She let out another one of her staccato barks of laughter. “You have always amused me,” she pronounced. “I do believe you are my second favorite nephew.”

He could think of no reply other than “Really?”

“You know that most people find you humorless, don’t you?”

“You do like to be blunt,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “You’re my great-great-nephew. I can be as blunt as I wish.”

“Consanguinity has never seemed to be one of your prerequisites for plain speaking.”

“Touché,” she returned, giving him a single nod of approval. “I was merely pointing out that you are quite stealthy in your good humor. This I applaud wholeheartedly.”

“I am aquiver with glee.”

She wagged a finger at him. “This is precisely what I am talking about. You’re really quite amusing, not that you let anyone see it.”

He thought about Honoria. He could make her laugh. It was the loveliest sound he knew.

“Well,” Lady Danbury declared, thumping her cane, “enough of that. Why are you here?”

“I believe I was invited.”

“Oh, pish. You hate these things.”

He gave her a little shrug.

“Watching out for that Smythe-Smith girl, I imagine,” she said.

He’d been looking over her shoulder, trying to locate the éclairs, but at that, he turned sharply back.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a dismissive roll of her eyes. “I’m not going to set it about that you’re interested in her. She’s one of the ones with a violin, isn’t she? Good heavens, you’d go deaf in a week.”

He opened his mouth to defend Honoria, to say that she was very much in on the joke, except it occurred to him that it wasn’t a joke to her. She knew perfectly well that the quartet was awful, but she carried on because it was important to her family. That she could take her place on the stage and pretend that she thought she was a virtuoso violinist—it took tremendous courage.

And love.

She loved so deeply, and all he could think was—I want that.

“You’ve always been close with that family,” Lady Danbury said, breaking into his thoughts.

He blinked, needing a moment to return to the present conversation. “Yes,” he finally said. “I went to school with her brother.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, sighing. “What a farce that was. That boy should never have been chased out of the country. I’ve always said Ramsgate was an ass.”

He stared at her in shock.

“As you said,” she said pertly, “consanguinity has never been a prerequisite for blunt speaking.”

“Apparently not.”