The Marriage Wager. Candace Camp

herself so much. This, she thought, must be what it was like to have a sister—or what it might be like getting ready with her cousins if she did not spend all her time helping them into their clothes or putting up their hair or finding their lost gloves and fans.

      Then, at last, Maisie was done and they were ready. As Francesca beamed at her like a proud mother, Constance went to the mirror for one last look at herself.

      “Oh, my.” She could not hold back the soft exclamation.

      Her hair was pulled up and caught in a cluster of curls, and feathery wisps curled softly around her face. Her dark brown tresses gleamed in the soft glow of the candles, warm and lustrous, the red highlights catching the light. The spray of tiny blue silk rosebuds that Francesca had bought for her the day before was pinned into her hair at the base of the cluster of curls.