as eager. ‘I suppose we must attend.’
* * *
The next day Genna was determined not to agonise over what to wear to this dinner. After all, it would be more in the nature of a family meal than a formal dinner party. There would not be other guests, apparently, save his houseguest, perhaps. A small dinner party, the invitation said, to extend his hospitality to his neighbour and his cousins.
Genna chose her pale blue dress because it had the fewest embellishments. She allowed her maid to add only a matching blue ribbon to her hair, pulled up into a simple chignon. She wore tiny pearl earrings in her ears and a simple pearl necklace around her neck. She draped her paisley shawl over her arm, the one with shades of blue in it.
She met Lorene coming out of her bedchamber.
Lorene stopped and gazed at her. ‘You look lovely, Genna. That dress does wonders for your eyes.’
Genna blinked. Truly? She’d aimed to show little fuss.
‘Do I look all right?’ Lorene asked. ‘I was uncertain how to dress.’
Lorene also chose a plain gown, but one in deep green. Her earrings were emeralds, though, and her necklace, an emerald pendant. The dark hue made Lorene’s complexion glow.
Lorene looked like a creature of the forest. If Lorene were the forest, then Genna must be—what? The sky? Genna was taller. Lorene, small. Genna had blonde hair and blue eyes; Lorene, mahogany-brown hair with eyes to match. No wonder people whispered that they must have been born of different fathers. They were opposites. One earthbound. The other...flighty.
Genna put her arm around Lorene and squeezed her. ‘You look beautiful as always. Together we shall present such a pretty picture for our cousin he will wish he had been nicer to us.’
Lorene smiled wanly. ‘You are speaking nonsense.’
Genna grinned. ‘Perhaps. Not about you looking beautiful, though.’ They walked through the corridor and started down the long staircase. ‘What is he, anyway? Our fourth cousin?’
Lorene sighed. ‘I can never puzzle it out. He shares a great-great-grandfather or a great-great-great one with our father. I can never keep it straight.’
Genna laughed. ‘He got the fortunate side of the family, obviously.’
They walked arm in arm to the drawing room next to the hall where Lord Tinmore would, no doubt, be waiting for them. Before they crossed the threshold, though, they separated and Lorene walked into the room first, Genna a few steps behind her. Tinmore insisted on such formalities.
Lord Tinmore was seated in a chair, his neckcloth loosened. His valet, almost as ancient as the Earl himself, patted his forehead with a cloth. Tinmore motioned the ladies in, even though they were already approaching him.
Lorene frowned. ‘What is amiss, sir? Are you unwell?’
He gestured to his throat. ‘Damned throat is sore and I am feverish. Came upon me an hour ago.’
Lorene put her cloak and reticule on the sofa and pulled off a glove. She bent down and felt her husband’s wrinkled, brown-spotted forehead. ‘You are feverish. Has the doctor been summoned?’
‘He has indeed, ma’am,’ the valet said.
She straightened. ‘We must send Lord Penford a message. We cannot attend this dinner.’
Not attend the dinner? Genna’s spirits sank. She yearned to see her home again.
‘I cannot,’ Tinmore stated. ‘But you and your sister must.’
Genna brightened.
‘No,’ Lorene protested. ‘I will stay with you. I’ll see you get proper care.’
He waved her away. ‘Wicky will tend me. I dare say he knows better than you how to give me care.’
So typical of Tinmore. True, his valet had decades more experience in caring for his lordship than Lorene, but it was unkind to say so to her face.
‘I think I should stay,’ Lorene tried again in a more forceful tone.
Tinmore raised his voice. ‘You and your sister will attend this dinner and make my excuses. I do not wish to insult this man. I may need his good opinion some day.’ He ended with a fit of coughing.
A footman came to the door. ‘The carriage is ready, my lord.’
‘Go.’ Tinmore flicked his fingers, brushing them away like gnats buzzing around his rheumy head. ‘You mustn’t keep the horses waiting. It is not good for them to stand still so long.’
Typical of Tinmore. Caring more for his horses’ comfort than his wife’s feelings.
Genna picked up Lorene’s cloak and reticule and started for the door. Lorene caught up with her and draped the cloak around herself.
At least Lord Tinmore was too sick to admonish Lorene for not waiting for the footman to help her with her cloak.
‘I really do not want to go,’ Lorene whispered to Genna.
‘Lord Tinmore will be well cared for. Do not fret.’ Genna was more than glad Tinmore would not accompany them.
‘It is not that,’ Lorene said. ‘I do not wish to go.’
‘Why not?’ Genna was eager to see their home again, no matter the elevated company they would be in.
Lorene murmured, ‘It will make me feel sad.’
Goodness. Was not Lorene already sad? Could she not simply look forward to a visit home, free of Tinmore’s talons? Sometimes Genna had no patience for her.
But she took her sister’s hand and squeezed it in sympathy.
* * *
They spoke little on the carriage ride to Summerfield House. Who knew what Lorene’s thoughts must be, but Genna was surprised to feel her own bout of nerves at the thought of seeing Rossdale again.
The Marquess of Rossdale.
If he expected her to be impressed by his title, he’d be well mistaken. She would not be one of those encroaching young ladies she’d seen during her Season in London, so eager to be pleasing to the highest-ranking bachelor in the room.
Heedless of the cold, she and Lorene nearly leaned out the windows as they entered the gate to Summerfield House, its honey-coloured stone so familiar, so beautiful. She’d seen the house only from afar. Up close it looked unchanged, except that the grounds seemed well tended. At least what she could see of them. A thin dusting of snow still blanketed the land.
When the carriage pulled up to the house, Genna saw a familiar face waiting to assist them from the carriage.
‘Becker!’ she cried, waving from the window.
Their old footman opened the door and put down the stairs.
‘My lady,’ he said to
