And yet that was what she seemed to be doing.

She swallowed, and she felt her tongue dart out to moisten her lips, but she could not form words. All she could do was think No. It wasn’t true. She loved her family. She would do anything for them. That Iris could stand there and call her selfish . . .

It cut deep.

Sarah stared at her cousin’s face, sensing the precise moment when Iris moved on, when the fact that she’d just called Sarah selfish was no longer the most consequential thing in the world.

As if anything could be more consequential.

“There she is,” Iris said briskly. “Lady Edith. I need to get to her before Daisy does.” She took a step, then turned and said, “We can talk about this later. If you want.”

“I’d rather not, thank you,” Sarah replied tightly, finally hauling her personality out of whatever hole it had just jumped into. But Iris didn’t hear her. She’d already turned her back and was making her way toward Lady Edith. Sarah was left alone in the corner, as awkward as a jilted bride.

And that—of course—was when Hugh Prentice arrived.

Chapter Six

The strange thing was, Sarah thought she was angry.

She thought she was furious with Iris, who ought to have been more sensitive to the feelings of others. If Iris had felt the need to call her selfish, at the very least she could have done so in a more private setting.

And then to abandon her! Sarah did understand the need to intercept Lady Edith before Daisy descended upon her, but still, Iris should have said she was sorry.

But then, as Sarah stood in her corner, wondering how long she could pretend that she had not noticed Lord Hugh’s arrival, she took an unexpected breath.

And choked back a sob.

Apparently she was something other than angry, and she was in grave danger of crying, right here in the crowded Fensmore drawing room.

She turned swiftly, determined to examine the large, gloomy portrait that had been keeping her company. The subject appeared to be an unpleasant gentleman from Flanders, seventeenth century, if Sarah’s eye for fashion was correct. How he managed to look so proud in that ridiculous pleated collar she would never know, but he was staring down his beaky nose in a manner that told her clearly that none of his cousins would dare to call him selfish to his face, and if they did, he would not cry about it.

Sarah curled her lip and glared at him. It was probably a testament to the skill of the artist that he seemed to glare right back at her.

“Has the gentleman done something to offend?”

It was Hugh Prentice. Sarah knew his voice well enough by now. Honoria must have sent him over. She could not imagine why he might seek out her company otherwise.

They had promised to be civil, not eager.