“Yes.” Violet hugged her sister, trying not to show shock at the change in her appearance. She’d only been gone from Woldsly less than a fortnight. “Yes, he’s alive as far as I know. Lord Granville isn’t letting anyone see him.”

George’s expression didn’t lighten. Her eyes still stared too intently as if she’d miss something important if she blinked. “Then he might be dead.”

“Oh, no.” Violet widened her own eyes frantically at Oscar. Help! “I don’t think so—”

“We’d know if Harry Pye was dead, Georgie,” Oscar cut in, rescuing Violet. “Granville would be crowing. The fact that he isn’t means Pye is still alive.” He took George’s arm as if he were guiding an invalid. “Come into Woldsly. Let’s sit down and have a cup of tea.”

“No, I have to see him.” George flung Oscar’s hand off as if he were a too-eager vender importuning her with wilted flowers.

Oscar didn’t turn a hair. “I know, dear one, but we need to show strength when we confront Granville, if we hope to get in. Better to be fresh and rested.”

“Do you think Tony got the message?”

“Yes,” Oscar said as if repeating something for the hundredth time. “He’ll be on the road right behind us. Let’s be ready for him when he comes.” He put his hand on George’s elbow again, and this time she let him lead her up Woldsly’s front steps.

Violet followed behind, absolutely amazed. What was wrong with George? She’d expected her sister to be upset, to cry even. But this—this was a kind of harrowing, tearless grief. If she heard today that Leonard, her summer lover, had died, she would feel a certain melancholy. Maybe shed a tear and mope about the house for a day or two. But she wouldn’t be as devastated as George seemed to be now. And Mr. Pye wasn’t even dead, as far as they knew.

It was almost as if George loved him.

Violet stopped in her tracks and watched the retreating back of her sister leaning on her brother. Surely not. George was too old for love. Of course she’d been too old for a love affair as well. But, love—real love—was different. If George loved Mr. Pye, she might want to marry him. And if she married him, why . . . he’d be part of the family. Oh, no! He probably had no idea which fork to use for fish, or how to address a retired general who was also a hereditary baron, or the proper way to help a lady mount a horse sidesaddle or . . . Good Lord! What if he started dropping his Hs!

George and Oscar had reached the drawing room, and Oscar looked around as he guided her in. He saw Violet and frowned at her. She hurried to catch up.