Page 21 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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“Oh, do stay still, Miss Lainscott. I only have this last stitch.” Romy looked up at her, voice muffled by a mouth full of pins.

“Stop sticking her, Romy,” Theodosia said, looking up from the tiny miniature she painted with painstaking care. “She isn’t a pincushion. Poor Miss Lainscott will be full of holes by the time you’re finished turning her into…” She looked to Margaret for help. “A tree nymph?”

Margaret knew she was a flower of some sort, though she couldn’t remember which one. The name escaped her, as names often did. And what she was dressed as hadn’t seemed as crucial as Lord Carstairs finding her attractive. She gave Theo a slight, almost invisible shrug.

“Iris,”Romy said in frustration, pulling the pins from her mouth. “Goodness, she’s aflower. Can’t you tell?” She continued to fuss at the hem of the dress. “The gown isgreenlike a flowerstem.”

Theo shrugged with an apologetic look in Margaret’s direction and went back to her painting.

The garden party gown, as Margaret thought of it in her head, was exactly the shade of new leaves, the sort that sprouted from tree branches just as spring was beginning. The skirt was cut and sewn to represent the stem while the sleeves, made from a lovely diaphanous lavender, floated about Margaret’s arms in an imitation of petals. Now that she took notice, Margaret could see Romy’s vision.

“I think she looks smashing.” Phaedra strolled in, apple in hand.

“Thank you, Phaedra.” Margaret smiled in her direction.

“You’re welcome. What are you going as, Romy?” Phaedra took a large crunch of the apple, munching away as she crossed the room.

Theo looked up. “Are you a horse? You sound like my mare, Calliope. Pray keep your mouth closed as you chew.”

“I’mthe tree nymph,” Romy replied. “There.” She smiled up at Margaret. “Perfect.”

“It’s lovely, Romy. I’ve never felt so beautiful. Nor so floral.” Margaret looked at Theo. “Calliope? Another Greek name?”

Theo looked up from her work, paintbrush hovering in the air. “Mother’s habit extends to all our animals at Cherry Hill. She once had a parrot named Zeus.”

“Zeus was a marvelous bird.” Phaedra darted behind Theo, crunching the apple deliberately in her sister’s ear. “Father taught him how to swear properly. Mama was horrified.”

“Oh, go away, horse.” Theo went back to her work. “Where is Olivia?”

Phaedra sauntered over to a chair, flopped down, and threw one leg over the arm. “Olivia is with Mama. It is their ‘lady’s day’ together.”

Margaret raised a brow.

“My mother insists on spending time with each of us alone so we always feel special,” Romy said as she fussed with the hem.

“How lovely,” Margaret said. In the short time she’d known the duchess, Margaret had received more love and kindness than she ever had at the hands of Aunt Agnes.

“I’m sure Olivia will come home with all sorts of fripperies. She’s a flutist who loves fripperies.” A dramatic sigh followed a crunch and several loud chews. “I wish I could go to Lady Masterson’s party. It sounds positivelysplendid.”

Theo took off the small spectacles she wore and observed Phaedra’s sprawl across the chair. “Your posture is exactly why you aren’t permitted to go, not to mention yourchewing. Look at you.”

Phaedra defiantly wiggled one slippered foot.

Margaret shot Phaedra an affectionate look. Never having had any siblings of her own, she was envious of the easy way the sisters talked and tormented each other. They had all embraced Margaret with smiles, asking to be addressed by their Christian names even after such short acquaintance. Including the mysterious Theo who had decided to leave her studio and join them in the large parlor today. It was as if the duchess and the girls wereherfamily. She’d been so busy enjoying their company, she’d almost forgotten all about Welles and the thoughts he’d put in her head.

Almost.

Last week, Margaret had appeared promptly to accompany Olivia and Phaedra on a new piece the three were going to learn and surprise the duchess with. But an hour or so into practice, Romy had interrupted, measuring tape in hand, insisting Margaret come with herimmediately. Her friend had the perfect costume in mind for Margaret to wear to Lady Masterson’s. Romy had already put some of the pieces together, but the gown had to be properly fitted.

Since Margaret hadn’t had a clue what she would wear to such an event and was pleased Romy had gone to so much trouble on her behalf, she’d followed her friend out, much to the dismay of Phaedra and Olivia.

Romy had whisked Margaret to the parlor where a dressmaker’s dummy sat swathed in the green silk Margaret now wore. After whipping about the measuring tape, taking notes, and sticking pins everywhere, the gown had begun to take shape. Today was the final fitting before Lady Masterson’s party. Romy was definitely talented, as the gown was beautiful. Margaret doubted she could have conceived of anything half as lovely.

“What made you decide on an iris, Romy?” Margaret had been meaning to ask her why she’d chosen that particular flower. “Why not a peony? Or an orchid?”

Romy tilted her head, her eyes the same startling blue as her brother’s. The sight brought Welles to mind again and Margaret stubbornly pushed him aside.

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