Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,1

same, really.

“Or,” Isabel said, holding up the familiar brown leather book, “better than Chelsea buns, we could discover what happens at the end of The Love of Count Rudolph by Eugenia Rutherfield.”

Marah let out an audible groan, and Isabel pointed the corner of the book at her. “But we only have one night left together! Come, Marah, you must be the slightest bit curious to know if the count will save Lady Esmerelda.”

“That isn’t how life goes, you know,” Marah pointed out. “The handsome gentleman doesn’t parade in on his white horse to save the lady from all her troubles.”

Marah had always resisted their readings from the novel, though Daphne couldn’t help but think she secretly enjoyed the romance and adventure. “Isn’t it nice to imagine, though?” Daphne said, leaning toward Marah with a suggestive raise to her eyebrow. “When the count saved Lady Esmerelda from the evil baron, I practically swooned.”

Marah’s lips twitched, but then Isabel spoke. “I think she will save herself in the end. We don’t need men to save us from everything, you know.” Isabel’s voice always grew a bit louder when she spoke of things she was passionate about, and now was no exception.

Lavinia made a sound of exasperation. “You girls have the attention span of a… a…” She threw up her hands. “A senile goose. I brought a surprise, remember?”

Daphne exchanged glances with the others, all grinning. “Yes, Mrs. Vernal,” they said together, then burst out laughing.

“Oh, hush.” But even Lavinia could not stop her own grin. “I’ve been sad about Marah leaving. And Isabel and I only have a few more weeks before we’re done with school. Soon we’ll be separated.”

Daphne straightened at that, and they all quieted, the joviality among them slipping away as they faced reality. Lavinia was right. They’d been lucky to have the past years together—the secret meetings, the passed notes during lessons, the close friendships as they’d supported each other through good times and bad. But that was all ending, and Daphne couldn’t help but wish she could hold them all together a little longer.

“I was in Marlow’s shop today,” Lavinia went on, her voice softer, “and I saw the absolute most perfect thing that made me think of all of you.” She slipped a red coral bracelet from the package. “It reminds me of all our good times. I thought we could send it with Marah, so she’ll take a part of us with her.”

Marah was already shaking her head. “No, I couldn’t. It’s far too expensive.”

Phoebe leaned forward, her eyes insistent. “But you are facing hardship at this moment. Why not keep it for now, and perhaps later you might send it to one of us? Should we need comforting. It could bring you luck.”

“Yes, I love it.” Lavinia smiled. “We can send it on to one another. It will keep us connected.”

“Like the locket Count Rudolph gave to Esmerelda, when he promised to always love her,” Daphne said softly. As silly as the Gothic novel was, she could not deny feeling swept away every time they read from its pages, dreaming of the not so distant future when the faceless man she would marry became real and whole. She was seventeen, after all. Many girls had already had a Season at her age and were married, settled into their new lives.

Marah snorted at Daphne’s words, but Isabel only squeezed an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “I will always love you, Marah. And you, Mrs. Vernal.”

Lavinia laughed, but Phoebe had a thoughtful look on her face. She’d always been the thinker, the planner, of their little group. “As foolish as we are behaving now,” she said, “it would mean a great deal to me to know each of you finds a love like that. I cannot like the idea of any of you marrying someone who does not treasure you.”

Lavinia nodded. “We should make a pact. A promise. To marry for love.”

The idea grabbed at Daphne’s heart, wound its way through her insides like a hot sip of tea. Love had always seemed so beyond her reach—Mother and Father had no love in their marriage, after all. Would she be forced into the same sort of arrangement, a bare tolerance for the man she would spend the rest of her life with?

No, she decided. That would not be her fate.

Because Daphne had something that would make all the difference. She had Cheriton Hall. Great-Aunt Hartwell had as good as promised to leave the estate to