“Of course! Firstly, I’ve been thinking that that horrid country doctor down in Somerset isn’t at all the thing. He’s Sir Roderick Burton-Smythe’s creature, is he not? While you’re here in town, you must see a proper physician. Mama consults a very competent fellow in Harley Street. Dr. Hart. He isn’t particularly fashionable, for he’s rather young and doesn’t cater to old women’s fancies, but all of his methods are the absolute newest thing, and for real illness, Mama says he’s the very best.”

Maggie lowered her cup. “Has Lady Trumble been ill?”

“Heavens no. It’s only her megrims. And they’ve been much better under Dr. Hart’s care. Indeed, it was Dr. Hart who recommended she remove to the country for the season. You must consult him, Margaret. At least, say you will consider it.”

Maggie thought about it only a moment before saying, almost defiantly, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t receive a second opinion.”

“Exactly so!”

“But I’d prefer it were done discreetly. And without Fred’s knowledge. I wouldn’t like him badgering me or…or influencing the doctor in any way.”

“How could he? He’s not your husband! Which brings me to another idea of mine.” Jane waited until the maidservant who was clearing away the dishes had left the room. “One of my cousins is married to a solicitor, Mr. Wroxham. Do you suppose that, if you were to consult him about your father’s will—”

Jane broke off abruptly as the doors to the breakfast room were unceremoniously pushed opened and her elder brother sauntered in.

George Trumble was a thin gentleman of medium height, with an amiable countenance and the same fair hair and closely set brown eyes as his sister. He’d been a sort of admirer of Maggie’s during her come-out season, and though he hadn’t waged a vigorous campaign for her heart—as Jane often said, George was no Wellington—he’d trailed after her quite loyally and had always been happy to be of service. When it had finally occurred to him that Maggie didn’t return his, or anyone else’s affections, his lukewarm ardor had cooled, quite naturally, into brotherly regard.

Now, as he greeted her, a slight reddening of his cheeks was the only indication that she’d ever been anything more to him than just another of his sister’s many friends.

“What are you doing here so early, George?” Jane asked as he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t expect we’d see you until much later in the evening.”

George leaned around his sister to help himself to a large slice of plum cake. “I’ve been out riding and—”

Jane slapped his outstretched hand. “If you’re going to eat that, pray sit down.”