“Elizabeth!” Harriet scolded.

Frances narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “It’s not, is it?”

“It ought to be,” Elizabeth retorted, “given that you’ve made her put a bloody unicorn in the story.”

“Elizabeth!” Sarah didn’t really care that her sister had cursed, but as the oldest in the family, she knew she ought to care. Or at the very least, make a pretense of caring.

“I wasn’t cursing,” Elizabeth protested. “It was wishful thinking.”

This was met with confused silence.

“If the unicorn is bleeding,” Elizabeth explained, “then the play has at least a chance of being interesting.”

Frances gasped. “Oh, Harriet! You’re not going to injure the unicorn, are you?”

Harriet slid a hand over her writing. “Well, not very much.”

Frances’s gasp whooshed into a choke of terror. “Harriet!”

“Is it even possible to have a plague of weddings?” Harriet said loudly, turning back to Sarah. “And if so, would two qualify?”

“They would,” Sarah replied darkly, “if they were occurring just one week apart, and if one happened to be related to one of the brides and one of the grooms, and especially if one was forced to be the maid of honor at a wedding in which—”

“You only have to be maid of honor once,” Elizabeth cut in.

“Once is enough,” Sarah muttered. No one should have to walk down a church aisle with a bouquet of flowers unless she was the bride, already had been the bride, or was too young to be the bride. Otherwise, it was just cruel.

“I think it’s divine that Honoria asked you to be the maid of honor,” Frances gushed. “It’s so romantic. Maybe you can write a scene like this in your play, Harriet.”

“That’s a good idea,” Harriet replied. “I could introduce a new character. I’ll have her look just like Sarah.”

Sarah didn’t even bother to turn in her direction. “Please don’t.”

“No, it will be great fun,” Harriet insisted. “A special little tidbit just for the three of us.”

“There are four of us,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I think I was forgetting Sarah, actually.”

Sarah deemed this unworthy of comment, but she did curl her lip.

“My point,” Harriet continued, “is that we will always remember that we were right here together when we thought of it.”

“You could make her look like me,” Frances said hopefully.

“No, no,” Harriet said, waving her off. “It’s too late to change now. I’ve already got it fixed in my head. The new character must look like Sarah. Let me see . . .” She started scribbling madly. “Thick, dark hair with just the slightest tendency to curl.”

“Dark, bottomless eyes,” Frances put in breathlessly. “They must be bottomless.”

“With a hint of madness,” Elizabeth said.

Sarah whipped around to face her.

“I’m just doing my part,” Elizabeth demurred. “And I certainly see that hint of madness now.”

“I should think so,” Sarah retorted.

“Not too tall, not too short,” Harriet said, still writing.

Elizabeth grinned and joined in the singsong. “Not too thin, not too fat.”