“Honoria nodded and was about to say something utterlyforgettable when she saw that his hand had been bandaged.“I hope your injury is not severe,” she said politely.“Oh, this?” he held up his hand. His fingers were free to waggle,but the rest of it looked rather like a mitt. “It’s nothing. Analtercation with a letter opener.”“Well, please do be careful of infection,” Honoria said,somewhat more forcefully than was de rigueur. “If it grows red, orswollen, or even worse, yellow, then you must see a doctor atonce.”“Green?” he quipped.“I beg your pardon?”“You listed so many colors about which I must be wary.”For a moment Honoria could only stare. Wound infection wasnot a laughing matter.“Lady Honoria?” he murmured.She decided to proceed as if he’d said nothing. “Mostimportantly, you must watch for reddish streaks spreading from thewound. Those are the worst.”He blinked, but if he was startled by the turn of theconversation, he did not show it. Instead he looked down at hishand with a curious eye and said, “How red?”“I beg your pardon?”“How red do the streaks have to be before I must worry?”“How do you know so much about medicine?” Lady Danburycut in.“Do you know, I’m not sure how red,” Honoria told Mr.Bridgerton. “I would think anything stripey ought to be a cause foralarm.”

“Iris was interrupted by a resounding crash. Or not exactly acrash. More like a splintering sound. With a few pops. And twangs.“What was that?” Iris asked.“I don’t know.” Honoria craned her neck. “It sounded like—”“Oh, Honoria!” they heard Daisy shriek. “Your violin!”“What?” Honoria walked slowly toward the commotion, notquite able to put two and two together.“Oh, my heavens,” Iris said abruptly, her hand coming to hermouth. She lay a restraining hand on Honoria, as if to say—It’sbetter if you don’t look.“What is going on? I—” Honoria’s jaw went slack.“Lady Honoria!” Lady Danbury barked. “So sorry about yourviolin.”Honoria only blinked, staring down at the mangled remains ofher instrument. “What? How . . . ?”Lady Danbury shook her head with what Honoria suspectedwas exaggerated regret. “I have no idea. The cane, you know. Imust have knocked it off the table.”Honoria felt her mouth opening and closing, but no sound wasemerging. Her violin didn’t look as if it had been knocked off atable. Honestly, Honoria was at a loss as to how it could have gotinto such a state. It was absolutely wrecked. Every string hadsnapped, pieces of wood were completely detached, and the chinrest was nowhere to be seen.Clearly, it had been trampled by an elephant.”

“Honoria couldn’t help but watch her make her way over toDaisy, and Mr. Bridgerton said, “Don’t worry, she’s mostlyharmless.”“My cousin Daisy?” she asked dubiously.“No,” he replied, momentarily nonplussed. “Lady Danbury.”Honoria looked past him to Daisy and Lady Danbury. “Is shedeaf?”“Your cousin Daisy?”“No, Lady Danbury.”“I don’t believe so.”“Oh.” Honoria winced. “That’s too bad. She might be by thetime Daisy is through with her.“That’s not going to end well,” he murmured.Honoria could do nothing but shake her head and murmur,“No.”“Is your cousin fond of her toes?”Honoria blinked in confusion. “I believe so, yes.”“She’ll want to watch that cane, then.”Honoria looked back just in time to see Daisy let out a smallshriek as she tried to jump back. She was not successful with thelatter; Lady Danbury’s cane had her pinned rather firmly.”

“I had the pleasure of dining with yourbrother.”“Gregory? Really? You’d classify it as a pleasure?” But he wasgrinning as he said it, and Honoria could instantly picture what lifemust be like in the Bridgerton household: a great deal of teasing anda great deal of love.“He was most gracious to me,” she said with a smile.“Shall I tell you a secret?” Mr. Bridgerton murmured, andHonoria decided that in his case, it was right and proper to listen togossip—he was an incredible flirt.“Must I keep the secret?” she asked, leaning forward ever-soslightly.“Definitely not.”She gave him a sunny smile. “Then yes, please.”Mr. Bridgerton leaned in, just about as far as she had done. “Hehas been known to catapult peas across the supper table.”Honoria gave him a very somber nod. “Has he done thisrecently?”“Not too recently, no.”She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. It was lovelyto witness this type of sibling teasing. There used to be so much of itin her home, although most of the time she’d been but a witness.She was so much younger than the rest of her siblings; in allhonesty, most of the time they’d probably just forgotten to teaseher.“I have but one question, Mr. Bridgerton.”He cocked his head.“How was this catapult constructed?”He grinned. “Simple spoon, Lady Honoria. But in Gregory’sdevious hands, there was nothing simple about it.”

“But he wanted to smile. He would have done, if he'd been able. Surely that had to be the most important thing.The jabbing at his leg stopped for a bit, then started up again. Then there was a lovely, short pause, and then-Damn, that hurt.But not enough to cry out. Although he might have moaned. He wasn't sure. They'd poured hot water on him. Lots of it. He wondered if they were trying to poach his leg.Boiled meat. How terribly British of them.He chuckled. He was funny. Who knew he was so funny?"Oh, my God!" he heard Honoria yell. "What did I do to him?"He laughed some more. Because she sounded ridiculous.Almost as if she were speaking through a foghorn.Oooorrrrhhhh myyy Grrrrrrrrrd.He wondered if she could hear it,too.Wait a moment..Honoria was asking what she'd done to him?Did that mean she was wielding the scissors now?He wasn't sure how he ought to feel about this.On the other hand...boiled meat!He laughed again,deciding he didn't care.God,he was funny.How was it possible no one had ever told him he was funny before?”

“Honoria Smythe-Smith,” Sarah said, positively grinning, “I amso proud of you.”“I would ask why,” Honoria replied warily, “but I’m not sure Iwant to know the answer”

“Marcus’s appearance theday before had been discussed, dissected, analyzed, and—by LadySarah Pleinsworth, Honoria’s cousin and one of her closest friends—rendered into poetry.“He came in the rain,” Sarah intoned. “The day had been plain.”Honoria nearly spit out her tea.“It was muddy, this lane—”Cecily Royle smiled slyly over her teacup. “Have youconsidered free verse?”“—our heroine, in pain—”“I was cold,” Honoria put in.Iris Smythe-Smith, another of Honoria’s cousins, looked up withher signature dry expression. “I am in pain,” she stated.“Specifically, my ears.”Honoria shot Iris a look that said clearly, Be polite. Iris justshrugged.“—her distress, she did feign—”“Not true!” Honoria protested.“You can’t interfere with genius,” Iris said sweetly.“—her schemes, not in vain—”“This poem is devolving rapidly,” Honoria stated.“I am beginning to enjoy it,” said Cecily.“—her existence, a bane . . .”Honoria let out a snort. “Oh, come now!”“I think she’s doing an admirable job,” Iris said, “given thelimitations of the rhyming structure.” She looked over at Sarah, whohad gone quite suddenly silent. Iris cocked her head to the side; sodid Honoria and Sarah.Sarah’s lips were parted, and her left hand was still outstretchedwith great drama, but she appeared to have run out of words.“Cane?” Cecily suggested. “Main?”“Insane?” offered Iris.“Any moment now,” Honoria said tartly, “if I’m trapped heremuch longer with you lot.”