And if the other members of the audience looked mildly ill, well, they had to have known what they were getting into. After eighteen years, no one attended a Smythe-Smith musicale without some inkling of the horrors that lay ahead.

There was quite a round of applause, almost certainly to celebrate the end of the concert, and when they were done, Honoria kept on smiling and greeted the guests with courage enough to approach the stage.

She suspected most doubted their ability to maintain a straight face while congratulating the musicians.

And then, just when she thought she was done having to pretend that she believed all the people who were pretending they had enjoyed the concert, the final well-wisher arrived.

It wasn’t Marcus, blast it. He appeared to be deep in conversation with Felicity Featherington, who everyone knew was the prettiest of the four Featherington sisters.

Honoria tried to stretch her now clenched jaw into a smile as she greeted—

Lady Danbury. Oh, dear God.

Honoria tried not to be terrified, but dash it all, the lady scared her.

Thump thump (went the cane), followed by: “You’re not one of the new ones, are you?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” Honoria replied, because truly, she had no idea what that meant.

Lady Danbury leaned in, her face twisted into such a squint that her eyes nearly disappeared. “You played last year. I’d check my program, but I don’t save programs. Too much paper.”

“Oh, I see,” Honoria answered. “No, ma’am, I mean, yes, I’m not one of the new ones.” She tried to keep track of all of the double negatives and finally decided that it didn’t matter if she’d said it correctly, Lady Danbury appeared to understand what she’d meant.

Not to mention that at least half her brain was focused on Marcus, and the fact that he was still talking to Felicity Featherington. Who, Honoria could not help but note, looked exceptionally pretty that evening in a gown the exact shade of primrose she had intended to purchase before she’d had to leave London to care for Marcus when he had a fever.

There was a time and a place for everything, Honoria decided, even pettiness.

Lady Danbury leaned over and peered down at the violin in her hands. “Violin?”

Honoria wrenched her gaze back to Lady Danbury. “Ehrm, yes, ma’am.”

The elderly countess looked up with a shrewd look in her eye. “I can see that you wanted to make a comment about it not being a pianoforte.”

“No, ma’am.” And then, because it had been that sort of evening, Honoria said, “I was going to make a comment about it not being a cello.”

Lady Danbury’s wrinkled face erupted into a smile, and she chuckled loudly enough to make Honoria’s mother look over in alarm.