How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

“I’m sorry formy brother,” Ivy said later as Persephone rejoined her friends. The guests continued to mill around the statues, parasols fluttering in a kaleidoscope of colors, like giant flowers on stems. Persephone had forgotten hers, of course. Mostly because she did not own one. And refused to borrow her grandmother’s lace monstrosities. Her parasols had nothing on her wigs and her wogs rivaled every confectioner’s creation ever made.

“I’m often sorry for my brother as well,” Priya grinned. “Although not like that. You don’t really want tips, do you?”

“No, thank you.”

Persephone was deeply relieved. She had no tips to give. “Try to get yourself the attention of a traitor and murderer” seemed dodgy at best. “This hunting is awful business,” she said instead. “I feel badly for everyone involved. No one wants to be quarry.”

“Speak for yourself,” Priya snorted.

“You wish to be quarry?” Persephone asked, dubiously. “That is a surprise.”

“Certainly not, but I hardly feel sorry for them. Once they wed, they get a wife’s dowry or inheritance. What do we get?”

“Love?” Persephone suggested.

Priya laughed loudly. “Hardly. We no longer have what little legal access to our own money, our own bodies. Our own decisions. It’s a nasty business.”

“I take it your marriage was not…welcome?” Ivy asked.

“Actually, it was. My husband was a lovely honourable man. He insisted on saving me from a fortune hunter. Conall was away, you see.” That was for Persephone’s benefit, as if she did not want Persephone thinking ill of Conall. As if they were truly engaged. It was a brief moment, lovely in its fantasy. Persephone reminded herself not to hold on to it.

“But even he could not change hundreds of years of tradition and law,” Priya continued. “Instead, once he realized he was ill, he bought me houses and jewels—as much as could be bought with funds that were not entailed. I am well cared for.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’d rather care for myself, but there it is, I suppose. Better to be seated above the salt even if they are only serving tripe and moldy old cheese.”

“There it is,” Ivy echoed.

Priya laughed again, a softer sound. “I’ve gone and changed the mood. I apologize. I am out of practice when it comes to polite conversation. I should have talked of the weather and the pretty teacups.”

Persephone grinned. “As am I. But I can tell you that Cleopatra used ground carmine beetles to color her lip salve.”

Priya wrinkled her nose. “Splendid.” Ivy was quiet but smiling. “And you?” Priya added. “Can you save our atrocious attempts at polite conversation?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh good. That’s a relief.”

Priya’s grin was positively wicked when she turned to Ivy. “By the way, I have just the thing to add to your brother’s tea when he is being particularly tiresome.”

Ivy might have looked like a delicate rose, all pink cheeks and silence, but the answering gleam in her eyes spoke entirely of thorns.

Persephone and Conallhad the honor of opening to dancing for the evening.

An honor Persephone could have easily done without.

“Steady on,” Conall whispered when she curtsied and managed to step on her own train.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not good at this.”

“You are perfectly fine,” he said, clasping her waist. She felt the heat of his hand through the silk of her gown. “It’s everyone else that’s the problem.”

She smiled up at him briefly. “If only that were true. But I know that they are thinking: we are too different to be a match. I knew this wouldn’t work.”

“Oh ye of little faith. We are far more alike than you assume.”

“How’s that? People stare at me and never actually see me.”

“They stare at me as well.”

“Because they see you.”