Family was more important than anything, she’d long since realized. And family meant people who were related to you by blood, and people related to you by bond. She needed to remember that, even when in the throes of passion.

She gathered Nora into her arms for a hug, feeling her eyes start to prickle.

“You have to let me go, me and Emily are going to play,” Nora said in an exasperated voice.

“Of course,” Della said, meeting Sarah’s amused gaze. A gaze that said that the daughter was very similar to the mother.

She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her family. She had to do everything she could to protect them, and to make them complete again by finding Sarah’s husband.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow we’ll go to the address and see if he’s still there.

Meanwhile, she had a party to get ready for and a pretend betrothed to pretend to be betrothed to.

“Lady Della Howlett,” the butler announced.

The room hushed, as Della was accustomed to. She took a step forward, then hesitated when she saw them directly in front of her. Their backs turned to her—had they just turned around or was it coincidental?—and she felt a panicked moment of wanting to scurry out the door until she realized that was just what would please them.

“Lady Eleanor Raybourn,” he continued.

Eleanor took hold of her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“We can leave now if you want,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

Della lifted her chin. Their backs were still to her. Deliberate, then. They had to have heard Eleanor’s name being announced, even if they had somehow missed hers. They would have turned around to greet their daughter if they hadn’t wanted to shun their other daughter.

“It’s fine. Lord Stanbury will be here soon.” Not that she wanted to hide behind him—even though she did—but then she would have a purpose in being here beyond being visibly ostracized by her parents.

“Let’s get some punch,” Eleanor said, walking down the few steps to the ballroom. A few people were nearby, glancing between the duke and duchess and them, clearly anticipating the evening’s best gossip.

Della kept her gaze focused on the corner table where the punch bowl rested. She wouldn’t even give them the satisfaction of a look, much less an acknowledgment. But since they were likely thinking the same thing, her determined nonlooking at them would probably be overlooked.

“Eleanor.”

Della flinched at hearing her mother’s voice after so long. Eleanor froze, her hold on Della’s arm tightening.

“Good evening, Mother,” Eleanor said, turning just barely away from Della.