• • •
“Well done, Lily. You were very brave, standing up to Aunt Agatha like that,” Rose said as the girls trooped upstairs.
“Positively heroic,” George agreed. “I thought the old tartar would burst when you said that about it being an invitation, not an order.”
Lily gave a shaky laugh. “I was terrified.”
“You didn’t look it. You did well, young ’un.” George opened the door to her bedchamber. “Hello, my darling boy. Were you waiting for me?” She ruffled the ears of Finn, the great shaggy wolfhound who’d bounded out to meet them.
“Young ’un?” Lily said in mock indignation. “You’re only eleven days older than me.”
George grinned. “And therefore I’m older and wiser. Aren’t I, Finn? Yes, so much older and wiser.” Finn squirmed with delight, his tail madly scything the air.
“Ah, but I’m your aunt. And you, therefore, owe me respect.” Lily gave George a playful smack as she passed. She’d stood up to Aunt Agatha, and not only had she survived—she’d won. She bounced onto the bed.
Rose tugged on the bellpull. She’d arranged for tea and buns to be brought up after Aunt Agatha had left, and that was the signal. She sat on the bed, curled her legs around and said, “So, who is this school friend for whose sake you braved Death-by-Lorgnette?”
Lily grimaced. “It wasn’t really about her,” she admitted. “She was just an excuse. The truth is, I couldn’t bear to spend another evening out with Aunt Agatha. The way she looks at me . . .”
Rose leaned forward and gave her a hug. “I know. It’s horrid. Just ignore the old witch—you’re not fat, you’re curvy. Aunt Agatha is one of the thin Rutherfords! George and I take after her—physically, George, not in any other way, I’m glad to say—whereas you’re like darling Aunt Dottie.”
“Who never married,” Lily reminded her. “Whereas Aunt Agatha married three times.”
“I know. It’s a mystery.”
George snorted. “Yes, but all three of Aunt Agatha’s husbands died on her—which I think is perfectly understandable. What else could you do once you found yourself married to a vitriolic dragon?”
They all laughed. “But why would they marry her in the first place?” Lily wondered.
“Probably too terrified to refuse.”
There was a knock at the door, and George went to answer it. A maid brought in a tray with a pot of tea, three cups and a plate containing six iced fruit buns and two thin, dry wafers. George poured the tea, handed the cups around and placed the plate of buns on the bed between the two sisters. She took a bun and bit into it with a blissful expression.
Lily tried not to notice. She pushed the plate away and sipped her tea, no milk, no sugar. There were wafers if she wanted anything. She was ravenous, but the memory of Aunt Agatha’s lorgnette stiffened her resolve.
Rose made an exasperated sound. “Oh, will you stop worrying about your shape, Lily. You’re gorgeous the way you are. It won’t make any difference to finding a husband, and starving yourself will only make you miserable!” She shoved the plate back. “Besides, as heiresses, none of us will have any difficulty finding a husband. We could be cross-eyed, snaggletoothed and hunchbacked and we’d still find men who’d marry us.”
“Yes, for our money,” Lily responded. “I don’t want that sort of husband.”
“I know, but we’re not exactly hags,” Rose continued. “Each one of us is perfectly adorable”—George snorted and Rose poked her tongue out at her—“so there’s no hurry. We can take our time and choose from a delightful array of men.”
“Not me,” George said. “I never had a penny to spare before this year, and now I’m rich, why would I want to hand over my money to some man who can do what he likes with it—and me? Go back to being dependent on a man’s sense of honor? No, thank you.”
“Not all men are like your father,” Lily said softly.
George shook her head. “Dogs and horses are much nicer and more trustworthy. I’d rather find a nice place in the country and live happily ever after with my money and my dogs. Like the Duchess of York, only with horses as well.”
“Poor thing, such a shame she never had any children. I’m sure that’s why she has all those dogs. Don’t you want children, George?” Lily asked.
Lily herself wanted very much to marry. She wasn’t ambitious, she didn’t care about titles and she wasn’t interested in the kind of sophisticated and intimidating gentlemen Aunt Agatha kept pushing at them. Lily just wanted to fall in love with a nice, comfortable gentleman, and be loved in return. And to have children.
George considered it. “I don’t know. I’ve never had anything much to do with children. I’m probably better with puppies and foals.” She picked up another bun and bit into it. Lily’s stomach rumbled. She sipped her black, sugarless tea.
“So who is this school friend you’re meeting at the Mainwaring party?” Rose asked.
Lily’s stomach suddenly felt even more hollow. “Sylvia Gorrie.”
Rose frowned. “Who’s Sylvia Gorrie? I don’t remember any Sylvia Gorrie from school.”
“Gorrie is her married name. She used to be Sylvia Banty.” Lily waited for the explosion. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Sylvia Banty?” Rose stared. “That bitch?” She turned to George. “She was caught stealing—and from girls she had the gall to call her friends. She even stole Mama’s locket from Lily—all Lily had of her!” She snorted. “I never liked Sylvia. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, the sneaky little cow!”
“That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?” George said.
Rose blinked in surprise. “Do you know Sylvia too?”
George shook her head. “Never met her in my life. But I like cows. Lovely, gentle creatures. Beautiful eyes. Calling this Sylvia person a cow—or even a bitch, for that matter—isn’t fair on cows. Or bitches. Dogs are some of my favorite people.”
“Very well, call her a miserable little cockroach,
