Clem peered at her sister Ivy through the delicate point lace she held. Strewn across the huge mahogany table were accruements varying in shades and function. Hay and straw, dried flowers, lace…the huge ream of ribbons no one could seem to untangle remained untouched to the right of Clem’s elbow. She eyed the perfect pink ribbon entwined with the rest of the ribbons they had collected over the years and shook her head. It wasn’t worth the effort. Her bonnet would have to go perfect pink ribbon-less.
Clem set down the lace. “You do not have to like it.”
Ivy shook her head vigorously. “It’s a terrible idea, do you not think?” She looked to their two other sisters.
Lily shrugged, removed an ugly, unadorned bonnet from her head, and leaned back on her chair. “If Clem wants to waste her time chasing ghosts, let her. It will not be the first time she’s done something silly, and it will not be the last.”
Narrowing her gaze at Lily, Clem drew up her chin. “When did I last do something silly?” she demanded.
Lily chuckled. “Remember when you decided you were going to be a cook and followed Mrs. Kumar around for a week?”
Clem straightened. “I was twelve.” And she still reckoned she could be a cook if she wanted to be. She’d made an excellent honey cake that week.
“All I’m saying—” Lily paused to put one foot upon the table, then the next, holding the stem of a dried flower as though it were a cigar “—is that ghost hunting will keep you occupied but only for a short while, and Ivy should not be concerned.”
Looking at the two of them, one would not be certain Lily and Ivy were even related, let alone twins. Different in every way, including looks—one dark, one fair, one slender, one curvaceous—Clem’s younger sisters could always be counted upon to have differing opinions.
It did not stop them from knowing precisely what the other was thinking, though, and their bond was so fierce that even Clem sometimes feared for her safety if she annoyed either one of them.
“Why do we have to draw yet more attention to ourselves?” Ivy flattened her palms upon the gleaming surface of the dining table. “All I am asking is for one year to pass and for none of us to be mentioned in the scandal columns.”
“We are the daughters of an earl.” Their oldest sister Violet swept past the table, tugged out a chair, and threw herself down. “We shall always draw attention.”
“The daughters of an eccentric earl,” Clem pointed out.
Violet nodded. “And an eccentric countess.”
“Thank the Lord!” Lily declared. “We would not get away with half the things we do now, and you would most certainly be wed by now, Vi.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “There’s still time.”
“You do not care to wed, surely?” Clem propped her elbows on the table, face on her hands, and peered at her sister.
Charmingly beautiful with hair as dark as Ivy’s, it was odd really that Violet had never wed at nine and twenty. Confident, in control, and the most refined of them all, she made quite the catch. But the fact was, none of them were willing to wed for something as dull as duty and there were few men out there who seemed worth the effort.
Running a hand over her face, Violet shook her head and sighed. “It would be a lot easier on our brother if at least one of us married well, but good Lord, the men of Bath are either already wed or horribly boring.”
“We are hardly the most expensive sisters to keep,” Ivy pointed out. “It is not like we partake in the Season every year and demand new gowns.”
“Basil cannot complain. He is off spending who knows what on his travels in Europe,” Lily agreed.
“But we are being kept is my point.” Violet offered a strained smile. “I should rather not have to rely on my little brother to support me for the rest of my days.”
“Well, that will not change if you marry.” Lily swung her feet off the table, her boots thudding to the floor as she leaned forward. “You shall still bekept.”
“I am fully aware of that,” Violet said, straightening. “Anyway, what happened with Mary?”
“I am to help her,” Clem replied.
Ivy wrinkled her nose. “You really think she saw her late husband?”
“She saw someone, of that I am certain, and no one believes her, not even her awful nephew.”
“Awful nephew?” Lily repeated.
“The Marquis of Rochdale.” Clem bunched her fists. The mere thought of his smug face, of the way he peered down his nose at her made her want to tear all the strands of hay apart. He’d better stay out of her way or else...
“Oh yuck.” Lily gave a mock shudder. “That man is all arrogance and...and...”