She sucked in another breath, and for the first time in over a decade felt her lungs expand without restriction. On a sudden, intoxicating surge of hope, she rose from the spindly chair. “I’m definitely rich and ripe for adventure.”
“Once you’re out of mourning, you’ll be the most dashing widow in London,” Fenella said.
“I shall indeed.”
Fenella smiled at her. “When you set your mind to something, you make sure you achieve it. I so admire your strength.”
“My father called it blind stubbornness,” she admitted. “He tried to beat it out of me, but he never did.”
“Thank goodness,” Helena said. “You wouldn’t be nearly so interesting if you just accepted your fate. In fact, you’d still be wiping the mud off your shoes
in Lincolnshire.”
“I am determined to make a new life, one where the decisions are mine.” Caroline shifted until she could see both women. “In fact, why don’t we all leave our old, sad days behind? Why don’t we all become dashing widows?”
Helena’s dark eyes flared with excitement. Predictably Fenella looked less enamored with the idea. “I can see you both dazzling the ton. I’m not like that.”
Refusing to let Fen shrink back into her seclusion, Caroline caught her hands and hauled her to her feet. “You’re the prettiest girl I know, Fenella Deerham. You’ll dazzle the ton purely by turning up.”
“I’m not sure,” Fenella murmured.
Less impetuously, Helena stood and crossed the room to join them. “Don’t you want to dance the night away and drink champagne and flirt with handsome gentlemen?”
Fenella still resisted the rising mood. “I don’t want to marry again.”
Caroline laughed, caught up in the idea of breaking free of stifling limitations. “Dashing widows don’t have to marry. They’ve done their duty. Dashing widows have fun.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Fenella’s lips. “I can’t remember the last time I had fun.”
“There you are, then,” Helena said. “We’ll all be dashing widows.”
With a giddy laugh, Caroline stepped across to ring for a servant. “We’ll be the most dashing widows the ton has ever seen.”
“Count me in,” Helena said, and for once her expression held no trace of irony.
“Fen, you can’t turn the terrible trio into a desperate duo,” Caroline urged.
Fenella still looked unconvinced. “It’s so long since I was out in society.”
“I’ve never been out in society. My father wouldn’t pay for a season when the match with Freddie was already arranged,” Caroline said. “Helena will have to be our guide.”
Helena’s lips twitched. “Heaven help us, then.” Earnestness deepened her voice. “Come and join us, Fen. We’re not asking you to run a steeplechase in your petticoat. We’re just inviting you to chance a step out of your safe little cave. You commit to nothing more than wearing colors and attending a party or two.”
Something new sparked in Fenella’s eyes, banishing her customary melancholy. She raised her chin with un-Fenella-like brio. “Very well. I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful,” Helena said, hugging her with un-Helena-like exuberance.
The butler entered the room. Caroline greeted him with a smile and caught his surprise at the festive atmosphere. Another signal, should she need one, that it was time she crawled out of her slough of self-pity and made plans for her independence.
“Hunter, champagne.”
“Caro, at five o’clock in the afternoon?” Fenella asked, shocked.
Hunter bowed, his imperturbability back in place. “Very good, my lady.”
Caroline beamed, the pall of boredom and frustration shifting from her shoulders. She felt light enough to float up into the cloudy winter sky. From what she saw of her friends, they too had found fresh purpose on this February afternoon.
“Why not? Dashing widows drink champagne whenever they feel like it. What better excuse than a toast to our glittering success?”