Considering they did not have any mother to dress them or even shop with them, Simone and Lydia mostly relied on Mrs. Poppet for guidance. With their governess long gone, they had no one but their kind neighbor and her terrible taste in fashion.

"You should not send the dress you made for Miss Burke and wear that instead," Freda, who was now fourteen, said from where she sat on the windowsill, her brown waves a wash of gold over her shoulder. Under, sitting on a pile of discarded fabric on the floor, Roxie added, "That was your best piece yet, Sisi."

Lydia, who had been sucking on her thumb, said, "We should just go to Parlton, Sisi. I don't think I'll ever finish sewing on these bloody feathers. The needles never liked my fingers, I tell you that." As she said that, a feather floated across the room, which Roxie caught and stuck in between her dark curly tresses to join the other white feathers already there. "Are you sure I won't look like a goose when this is done?"

"No, you'll look like a woman wearing one," Freda said with a laugh.

They had been spending days redoing the gowns Mrs. Poppet chose for them. To be fair, they were not the worst ones in the shop, but they were not the best either. But they had to do with what they had. Ordering a new gown from Simone's teacher in Parlton would take weeks. The Hutchinson Ball was in three days. Simone refused to use any of their older gowns because they were no longer in fashion and could not be rescued. How long had it been since their last season? Two years? No, they needed new gowns. And they needed to make them stunning. She may not enjoy the ball, but that did not mean she should not enjoy wearing a magnificent gown.

Simone, inspired by the number of birds in the courtyard, wanted to have feather skirts. Hers were black, Lydia's white.

"You'll both look odd, don't you think?" Freda asked.

"It may appear odd to many at first, but it shall be the rave soon after," Simone said with confidence. "Remember the last time I wore that ribbon hat?"

"Oh," Roxie and Freda said with a snort. "We thought Gale was praying for your soul when you did that." And Freda added, "Price dragged you toward Geneva Withers and said he was delivering a gift." They all snorted, remembering the furious look in Geneva Wither's beautiful face.

Months ago, Simone went to church in a hat that was not a hat. It was a ribbon she starched and formed into a hat. People looked, but a day or two later, they filled the shops.

"And if it doesn't work this time? If people laugh at you?" Roxie asked.

Lydia paused and said, "Well, we can just fly away."

The four of them were still laughing when their grandfather walked in with an expectant look on his face. "Are those your dresses?"

"Yes, Grandpapa," said Sisi.

"And why feathers?"

"So we can be chased around," said Lydia.

"And be served on a plate," finished Simone.

He chuckled. "You'll make fantastic turkeys." He turned to Freda and Roxie. "Walk an old man around the garden, will you?"

The two girls jumped to their feet and followed him out the door, sticking feathers into this collar as they walked out.

Lydia laughed and Simone said, "You also have one above your head."

"How did they manage it?"

"They're sneaky, that's how," Simone murmured, attention on her work. But she could feel Lydia's eyes on her. "What is it?"

"Sisi, perhaps Gale and Price are right. Maybe you're waiting for him."

Simone sighed. "Lydia, if I am, I would not be entertaining suitors."

"You're not giving them enough attention either."

"Because they can't make me." She snipped a thread, picked up another black feather, and repeated the process of stitching.

"Maybe the duke will," Lydia said. "Do you think he'll be handsome?"

"I don't know. I've never even seen his father."

"Harry had. And Webster, too, I believe. But I heard he's quite handsome. I wonder why he never showed up while we were having our seasons."

"You can ask him in three days," she suggested. "Steal a dance. You're quite good at it."

Lydia laughed. Simone did, too. The memories of their seasons in Coulway came back to her, the fun times they had after they debuted. The little adventures of sneaking in and out of gardens to meet young gentlemen, the horrible and quite magical kisses they shared with said men, and the little heartbreaks when they were forgotten after another year apart.

Oh, if she could only tell her brothers and cousins about the things she and Lydia did, maybe they would not think she was still hoping to be reunited with Daniel Cavendish. But she was not even hoping to have a match with the man. Not anymore, at least. He clearly had other priorities, wherever he may be. He may no longer even be in Sutherland.

No, Simone was just waiting for a letter of farewell. So she would know he was well and that he was still living his dreams. Because that was important to her. To know that a dream could be lived.

***

Damon was already waiting for them in the hall, dressed just as he was: quiet, simple, and quite... Well, dark. It was his resting face, Simone thought. The inner ends of his brows just had a natural curl that made him look like he was always frowning. Thus, he always seemed to be brooding. Beside him, their grandfather was motionless as Roxie fixed his cravat.

"Don't tell me everyone is attending," Simone said, looking at Gale and Price.

"Roxie and Freda are not," Web said, appearing from the parlor.

"And when did you arrive?" Lydia asked him.

"An hour ago," he said, dropping them a kiss each. "You both look like feathered pieces on a chessboard."

"Where's Harry?"

"Escorting Arabella to the ball. He'll meet us there."

Damon checked his watched. "It's time."

Gale and Price rushed toward Simone and Lydia before Roxie and Freda could reach them. "If you ever see Geneva Withers," Roxie said, "Tell her hello from us."

"Why? What have you done this time?" Price asked, guiding Simone to the door.

"Nothing."

"The two of you disappeared for five minutes last Sunday in church," Gale said, facing the pair. "What did you do?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at Damon and Web. "Tell us now."

"Why?"

"So we'll know what to do before Geneva Withers tells them," he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"We placed a bug inside her purse, that's all."

"What bug?" Price asked.

Roxie blinked. Freda moistened her lips. "Bug."

"What kind of bug?" Simone insisted.

"Freda," Lydia told her sister, stealing a look at Damon and Web as they escorted the earl into a carriage. "Tell me now or I swear I'll kill you myself."

"A small toad."

"A toad bug?" Lydia hopefully asked. The smaller the problem, the better.

"No, an actual toad."

"A toad is not a bloody bug!" the four of them hissed.

"Oh, right," the two devils said, cheeks puffing as they smiled. Of course, they knew a toad was not a bug.

"You'll both get your own trouble someday," Price said, pointing at them before he whirled around and Gale, Simone, and Lydia followed. As they walked off, he said, "We can't let Geneva Withers come close."

"Or open her mouth," said Gale. "Once she does, these two will be painted badly."

"Harry will be in a foul mood."

"Harry's not here."

"He's escorting Arabella to the ball. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because he's helping her find a match, and childish distractions don't help," Gale said, narrowing his eyes on Roxie and Freda. "You know how he hates his complications."

"Harry made an effort to secure her an invite because they're friends. That's all," Lydia said. "Bridget and Charity said Ara has no plans of ever getting engaged again."

"Well, no matter, if Geneva Withers ever gets the chance to spread the horrible deeds of our lovely cousins, you may never have a chance to dance with the duke," said Price.

"And that is not a problem at all."

But of course it was for Price and Gale, who had always been so passionate about finding them matches. They had made and lost friends for their quest, even made enemies because of it.

Simone, however, might know why they were doing it. And why Harry and Web, even Damon, never stopped them. They were both with Simone and Lydia when their parents said goodbye. They stood outside as their parents boarded their carriages. And it was them, Price and Gale, who got the last order from Hilton Priest. "Take care of the young ladies, the two of you."

Many times, she had heard them repeat those words, most often in a jesting way, but Simone knew they had taken it to heart, and perhaps always would. And for both men, taking care of Simone and Lydia meant finding them suitable husbands. Just like Hilton Priest and Raymond Stratford, their fathers, said.

The Hutchinsons lived five miles from Abberton House. Although the Stratfords (at least most of them) claimed that they did not like the Hutchinsons, they were not as horrible as Price would paint them. It was just Lady Hutchinson, the mother, the wife, the tormentor of every young man and woman who walked into a church with a little less ounce of holiness as she did. The two daughters were not as bad, Price would say. Gale somehow also agreed, saying, "Better than the Prophets, if you know what I mean. They only gossip with their eyes. You see them flickering here and there whenever there's a buzz in church. Pay more attention next Sunday. You can seat with me."

As to Lord Hutchinson, who was not a peer, but was only given the honorary title of lord because he was one of the many sons of the Earl of Monfort, the man might be deaf and mute, as Lydia would say. They never heard him speak to them in church, and he would look at the vicar with the look of someone who was sleepwalking.

An odd family, Simone would say, but then the Stratfords were also considered odd. A bunch of cousins living in a manor that was an animal crossing. "And a marketplace," she also heard one say. Which was true, of course, with the number of merchants coming by now and then to sell goods.

But that's what Simone loved about Abberton. She loved the diversity of characters, the exciting events unfolding everywhere. Even this Hutchinson Ball was strangely amusing. Almost everyone in town was invited, even the enemies. And they would not even attempt to hide it, which was the case with almost all functions in Abberton. Everyone would always be poured drinks spiked with animosity, gossip, and fun.

Tonight, however, was different. The air seemed...quiet. As if everyone was nervous. Or anxious.

Anxiously waiting for the much-awaited honored guest.

And of course, he did not appear as early as the other guests.

He was a duke, after all.

"He might not even come," Lydia droned as she checked her dance card. Price and Gale had approved seven dances. "Watch me limp my way home and I'd never get the chance to dance with a duke."

"Those are handsome names, Lydia," said Gale. "Good families." He popped the last piece of his shortcake into his mouth.

"Geneva Withers," Price's alarmed voice said behind them. Gale spun on his heels and craned his neck. "South window."

"I'll take care of it," Gale said, rushing off to greet Geneva Withers, a young woman with a sharp tongue she especially reserves for Roxie and Freda every Sunday.

"People are looking at us," said Simone.

"Maybe because they're afraid you'll take flight," Price said, the small scar between his eyes, the one caused by a fork Simone threw at him many years ago, disappearing as he frowned while clearing his throat. "I think I might have swallowed a feather."

"You're horrible," Simone said with a snort.

The sudden hush made them pause and look around. Geneva Withers, who looked like she was in the middle of escaping Gale, did the same along with him and everyone else.

From somewhere in the giant doorways of the Hutchinson ballroom, someone intoned, "The Duke of Dafield!"