In a town filled with ambitious mamas and fortune-hunting gentlemen, marrying above one's station is an art form, indeed. But Miss Daphne Bridgerton's advance from future duchess to possible princess is an achievement that even this jaded author must applaud.
Though this author cannot dismiss the Duke of Hastings quite so soon. He may have let the diamond slip through his fingers for now, but I shall wager he is not a man to ever hide from a fight.
I walk down the street with Eloise and Pen. It is rather nice to be able to get out for fresh air without Lydia or either of my brothers. We stop at a stall selling feathers.
"I have never understood the fashion for feathers in the hair," Eloise says. "Why would a woman want to draw notice to the fact that she is like a bird squawking for a man's attention in some bizarre ritual?"
"I like them," I confess as I hold up a large white one.
"Then why are we looking if you do not like them?" Pen asks.
"Because I would rather do anything than stay a moment longer in that house while everyone flutters around Daphne, cooing over her prospects," Eloise tells us.
"Is the prince still courting Daphne?" I question.
"I imagine you cannot wait for the engagement," Pen offers.
"Once they are engaged, I shall be next in line," Eloise states. "If anything, I hope Daphne stays on the shelf forever."
"She must marry eventually," Pen reasons.
"Why must our only options be to squawk and settle or to never leave the nest?" Eloise questions. "What if I want to fly?" She scoffs. She points to a small boy peddling Lady Whistledown pamphlets. "You know who is flying? Lady Whistledown. She is up in the sky. A brilliant woman of business who fools the entire ton, whilst pocketing their money. Imagine the life she must lead. Independence. She is not simpering on the edge of a ballroom every night, praying a man might take a fancy and leg-shackle her into marriage."
"That is quite the life you have imagined for her, El," I tell her.
"We must meet her so that she might share her secrets on how to avoid such a wretched, uninteresting fate," Eloise insists.
"Lady Whistledown's identity is quite protected," Pen insists.
"Are we not the three most clever girls in the ton?" Eloise asks. "If anyone can find her, it is us, I think."
"If I could get out of any of the week's events to help you, I would," Penelope assures her.
"Pretend an illness," Eloise offers. "Tell your mother you caught whatever Marina had."
"How is she, by the way?" I question.
"Uh, recovering," Pen says. "But it would be cruel of me not to be by her side when she comes back out. I shall cheer you on
in your endeavors, though."
Eloise picks up a quill from a stall. "This one. I shall need a new quill to make my list of suspects."
I sit in the drawing room with Lydia. Charles and Peter have gone to a boxing match.
I look over at Lydia. "Has Charles ever taken you to a boxing match?"
Lydia laughs. "No."
"I have never understood the reasoning for boxing matches," I confess.
"It is just a way for men to beat on another up without getting in trouble," Lydia tells me.
"I suppose that makes sense," I confess. I look through Lady Whistledown's latest pamphlet. "Do you think Daphne is going to marry the duke or the prince?"
