“Thank you for inviting us over, Honor,” White Haven said, holding onto her hand for perhaps a heartbeat longer than simple courtesy required.

“As if I haven’t been inviting both of you over before each of High Ridge’s little soirees for years now,” Honor replied with a snort.

“Yes, you have,” White Haven agreed. “But I wouldn’t want you to think we were starting to take you for granted, Your Grace,” he added with a lurking smile.

“Hardly,” Honor said dryly. “The three of us have made ourselves sufficiently unpopular with the Government for me to doubt that any of us is likely to take either of the other two ‘for granted.’ ”

“Not unless we want to prove the validity of that fellow from Old Earth,” William put in. “You know, what’s his name. Hancock? Arnold?” He shook his head. “One of those ancient American guys.” He looked at his brother. “You’re the historian of the family, Hamish. Who am I thinking of?”

“Unless I’m very much mistaken,” White Haven replied, “the man whose name you’re fumbling so ineptly for was Benjamin Franklin. He was the one who advised his fellow rebels that they must all hang together unless they wanted to be hanged separately, although it astonishes me that a historical illiterate like yourself could even dredge up the reference.”

“Given the number of years that have flowed under the bridge since your precious Franklin, I think anyone who doesn’t have more than a trace of anal retentiveness in his nature is doing remarkably well to remember him at all,” William told him. “Of course, I was quite confident that you’d be able to give me chapter and verse on him.”

“Before you pursue that thought any further, Willie,” Honor warned him, “I should probably mention that I’m fairly familiar with Franklin and his period myself.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, of course, my exquisite natural courtesy precludes any further consideration of—Well, you know.”

“I do, indeed,” Honor told him ominously, and they both chuckled.

A soft knock sounded from the direction of the study door, and then it opened once again to readmit MacGuiness. He wheeled in a cart of refreshments prepared by Mistress Thorne, Honor’s Grayson cook, and parked it at the end of her desk. It was no longer necessary for him to ask her guests what they preferred, and he poured a stein of Old Tillman for White Haven before he drew the cork from a bottle of Sphinx burgundy and offered it for Lord Alexander’s inspection. Honor and Hamish grinned at one another as William carefully examined the cork and sniffed delicately before nodding his gracious approval of the offering. Then MacGuiness poured a second Old Tillman for Honor. She took it and smiled at him as he withdrew, and then she and Hamish raised their foamy, condensation-dewed steins to one another in a beer-drinkers’ salute, pointedly excluding the hopelessly effete wine-snob in their midst.

“I must say, Honor,” Hamish said with a sigh of pleasure as he lowered his stein once more, “that I’m much more partial to your taste in refreshments than I ever was to the sorts of things you encounter at most of Willie’s political get-togethers.”