And she overheard a conversation that made it clear that a certain Lady Skiffing, for one, believed that Gabby had discarded Peter when she realized that Quill would shortly be a viscount. It was hardly a comfort that Gabby detected a note of admiration in Lady Skiffing’s voice.

It wasn’t until late morning that the last callers were ushered from the black-hung parlor, whispering their final condolences as they left. Only the family lawyer, Mr. Jennings of Jennings and Condell, remained.

The dowager viscountess was drooping on a settee, her face strained and white. Lady Sylvia sat across from her, the very picture of elegant mourning attire. Gabby clutched her hands together tightly, trying not to steal glances at Quill.

The butler bowed himself out of the room after informing them that a light luncheon would be served in twenty minutes.

Kitty shuddered. “I shall be in my chambers,” she said faintly.

“Mama, it would be best if you ate something,” Peter said.

“I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”

“Kitty,” Lady Sylvia broke in, “it is time to discuss the future.”

“I shall read Viscount Dewland’s will after luncheon,” Mr. Jennings stated, looking alarmed.

“Yes, yes,” Lady Sylvia said, waving her hand dismissively. “I don’t mean you, Jennings. I’m sure there’s nothing interesting in Thurlow’s will. What I mean is, Kitty, what would you like to do now?”

“Do?” The question seemed hardly to register on Kitty Dewland. “I shall…I shall retire to my chambers,” she replied. “And then we will return to London.”

“When Lionel died, I sat in the house and cried until I thought I was turning into a fountain,” Lady Sylvia stated, her tone brisk. “It was a wretched time. Mind, some crying is good for you. Has to be done. But sitting around in the house where you lived with your husband is not the place to do it.”

Tears welled in Kitty’s eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Yes, you could,” Lady Sylvia snapped. “You’re prone to melancholy at the best of times, Kitty. And I’m not going to sit around while you turn yourself into a watering pot. We’re leaving the country. You can cry yourself blue in the face just as easily in Switzerland as in London.”

Kitty sobbed. “How can you even suggest that I leave the house where dear Thurlow was so happy? You’ve never been so unfeeling, Sylvia!”

“I’ve got feelings, all right,” Lady Sylvia retorted. “I don’t want you to malinger. You’re going to cast a pall on the house, Kitty. Think of that. We’re widows. We don’t belong with a newly married couple. You think that Gabrielle and Erskine are going to feel cheerful with his mama bursting into tears at every meal?”