Hugh glanced about the interior of the coach. Harriet and Elizabeth sat facing forward, a large pile of books and papers on the seat between them. Harriet was trying to balance a lap desk on her knees and had a quill tucked behind her ear.

“Wasn’t that nice of Daniel to put you in the coach with us?” Frances said, as soon as Hugh had settled into his seat next to her. Or rather, it was a bit before he was settled; he was coming to realize that she was not a particularly patient child.

“Indeed,” Hugh murmured. He supposed he was thankful, actually. Better Lady Frances than some stuffy old lady or a gentleman with a cheroot. And surely her sisters would be tolerable.

“I asked him specially,” Frances continued. “I had such a nice time at the wedding yesterday.” She turned to her sisters. “We ate cake together.”

“I saw,” Elizabeth said.

“Do you mind riding backwards?” Frances asked. “Harriet and Elizabeth both get sick if they do.”

“Frances!” Elizabeth protested.

“It’s true. What would be more embarrassing, my telling Lord Hugh that you get sick from riding backwards, or actually getting sick from riding backwards?”

“I would prefer the former myself,” Hugh said.

“Are you going to chatter the whole way?” Harriet asked. Of the three, she looked the most like Sarah. Her hair was a few shades lighter, but the shape of her face was the same, and so was her smile. She looked at Hugh with a hint of embarrassment. “I beg your pardon. I was addressing my sisters, of course. Not you.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said with a light smile. “But as it happens, I don’t intend to chatter the whole way.”

“I was planning to write,” Harriet continued, moving a small sheaf of papers onto her lap desk.

“You can’t do that,” Elizabeth said. “You’ll get ink everywhere.”

“No, I won’t. I’m developing a new technique.”

“For writing in the carriage?”

“It involves less ink. I promise. And did anyone remember to pack biscuits? I always get hungry before we stop for lunch.”

“Frances brought some. And you know Mother will have a fit if you get ink on—”

“Watch your elbows, Frances.”

“So sorry, Lord Hugh. I hope that didn’t hurt. And I didn’t bring any biscuits. I thought Elizabeth was going to do so.”

“Did you sit on my doll?”

“Oh, bother. I knew I should have eaten a bigger breakfast. Stop looking at me like that. I’m not going to get ink on the cush—”

“Your doll is right here. How does one use less ink?”

Hugh could only stare. There appeared to be sixteen different conversations going on at once. With only three participants.

“Well, I just jot down the main ideas—”

“Do the main ideas have unicorns?”

Hugh had been completely unable to track who was saying what until that.