Gabby shot Lady Sylvia an indignant look. “Quill and I would never wish you to leave your home because of us, Lady Dewland. We aren’t intending to be cheerful anyway,” she added, rather confusedly.

Lady Sylvia snorted. “Whether you’re planning on cheer or not, gel, you’re not going to have it if Kitty is sitting around weeping all the time.”

Kitty wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Quill silently handed her. “You’re right, Sylvia,” she said finally. “The last thing I wish to be is a burden to dearest Gabrielle and Quill.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden!” Gabby cried. “I would feel terrible to think that you left the house because of us. We should be the ones to move.”

Kitty gave a watery little laugh. “What a comfort you would have been to your mother, Gabrielle. You shan’t move, because this house belongs to Quill now. I suspect I own the dowager house?” She looked inquiringly at Mr. Jennings, who pursed his lips to indicate that the information was privileged, and then nodded. “I shall retire to the dowager house so I won’t be in anyone’s way.”

“For goodness sake, Kitty, you’re giving me palpitations from pure irritation, and it takes quite a provocation,” Lady Sylvia snapped. “Thurlow wouldn’t want you to retire to the country like some kind of bird-wit! If you still wish to turn into a hermit once we return from the Continent, you may. But meanwhile, I’ve a hankering to see Paris again before I die, and you’re coming with me. And if we can’t go to France because of the antics of that blown-up little puppet, Napoleon, we’ll travel about the Continent for a few months until the French toss him out the door.” Any rebellious Frenchman could have gained backbone from Lady Sylvia.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Kitty faltered.

Quill leaned down and patted his mother’s hand. “I think you should go, Mother. I believe that a change of scenery will be good for you.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter where I am,” Kitty replied, slipping back into the dazed state she had maintained before the funeral.

“There you are,” Lady Sylvia said, nodding at Quill. “I’ve got to get her on the move, that’s what. Otherwise she’s like to simply fade away. Not the sort of thing I would do, mind. But Kitty’s a delicate sort. Always has been, even when we were mere girls.”

“May I accompany you, Mother?” Peter sat down next to his mother and stroked her hand.

Tears were falling silently onto her black gloves. Her eldest son drew another handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Kitty struggled to speak.

“I think it would be best if Peter traveled with you,” Quill observed.

That seemed to settle the matter.