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“The comet? Which comet?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t read about it in the papers. This week is meant to provide for peak viewing.”

He had been spending too much time reading novels. It was the only explanation for his having missed the news of a comet, something he was quite interested in.

“Will you be venturing out to see it?” he asked Olive.

“Oh, no. Comets are not a particular interest of mine.”

“What is the name of this comet?”

“It is called … Comet Ozymandias.”

Ozymandias? Simon was aware that comets were often named after people, their discoverers, primarily, but that seemed an odd name. Odd, but also … was there something familiar about it?

Ah. He had it.

“Wasn’t Ozymandias the Christian name of that duke you …”

Were being flirtatious with. He couldn’t say that. But he did distinctly remember that after the upheaval following Earls Trip two years ago, Olive and Clementine’s father had confined them to the house until Olive announced that she had her sights set on a visiting Scottish duke with an absurd name.

Yes, Simon remembered it because the name had been so absurd, and Olive so smitten. “Ozymandias Macduff. Wasn’t that his name?”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten all about him,” Olive said blithely. “What an amusing coincidence.” She tilted her head as if suddenly struck with an outlandish thought. “Do you think the comet is named after him?”

“I suppose it’s possible.” He paused. “Likely even, with that name.” Perhaps her onetime mark had an astronomical bent.

“Well, then I certainly shan’t be losing any sleep to see it.”

And with that, she flounced off.

Simon tried to get the boys interested in a comet-viewing party, but he had no luck. One would think they could have wrenched themselves from the company, and the beds, of their wives to witness such a rare celestial occurrence. He paused to wonder how rare. Simon had not read sciences at school, but he was aware that comets returned on a cycle, and that each had its own particular period. This might be their one and only chance to see Comet Ozymandias.

He was sitting by the fire. It had been an unseasonably warm autumn, but it was cold at night, and since he was likely to be out for several hours, he had rationalized making a small fire, despite the fact that it would cast unwanted light. Even if he didn’t get to see the comet, he was glad he’d come out. Since he spent most of his time these days in London, he rarely got to marvel at the night sky.

Again he had the sensation of missing Galecroft. Something about this trip was calling to mind the more enjoyable experiences he’d had there, which he supposed had been buried under the higher volume of unpleasant memories. He regretted that Mother seemed to have claimed Galecroft for herself.

Perhaps it was time to do something about that.

A splashing sound drew his attention. Someone was in the pool. Huzzah. He was in the mood for company and therefore glad that one—or, ideally, both—of the boys had reconsidered their plans for the evening.

He heaved himself up. “I do wish Olive had given us more details for—”

He was interrupted by a shriek. A distinctly feminine shriek.

Miss Brown. He froze, unsure what ought to be his next move. Flee? Apologize?

Join her?

Good God, no! Where had that thought come from?

He got hold of himself and turned his back to the pool. Not that he had or could see anything, not beyond the pale skin of her face. It was dark, and she had been submersed up to her chin. “Miss Brown, my sincerest apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone you were meeting under cover of night?”

Was she … teasing him?

No, she can’t have been. He answered her question earnestly. “I thought you were Archie and Effie.”