It had come to her in church that morning. (The ladies went; the gentlemen somehow managed to get out of it.) It wasn’t terribly complicated; she needed only a sunny day, a halfway acceptable sense of direction, and a shovel.

The first was easy, and indeed already a given. The sun had been shining brightly when she’d entered the small parish church, which was probably what had given her the idea in the first place. More to the point, it was still shining when she left, which, given the vagaries of English weather, was not something one could always count upon.

The second would be trickier. But they had taken a walk through the woods the day before, and Honoria was fairly sure that she could find her way again. She might not be able to tell north from south, but she could follow a well-tended path.

As for the shovel, she was going to have to figure that one out later.

When the ladies returned to Bricstan after church, they were informed that the gentlemen had gone shooting and would return for a late lunch. “They will be extremely hungry,” Mrs. Royle announced. “We must adjust our preparations accordingly.”

Honoria was apparently the only one who did not realize that this meant she required an assistant. Cecily and Sarah immediately rushed upstairs to choose their afternoon dresses, and Iris spouted some nonsense about a stomachache and fled. Honoria was immediately drafted to serve on Mrs. Royle’s committee of two.

“I had planned to serve meat pies,” Mrs. Royle said. “They are so easy to handle out of doors, but I think we shall need another meat. Do you think the gentlemen will enjoy chilled, roasted beef?”

“Of course,” Honoria replied, following her to the kitchen. Didn’t everyone?

“With mustard?”

Honoria opened her mouth to reply, but Mrs. Royle must not have been expecting an answer, because she kept right on talking: “We shall serve three kinds. And a compote.”

Honoria waited for a moment and then, when it became apparent that this time Mrs. Royle did expect her to comment, she said, “I’m sure that would be lovely.”

It was not the most vibrant example of her conversational skills, but given the subject matter, it was the best she could do.

“Oh!” Mrs. Royle stopped and whirled around so suddenly that Honoria nearly crashed into her. “I forgot to tell Cecily!”

“Tell her what?” Honoria asked, but Mrs. Royle was already six steps down the hall, summoning a maid. When she returned, she said, “It is very important that she wear blue this afternoon. I have heard that it is the favorite color of two of our guests.”

How she had determined that Honoria could not begin to guess.

“And it complements her eyes,” Mrs. Royle added.

“Cecily has lovely eyes,” Honoria agreed.

Mrs. Royle looked at her with a queer expression, then said, “You should consider wearing blue more often, too. It will make your eyes look less uncommon.”