He was not quite sure how to phrase it, so he finally went with, haltingly, “I don’t enjoy being at the center of attention.”

Her head tilted to the side, she regarded him for a long moment before saying, “No. You don’t.” And then: “You were always a tree.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her eyes grew sentimental. “When we performed our awful pantomimes as children. You were always a tree.”

“I never had to say anything.”

“And you always got to stand at the back.”

He felt himself smile, lopsided and true. “I rather liked being a tree.”

“You were a very good tree.” She smiled then, too—a radiant, wondrous thing. “The world needs more trees.”

By the end of the musicale, Honoria’s face ached from smiling. She grinned through the first movement, beamed through the second, and by the time they got through the third, she might as well have been at the dentist, she’d shown so much of her teeth.

The performance had been every bit as awful as she had feared. In fact, it had quite possibly been the worst in the history of Smythe-Smith musicales, and that was no shabby feat. Anne was reasonably accomplished on the piano, and had she been given more than six hours to figure out what she was doing, she might have done a decent job of it, but as it was, she’d been consistently one and one-half bars behind the rest of the quartet.

Which was complicated by the fact that Daisy had always been one and one-half bars ahead.

Iris had played brilliantly, or rather, she could have played brilliantly. Honoria had heard her practicing on her own and had been so stunned by her level of skill she would not have been surprised if Iris had suddenly stood up and announced that she was adopted.

But Iris had been so miserable at having been forced onto the makeshift stage that she’d moved her bow with no vigor at all. Her shoulders had slumped, her expression had been pained, and every time Honoria cast a glance at her, she’d appeared on the verge of running herself through with the neck of her cello.

As for Honoria herself . . . Well, she’d been dreadful. But she’d known she would be. Actually, she thought she might have been even worse than usual. She’d been so focused on keeping her mouth stretched into that rapturous smile that she’d frequently lost her place in the score.

But it had been worth it. Much of the first row of the audience was filled with her family. Her mother was there, and all of her aunts. Several sisters, scads of cousins . . . They were all beaming back at her, so proud and so happy to be a part of the tradition.