“Help me. Please?”She gave him an abashed nod (but not nearly soabashed as she ought) and turned to Harriet. “I think that Lord Winstead refers to the rhyming qualities of the title.” Harriet blinked a few times. “It doesn’t rhyme.”“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Elizabeth burst out. “ Finstead Winstead?”Harriet’s gasp very nearly sucked the air from the room. “I never noticed!” she exclaimed.“Obviously,” her sister drawled.“I must have been thinking about you when I wrotethe play,” Harriet said to Daniel. From her expression, he gathered he was meant to feel flattered, so he tried to smile.”

“What happened to your face?" Harriet asked."It was a misunderstanding," Daniel said smoothly, wondering how long it might take for his bruises to heal. He did not think he was particularly vain, but the questions were growing tiresome."A misunderstanding?" Elizabeth echoed. "With an anvil?""Oh, stop," Harriet admonished her. "I think he looks very dashing." "As if he dashed into an anvil.""Pay no attention," Harriet said to him. "She lacks imagination.”

“A misunderstanding?" Elizabeth echoed. "With an anvil?""Oh, stop," Harriet admonished her. "I think he looks very dashing.""As if he dashed into an anvil.”

“Miss Wynter, I think you should be the evil queen,” Harriet said.“There’s an evil queen?” Daniel echoed. With obvious delight.“Of course,” Harriet replied. “Every good play has an evil queen.”Frances actually raised her hand. “And a un—”“Don’t say it,” Elizabeth growled.Frances crossed her eyes, put her knife to her forehead in an approximation of a horn, and neighed.”

“What about me?” Frances asked.“The butler,” Harriet replied without even a second of hesitation.Frances’s mouth immediately opened to protest.“No, no,” Harriet said. “It’s the best role, I promise. You get to do everything.”“Except be a unicorn,” Daniel murmured.Frances tilted her head to the side with a resigned expression.“The next play,” Harriet finally gave in. “I shall find a way to include a unicorn in the one I’m working on right now.”Frances pumped both fists in the air. “Huzzah!”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he replied, glancing up at the front of the room. “Gads,” he said, blinking in surprise. “What is that ?”Hyacinth followed his gaze. Several of the Pleinsworth progeny, one of whom appeared to be costumed as a shepherdess, were milling about.“Now that’s an interesting coincidence,” Gareth murmured.“It might be time to start bleating,” she agreed.“I thought this was meant to be a poetry recitation.”Hyacinth grimaced and shook her head. “An unexpected change to the program, I’m afraid.”“From iambic pentameter to Little Bo Peep?” he asked doubtfully. “It does seem a stretch.”Hyacinth gave him a rueful look. “I think there will still be iambic pentameter.”His mouth fell open. “From Peep?”She nodded, holding up the program that had been resting in her lap. “It’s an original composition,” she said, as if that would explain everything. “By Harriet Pleinsworth.The Shepherdess, the Unicorn, and Henry VIII .”“All of them? At once?”“I’m not jesting,” she said, shaking her head.“Of course not. Even you couldn’t have made this up.”Hyacinth decided to take that as a compliment.“Why didn’t I receive one of these?” he asked, taking the program from her.“I believe it was decided not to hand them out to the gentlemen,” Hyacinth said, glancing about the room. “One has to admire Lady Pleinsworth’s foresight, actually. You’d surely flee if you knew what was in store for you.”

“But Benedict Bridgerton was obviously determined not to be a gentleman this afternoon, because when she moved one of her feet-just to flex her toes, which were falling asleep in her shoes, honest!-barely half a second passed before he growled, "Don't even think about it.""I wasn't!" she protested. "My foot was falling asleep. And hurry up! It can't possibly take so long to get dressed.""Oh?" he drawled."You're doing this just to torture me," she grumbled."You may feel free to face me at any time," he said, his voice laced with quiet amusement. "I assure you that I asked you to turn your back for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”