What was remarkable was that the three Smythe-Smiths managed to do it all without raising their voices, a tacit agreement, he assumed, in light of the guests they knew must be arriving soon in the next room.

“If you would just smile, Iris,” Honoria snapped, “it would make it all so much easier.”

“For whom? For you? Because I assure you, it won’t make it easier for me.”

“I don’t care if she smiles,” the other one said. “I don’t care if she ever smiles. She’s evil.”

“Daisy!” Honoria exclaimed.

Daisy narrowed her eyes and glared at Iris. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

Marcus glanced over at the governess. She was resting her head against the pianoforte, which led him to wonder how long the three Smythe-Smiths had been at it.

“Can you try to smile?” Honoria asked wearily.

Iris stretched her lips into an expression so frightening that Marcus almost left the room.

“Good God, never mind,” Honoria muttered. “Don’t do that.”

“It is difficult to feign good humor when all I wish is to throw myself through the window.”

“The window is closed,” Daisy said officiously.

Iris’s stare was pure venom. “Precisely.”

“Please,” Honoria begged. “Can’t we all just get along?”

“I think we sound wonderful,” Daisy said with a sniff. “No one would know we’d only had six hours to practice with Anne.”

The governess looked up at the sound of her name, then back down when it became clear she need not reply.

Iris turned on her sister with something bordering malevolence. “You wouldn’t know good— Euf! Honoria!”

“Sorry. Was that my elbow?”

“In my ribs.”

Honoria hissed something at Iris that Marcus supposed only she was meant to hear, but it was clearly about Daisy, because Iris gave her younger sister a disparaging glance, then rolled her eyes and said, “Fine.”

He looked back over at the governess. She appeared to be counting spots on the ceiling.

“Shall we try it one last time?” Honoria said with weary determination.

“I can’t imagine what good it might do.” This came from Iris, naturally.

Daisy gave her a withering stare and snipped, “Practice makes perfect.”

Marcus thought he saw the governess try to stifle a laugh. She finally looked up and saw him standing there with his pitcher of lemonade. He put his finger to his lips, and she gave a little nod and smile and turned back to the piano.

“Are we ready?” Honoria asked.

The violinists lifted their instruments.

The governess’s hands hovered over the keys of her pianoforte.

Iris let out a miserable groan but nonetheless put her bow to her cello.

And then the horror began.

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty