“Mr. Bisquet says as how there hasn’t been a Frost Fair for a quarter of a century,” her maid enthused. “You must take Miss Viola, madam. It might not happen again in her lifetime. My grandmother went to one as a girl, and she said that there were shops on the ice selling everything you can imagine, and carriages went to and fro just as if the ground were under their feet.”

“Excellent,” Ophelia said, pushing aside a sudden thought that Viola would be happy in a pack of children running and shrieking on the ice. Eight children, to be precise. “Please let Fiddle know that I intend to take Viola to the Frost Fair this morning.”

Her maid nodded, and hurried through the door to talk to the butler.

Viola was nestled against Ophelia’s side, busily making patterns in melted butter on the silver tray. “Come on, love,” Ophelia said. “I’ll show you the patterns that Jack Frost made on our windows last night.”

Out of bed, she propped her daughter on her hip and took her over to the window. “Aren’t they beautiful ferns?” she asked. Viola touched the cold windowpane and squealed.

The duke’s children would be mothered by Lady Woolhastings, who would never show them frost on a windowpane. Or take them to a Frost Fair, for that matter. Lady Woolhastings was the sort of woman who didn’t stir from her fireplace unless it was to enter her carriage and be transferred to another warm fireside.

Ophelia stared out the window while Viola used her plump fingertips to melt the ferny patterns. The duke’s eight children weren’t her problem.

After a while, her nursery maid, Betty, entered. “May I take Miss Viola to her bath, madam?”

Ophelia nodded. “Yes, thank you. Please put Viola in wool stockings and her warmest clothing. We are going to the Frost Fair.”

Viola shrieked when she realized that Betty had arrived to take her away, but Ophelia kissed her forehead. “Let me bathe and dress, poppet, and we’ll go somewhere marvelous.”

“Snow?” Viola asked.

“Another word!” Ophelia broke into a huge grin and dismissed the idea that any children could be more wonderful than the one she had. “You have a new word!”

“Go, snow,” Viola said obligingly, showing her few pearly teeth.

“That’s a sentence!”

“She’s a bright child,” Betty said cheerfully. “Now come along, dearie. You’ll need your furry pelisse because it’s nippy out there.”

“Nip-pe!” Viola cried.

“Did she show you her new trick, madam?” Betty asked.

Ophelia shook her head, smiling.

“Hurrah!” Betty cried, clapping.

Viola began clumsily patting her hands together. “Ray! Ray!”

“That’s three new words in as many moments,” Ophelia said. “Not to mention the fact that you learned how to clap, Viola. Brava!”