Following her sister toward the west drawing room, Maryanne fiddled with her embroidered shawl. It offered little warmth, but the warm colors—russet and gold and pink—suited her, and she knew her face was starkly pale. “Baby Richard is napping now.” Venetia yawned, and a soft smile played on her lips. “And a proposal of marriage is a rather important event.” A shiver tumbled down Maryanne’s spine. Dash wasn’t going to propose marriage—he was being told to make himself available at the church on a certain date to marry a woman who had told him a pack of lies. So many lies. Dash did not know about her editing works of erotica. Fortunately neither did Marcus. Only Venetia knew that and had agreed that even in a sound and happy marriage, some secrets were best kept from the man. Maryanne caught a glimpse of herself in an ornate oval mirror as they neared the drawing room doors. She looked so terribly ordinary—a girl with bland brown curls and wide brown eyes filled with nervous fear.
