Cathy watched her younger sister with a smile that masked nervous envy. Felicity was still a child, but a fair child, a child budding into a young woman, who was already starting to turn heads. A child who had spent less time in school than her, but had a better sense of fashion. Every week, the girl looked a little more like a woman, and every week, Cathy realized she’d have to hurry up finding some lord and have him put a ring on her finger, lest Felicity turned old enough to be her rival in more than style and looks alone. At least the chances of Felicity being presented at court were low. How much could change in her family’s connections one or two years? Nothing, she hoped.

“A mansion like that is more suitable for the country,” Cathy ‘explained’ to her little sister. “I doubt they do their shopping in Whitby. Last time I was in London,” – Cathy had gone to stay with her uncle and aunt some month ago, had done all the fashionable things, and wouldn’t shut up about it to her younger sister who hadn’t been in London for years – “I made sure to send enough pieces up not to need anything from here any time soon. There’s no Harrods or Liberty in Whitby.”

This recent experience of superiority provided some comfort for the fact that the purpose of the trip had failed. Her uncle’s networking had not been enough to get her presented at court. In London, Catherine Ennington had been a nobody. She had never experienced anything as painful as that. But here in Whitby, Catherine Ennington was the rich, fashionable girl from an important family, who did her shopping in London.

A bump in the road jostled them in their seats. “I’m certain they have better drivers too,” she added petulantly. She brought her hand up to her head to check if her hairdo was still in place.