Lady Tutwilliger gasped, falling back upon the large pillows of her day bed. “Someone fetch the smelling salts!” Lady Kathryn Thistlewait shared a speaking glance with her elder sister, Lady Mariah. “Willy, you know you have never had the vapors in your entire life. Do stop being so missish,” Kat declared firmly. That sentiment caused her godmother to open her eyes, sit up straighter, and pin her with a steely stare. “You unfeeling child! It is only because I possess the constitution of my late father, Lord Frogmorton, that I can withstand your antics. How else would I have survived your crying off from Lord Barton and Mariah turning down the Duke of Bromston last Season.” Mariah tossed her dark springy curls. “The duke is old enough to be my father! He has a dreadful laugh, much like a baying hound, that always draws unwelcome attention. But worst of all, his cravats are always imperfectly tied.”
