The Lady Most Willing

inclination, rather than chasing him yourself.”

“As if I would do something that fast!” Marilla caught a glimpse of herself in the glass and froze for a moment to coax an errant lock into place.

She was extraordinarily beautiful; you had to give her that. Fiona crossed the room and picked up a hairbrush to shape the long lock that fell down Marilla’s back. Her sister accepted the attention as her due; she was smiling at herself with a tilt of her head that she likely considered sophisticated.

Indeed, Marilla was so exquisite that men could hardly stop themselves from falling at her feet . . .

Though they seemed to fall out of love just as quickly, once they came to know her. As Fiona had bluntly told their father on Marilla’s debut, he should have matched her quickly, before news of her temperament circulated among eligible men.

Regrettably, that hadn’t happened, though Marilla was only beginning to notice the lack of offers; her vanity was such that she deemed virtually all potential suitors beneath her notice.

“We have only a few days before the pass is cleared,” Fiona told Marilla, giving her hair a little tug to get her attention. “Perhaps three or four . . . five at the outside.”

“I know that,” her sister said, twitching her curl free.

“I have no doubt but that Rocheforte or Oakley will fall in love with you. But I would suggest that you make sure of the man before the three days are up.”

“Rocheforte?” Marilla snorted. “Granted, he is very handsome and he’s reputed to have a sportive disposition—in every way. But he could have fled back to France for all I’ve seen him. He hasn’t spent more than five minutes with us. ’Sides, I want a title. A real title, not some French sham.”

“All right, Oakley will fall in love with you,” Fiona said patiently. “But not unless you play your cards right.”

“Are you implying that I cannot do so?” Marilla cried. “That nun of an English heiress can’t hold a candle to me. Though I was shocked to see the duke fall prey to that dreadful Catriona Burns. I’ve never liked her.”

“I have always liked her,” Fiona said. “She’s exceedingly nice.”

“My point is that Oakley will not pose any particular challenge for me.”

“Of course not.” There was no point in taking issue with Marilla’s overweening self-regard. It was as infinite as a starry night. “Do try to control your temper. Be docile and chaste.”

“Why should I be docile? I hate to fawn over an Englishman. I—”

“Because you want to marry into the peerage,” Fiona interrupted. “The English aristocracy. Though I have to say that Rocheforte’s title is an ancient and honored one, not a sham in any sense of the word.”

“That’s right,” Marilla agreed, the little smile coming back to her mouth. “I do want to marry an aristocrat. But I don’t care how old Rocheforte’s title is. He could crawl on his knees across Scotland begging for my hand, and I wouldn’t marry him. The man was too superior to join us for games after supper. I’m sure I don’t know what right he has to be so haughty; the duke and the earl are perfectly happy to join us.”

“In order to marry the earl, you must be docile, courteous, and gentle, as in gentlewoman.” Fiona felt like a governess reciting the alphabet, but that was the reality of being Marilla’s older sister.

“Gentleness doesn’t suit me.” Marilla’s nose wrinkled. One thing you could say about her was that she did not bother to lie to herself.

“Pretend,” Fiona said, rather grimly. “No more behavior such as you exhibited last night.”

“Blindman’s buff invites that sort of playfulness,” Marilla said, with an edge to her voice. “You know how much I love frolics of that nature. Every man in the room tried to find me as soon as he had a blindfold over his eyes.” She squared her shoulders and readjusted the bodice on the ice blue gown she’d chosen from Taran’s ancient selection. “I think I would prefer to carry your reticule than mine. It would better suit the color of this gown. Give it to me, please.”

“I can’t seem to find it,” Fiona said. “I must have dropped it during the kidnapping. Or perhaps I left it in the carriage.”

Marilla raised an eyebrow. “Careless of you,” she drawled. But her eyes returned to the mirror. “These clothes are terribly old-fashioned, but I rather like them.”

“I didn’t think the neckline would be quite so low on you when I altered the gown,” Fiona said, wondering how shocked the room would be if Marilla bared a breast to all and sundry.

“Actually, you didn’t do an adequate job altering the dress, so I had to adjust it myself,” Marilla replied, carefully arranging a long, silky ringlet so that it lay in the valley between her breasts.

“Be careful with your tone,” Fiona warned. “I’m no subservient Cinderella here to do your bidding. I sewed on your gown all morning so that you wouldn’t be stalking the castle half-naked, but if you are rude about it, I shan’t even thread a needle tomorrow.”