’
‘I think we’ve neglected the possibility that she injured her head in that fall,’ Josie said to Annabel and Tess.
Tess sighed. It was obvious to everyone that Draven Maitland didn’t really give a pin for Imogen, and it was equally obvious that Imogen wouldn’t countenance marrying anyone other than Maitland. Either she or Annabel would have to give Imogen a home until their little sister finally gave up her fruitless adoration.
‘Our marriage was fated in the stars!’ Imogen announced, looking as dramatic as any heroine in a melodrama.
Annabel was standing before the glass, pulling her honey hair in a great mass over her shoulder. ‘Darling,’ she said, giving Imogen an amused glance, ‘you keep your idea of how marriages are made, and I shall keep mine. From everything I’ve seen, the best marriages are those between practical persons, entered into for practical reasons, and with a reasonable degree of confidence in compatibility.’
‘You sound like a solicitor,’ Imogen said.
‘An accountant,’ Annabel responded. ‘Papa made me into an accountant, which means that I can’t help looking at life as a series of negotiations, of which marriage is the most important.’
She smiled at herself in the glass and twisted her hair into a great shining pile on her head. ‘Do I not look like a duchess?’ She struck a pose. ‘Make way for Her Grace!’
‘Make way for a goose!’ Josie said, and then shrieked and ran for the door as Annabel made a swipe at her bottom with the brush.
I mogen’s hands weren’t shaking. She was quite proud of that. Any other girl would be trembling like a leaf under the circumstances: she was about to meet her future mother-in-law for the first time, and perhaps see Draven too …
She brushed her hair until it crackled, and pinched her cheeks until she looked feverish, and then practised demure smiles in the mirror. There was no reason to be nervous, given that fate had obviously brought them together. She practised her smile again. She must use just the right smile when meeting Draven’s mother: a smile that was not grasping, socially aggressive, or any of those undesirable qualities. She had decided to aim at adorably shy and very young.
It took a while (adorably shy not being one of Imogen’s natural characteristics), but finally she was fairly certain of success. If she merely curled up the very edges of her mouth and let the smile tremble on her lips, she looked positively Juliet-like. Thirteen at the most.
Josie stuck her head in the door just as Imogen was practising a deep, yet bashful, curtsy before the mirror. ‘One can be certain,’ Josie said in her customary acerbic tone, ‘that your darling Maitland will
