“Why don’t you purchase an Italian dictionary? I will assume the expense.”“I have one,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s very good. Half the words are missing.”“Half?”“Well, some,” she amended. “But truly, that’s not the problem.”He blinked, waiting for her to continue.She did. Of course. “I don’t think Italian is the author’s native tongue,” she said.“The author of the dictionary?” he queried.“Yes. It’s not terribly idiomatic.”

“It’s because she doesn’t have eyelashes,” Daisy said.Iris turned to her with complete calm and said, “I hate you.”“That’s a terrible thing to say, Daisy,” Honoria said, turning onher with a stern expression. It was true that Iris was extraordinarilypale, with the kind of strawberry blond hair that seemed to renderher lashes and brows almost invisible. But she’d always thought Iriswas absolutely gorgeous, almost ethereal-looking.“If she didn’t have eyelashes, she’d be dead,” Sarah said.Honoria turned to her, unable to believe the direction of theconversation. Well, no, that was not completely accurate. Shebelieved it (unfortunately). She just didn’t understand it.“Well, it’s true,” Sarah said defensively. “Or at the very least,blind. Lashes keep all the dust from our eyes.”“Why are we having this conversation?” Honoria wonderedaloud.Daisy immediately answered, “It’s because Sarah said shedidn’t think Iris could look venomous, and then I said—"“I know,” Honoria cut in, and then, when she realized Daisy stillhad her mouth open, looking as if she was only waiting for the rightmoment to complete her sentence, she said it again. “I know. It wasa hypothetical question.”“It still had a perfectly valid answer,” Daisy said with a sniff.”

“He turned to her. “Didn’t you see the lightning strike the steeple?”She recovered with a sip of tea, then smiled sweetly. “I was listening too devotedly to the sermon.”“Claptrap last week,” Lady D announced. “I think the priest is getting old.”Gareth opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, his grandmother’s cane swung around in a remarkably steady horizontal arc. “Don’t,” she warned, “make a comment beginning with the words, ‘Coming from you…’”“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he demurred.“Of course you would,” she stated. “You wouldn’t be my grandson if you wouldn’t.” She turned to Hyacinth. “Don’t you agree?”To her credit, Hyacinth folded her hands in her lap and said, “Surely there is no right answer to that question.”“Smart girl,” Lady D said approvingly.“I learn from the master.”Lady Danbury beamed.”

“You should do that more often,” he said. “Laugh, I mean.”“I know.” But that sounded sad, and she didn’t want to be sad, so she added, “I don’t often get to torture grown men, though.”“Really?” he murmured. “I would think you do it all the time.”She looked at him.“When you walk into a room,” he said softly, “the air changes.”

“I have to go out,” she said, her words oddly curt and abrupt. “There‟s something I need to do.”“At half eight in the morning?”“I‟ll be back soon,” she said, hurrying toward the door. “Don‟t go anywhere.”“Well, damn,” he tried to joke, “there go my plans to visit the King.”

“The youngest one,” she interrupted. “The youngest son, I mean. The one who is unmarried.”“I know who he is.”“Very well, then. What is wrong with him?” At that she cocked her head to the side and waited expectantly.He thought for a moment. “Nothing.”“You—wait.” She blinked. “Nothing?”He shook his head, then shifted his weight a little; his good foot was beginning to fall asleep. “Nothing comes immediately to mind.” It was true. She could do a good deal worse than Gregory Bridgerton.“Really?” she asked suspiciously. “You find nothing at all objectionable about him.”Marcus pretended to think about this a bit longer. Clearly he was supposed to be playing a role here, probably that of the villain. Or if not that, then the grumpy old man. “I suppose he’s a bit young,” he said.”

“Say whatever is in your heart,” Violet said. Her lipstwisted wryly. “And if that doesn’t work, I suggest thatyou take a book and knock him over the head with it.”Hyacinth blinked, then blinked again. “I beg your pardon.”“I didn’t say that,” Violet said quickly.Hyacinth felt herself smile. “I’m rather certain youdid.”“Do you think?” Violet murmured, concealing her ownsmile with her teacup.“A large book,” Hyacinth queried, “or small?”“Large, I think, don’t you?”Hyacinth nodded. “Have we The Complete Works ofShakespeare in the library?”Violet’s lips twitched. “I believe that we do.”Something began to bubble in Hyacinth’s chest. Somethingvery close to laughter. And it felt so good to feel itagain.“I love you, Mother,” she said, suddenly consumed bythe need to say it aloud. “I just wanted you to know that.”“I know, darling,” Violet said, and her eyes were shiningbrightly. “I love you, too.”