Chapter Three

      “You must call me Marianne.” Marianne Granville served herself some stuffed lettuce from the platter in front of her. “I call you Serena in my head, anyway, so your name comes naturally to me.”

      “Certainly, if you wish.” Serena smiled at Marianne, then listened with half an ear as brother and sister chatted about some matter related to the estate’s tenants. Her elevation to the role of companion required her to dine with Miss Granville—Marianne—and her brother. Prompted by her embarrassment at her free speech with Dominic Granville, Serena had given excuses for why she should eat at the table in her own little sitting room the past two evenings, but today Marianne had insisted. The other woman had embraced the idea of having her as a companion with such alacrity, Serena felt Mr. Granville was right that she was needed by more than just the children. Not that he’d admitted the children needed her.

      “You’re very quiet tonight, Miss Somerton.” Dominic’s comment jerked her out of her reverie.

      “Not at all, Mr. Granville,” she murmured. She’d decided life would be simpler if she didn’t engage in conversation with him, beyond grasping opportunities to subtly encourage him to spend more time with his children.

      “Maybe you should call Dominic by his Christian name, too,” Marianne said.

      A frown from her brother. Serena was relieved, and unsurprised. Though she had thought of him as Dominic several times over the past few days—it was hard not to, with Marianne saying his name all the time—they weren’t related, and were certainly not friends.

      He made no response to her sister’s suggestion, nor did Serena.

      “Dom, I’ve made a list of whom I think we should invite to dinner next week,” Marianne said. “As soon as you approve it, I’ll send the invitations.”

      No one listening to her would know how much she dreaded the occasion. Looking at her was another matter; her face was crimson at just the thought of entertaining so many people, even though most of them were familiar.

      If Marianne hadn’t been afflicted with this excessive, uncontrollable blushing, she would have been one of the most beautiful women Serena had met. Not surprising, given how handsome her brother was. Her blue eyes were large and well spaced, her cheekbones beautifully defined, her mouth a perfect bow. Her dark hair was lustrous and thick; Serena had seen it down and admired its natural, loose curls.

      But then...there was her Condition. Serena had never seen Marianne in an unblushing state. Even in the company of family, her cheeks were lightly flushed. And it took no more than a question from one of Woodbridge Hall’s longtime servants to make her color flare. In wider society, her skin ranged from rose-pink with friends to a vivid puce with strangers. Serena wasn’t sure what had come first, Marianne’s blushing or her shyness. Whatever the answer, the two were now inextricably linked, feeding each other.

      “Excellent,” Dominic said of the plan for dinner invitations. He started on one of the second course dishes, poached turbot with lobster sauce. “When I called on Mr. Beaumont, he said he’d be pleased to attend.”

      “What kind of man is he?” Marianne asked. She’d told Serena yesterday that she liked to know as much as possible about people before she met them, in the hope that minimizing the surprise would also minimize blushing.

      Dominic poured more sauce over his fish. “Very friendly.”

      He spoke as if that was a bad thing. Serena could imagine him pulling back from an excess of neighborly warmth.

      “He sounds the type to want to converse a lot,” Marianne said dubiously. She set down her knife and fork. “Serena, we might go into Melton Mowbray on Thursday to see what Mrs. Fletcher has on offer.”

      Mrs. Fletcher was a dressmaker, the best in the village.

      “Thank you, I’d love to,” Serena said. Her wardrobe wasn’t sufficient for her elevated status of companion, and certainly not for a dinner party. With her new allowance, she could easily afford a new dress. Perhaps even two. And if she took her gray silk with her, Mrs. Fletcher might suggest alterations that would bring it into the current fashion.

      Despite her concern for Marianne, Serena found herself looking forward to the upcoming dinner. As rector of Piper’s Mead, her father was invited, along with his family, to all the social events of the local gentry. Serena had always enjoyed the occasions.

      “Shall I tell you who else is on the guest list, Dom?” Marianne said, with a smile that was painfully forced. “One name will be of particular interest to you, I think.”

      Her arch tone suggested she was referring to a lady.

      Dominic’s glance flickered in Serena’s direction; she sensed his reluctance to open the subject in her presence.

      “Mrs. Gordon,” Marianne announced, before he could refuse. To Serena, she said, “Colonel Gordon was killed in the Peninsula three years ago. She’s a very capable lady, and her children have excellent manners.”

      “She has children of her own?” Serena asked, dismayed. It had never occurred to her that the new Mrs. Granville might bring her own offspring to the marriage. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

      “Your opinion is not required, Miss Somerton,” Dominic said. “Indeed, it is unwelcome.”

      Belatedly, Serena recalled her intention not to engage in discussion with him. But she could hardly ignore such thoughtlessness! Besides, as Marianne’s companion, she was no longer a servant to be instructed as to what she could and couldn’t talk about. She wouldn’t force her views on him as bluntly as she had when she’d thought she was leaving. But a less personal, more reasoned discussion should be perfectly acceptable.

      “It’s natural for a mother to favor her own children over someone else’s,” she observed. She addressed the remark to Marianne.

      “Serena may have a point, Dominic,” Marianne said. “I don’t think Mrs. Gordon would willfully do such a thing, but perhaps unintentionally... Maybe I shouldn’t invite her.”

      “Invite her,” he ordered. “She’s a very pleasant woman, and she already calls this district home. She will do very well.”

      Just like that, he’d decided this Mrs. Gordon was The One? Serena bristled. Convenience was