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emulate.”
    Sarah’s head jerked up, her palm resting alongside her cheek. “Oh, no.”
    “What?”
    “Please don’t say you would consider offering for Lady Daphne.”
    “I have no idea what you mean. And even if I did harbor such plans, they are no concern of yours.” He brushed past his sister and left the room, closing the door a bit harder than necessary.
    …
    Penelope gained the top of the stairs and headed to her bedroom. The activity for the first ball of the Season had taken her full attention, leaving her no time to work on her botanical notes. With the girls resting after luncheon, it was a good time for her to begin drawing the specimen she’d found before she’d left home and preserved once she’d got here.
    Padding down the corridor, she passed the door Mary had pointed out as her older sister, Marion’s, room. The door stood slightly ajar. She slowed her steps and glanced in, feeling ill at ease, as if she were spying on an invalid.
    Marion looked up from her seat by the fireplace and closed the book in her hands. “Oh, you must be Miss Clayton. Please, come in. I’m Marion, Lady Tunstall, Her Grace’s eldest daughter.”
    Penelope pushed the door further and entered the bedroom. The first thing that caught her notice was a type of shrine set up on a low dresser near the window. A candle burned below a portrait of a young man, dressed in the garb of the Royal Navy.
    “That’s Tristan, Lord Tunstall.” Marion laid the book alongside her, rose, and moved toward the portrait. “My husband.” The pain and sorrow in those two words cut to Penelope’s heart.
    “I’m so sorry. I understand he was lost at sea?”
    Marion touched her fingertips to the man’s face. “Yes. His body was never recovered. Buried at sea, they say.” She turned toward Penelope, tears standing in her eyes. “I loved him so much.”
    Penelope ached for her. Perhaps love was not such a wonderful thing if this was the result once it was lost. Never having witnessed love first hand, since her mother had died long before any of Penelope’s memories, she didn’t know how her parents’ marriage had fared. When her father had spoken of the woman he’d married, it was always with affection, but never with the longing and heartache so evident in Marion.
    The woman seemed to rally herself. “So tell me about your wonderful ball gown Mary spoke of last night. She assured me you will liken to a princess in it. I understand it will be the first time you’ll appear in ton society?”
    They settled on the couch near the fireplace. “Yes, and frankly, I’m quite nervous about it.”
    “All girls are nervous at their first ball. I’m sure you will do fine. And my family will be there to support you. Now, promise me you will stop in and see me when you are dressed in your finery that night.”
    Penelope swallowed her anxiety. “I would be happy to do that.”
    They talked for another ten or so minutes, and then Marion said, “I am so glad you stopped in. You know, my family no longer mentions Tristan to me. They believe I should have put this behind me by now, and moved on with my life, but they don’t understand. . .”
    “Only you will know when it is time.”
    “How right you are. I wish my family would recognize that. I know Mother worries so. She loves me, and wants to see me happy, but I can’t convince her I will never be truly happy again.” She turned to Penelope. “Can you understand that?”
    “I believe if you feel that way, they should honor your wishes.”
    Silence descended as they studied the fire. Penelope stood and smoothed her skirts. “It’s been lovely visiting with you.”
    “Will you return? Or have I turned you away with my maudlin ramblings?”
    “Not at all. I shall be delighted to visit with you again.” With that, she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Marion with her sorrow and shrine.

Chapter Five
    Drake pushed aside the last of the correspondence