Daring Miss Danvers Read Free Page A

lavender bonnet ribbons, she simply pulled her hat off and let it dangle from her hand, freeing a tumble of wild, corkscrew curls. “He let her come out. Out! She’s only seventeen. I had to wait until I was twenty—practically on the shelf, thanks to that retched decorum instructor , Miss Pursglove.”
    Emma and Merribeth had delayed their debuts, as well, making the three of them the same age, with Penelope only two years older. While Delaney blamed Miss Pursglove and Merribeth had been busy waiting for Mr. Clairmore, Emma had delayed hers by a year out of respect for the death of Rathburn’s father.
    “This will be my second Season,” Delaney lamented. “With Bree out, you know what this means. I’ll never marry.”
    They gathered around her in a supportive circle and guided her toward an upholstered chair amid a constant flow of “never fears” and “I’m certains.”
    “You don’t understand. She’s perfect in every way that matters. At least on the outside,” Delaney added with a grumble. “They’ll take one look at her perfect complexion and perfect golden hair that curls in an acceptable manner and wonder why I even bothered to show up this Season. Especially, after last year.” She lowered her face into her hands. “I’m a virtual pariah.”
    The group exchanged a look and shook their heads. They’d each vowed never to speak of the incident .
    In the chair beside her, Penelope reached out and patted her shoulder. “There, there. If you’re lucky, Bree will find a husband at her first ball as Eugenia did.”
    “If I’m lucky, the Duke of Fiddler’s Green will sweep her off her feet and take her to his far-off land before she sets foot in the Dorset ballroom next week.” She sank even farther forward, which one could only do if one weren’t wearing her stays. Then again, Delaney was not fond of propriety, and no wonder, with Miss Pursglove breathing down her neck every moment. The decorum instructor was even more severe than Rathburn’s grandmother, though she held less clout in society.
    Imagine having to deal with such a woman on a daily basis. Emma suppressed a shudder.
    “I’m certain any gentleman would prefer you over your sister,” she said, wanting to cheer her friend.
    Another round of “never fears” followed.
    Delaney grunted and sat up. “They didn’t prefer me last year. With Bree around this year, she’ll be the toast, while I’ll be . . . the crust.” She made a face. “Burnt crust at that. I’ll be lucky to have two dances this entire Season, and those will be with my cousins.”
    “Then we’ll have to trade for every other set,” Emma decided, not quite certain she could manage it, especially considering she hadn’t danced at all last Season. She still hadn’t forgiven Rafe for his part in her lack of partners. “Your cousins will take a turn with Merribeth and me, while my brother takes a turn with you, and Rathburn . . .” she added hesitantly not sure why the mention of his name made her feel those fireflies again, “will take a turn with Penelope, if her husband will allow it.”
    Penelope smiled again, a peculiar light in her eyes. She reached into the basket beside her chair and retrieved a bundle of white satin attached to her embroidery hoop. The others followed suit, settling their needlework on their laps, as she spoke. “While we’ll be attending the musical, I’m not certain we’ll attend the ball.”
    “You’d miss your first ball as a married couple? But I so want to see you dance with Mr. Weatherstone,” Merribeth added with a rather romantic sigh.
    “I want to see his face while you’re dancing with the ever-dashing Lord Rathburn,” Delaney said with a broad grin that Emma tried to ignore, though why it should bother her that her friends found Rathburn handsome, she didn’t know. After all, half the ton thought so as well. “Is he a jealous husband?”
    “Jealous?” Penelope said, glancing at the door as if she could see