Rosemary Lillywhite shoved her way into her London townhouse and heaved a sigh of relief when the butler, Wadsworth, deftly divested her of an armload of packages. She thanked him, noted a slight furrowing of his brows, and grimaced apologetically for what felt like the thousandth time in three months.

He hurried off without engaging in any sort of discussion; there was no need, as he and his mistress knew they were indeed on the same side of the losing battle.

As she hung her coat on a rack near the front door, Rosemary appraised the state of the entrance hall with a scowl of her own—making no attempt to hide her irritation as Wadsworth had so politely done.

Overflowing crates piled high on either side of the corridor threatened to topple as she brushed past. His frame not nearly as slim as Rosemary’s, Wadsworth had, no doubt, been forced to turn sideways to get to the front door—an affront, she was certain, to his butlering sensibilities.

In January, at the beginning of the siege, there had been some sort of order to the chaos. Now with the spring season underway, crates labeled with such trivialities as “scarves” and “spring handbags” mingled with those containing all manner of wedding supplies, the whole lot of it coated in a web-like layer of snowy white tulle.

When she’d assured her best friend, Vera Blackburn—who was slated to be married to Rosemary’s brother, Frederick, in little more than a week—that temporarily sharing the large townhouse would be no imposition whatsoever, she hadn’t realized she’d also been offering to store everything both Vera and Frederick owned.

Frederick was one thing; he tended to travel lightly, but Vera was another story altogether. Of course, Rosemary had known better than anyone how much Vera enjoyed shopping—she simply hadn’t realized that her friend never got rid of anything.

How it had all fit into Vera’s old flat was a mystery, and one even Frederick seemed unwilling to address. He had, however, begun searching for a larger marital home than originally planned.

As content as Rosemary had been to have the two of them stay with her, the offer had less to do with a desire for companionship than it did with keeping the family peace. Rosemary’s mother, Evelyn, had very nearly swooned when she’d discovered Frederick and Vera’s plans to live together before their official wedding day.

That they were sleeping in the same bedroom at Rosemary’s townhouse didn’t seem to make much difference to Evelyn, or perhaps she simply presumed otherwise. What went on behind closed doors was of little interest—appearance was what mattered, particularly to her mother’s high-society friends, and it was their opinion that fueled Evelyn’s desires.

Whether she agreed with that outlook or not was of little consequence. Evelyn cared, and despite her somewhat prickly nature, Rosemary adored her mother and wanted her to be pleased. And so, she had intervened, reinforcing the fragile peace that had only recently developed between Vera and her future mother-in-law.

Vera had agreed to let her have a heavy hand in planning the wedding, and Evelyn—well, to be fair, Evelyn hadn’t agreed to much beyond a vague promise not to completely take over and dominate the preparations.

Rosemary suspected she’d had her fingers crossed behind her back all the while because it hadn’t, of course, taken long for her efforts to dissolve.

The first disagreement over whether lily or rose centerpieces were more appropriate had drawn another line in the sand, and the temperature of the relationship had fluctuated wildly ever since.

It wasn’t so much that Evelyn disliked Vera or thought she wasn’t good enough for her precious boy—although it had seemed that way at first, particularly from Vera’s perspective. She simply didn’t get on with the radical notions of the day’s youth, many of which Vera proudly represented.

Evelyn would have been utterly shocked to learn that when it came right down to brass tacks, her morals and values weren’t so very far from Vera’s after all. They’d made strides, and Rosemary suspected that after the wedding planning process was over—an experience already fraught with tension under normal circumstances—her mother and Vera would find a great deal more common ground.

After all, there’d never been another woman who’d adored Frederick as much as Evelyn; not until Vera, and that would certainly, Rosemary hoped, earn her some points in Evelyn’s estimation.

Now, from the other room, Rosemary could hear Frederick’s voice and was alarmed to note that he sounded angry. Given her brother’s general joviality, it raised Rosemary’s hackles, and she quickened her pace. A sharp retort from Vera caused her to stop short of entering the parlor door as intended. Instead, she paused to listen—quite unashamedly, as it was, after all, her own house.

“I’ve had enough,” Frederick replied. “I can’t live a lie any longer. It would only be a mistake. Can’t you see that?”

“No,” Vera breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of anger, pain, and betrayal so palpable it caused Rosemary’s chest to constrict and her heart to race. “You said you loved me—that you always had and always would. How can it all be over?”

Frederick groaned, and by the sound of it, kicked something—Rosemary hoped, through her dismay, it hadn’t been the chintz footstool that had belonged to her late husband’s mother—and when he spoke again, he sounded tired.

“Can we please just be finished? Truly, Vera, I don’t have anything more in me.”

At that, Rosemary rounded the corner and shoved a pointed finger in her brother’s face. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Frederick Woolridge? You will not break Vera’s heart, do you hear me? You’re extremely lucky she’s willing to put up with you for the rest of her life! Do you think you can find better? Is that it?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him in dismay.

“What? Rosie, no!” Frederick yelped, looking to Vera with a panicked expression. “It’s not what you think!”

Rosemary’s gaze shifted to Vera, whose face had turned a rosy shade of red, her eyes filling with tears.

“Oh, Vera, don’t cry. It will be all right,” Rosemary said, rushing forward.

Before she could get to her, Vera burst out laughing and collapsed onto the sofa. “Rosie,” she stuttered, trying to find her breath.

“Here, sister dear,” Frederick said dryly, handing Rosemary a battered bundle of bound papers. She didn’t have to more than glance at them to realize her mistake.

“I’m just running lines with our resident actress. I’ve certainly no intention of jilting poor Vera, though it’s lovely to know whose side you would take in the event we decided to part ways.”

Rosemary flung the script onto the settee, narrowly missing Vera’s prone but still heaving form, and poured herself a brandy. “It’s always the man’s fault, didn’t you know that, Freddie? You’re fortunate, really, since you’re already so thoroughly used to being wrong.”

Her tone had a significantly rougher edge to it than usual, and Rosemary felt an immediate rush of remorse as her brother’s eyebrows drew together.

“Great, Rose, really,” he said with a low whistle. “What’s got you all in a lather?”

“Charming, indeed, Frederick,” she retorted, suddenly less contrite than she’d been a moment before.

His cheerful mood returning, Frederick winked. “The skirts do, on the whole, seem to find me irresistible.”

Vera snorted, rolled her eyes, and made room on the settee for her friend. “It’s a good thing our parents have already spent a small fortune on this wedding,” she said, though there was little genuine irritation in her tone, and her eyes twinkled when they met Frederick’s gaze. “It would be a pity to reconsider now. Whatever would happen to all the gifts that have already been bought on our behalf?”

Rosemary pressed her lips together, her eyes rolling skyward. “How you truly do find him charming is beyond me,” she remarked wryly.

She’d be pleased as punch when her brother and Vera were finally off on their post-wedding holiday, and she wouldn’t have to watch them moon over one another for a few blissful weeks.

The thought conjured an image from the last holiday the three of them had taken when they’d all become involved in a murder investigation and nearly killed, and once more, she felt ashamed for snapping. If anything happened to either Frederick or Vera during their travels, she hadn’t a clue what she’d do with herself.

“Apologies. I don’t know why I feel so at odds these days,” Rosemary explained.

“Perhaps, Rosie, you’re tired of navigating a labyrinth every time you enter the entrance hall,” Frederick said wryly. “We’re all on edge, and we all want to get this whole thing finished and over with.”

For that, he received a sharp look from his fiancée and quickly tried to backtrack, mumbling something about “a most special day” until Vera waved a hand to indicate he was better off not speaking at all.

She turned to Rosemary and squeezed her friend’s hand. “He’s right, you know, for once. We aren’t blind to the fact our being here—with all our earthly belongings—is an inconvenience. We’d intended to tell you over dinner, but I suppose now is as good a time as any,” she said, sharing a conspiratorial look with Frederick.

“We’ve finally settled on a place—the one six streets down with the gorgeous coving—and Frederick is working flat out to ensure it’s ready as soon as possible. This is likely our last night here, so you needn’t fret any longer. Tomorrow we leave for Pardington, and of course, we’ll spend the week there preparing for the wedding. After the reception, we catch a train to our destination, and by the time we return, the house ought to be finished and fully furnished. Isn’t that fantastic?”

This had all tumbled excitedly out of Vera’s mouth with barely a breath in between.

The news did, in fact, lift a weight off Rosemary’s chest, and a smile lit her face as she sprang from the settee. “This calls for a toast and a nice dinner out. Freddie, go and fetch some champagne, and I’ll call Kettner’s and see if they can get us in at the last minute.”

Frederick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You get the champagne; I’ll call Kettner’s. I’ve got connections, now, you know.”

“All right, brother, point taken.” Rosemary grinned and changed trajectory. On her way out of the parlor, she heard Vera ask, “What connections?” to which Frederick puffed up his chest and replied, “I practically run the London branch of Woolridge & Sons, don’t I? The job does happen to come with a few perks.”

Rosemary shook her head as she made her way to the kitchen and back, thinking how terribly funny it was how life tended to turn out the exact opposite of how one expected it would.

A few short years earlier, she wouldn’t have imagined Frederick bragging about a position at their father’s company. He had, on more than one occasion, vehemently insisted the job would be an utter bore. He’d no reason whatsoever to become gainfully employed when there was more than enough family money to go around.

Then again, she never imagined him marrying Vera—or settling down with anyone at all, for that matter—proving that people, even Freddie, were capable of change.

Perhaps, she mused, even Evelyn would also come around one day and begin to accept her children’s’ choices with a modicum of understanding and acceptance.

Or, perhaps, pigs would fly.