Miss Wynter dipped into a tiny curtsy. “And I you, er . . .”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Honoria said. “I am Lady Honoria Smythe-Smith, but please, if you are to play with us, you must use our given names.” She motioned to her cousins. “This is Iris, and this is Daisy. Also Smythe-Smiths.”

“As I once was,” Aunt Charlotte put in.

“I am Anne,” Miss Wynter said.

“Iris plays cello,” Honoria continued, “and Daisy and I are both violinists.”

“I shall leave the four of you to your rehearsals,” Aunt Charlotte said, making toward the door. “You have a very busy afternoon ahead of you, I’m sure.”

The four musicians waited until she was gone, and then Iris pounced. “She’s not really sick, is she?”

Anne started, clearly surprised by the fervor in Iris’s voice. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sarah,” Iris said, and not kindly. “She’s faking. I know it.”

“I really couldn’t say,” Anne said with great diplomacy. “I didn’t even see her.”

“Maybe she has a rash,” Daisy said. “She wouldn’t want anyone to see her if she had spots.”

“Nothing less than permanent disfigurement would satisfy me,” Iris growled.

“Iris!” Honoria scolded.

“I don’t know Lady Sarah very well,” Anne said. “I was hired only this year, and she doesn’t need a governess.”

“She wouldn’t listen to you, anyway,” Daisy said. “Are you even older than she is?”

“Daisy!” Honoria scolded. Dear heavens, she was doing a lot of scolding.

Daisy shrugged. “If she is using our Christian names I think I can ask her how old she is.”

“Older than you are,” Honoria said, “which means that no, you cannot ask.”

“It’s of no concern,” Anne said, giving Daisy a small smile. “I am twenty-four. I have charge of Harriet, Elizabeth, and Frances.”

“God help you,” Iris murmured.

Honoria could not bring herself to contradict. Sarah’s three younger sisters were, when taken one by one, perfectly lovely. Together, however . . . There was a reason the Pleinsworth household never lacked for drama.

Honoria sighed. “I suppose we should rehearse.”

“I must warn you,” Anne said, “I’m not very good.”

“That’s all right. Neither are we.”

“That’s not true!” Daisy protested.

Honoria leaned over so that the others couldn’t hear and whispered to Miss Wynter, “Iris is actually quite talented, and Sarah was adequate, but Daisy and I are dreadful. My advice to you is to put on a brave face and muddle through.”

Anne looked slightly alarmed. Honoria responded with a shrug. She would learn soon enough what it meant to perform at a Smythe-Smith musicale.

And if not, she’d go insane trying.

Marcus arrived early that night, although he wasn’t quite sure whether it was to secure a seat in the front, or one at the back. He’d brought flowers—not grape hyacinths, no one had those, anyway—but rather two dozen cheerful-looking tulips from Holland.