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it to be true.
    “Hortense! Bring my spectacles.” She extended her hand without lifting her gaze from the window. She knew that Hortense had been standing behind her with her eyeglasses the whole time. Of course, Hortense had too much tact to ask her mistress whether she needed them, one of the many reasons why Hortense was one of the most valuable lady’s maids in the British kingdom.
    Lady Summerset put on her spectacles, then frowned. It looked as if Victoria was going to cause a commotion. The child had always been melodramatic, but she would let her husband deal with that. Served him right, actually.
    Lady Summerset sat down in a side chair in front of the window, and held out her hand. “May I please get a cup of tea? Thank you, Hortense.” A self-satisfied smile crossed her otherwise elegant face. The smile came with the knowledge that the scene below her was one hundred percent not her fault. She had warned, pleaded, threatened, and cajoled all those years ago, but her wisdom and foresight had been discounted as if she were just some “silly” woman. Now here it was in their laps and the danger was too dire for her to even enjoy a moment of comeuppance. She had to find a way to fix it.
    Lady Summerset craned her neck to see whether Rowena had exited the carriage yet, for Rowena truly interested her. Every summer, she would await the child’s arrival with bated breath to see whether her earlier promise of true beauty had been ruined by a bad complexion, an unseemly growth spurt, or the plumpness that had plagued Elaine’s childhood. But no, Rowena had grown lovelier with every passing year. Lady Summerset knew that beauty was one of the few powers afforded to women in their world, and she dearly wanted to teach Rowena how to use it. She had begged her poor misled brother-in-law to allow her to turn Rowena out, but the man had balked and had taken the girls abroad when Rowena should have been reigning over her first season. Odious man. Then he had done the same with Victoria, though the younger child, being pale and delicate and prone to outlandish and inappropriate remarks, was not nearly as presentable as her graceful sibling.
    But to see such promise wasted was just too frustrating. Thesituation wasn’t completely unsalvageable, though at twenty-two, Rowena’s freshness was a bit worn, but as she hadn’t been a fixture at all the collective events that made up London’s society, she would still be somewhat of a novelty. And since her Elaine hadn’t been offered for yet, the girls could attend balls together.
    Rowena was bending over Victoria with the nebulizer. The little chit had gotten herself into such a state over the maid, she had given herself a breathing attack. Lady Summerset shrugged. She had little patience for Victoria’s histrionics.
    She turned from the window, irritation rippling across her shoulders. How like Philip to leave her with a mess such as this. What was she to do with two spoiled young women who were raised among aesthetes, bohemians, Marxists, and God knew who else? It would be a task to marry them both off well, even for someone of her caliber and connections. Of course, after spending all that money on her own daughter’s Swiss finishing school, she had fully expected Elaine to be married in her first year out—but not only had she finished her season without an engagement ring, she professed to having a marked disdain for the institution. A philosophy that seemed to be shared by many of her contemporaries’ children today. She and her friends spoke of it often when they got together—their children’s disinclination for matrimony. Well, never mind that. They thought they were so clever, but soon the young swains would be looking at their partners in practical jokes with new eyes, and the Buxton girls—Elaine’s playful good looks and breeding, Rowena’s ravishing beauty and modern sensitivities, and even Victoria’s delicate countenance and razor-sharp mind—would