Chapter 2

Two

Four years later, March 1814

M r. Rhodes appeared at the morning room door. His gaze flickered to Alex before landing on Phil. "Sir Lightwood requests Miss Lightwood's presence in the study."

Demanded. Father never made requests. The poor steward. Father sent the person closest to him again. It wasn't the steward's place to do errands, not when the household employed two footmen. Whatever thought crossed Father's mind couldn't wait for the butler or a footman to answer the bell. Mr. Rhodes stood up to everyone except Father. No one countered Father's wishes when he was in residence. Only a baronet, Sir Lightwood carried on as Phil imagined a king might—an extremely corrupt one at that, judging by the household account books she was forced to balance.

Phil stood. "Which one of us does he want?"

"I'm not positive. Sir Lightwood said ‘my daughter'—" The steward let his voice trail off.

"Was he upset?" asked Phil.

"Not in the least. He seemed quite pleased." Mr. Rhodes nodded, as if assuring himself his improbable declaration was true. He left without waiting for them.

Alex nudged Phil. Sir Lightwood avoided all contact with his crippled daughter. Sometimes Phil envied not being noticed. "You should go."

"Not without you. You are Miss Lightwood, not me. Father needs to recognize you. I will not usurp your place." Phil rose and waited by the door for Alex to join her.

"I will only anger him again." Alex leaned on her cane, bracing herself to stand.

"No, I will." Phil and her father clashed often over the four years since the accident that changed the family forever. Starting the morning he berated her for falling asleep while sitting vigil in the parlor next to her mother and brother's coffins, Father had never ceased to find fault in all Phil did. The week after Mother and William were laid to rest, Sir Lightwood lectured Phil for exceeding the household budget. Not only had she been unaware of the budget, but every extra expenditure had been related to the funeral. Phil maintained the error was Father's fault for putting a fourteen-year-old child in charge of her mother's funeral and running the household. Not a week went by when he hadn't found one fault or another. Fortunately, Father spent more time away from Kellmore Manor than not, and Phil was now an expert on keeping his ever-tightening budget. "Besides, Mr. Rhodes says Father is pleased."

"Still, Father may be upset over something I've done or haven't remembered to do." Since Alex's return to health, they shared the household responsibilities, and things had run somewhat smoother, except for Rose's education. Deprived of a regular governess, their youngest sister chafed under her sisters' tutelage.

Phil held out her arm. "Together or not at all."

Linking her arm through her sister's, Alex tapped her cane. "Shall I leave this here?"

Phil studied her sister's face. Tightness around Alex's eyes and their dullness showed she was in more pain than she'd let on. Today, the cane was a necessity. "No. If he separates us, then you may need it."

They reached the open door of the study and entered together. The steward announced them. "Miss Lightwood and Miss Philippa are here."

"I only asked for Philippa." Father didn't look up from his desk. "Rhodes, you may leave."

Phil and Alex stood behind the chairs in front of their father's desk.

Father folded a paper and looked only at Phil. "I've decided it is time for you to marry. Lady Healand has offered to host you for the Season in London, which is only right considering she is your mother's only sister. You leave Thursday. She claims all of Lent is required to prepare your wardrobe."

Phil glanced at Alex before answering. "I will not go."

Father's head jerked up. "Not go? It is your duty to marry well. As long as the earl lives, I cannot receive the entail and our fortunes will not improve. You have three other sisters to find husbands. They are counting on you to make a good match."

Grandfather's death would not be a boon to his granddaughters, as father would spend through whatever small inheritance they received as well. "I have four sisters, and one is older. If I am to have a Season, Alex should as well."

"Why? No one will marry her. Men with titles need an heir, and men with money want a beautiful woman to host parties in his home. He doesn't want a woman who makes

him flee to his mistress on his wedding day."

If this had been the first-time father had spoken so crudely of his oldest daughter or referred to his mistress, one of them might have gasped in shock. Being less than discreet about his own liaison with a certain notorious French widow, Phil had no doubt the entire ton knew.

Phil lifted her chin and stepped forward. Alex put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Phil, I don't mind. I'll stay here."

The cane tapped on the floor as Alex limped toward the door.

"No!" Phil raced to block her sister's way. "Please, Alex. I won't enjoy a single moment if you are not with me."

The legs of Father's chair scraped on the floor as he pushed back from his desk. "Philippa, stop this nonsense. You are not a child anymore."

"You treat my sister like she is a servant, not your oldest daughter. The scar on her face is hardly noticeable. She is as beautiful as Mother."

Father pushed back from his desk. "Philippa …"

"If you want me to go to London, Alex comes too. I refuse to be out before my older sister is. That is her right."

"What is the point? She can't go to balls. A woman who can't dance cannot catch a husband." Father didn't even cast a glance in Alex's direction.

"Balls are not the only part of the Season. No one plays or sings better than Alex. She is intelligent and helps to keep your house running. She'd make a fine wife for any man. Besides, she deserves a bit of fun."

"Who will teach your sisters?"

"Alex and I rarely spend any time teaching now that George and Jane are finished in the schoolroom. They are teaching Rose. George speaks French better than either of us, and there isn't a subject Jane hasn't mastered." Not that Rose paid any attention to either of them. The youngest needed a firmer hand than her older sisters could give. Especially when father was slow to interfere.

"If you have not been teaching your sisters, what have you been doing?" As little time as Father spent at Kellmore Manor over the last four years, it was a wonder he even knew they had taken over for the governess.

"Visiting your tenants, caring for the house, and economizing. Exactly what you charged us to do." Phil struggled to keep her voice at the proper tone.

"I don't have the money to outfit you both for the Season." Not surprising. Father's expenditures in town had grown exponentially as his gambling increased.

The tap of Alexandra's cane sounded behind her. "Phil, go without me. Father is right. A Season is a pointless expenditure."

Philippa spun to face her sister. "Alex, you deserve one Season. You are Miss Lightwood, not me. My coming out before you will reflect poorly on the entire family. I understand the ton is not forgiving about breaches of protocol." She aimed most of the speech at her father.

Their father sat back in his leather chair. "If I allow you both to go. You must stretch the funds without damaging Philippa's chances for marriage. Her dowry isn't as large as other debutantes'."

"Ten thousand pounds is more than respectable." Phil had never worried about the dowry.

"Five."

"What?" the sisters asked in unison.

"Each of you has five thousand." Sir Lightwood's expression remained impassive.

Alex sat in a chair. "We each have ten. You've told us that for years."

"I've had to make certain changes to support our living."

Phil exchanged a look with Alex. Whatever happened to the money, they'd be powerless to recover the funds. "We'll make do."

"I'll write to your aunt. She can expect you both. You are dismissed."

Alex clutched Phil's arm until they reached the sitting room. "Why did you do that? Father is right, there is no point in giving me a Season. Who would marry me?"

Phil traced the scar between her sister's left eye and ear. "It is a small scar. You are not disfigured."

Tapping her cane against her leg, Alexandra produced a hollow drumming sound. "This is far bigger than a scar. A man returning from war may enter society with a wooden leg, but not a woman."

Phil settled into her favorite chair which had once been her mother's. "How do you know? It is so easy to hide your wooden friend under your skirt. A man can't hide it as well. Dozens of women could hide peg legs under the petticoats. And think, no woman of the ton has such a perfectly turned ankle."

The sisters burst into laughter at the joke, referencing the process the woodcarver used to make the prosthesis.

Alexandra lifted her skirt. "I do like this one. Grandfather even ordered carved toes. They might impress a suitor more than my ankle."

"If you would try to dance, you have one advantage over me. You won't feel it when someone steps on your slippers."

"And I won't know when I step on their toes. If I go with you, absolutely no balls for me. My refusal to dance can only hurt your chances."

Phil grasped her sister's hand. "We can work that out with our aunt. Please come."

Alex sighed. "After getting Father to agree, I have little choice."

Phil threw her arms around her sister. "Thank you. We will have the best Season."