Page 164 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

His voice was different. Edged with some emotion. She wanted to look at him, but her eyes were still glued on her sister, now greeting their hosts, the Marquis at her side. She felt something knot inside her. Tonia was showstopping. Her raven hair was piled high on her head in lustrous locks, her face made up like a movie star, her full-breasted bella figura displayed in all its customary glory by the evening gown she was wearing—vivid magenta satin, full skirted, strapless. With delayed recognition, Eleanora realised it was extremely similar to what the Contessa beside her was wearing.

‘Oh, yes,’ she heard Carla murmur, sotte voce, ‘she just couldn’t resist, could she? And nor can I. Well, let’s call her bluff.’

She glided forward.

Tonia and her marquis were moving into the throng, and Eleanora could see heads turning. The way Tonia’s arrival anywhere always turned heads.

Always.

Inside her, a familiar emotion was making itself felt. The same emotion she’d last felt at Tonia’s engagement party—her sister drawing all eyes, dominating the scene, making every other woman disappear…

Making me disappear.

The familiar, deadly feeling of resignation started to diffuse throughout her. And more than resignation.

Why, oh why, did Tonia have to have come here tonight? Spoiling it all.

I was so looking forward to this evening!

She had wanted, so much, to look the very, very best she could for Sanzio, and right until this moment she’d thought she did. But now—

Then, through her dismay, the shock of seeing Tonia here, she realised that Carla had reached her. Saw her sister’s eyes narrow. Close up, their gowns were almost identical, except in shade.

She heard Carla greet her sister. ‘Tonia, darling, how clever of you to copy my dress,’ she said distinctly, her voice carrying.

A few people nearby laughed, as if the Contessa had made a joke. But Eleanora could see—knew from long experience of her sister’s moods—that Tonia did not consider it as such.

Then Carla was adding fuel to the fire. ‘But you just missed the shade,’ she said. ‘What a pity!’

Carla appeared to see the Marquis for the first time.

‘Do introduce us, Tonia,’ she invited. She held out a hand to him, and the Marquis, as socially correct as her own husband, took it and bowed over it.

‘Enchanté, Madame la Comtesse,’ Eleanora heard him say.

Carla was taking his arm, on the other side of his wife. Leading him forward. Speaking across him.

‘You know, we simply must get our photos taken, Tonia darling, before the evening is out,’ she was saying in the same carrying voice. ‘Just like this—cerise and magenta, either side of your husband. No one would ever think we’re so similar simply by chance.’

Another ripple of laughter was heard, less kind this time. It was clearly well known, Eleanora surmised, that there was no love lost between the new Marquise and the Contessa whose husband Tonia had presumed to make a play for.

Tonia would see him as a challenge—just for the fun of it—and to put Carla’s nose out of joint. Now she’s doing it again—by upstaging her in the same style of gown. Looking better than her.

But Carla had indeed called Tonia’s bluff, deliberately drawing attention to Tonia’s ploy. Exposing it and mocking it.

Eleanora could see Tonia’s mouth tightening, her eyes glittering dangerously. A familiar hollow opened inside her, her body tensing rigidly. Any minute, Tonia would see her.

See me here with Sanzio.

She wanted to bolt, rush away, get away, but how could she? Impossible in this gown, with its demi-train, her high heels.

Then her arm was being taken, hooked through Sanzio’s, and he was placing her hand on his sleeve, stepping closer to her.

‘Stand your ground,’ she heard him murmur as Carla guided her sister and her husband forward.

Then they were there—the Marquis and his new Marquise—the Contessa taking her husband’s arm, blocking Sanzio and Eleanora as she did, as introductions were made, the Marquis punctiliously polite and seeming unaware of any undercurrents and tension.

‘And of course Sanzio Bastoni.’ Carla smiled widely—too widely. ‘Sanzio’s an old favourite with Tonia,’ she told the Marquis confidingly. ‘But have no fear, it has all worked out perfectly. Tonia has married you, and Sanzio—’ her smile was wider yet ‘—has married Tonia’s sister. It couldn’t have worked out better, could it, Tonia?’