“They are my family.”

He closed his eyes.

“They are my family,” she said in a choked voice, “and you have hurt them beyond repair. For that, I can never forgive you.”

“Neither,” he said, his words for his ears alone, “can I.”

Chapter Four

Back at Fensmore

In the drawing room with Honoria, Sarah,

Harriet, Elizabeth, Frances, and Lord Hugh

Right where we left off . . .

It was a rare moment when silence fell on a gathering of Smythe-Smith cousins, but that was exactly what happened after Lord Hugh gave a polite bow and exited the drawing room.

The five of them—the four Pleinsworth sisters and Honoria—remained mute for several seconds, glancing at each other as they waited for a suitable amount of time to pass.

You could almost hear them all counting, Sarah thought, and indeed, as soon as she reached ten in her own head, Elizabeth announced, “Well that wasn’t very subtle.”

Honoria turned. “What do you mean?”

“You are trying to make a match of Sarah and Lord Hugh, aren’t you?”

“Of course not!” Honoria exclaimed, but Sarah’s negative howl was considerably louder.

“Oh, but you should!” Frances said with a delighted clap of her hands. “I like Lord Hugh very much. It’s true that he can be a little eccentric, but he’s terribly clever. And he’s a very good shot.”

All eyes swung back to Frances. “He shot Cousin Daniel in the shoulder,” Sarah reminded her.

“He’s a very good shot when he’s sober,” Frances clarified. “Daniel said so.”

“I cannot begin to imagine the conversation that revealed such a fact,” Honoria said, “nor do I wish to, this close to the wedding.” She turned resolutely back to Sarah. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Please say it does not involve Hugh Prentice.”

“It involves Hugh Prentice,” Honoria confirmed. “I need your help.”

Sarah made a great show of sighing. She was going to have to do whatever Honoria asked; they both knew that. But even if Sarah had to go down without a fight, she was not going to do so without a complaint.

“I am very much afraid that he will not feel welcome at Fensmore,” Honoria said.

Sarah could find nothing objectionable about that statement; if Hugh Prentice did not feel welcome, it was hardly her problem and nothing more than he deserved. But she could be diplomatic when the occasion warranted, so she remarked, “I think it is much more likely he will isolate himself. He’s not very friendly.”

“I find it more likely that he’s shy,” Honoria said.

Harriet, still seated at the desk, gasped with delight. “A brooding hero. The very best kind! I shall write him into my play!”

“The one with the unicorn?” Frances asked.

“No, the one I’ve just thought of this afternoon.” Harriet pointed the feather end of her quill toward Sarah. “With the heroine who is not too pink or green.”