Juliet managed to settle, long-limbed and tragic, with one hand dramatically covering her forehead. Georgie was just about to pat her sister’s cheeks when Mother burst into the room and started fluttering like an overexcited pigeon. She was so intent on Juliet that she didn’t even notice Wylde, who had sensibly retreated to the corner of the room.

“Juliet! My love! What happened?” She caught Juliet’s wrist to check for a pulse.

“She was stung by a bee in the park,” Georgie said.

“Quick! My smelling salts. No! A feather. We must find a feather!”

“Why do you need a feather?”

“Why, to burn, child. She must be roused!”

Georgie grimaced. “Please don’t. Burnt feathers smell awful. She’s coming round on her own, look.”

Juliet opened one eye and sent Georgie an incredulous look. “I really fainted? Oh, how mortifying! Where’s Sime—”

Mother ignored them both. “Where can we get a feather? A pillow? Don’t just stand there, Georgiana. Wait! I have it. My hat! There’s a feather in my hat.” She tugged the bonnet from her head.

Juliet, ever conscious of fashion, roused herself enough to protest. “No! Don’t ruin it! It’s such a pretty hat.”

Mother was momentarily diverted. “Do you think so? I had second thoughts about it this morning when I looked in the mirror. I thought, ‘Whatever could have possessed Madame Cerise to suggest mauve?’” She tilted her head and studied the offending garment with a critical eye. “You can have it if you like. It will suit you better than me.”

Juliet wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you. Lavender makes me look ill. Maybe Georgie would like it?”

Georgie rolled her eyes. If Juliet was back to discussing fashion, she was well on the road to recovery. “Perhaps we should all have a nice cup of tea?” Georgie darted a quick, embarrassed glance over at Wylde to see what he was making of this introduction to her ridiculous family. From his expression, he appeared to find it highly amusing.

Mother frowned. “Tea? She needs laudanum for her excitable nerves!”

Wylde stepped forward. “Might I suggest a cold compress, to reduce any swelling, and some calamine lotion?”

Mother jumped as though she’d been shot, one hand pressed over her heart. “Oh, good gracious!”

“Mother, this is Mr. Benedict Wylde. He was kind enough to help Juliet back from the park.”

Benedict bowed. “Your servant, ma’am.”

Mother melted like a glacier under the midday sun. “Mr. Wylde! Of course. How can we thank you enough for coming to dear Juliet’s aid?”

“I’m just glad I was able to help.”

Mother preened under that irresistible smile. “It was an extremely romantic gesture.” She glanced meaningfully from him to Juliet, and Georgie groaned inwardly. “How fortunate you were in the vicinity.”

“Indeed,” Georgie said dryly. “Extremely fortunate.”