“I’m afraid they will have to wait until I am ready,” Mercedes replied in a frosty tone. “My two innocent girls require the supervision of a proper chaperone.”

“Annabelle will be our chaperone,” Lillian said brightly. “She’s a respectable married matron now, remember?”

“I said a proper chaperone—” their mother argued, but her protests were abruptly cut off as the sisters left the room and closed the door.

“Dear me,” Annabelle said, laughing helplessly, “that’s the first time I’ve ever been called a ‘respectable married matron’—it makes me sound rather dull, doesn’t it?”

“If you were dull,” Lillian replied, locking arms with her as they strode along the hallway, “then Mother would approve of you—”

“—and we would want nothing to do with you,” Daisy added.

Annabelle smiled. “Still, if I’m to be the official chaperone of the wallflowers, I should set out some principal rules of conduct. First, if any handsome young gentleman suggests that you sneak out to the garden with him alone…”

“We should refuse?” Daisy asked.

“No, just make certain to tell me so that I can cover for you. And if you happen to overhear some scandalous piece of gossip that is not appropriate for your innocent ears…”

“We should ignore it?”

“No, you should listen to every word, and then come repeat it to me at once.”

Lillian grinned and paused at the intersection between two hallways. “Shall we try to find Evie? It won’t be an official wallflower meeting unless she’s with us.”

“Evie is already downstairs with her aunt Florence,” Annabelle replied.

Both sisters exclaimed eagerly at the news. “How is she? How does she look?”

“Oh, it’s been forever since we’ve seen her!”

“Evie seems quite well,” Annabelle said, sobering, “though she is a bit thinner. And perhaps a little dispirited.”

“Who wouldn’t be,” Lillian said grimly, “after the way she has been treated?”

It had been many weeks since any of them had seen Evie, who was kept in seclusion by her late mother’s family. She was frequently locked away in solitude as punishment for minor transgressions, and let out only under the strict supervision of her aunt. Her friends had speculated that living with such harsh and unloving relatives had contributed no small amount to Evie’s difficult speech. Ironically, of all of the wallflowers, Evie was the one who least deserved such stern regulation. She was timid by nature, and inherently respectful of authority. From what they could gather, Evie’s mother had been the rebel of the family, marrying a man well below her station. After she had died in childbirth, her daughter had been made to pay for her transgressions. And her father, whom Evie seldom had the opportunity to see, was in poor health and probably hadn’t much longer to live.

“Poor Evie,” Lillian continued moodily. “I’m strongly inclined to give her my turn as the next wallflower to marry—she needs the escape far more than I do.”

“Evie’s not ready yet,” Annabelle said with a certainty that betrayed previous thought on the matter. “She’s working on her shyness, but so far she can’t even bring herself to have a conversation with a gentleman. Besides…” Mischief glimmered in her lovely eyes, and she slipped her arm around Lillian’s narrow waist. “You’re too old to put it off any longer, dear.”

Lillian feigned a sour look in response, making her laugh.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me?” Annabelle asked.

Lillian shook her head. “Let’s wait until we join Evie, or I’ll end up having to repeat everything.”

They made their way to the circuit of public rooms downstairs, where guests were milling about in elegant groups. Color was fashionable this year, at least for ladies’ attire, and so the array of rich hues made the gathering appear like a flock of butterflies. The men were dressed in traditional black suits and white shirts, the only variation being the subtle differences in their soberly patterned vests and neckties.

“Where is Mr. Hunt?” Lillian asked Annabelle.

Annabelle smiled faintly at the mention of her husband. “I suspect he’s visiting with the earl and a few of their friends.” Her gaze sharpened as she caught sight of Evie. “There is Evie—and fortunately Aunt Florence doesn’t seem to be hovering over her as usual.”

Waiting alone, her absent gaze fixed on a gold-framed landscape painting, Evie seemed lost in private contemplation. Her shrinking posture was that of an apologetic cipher…it was clear that she did not feel herself to be part of the gathering, nor did she wish to be. Although no one ever seemed to look long enough at Evie to really notice her, she was actually quite beautiful—perhaps even more so than Annabelle—but in a completely unconventional way. She was freckled and red-haired, with large, round blue eyes and a mobile, full-lipped mouth that was utterly out of fashion. Her well-endowed figure was breathtaking, though the excessively modest gowns she was compelled to wear were distinctly unflattering. Moreover, her slump-shouldered posture did little to advertise her attractions.

Stealing forward, Lillian startled Evie by grasping her gloved hand and tugging her away. “Come,” she whispered.

Evie’s eyes lit with gladness at the sight of her. She hesitated and glanced uncertainly at her aunt, who was talking with some dowagers in the corner. Ascertaining that Florence was too absorbed in her conversation to notice, the four girls slipped from the parlor and hurried down the hallway like escaping prisoners. “Where are we going?” Evie whispered.