not?"
Irene heard the bitterness that underlay her sister-in-law's sweet tone. It had always been a thorn in Maura's side that she had come from a provincial family of genteel breeding but unimportant name, that she had not spent her life, as Irene had, among the
ton,
known to and received by anyone of consequence.
"I know Lady Haughston, of course," Irene replied. "But we are no more than social acquaintances, really. I would not call Lady Haughston my friend."
"Ah, but then, there are so few who could be called your friend," Maura tossed back.
There was a moment of startled silence at that cutting remark, but then Maura adopted an expression of embarrassment and raised her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, my, how that must sound! Of course, I did not mean that you have no friends, dear sister. There are a number of them, of course. Are there not, Lady Claire?" She cast an appealing glance at Irene's mother.
"Yes, of course." Color stained Claire's cheeks. "There is Miss Livermore."
"Of course!" Maura exclaimed, her expression clearly stating her relief that Irene's mother had managed to come up with an example. "And then the vicar's wife back at the country house is so fond of you." She paused, then shrugged, as though abandoning the futile search for friends, and leaned forward, looking at Irene earnestly as she said, "You know that I want only what is best for you, don't you, dear? All any of us want is for you to be happy. Isn't that true, Lady Claire?"
"Yes, of course," Claire agreed, glancing unhappily at her daughter.
"But I
am
happy, Mother," Irene lied, then turned back to Maura, continuing in a flat tone, "How could I be anything but happy, after all, living here with you,
dear sister?
"
Maura ignored her words, going on in the same earnest, helpful way. "I want only to help you, Irene. To improve your life. I am sure you must know that. Unfortunately, not everyone knows you as I do. They see only your demeanor. Your sharp tongue, my dear, keeps people at bay. However much they might want to get to know you better, your, well, your acerbic wit, your bluntness, frightens people away. It is for that reason that you have so few bosom friends, so few suitors. Your manner is most unappealing to men."
She looked to her friends for confirmation. "A man does not want a wife who will correct him or who will ring a peal over his head if he does something amiss. Is that not true, ladies?"
Irene's eyes flashed, and she said tightly, "Your information, while no doubt
well intentioned,
is of little use to me. As I told you, I am not interested in acquiring a husband."
"Now, now, Lady Irene," Mrs. Cantwell began, with a condescending smile that grated on Irene's nerves.
Irene swung toward her, and the light in her eyes made the other woman swallow whatever she had been planning to say. "I do not wish to marry. I
refuse
to marry. I have no intention of giving any man control over me. I will not meekly become some man's chattel or let some man with less wit than I have tell me what to think or say or do."
She stopped, pressing her lips together, regretting that she had let Maura push her into revealing so much of herself.
Across from her, Maura let out a little laugh and cast a wry look at the other women, saying, "A woman does not have to be under a man's thumb, dear. She simply makes him think that he is in control. She just has to learn how to lead a man into doing exactly what she wishes. The trick, of course, is in making him believe that it was all
his
idea."
Their visitors joined Maura in her arch laughter, and Mrs. Littlebridge added, "Indeed, Lady Wyngate, that is the way of the world."
"I have no interest in such pretense and trickery," Irene retorted. "I would rather remain a spinster than have to cajole and lie to be able to do what I should have every right to do."
Maura clucked her tongue, looking sympathetic. "Irene, my dear, we are not saying you should
deceive
anyone. I am merely talking about making the