“Oh, look, there she is,” Lady Danbury commented. She tipped her head to the right, and Marcus followed her gaze to Honoria, who was chatting with two other young ladies he could not identify from a distance. She didn’t see him yet, and he took advantage of the moment to drink in the sight of her. Her hair looked different; he could not pinpoint what she’d done to it—he never had understood the finer points of female coiffure—but he thought it was lovely. Everything about her was lovely. Maybe he should have thought of some other, more poetic way to describe her, but sometimes the most simple words were the most heartfelt.

She was lovely. And he ached for her.

“You do love her,” Lady Danbury breathed.

He whipped around. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s written all over your face, trite as the expression may be. Oh, go ahead and ask her to dance,” she said, lifting her cane and motioning with it toward Honoria. “You could do a great deal worse.”

He paused. With Lady Danbury it was difficult to know how to interpret even the most simple of sentences. Not to mention that she still had her cane elevated. One could never be too careful when that cane was in motion.

“Go, go,” she urged. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find some other poor unsuspecting fool to torture. And yes, before you feel the need to protest, I did just call you a fool.”

“That, I think, may be the one privilege that consanguinity does allow.”

She cackled with delight. “You are a prince among nephews,” she proclaimed.

“Your second favorite,” he murmured.

“You’ll rise to the top of the list if you find a way to destroy her violin.”

Marcus shouldn’t have laughed, but he did.

“It’s a curse, really,” Lady Danbury said. “I’m the only person I know my age who has perfect hearing.”

“Most would call that a blessing.”

She snorted. “Not with that musicale looming over the horizon.”

“Why do you attend?” he asked. “You’re not particularly close with the family. You could easily decline.”

She sighed, and for a moment her eyes grew soft. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Someone needs to clap for those poor things.”

He watched as her face changed back to its normal, unsentimental visage. “You’re a nicer person than you let on,” he said, smiling.

“Don’t tell anyone. Hmmph.” She thumped her cane. “I’m through with you.”

He bowed with all the respect due a terrifying great-great-aunt and made his way toward Honoria. She was dressed in the palest of blue, her gown a frothy confection that he couldn’t possibly describe except that it left her shoulders bare, which he decided he approved of, very much.

“Lady Honoria,” he said once he reached her side. She turned, and he bowed politely.