“There are a number of reasons that failed to occur to me before I began all this,” Camille said. “It seemed like such a brilliant idea. . . .”

“And, as ideas go, Camille, it was indeed brilliant,” Mother said. “I would be hard-pressed to come up with anything more clever.”

“Unfortunately, I had not given it as much thought as I should have before leaping into it.” She thought for a moment. “You must understand, there was a myriad of details to attend to, and I fear I was thinking about those rather than about whether I truly wanted to marry a man I had to deceive about my family. A man who spends much of the time smiling and nodding. And, upon further consideration, I’m not at all sure I wish to live in a castle in a country whose name I can’t remember.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then, of course, I don’t love him, and while I didn’t love Harold, I was quite fond of him. I did think I would love Nikolai one day—”

“After all, what’s not to love?” Beryl cast her an innocent smile.

She ignored it. “But ultimately, as I certainly don’t need his fortune, it seems wiser to marry someone I already love.”

“Well, you’re not getting younger, dear,” Mother murmured.

“I blame my change of heart on Beryl.” Camille smiled at her twin. “As she was the one who pointed out that love might be important in marriage.”

Beryl shrugged. “Who would have imagined?”

“Oh, I see.” Delilah refilled her cup. “I thought it might be due to Grayson. He’s become part of this silly farce and seems to be lending a great deal of assistance, and there is something about the way he looks at you. . . .”

“Do you think so?”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Camille shook her head. “It’s all most confusing. I have been angry at him for so long.” She glanced at her younger sister. “But then you don’t know about that.”

Delilah took a bite of a biscuit. “You mean, how he told you he loved you on the day before your wedding, but then never did anything about it?”

Camille stared.

“Mother told me.”

Camille looked at her mother. “And how did you know?”

“Beryl told me, of course.”

Camille glared at her twin. “If I recall correctly, I told you not to tell anyone.”

“Goodness, it was a long time ago. And, I daresay, your memory isn’t very good, as I don’t remember that at all.” Beryl studied the biscuits on the tea tray, then selected one. “These are very good, you know. And I didn’t tell just anyone.”

“Beryl!”

“I told Mother.”

“And I am not just anyone.” Mother sniffed. “Although she didn’t tell me until well after you were married. And I can’t recall when I told Delilah, but it wasn’t that long ago.”