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Freddie wasn’t certain about that. “What did you write?”

He shrugged. “Hope—plenty of peppermint sticks, and Prediction—a new pointer.”

Freddie grinned, feeling like he could finally take a breath. “My hope was for a gelding. Although I almost put a new hunter.”

Fin nodded. “No one will doubt that your paper is mine. It’s all resolved.”

Freddie gripped Fin’s shoulder. “For all your bad advice, you’re truly a good friend, Fin. Thank you.”

Fin just shrugged it off.

“What are you two talking about? I hope you’ve not told each other what you wrote?” Ari eyed them.

“And risk losing a second helping of pudding? Never!” Fin said dramatically.

Ari grinned. “You’re a dolt, my lord.”

Fin acted offended, but then winked at her. “Lady Arabella, would you care for some lemonade?”

The two disappeared, and Freddie settled in his chair.

“May I join you?” Pippy asked.

He patted the seat next to him. “I was saving it for you, my—” He clenched his fists. “Dear.” He shook his head.

Her brow puckered slightly. She was likely concerned he was in the middle of an apoplexy or something equally dire.

“Has everyone added their papers?” Lady Dalmeer crooned. No one jumped up to add to the basket, so they began. One by one, papers were read, and names guessed. Mr. Newton’s hope and prediction were to jump his north hedge by June. It was surely not the sort of information his aunt had hoped to glean, if her pinched lips were correct.

But in a surprise turn, Mr. Prescott’s prediction was tantamount to a proposal to Miss Hollis. A bold move, by Freddie’s estimation. His aunt was overjoyed, which made Freddie less enthused

“Did he just propose?” Pippy whispered in her ear.

“Indeed, it sounded that way to me.” Freddie leaned toward her, smelling her perfume. He lingered a little longer under the pretext that he thought she would say more. When her eyes only widened, he straightened in his seat. It was disappointing, to be sure.

Freddie easily guessed which paper belonged to his cousin. It seemed he was no more willing to give his mother information than Freddie was.

“This one only says, ‘My hope and prediction are the same: to be happily situated.’” Lady Dalmeer looked over the paper. “That could belong to several of you, I should think.”

Several ladies’ names were called. Miss Stroud and Miss Bowles were guessed, then Miss Hollis. Was she thinking along the same lines as Mr. Prescott? But they all shook their heads.

When Lady Dalmeer finally called for the author to come forward, Pippy stood up. “That is mine, my lady.”

“I’m afraid she’ll be disappointed,” Miss Bowles said loudly.

Freddie was smiling, but then his face fell, and it was only partially because of what Miss Bowles had said—although he glared at her for good measure.

He was grateful Fin had offered to take his paper. Lud, what would Pippy think if she learned what he’d written when she’d written about being happily situated?

Pippy must have noticed his expression because she leaned over and whispered, “Not to worry. I’ll share my extra dessert with you.”

“You are too good, Lady Pip.” He reached over and took her hand in his. But which of them he was comforting, he could not say.

“Oh, this prediction has potential.” Lady Dalmeer looked out at the crowd. “Hope—a new gelding—that’s rather dull. But the prediction—vexations.” She narrowed her eyes at the group. “Now, who might predict vexations for the coming year?”

“Every man in the room,” Stan called out.

Everyone laughed, except Lady Dalmeer.