“We shall sail on the White Star,” Lady Sylvia announced. “The vessel is going to Naples, and Lady Fane told me Naples was thronged with Englishmen last year.

“Supposed to be a pretty city too,” she added as something of an afterthought. “I asked Jennings to look into it.”

Mr. Jennings cleared his throat. “I took the liberty of booking passage for Lady Breaknettle, Lady Dewland, and their attendants, of course.” He bowed toward Peter. “I shall obtain a berth for yourself and your valet directly, Mr. Dewland. The White Star sails from Southampton in three days.”

“Three days,” Kitty moaned. “Oh, I can’t do it! I can’t do it.” Gabby was fascinated to see that she instinctively turned toward her elder son.

“Nothing for you to do,” Lady Sylvia commented. “I told Stimple to start packing up your things this morning. She’s probably well near finished with your trunks by now. It’s not as if there’s much to bring. We can always buy blacks over there, you know. No one does clothing better than the French.”

Kitty didn’t answer, but just leaned against her youngest son’s shoulder and burst into hopeless tears. Quill silently handed her yet another handkerchief.

PROMPTLY AFTER LUNCHEON the family moved to the library. Mr. Jennings cleared his throat importantly and began to read.

The will began with a pious declaration: “In the name of God, amen. I, Thurlow Dewland, in perfect health and memory, God be praised …” Gabby’s mind wandered as Mr. Jennings droned on and on with a list of lesser bequests to the household servants in London and to those who resided on the Kent estate. The viscount left money for the poor in the Dewland parish, and fifty pounds toward the new roof needed by St. Margaret’s, their parish church.

Kitty sniffed and said that Thurlow always thought of those less fortunate than himself.

Mr. Jennings recommenced with a long list of debts to be discharged from the estate. Then he looked up, briefly, and noted that the following codicil had been added the previous January: Viscount Dewland strictly instructed that no debt should be settled if presented by a Mr. Firwald, as he had sworn never to pay for the worthless merchandise provided by the said Firwald.

Quill frowned. “Pay it.”

Jennings nodded briskly and made a note to himself.

“Why are you going against Father’s directive?” Peter asked, sitting up in his chair.

Quill didn’t stir but just looked at his brother with heavy-lidded eyes. “Firwald sold Father the crystal vase that he bought for Mother last Christmas.”

“Oh.” Peter leaned back into his chair. “I see.”

“Thurlow’s wishes should be respected,” Kitty interjected.

“Mother, the vase was broken when Father was in a state of choler,” Peter said delicately.

“He always said there was a crack in it,” Kitty replied feebly.

“Father had a constitutional dislike for paying his debts,” Quill remarked.