said, taking Honor in. “Your gown is lovely.”
If there was one thing that could be said of Monica, she appreciated a fine gown when she saw one. “Thank you,” Honor said. “As is yours,” she added, thinking the dark green suited Monica’s complexion very well. “Did Mrs. Dracott fashion it?” she asked, referring to the much-sought-after modiste.
“No,” Monica said tightly. “Mrs. Wilbert. Mrs. Dracott has many commissions at the moment, what with the Season. But she’s done very well by you, hasn’t she? I suppose there is even a bonnet that matches the gown?” she asked, her gaze narrowing slightly on Honor.
“Good Lord, you’re not still angry about the bonnet, are you?” Honor asked with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
“No angrier than I was the summer you wooed Mr. Gregory away,” Monica sniffed.
Honor laughed with surprise. “We were sixteen years old, Monica. Really, why must you always bring up old hurts?”
“I’m not bringing up an old hurt, but an old scheme,” Monica said. “That’s always the way with you, isn’t it? One scheme or another?”
“Scheme!” Honor protested. “Shall we speak of schemes? Do you recall the Bingham dance, and how you and Agnes Mulberry took the last two seats in the Bingham coach, when I was the one who’d been invited and, in turn, invited the two of you? I had no other means of attending and you knew it very well.”
“Just as well as you knew that you had not invited me to the soiree at Longmeadow.” Monica clucked her tongue. “A lost invitation, indeed!”
Honor lifted her chin, wisely choosing not to recall that summer after all. “Never mind that, Monica. I came to offer my felicitations, not rehash the summer of your sixteenth year.”
“Felicitations? For what?” Monica asked.
“Am I mistaken?” Honor asked. “Augustine said that you were very keen to marry and that it may occur sooner rather than later.”
Monica suddenly laughed; her light brown eyes sparkled. “My dearest Sommerfield!” she said gaily. “You misunderstood him, Honor. He is so keen to marry me that he speaks of Gretna Green with alarming frequency.”
“Then you’d best marry him straightaway,” Honor said. “One can hardly say when another man might come along so keen to marry you, can one?”
“Pardon?” Monica said laughingly. “Really, Honor, I know you too well, and I know you did not traverse the ballroom to ask after my wedding. That’s not the least bit like you. Or me, for that matter.”
Honor couldn’t help but laugh. “True,” she agreed. “But as we are to be sisters, I hoped we might turn over a new leaf,” she said. “No more bickering over bonnets and whatnot.”
Monica’s arched a dark brow. “Indeed? If you truly wish to turn over a new leaf, then neither of us should be surprised to discover unpleasant facts about the other...such as scheduling a tea the very day the other has scheduled one. Is that what you mean, in turning over a new leaf?”
Monica had her there—last Season, Honor had indeed scheduled a garden tea on the very day and at the very hour of Monica’s tea—to which, Honor graciously declined to point out, she and Grace had not been invited. But in Honor’s defense, she really didn’t believe they would be inviting the same people. She’d supposed Monica would invite all the tedious, lifeless acquaintances, while she would have the lively, diverting guests at hers.
“And neither shall we publicly speculate as to each other’s whereabouts,” Honor said, reminding Monica that during last Season’s Jubilee Ball, Monica had openly suggested that Honor had snuck away with Lord Cargill, when in fact Honor had been in the retiring room with Grace. It had caused quite a lot of speculation.
“We’ll mind that we don’t,” Monica said, graciously inclining her head.
Honor smiled. “So then, have you had a nice evening?”
“Passable.”
“Did you make any new
If there was one thing that could be said of Monica, she appreciated a fine gown when she saw one. “Thank you,” Honor said. “As is yours,” she added, thinking the dark green suited Monica’s complexion very well. “Did Mrs. Dracott fashion it?” she asked, referring to the much-sought-after modiste.
“No,” Monica said tightly. “Mrs. Wilbert. Mrs. Dracott has many commissions at the moment, what with the Season. But she’s done very well by you, hasn’t she? I suppose there is even a bonnet that matches the gown?” she asked, her gaze narrowing slightly on Honor.
“Good Lord, you’re not still angry about the bonnet, are you?” Honor asked with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
“No angrier than I was the summer you wooed Mr. Gregory away,” Monica sniffed.
Honor laughed with surprise. “We were sixteen years old, Monica. Really, why must you always bring up old hurts?”
“I’m not bringing up an old hurt, but an old scheme,” Monica said. “That’s always the way with you, isn’t it? One scheme or another?”
“Scheme!” Honor protested. “Shall we speak of schemes? Do you recall the Bingham dance, and how you and Agnes Mulberry took the last two seats in the Bingham coach, when I was the one who’d been invited and, in turn, invited the two of you? I had no other means of attending and you knew it very well.”
“Just as well as you knew that you had not invited me to the soiree at Longmeadow.” Monica clucked her tongue. “A lost invitation, indeed!”
Honor lifted her chin, wisely choosing not to recall that summer after all. “Never mind that, Monica. I came to offer my felicitations, not rehash the summer of your sixteenth year.”
“Felicitations? For what?” Monica asked.
“Am I mistaken?” Honor asked. “Augustine said that you were very keen to marry and that it may occur sooner rather than later.”
Monica suddenly laughed; her light brown eyes sparkled. “My dearest Sommerfield!” she said gaily. “You misunderstood him, Honor. He is so keen to marry me that he speaks of Gretna Green with alarming frequency.”
“Then you’d best marry him straightaway,” Honor said. “One can hardly say when another man might come along so keen to marry you, can one?”
“Pardon?” Monica said laughingly. “Really, Honor, I know you too well, and I know you did not traverse the ballroom to ask after my wedding. That’s not the least bit like you. Or me, for that matter.”
Honor couldn’t help but laugh. “True,” she agreed. “But as we are to be sisters, I hoped we might turn over a new leaf,” she said. “No more bickering over bonnets and whatnot.”
Monica’s arched a dark brow. “Indeed? If you truly wish to turn over a new leaf, then neither of us should be surprised to discover unpleasant facts about the other...such as scheduling a tea the very day the other has scheduled one. Is that what you mean, in turning over a new leaf?”
Monica had her there—last Season, Honor had indeed scheduled a garden tea on the very day and at the very hour of Monica’s tea—to which, Honor graciously declined to point out, she and Grace had not been invited. But in Honor’s defense, she really didn’t believe they would be inviting the same people. She’d supposed Monica would invite all the tedious, lifeless acquaintances, while she would have the lively, diverting guests at hers.
“And neither shall we publicly speculate as to each other’s whereabouts,” Honor said, reminding Monica that during last Season’s Jubilee Ball, Monica had openly suggested that Honor had snuck away with Lord Cargill, when in fact Honor had been in the retiring room with Grace. It had caused quite a lot of speculation.
“We’ll mind that we don’t,” Monica said, graciously inclining her head.
Honor smiled. “So then, have you had a nice evening?”
“Passable.”
“Did you make any new
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