“Oh,” Felicia said.
“Indeed. That was when the door opened and Ernestine brought in Lady Hernshaw and Mrs. Meethe. They were inside the room before they looked up and saw us.” Stacie gestured weakly. “So Frederick helped me up and told them all—the other ladies were about the door, looking in—that I’d just accepted his offer of marriage. After that, of course, everyone was all smiles.”
“Oh, dear.” Ernestine had raised both hands to her cheeks. “It’s all my fault—I shouldn’t have taken Lady Hernshaw to your private parlor.”
“Nonsense,” Stacie chided. “It wasn’t your fault—or anyone else’s, either. My private parlor was the obvious place to take an older lady needing to lie down.”
“Hmm.” Mary was frowning into her teacup. After a moment, she looked up and met Stacie’s eyes. “Is there any chance of you and Frederick converting the sham into a reality?”
Stacie couldn’t stop herself from exclaiming, “Good God, no!”
Sylvia tipped her head and regarded her assessingly. “Why not? You both seem to get along well with each other. You could do a lot worse.”
“Does he have a preference for someone else?” Felicia asked.
“Or do you?” Mary put in.
Stacie frowned. “We haven’t discussed it, but I suspect he doesn’t—and I certainly don’t.”
“Well, then,” Mary said. “There’s no reason to dismiss the notion out of hand.” When Stacie opened her mouth to disagree, Mary held up a staying hand. “You have to admit that he’s eligible—well, beyond eligible given the potential bride we’re discussing is you. He’s not only of suitable rank but possessed of wealth, standing, and charm, is as handsome as they come, and he’s a renowned pianist.” She arched her brows. “If I was constructing a gentleman to suit you, I doubt I could do better.”
This was what Stacie had feared. She was going to have to put her foot down without actually explaining. “Whether we suit or not isn’t the point.”
Mary looked faintly stunned. “It isn’t?”
“No. In my case, the most important point is that I have no interest in marrying at all—not Frederick or anyone else.” She paused, seeing a lack of comprehension in the eyes of all three of her sisters-in-law, and reached for the one argument that might hold them off. “I understand that all three of you have found untold happiness with my brothers, and I’m happy for you—happy for that. How could I not be? But I hope that, in return, you can accept that marriage wouldn’t suit me—it’s not something I want, it’s not something I need.”
She paused for several seconds, then less stridently, went on, “So the arrangement between Frederick and me will not be progressing, as most will suppose, to the altar.”
Mary’s gaze hadn’t left Stacie’s face. Although plainly puzzled, Mary slowly nodded. “Very well. If that’s your decision, then, quite obviously”—she glanced at Felicia and Sylvia, and then at Ernestine, then returned her gaze to Stacie—“we’ll support you in whatever way we can.”
Stacie knew a moment of utter relief. In such a situation, the support of her sisters-in-law would count for a great deal. She tipped her head to them. “Thank you.”
Mary straightened. “So have you and Frederick any idea of how to bring your engagement to an acceptable end?”
Stacie nodded. “We discussed it last night, after everyone else had left. His suggestion is that we behave exactly as the ton would expect of an engaged couple of our rank and that we keep up that façade until July. Then, while the ton is busy in the country, we’ll quietly let it be known that, sadly, we’ve decided we don’t suit.” She studied Mary’s face. “Do you think that will do?”
Mary arched her brows. “That’s…really quite ingenious.” A second later, she met Stacie’s eyes. “It’s simple, yet effective. And yes, that will work. It’s hardly an unheard-of progression of events—engagements announced early in the Season have occasionally been rescinded come summer.”
It was Felicia who asked, “As part of the charade, as it were, do you want Mary and Ryder to host an engagement ball?”
“Good heavens, no!” Stacie couldn’t think of anything worse. She looked again at Mary. “Surely we can say that, given my age, Frederick and I would rather simply go on quietly?”
Mary grimaced. “We can try that line. If he can restrain his family from pushing too hard, we might even be able to hold to it.”
“I’ll speak with him, but he’s as much an unwilling captive to this situation as I am,” Stacie said. “Neither of us intended this situation to come to be—it was an unforeseeable accident that landed us in a compromising position just as others happened upon us.” She shrugged. “Announcing our engagement was the only viable way to avoid a scandal, but neither of us actually wishes to marry the other.”
Mary considered her for several moments, then nodded. “Very well.” She glanced at the clock, then rose. “If you need support or help, send for us, and we’ll come running. But for now, I think we three should hie home and break the news to our other halves—before they get too carried away with the idea of your upcoming wedding.”
“Thank you.” Stacie hadn’t been looking forward to telling Ryder, Rand, and Kit that her supposed engagement was a sham. “And you will make it clear to them that this is not in any way Frederick’s fault—that, in fact, it was the only way he could protect my reputation?”
Mary grinned. “We will—I suspect that will be the most interesting part of our discussions.”
Felicia and Sylvia rose as well, and with Ernestine, Stacie accompanied her sisters-in-law to the door, beyond which the larger Raventhorne town carriage sat waiting.
When the horses clopped away, Stacie shut the door and turned.
Ernestine was waiting to catch her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t blame me for bringing the ladies in and”—she gestured with both hands—“instigating this dreadful situation?”