When they entered, Elise glanced around. It had been years since she had entered the Iona’s portal. The lofty glass-domed ceiling and chandeliers that dripped antique crystal was a perfect backdrop for the linen-covered tables and oval-backed chairs.

Elise followed the greeter to their table. She sank into the upholstered chair and almost sighed, the relief instantaneous.

“I thought you were going to pass out back there,” Sophie said under her breath. “Your face went completely white.”

“I just needed to sit down,” Elise said while their mother ordered an elaborate high tea for their party.

Cairstine’s gaze darted around the room. “Last time I came with Mummy, Gordon Sinclair was here with his new wife,” she said, referring to a Scottish Television host. “And last year, we ran into the Duke of Bewcastle.”

Elise bit her tongue and refrained from glancing at Sophie. Cairstine had always been impressed by celebrities and titles. Perhaps one day, she’d outgrow it.

The waiter arrived and set the sweet and savory confections Mother had ordered in the center of the table, along with a pot of oolong. Elise had to admit it; Mother had the right of things. Elise crossed her legs and bumped one of the packages on the floor beside her chair.

They had spent most of the day in a dressmaker’s shop, being fitted for the upcoming Jumpers Ball. Her father’s annual event was followed the next morning by the Thistle Cup, a steeplechase and flat races on the Roxbury estate.

Elise quietly sipped her tea, her eyes on the busy road outside the window. The rain had let up, and the sky, though still leaden, had lightened considerably.

“I had my doubts when you first insisted on that gown, Elise,” her mother commented. “But I think it will do nicely.” Lady Roxbury lifted her teacup and took a small sip, her slender fingers curled daintily around the porcelain handle.

Elise pulled her eyes from the hustle and bustle of George Street. “It’s a lovely dress.” Simple lines suited her better than the big-skirted dress Cairstine had fancied.

“If I had a figure like Elise, I’d select that cut as well,” Cairstine remarked to no one in particular.

Their mother snorted. “You’re entirely too young to carry it off. It takes a certain disregard to wear that sort of gown.”

Cairstine’s large blue eyes rounded at her mother’s comment.

Elise hadn’t chosen the figure-hugging gown to show herself off. It quite literally was the only style in the shop she could tolerate. At almost six feet, the idea of wearing a fluffy ballgown was ludicrous; she’d take up half the dance floor.

“Who’s escorting you?” Sophie asked, curiosity limning her words.

“A military officer,” Elise said, grateful for Harry’s cover story.

Mother’s pink lips made a perfect O, and her eyes brightened. “From the base?”