Veronica took a shaky breath. Despite the ache in her chest, she had to be strong. Mama needed her. “What do the doctors say? How much time?”

Mama lifted her chin, but Veronica could see the pain in her eyes. Her stoic, perfectly mannered mother was at her limit. Mama’s father, the esteemed Duke of Holden, was dying. That a man, so vital and powerful, was nearing the end of his life, defied belief.

“Not much,” Mama finally managed, her voice reed thin. “I merely hope he’ll live through Christmastide at Whitmore Manor.”

Veronica swallowed hard and nodded. Christmastide had always been Grandpapa’s favorite time of year. Christmas Day was next week. And Whitmore Manor was where her grandfather resided now, to spend time with Mama.

Grandfather was a duke, and Mama herself was a marchioness. She’d married Veronica’s father, the Marquess of Whitmore, when she was a girl of nineteen. Together they had raised four children before Father’s death seven years ago. Veronica, the eldest of the three sisters, had married a duke. Edgefield. Yet Veronica hadn’t wanted to marry so young. She’d wanted to ensure she made the best match. One as loving and happy as her grandparents had been. Fortunately, Mama had agreed to give her time. She hadn’t wanted her daughter to make the same mistake she had. It wasn’t Mama’s fault Veronica had made the wrong decision, after all.

Veronica had been a woman of two and twenty when she’d finally taken a husband. If only she’d known then she was making the biggest mistake of her life. She shook her head. There was no point in mentally rehashing the past. Instead, she concentrated on her mother’s solemn face. Poor, dear Mama had traveled from Whitmore Manor in Kent all the way to Essex to deliver this news to her daughter in person. That’s how Veronica knew it was serious. More serious than all the other times Grandpapa had suffered a setback with his health. The man was six and eighty years of age. He’d endured an attack of the heart many months ago. The entire family had been worried about him since. After all, he couldn’t live forever. No matter how much they wished for it. But it was especially awful to know that if he lived one more sennight, it would be his last holiday. His last Christmastide at Whitmore Manor.

Veronica clenched her jaw to fight the tears that had gathered at the back of her eyes. If Mama wasn’t crying, Veronica wouldn’t start. It would only make Mama sadder. No, Veronica would be strong and show no emotion. She’d had enough practice over the last two years.

“How are Elizabeth and Jessica taking the news?” Veronica finally managed to ask. Her younger twin sisters still lived with Mama.

Mama inclined her head. “Elizabeth is stoic. Jessica is full of dramatics. As usual.”

The hint of a smile glanced over Veronica’s lips. That sounded right. Their looks may have been identical, but the twins’ dispositions were the exact opposite of each other. They had turned eighteen in October and were preparing for their debuts in the spring. Elizabeth dreaded her come-out like a particularly noxious form of the plague, while Jessica waited on tenterhooks, barely able to contain her excitement.