He made an absent sort of sound. Apparently, she didn’t even meritwordsany longer.
She tried to temper her disappointment as she made her way to meet her family—or at least to hide it from their too-keen eyes. She put on her favorite spencer, the one that made her feel as cheerful as the first blush of spring. She stopped to coo over a precious, small dog that snuffled happily at her ankles as the elderly man walking it blushed and stammered apologies. She snatched up every bit of good humor and held it tight to her chest.
And it was all destroyed in an instant when Phoebe, red hair gleaming in the sun, said, “Good day, Clio! Where is your husband?”
Clio clung to the smile on her face with both hands, but there was no point. She could feel the disappointment washing over her like a wave.
As, of course, could Phoebe.
Her expression dropped into something downright menacing.
“I see,” she said darkly.
“He was unfortunately detained,” Clio said, striving for diplomacy. “He is still dealing with a great deal of correspondence pertaining to his inheritance.”
Or so sheassumed,since he had refused to show her any of it.
To say that Phoebe looked unimpressed would be like calling the Napoleonic Wars a “wee skirmish.” Clio’s sister by marriage looked downright murderous.
“It’s extremely impolite to do this to you,” she said, eyes narrowed. “And I do not like that he sent you out alone.”
Aaron, who had stood to greet his sister, returned to the scattered cushions for their picnic and began patting his wife’s hand consolingly.
Phoebe was not consoled.
“I have a footman with me,” Clio pointed out, tipping her head toward the man in question, who was waiting a polite distance away.
Phoebe pressed her lips together so tightly that they lost all their color.
“That’s not the same thing,” she said.
“And might I remind you,” Clio said, even though she felt herself on dangerous ground, “thatyouused to travel all parts of this city—at night—by yourself?”
Now Phoebe looked as annoyed with Clio as she did with Hector.
“As I said,” she replied, her words clipped, “that is not at all the same thing.”
Technically, Clio agreed, but only insofar as she would argue that Phoebe’s actions had been far more dangerous. What Clio was doing wasn’t even improper!
“Phoebe,” Aaron murmured, drawing his wife close. “You’re getting rather upset.”
And now Phoebe was angry with him, too. She snapped her head to the side so she could glare at her husband. Clio watched them, too. Had they swapped personalities, somehow? Usually, Aaron was the one playing protective older brother, while Phoebe was the voice of reason.
“Donottell me what I’m meant to be feeling, Aaron Warson,” Phoebe seethed at her husband. “And donoteventryto tell me that it’s not good for the baby?—"
“The baby?” Clio hadn’t meant to yelp, but that was how the words emerged from her mouth.
Somehow, though, it did the trick. Aaron and Phoebe both turned to look at Clio, and suddenly Phoebe’s ire was gone, replaced by a beatific smile.
“Yes,” she said, her hand going to her belly. Clio wasn’t certain if she was imagining a slight curve there now that she knew orif it was truly visible. “That’s why we asked you here today. I’m expecting.”
It was hard to say who looked happier, Phoebe or Aaron. They were both shining so bright that it almost hurt to look at them.
“I—My goodness,” Clio stammered. “Congratulations!” She blinked against a sudden prickle in her eyes, then dashed away dampness. “I’m so happy for you both that it’s driven me practically to tears.”
The wetness in her eyes remained as she leaned forward to embrace first Phoebe, then her brother, and Clio blinked furiously to dispel them.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t truly happy for her brother and Phoebe. She was. Of course she was. She was happy for herself, too—she knew already that she would love being an aunt to the next generation of Warsons.
