Regina Hartfield concentrated on her stitches. Elizabeth was banging away at the pianoforte just one room over. It was threatening to disturb her calm.

She did feel rather bad. It wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault she couldn’t play well. And she wasn’t trying to disturb anybody. But every time it gave her such a headache.

“Elizabeth!” Natalie entered the room. Her hair was only half done up. “For the love of all that’s holy would you stop! You can hear it through the whole house!”

The pianoforte stopped. Regina breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Honestly,” Natalie grumbled. Then she spied Regina. “Oh, darling, you must start getting ready!”

“I don’t think I shall be going tonight.”

“But you must!” Natalie looked crestfallen. Although part of that might have been her half-done hair. “Regina, everyone will be there.”

“Precisely.” Regina focused back on her stitching. The idea of being among such a large crowd of people for hours terrified her.

“Have you told Father?” Natalie asked.

Regina didn’t answer. She was a horrible liar. And she hadn’t told Father. She’d tactfully avoided the subject of tonight’s ball all week.

She had been hoping that, being ensconced in the side parlor, she could avoid Father. Then when it was time the flurry of her four elder sisters climbing into the carriage would disguise her lack of presence. By the time Father realized she wasn’t there they would hopefully be halfway to the ball. Far too late to turn back for shy mousy Regina.

It was too late for that now. Natalie would be sure to tell Father.

“I think that you should go,” Natalie maintained. “It’s always such fun.”

“For you it is,” Regina replied. It was widely maintained that Natalie was the prettiest of the Hartfield sisters.

Regina supposed that depended upon one’s taste. Natalie was the only sister with blue eyes. That helped her to stand out, certainly. Paired with a sweet, heart-shaped face and dark red hair, every man in the county wanted to marry her.

Personally, Regina preferred the cat-like green eyes of her other sisters. Not that Regina took after them. She had red hair like all of her sisters. Gotten from Mother, God rest her soul. But Regina had boring brown eyes and far too many freckles. She was tiny as well. Elizabeth liked to joke about Regina being the runt of the litter. What man wanted to dance with a girl when he had to crane his neck down to look at her?

It wasn’t her looks that truly made Regina reluctant to go to the ball. She just didn’t like people. And all that exercise. She wasn’t the adventurous type. A quiet evening stitching and reading suited her just fine.

Not that Father would see it that way.

“It would be fun for you as well if you would make an effort,” Natalie replied.

“I’m sure that stitching would be just as fun for you if you made an effort,” Regina pointed out.

Natalie sniffed. She’d always hated stitching. “I’m going to finish getting ready. You should as well. Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth appeared, looking peevish. Elizabeth was the second youngest and had taken to it like a martyr. Her red hair was orange and fiery to match her temper and her green eyes were always flashing.

“It’s hours yet, Natalie, I don’t have to get ready.”

“You should start now. You know your hair takes longer to tame.”

Elizabeth had also inherited their father’s tight curls. It did make her hair rather difficult to get under control.

“Not all of us need half a day to make ourselves fit enough to be seen by society,” Elizabeth replied.

Regina focused back on her stitches. She really didn’t want to be privy to another spat between Elizabeth and Natalie.

“You could learn from my example. Perhaps then someone would ask you to dance a second time.”

Regina shrank a little farther back into the chair. Luckily the spat was ended when Bridget entered the room.

Bridget was the oldest of the five Hartfield sisters. She was also Regina’s favorite. Although, it wouldn’t do to tell any of her other sisters that. Bridget was everything that Regina wished she could be. Bridget was confident and tall with pale creamy skin and a serene face. She had dark red hair and quick green eyes. Furthermore, she was wickedly funny, well read, intelligent, and could make anyone love her. Natalie was the prettiest Hartfield, everyone said, but Bridget was the wittiest and the most well-liked.

“Elizabeth, please go and get ready.” Bridget didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “I’ll join you in a moment. Natalie, could you remind Father that he needs to speak to the gardener?”

Natalie and Elizabeth looked like they knew exactly what Bridget was doing but they hurried off anyway. Everyone always did what Bridget asked.

Meanwhile Regina was pretty sure that if the house was on fire, nobody would listen to her if she told them to get out.

Bridget smoothed out her skirt and sat down on the settee next to Regina’s chair. “That’s a lovely set of stitches.”

“They’re for the Lord and Lady Morrison.”

Bridget smiled. “We shan’t be seeing them for another two months, at the masked ball.”

“Yes, but I want it to be perfect.” Regina focused down on her stitches. She’d chosen the flowers for their meanings. They all meant some version of love and devotion, wishes for a happy marriage.

Bridget placed her hand carefully over Regina’s. “Darling. You are quite accomplished at that.”

“It’s merely practice.”

“Precisely.” Bridget’s voice was gentle. “I think that if you practiced just as much at your social skills as at your needlepoint, you needn’t find it all so intimidating.”

Regina set aside her sewing. She wasn’t going to get any more done today. Not if Bridget got her say—and she always did.

“I simply never know what to say,” Regina admitted. “I always say the wrong thing. And the men are terrifying. They all think they know better than I do. And they’re loud and pompous and I can’t bring myself to look them in the eye. Everybody gossips and says nasty things about one another. About Father and about Mother sometimes as well.”

Bridget sighed and squeezed Regina’s hand. “Father is a good example of how not to deal with grief. And what does it matter what they say about Mother? We know the truth. And they know the truth as well. They just like to pretend otherwise when they’re bored and there’s nothing else to discuss.”

Regina waited. She knew that there was more Bridget wanted to say by that look of discomfort on her face.

Sure enough, after a moment, Bridget spoke again.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone all the time, darling.”

“But I’m not alone. And I won’t be for quite some time. Unless the four of you have gotten engaged and neglected to tell me so.”

Bridget chuckled. “Now darling, you know it won’t be long for any of us. Natalie will be off as soon as she finally chooses one suitor.”

Regina allowed herself an indelicate snort. Natalie choose just one out of the many men who danced attendance? Not likely.

Bridget leveled her with a stern look. “I have had a talk with Natalie myself about her future.”

“Did she listen to a word of it?”

“She shall, if she knows what is good for her. A woman who is known as a flirt quickly goes from many suitors to none at all.”

Regina didn’t think that Natalie would be inclined to believe this advice until it actually happened to her.

Bridget continued. “And you know that Mr. Fairchild is only waiting for his aunt to pass so that he may marry Louisa.”

“His aunt has been stuck with one foot in the grave for two years. Is Louisa willing to wait another two before she passes?”

Louisa, their second-eldest sister, had the carrot-colored hair of Elizabeth but none of her younger sister’s fire. Louisa was the gentlest of all of them. It was no wonder she was the first to have been proposed to, even if it must be kept secret for the time being.

“You know as well as I do how quickly one’s health can take a turn for the worst,” Bridget replied. “Elizabeth will not lack for suitors long, either.”

“If she can find one that will put up with her temper.”

“She’s a spirited girl. She likes riding and long walks. She enjoys trips to town. Many men would pay dearly for such an active and athletic wife. Just you watch, when the shooting season starts and she is in her element, she will have men to admire her.”

“And what of you?” Regina asked. She squeezed Bridget’s hand in return. “I doubt there is a man on Earth good enough for you.”

Bridget laughed fondly. “You give me too much credit.”

Regina blushed and looked down at her lap. Their mother had died in quite distressed circumstances. A longtime friend of their mother, had been injured in a riding accident. Mother had raced to his side.

Some said that they were having an affair, but Mother had looked upon the man only as a brother. He had called her ‘sister’ in his letters to her. Regina had called him Uncle.

Mother’s desperation to take care of the man she saw as family had its consequences. She had been caught in a downpour and continued on. She had arrived in time to make the Earl’s last few days bearable. But while he lay dying, she was also ravaged. The rain had given her pneumonia.

She had passed away only a week after the Earl. His estate had been far from home and her family. They hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.

Regina had been quite young at the time. Bridget had immediately stepped up as head of the household and as Regina’s caretaker. A governess was well and good but did not replace a mother’s care. Bridget had provided that.

In her secret, jealous heart of hearts, Regina did not want Bridget to marry. She did not want to lose the woman who was more like mother than sister to her.

“I admit,” Bridget said, “My taste is quite discerning. I have turned down quite a few young men.”

Each time that Bridget had turned down a man, Regina had breathed a sigh of relief.

“But that state of affairs cannot endure forever,” Bridget said. “Already Father berates me for my stubbornness. And I am not entirely impossible to please. There will be a man for me, darling. And when that happens, you cannot endure this great big house alone.”

“But Father will need someone to run the house,” Regina protested. “I can serve in that. I have assisted you often enough. I like keeping the books.”

“And we are both well grateful for it,” Bridget teased. She ruffled Regina’s hair. “But your place is not here. You must come into your own. You must be a mistress of your own place. And that can never truly be while you are here.”

“Did Father put you up to this?” Regina was well aware that Father despaired of finding her a husband when all you do is sit—his words, not hers.

“Father might go about it the wrong way but he worries because he cares. And no, he did not put me up to this. You should know better than to think my opinions come from anyone except myself.”

Regina could see that her sister was not moving on this matter. “But what if I find no man to suit my tastes?”

“Well then tell me your tastes. I shall help find you a man to suit them.”

Regina thought, but she could not think of a single thing. “I do not know.”

“Think on it then,” Bridget said. “And when you know, tell it to me. We shall find you someone to protect that gentle heart of yours, darling.”

She patted Regina’s hand and stood. “Now, come. I have a delightful frock for you for tonight. It shall bring out your fine eyes.”

Regina didn’t think anything could be done to improve upon her appearance. But neither could she bear to dampen her beloved sister’s spirits. So she allowed herself to be led upstairs.

Perhaps, she thought, this ball would be bearable.