“You told me after Harold died.” Delilah finished her biscuit, then reached for another. “I remember it distinctly, because I recall being shocked at Grayson’s lack of taste.” She froze and her gaze shot to Camille’s. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean, well, I did at the time, but now . . .”

“It doesn’t matter.” Camille smiled. “There is a great deal of water under the bridge among the three of us. It’s to be expected that some of it would, oh, splash about on occasion.”

“There are all sorts of nasty things we have thought or said about you,” Beryl said in an offhand manner. The others stared and Beryl had the good grace to wince. “More of that water under the bridge, I suppose.” She cast her younger sister an apologetic smile.

“I daresay, this will take some getting used to for all of us,” Camille said.

“But well worth it,” Mother said with a firm nod.

“As I was saying, Mother told me about you and Grayson after your husband died.” Delilah poured more tea. “I must say, I was rather surprised he didn’t return to England. I knew he hadn’t married.”

Camille raised a brow. “You did?”

Delilah nodded. “I had a friend, more of an acquaintance really, who was engaged to Grayson’s cousin at the time. She told me he had never married. And, of course, as his investments in American railroads and some other things I can’t recall had made him quite a sizable fortune—”

“What?” Camille stared. “What do you mean by a ‘sizable fortune’?”

“Oh, you know, sizable.” Delilah shrugged.

“Immense.” Beryl nodded. “Almost obscene, really.”

“Not at all,” Mother said. “There is no such thing as too much wealth.”

“You knew this?” Camille stared at her twin.

“Everybody knows,” Beryl said casually.

“I had heard a rumor or two about his being successful but I never imagined . . .” She glared at Beryl. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Beryl frowned. “For one thing, I thought you knew. For another, you never asked. Indeed, you expressly forbade me to so much as mention his name. You were quite adamant about it. I do remember that.”

“Does it matter, dear?” Mother asked.

“The fact that he has money doesn’t matter. What matters is that he lied to me about it.” She rose to her feet and paced the parlor. “He led me to believe his circumstances were unchanged.” She stopped and glared at the others. “He introduced himself as a poor relation. Hah! Why would he do that?” She resumed pacing. “And when we wagered over who could hire Mrs. Fortesque—”

“Who is Mrs. Fortesque?” Delilah asked Beryl.

“The cook.” Beryl reached for a piece of molded gingerbread. “I might well wish to hire her myself.”