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“A lark?” she said.

“Are larks happy?” he said. “How can we be sure of that? Just because they sing?”

“You sing in your bath when you are happy, Marcel,” she said.

“Off key, I suppose,” he said.

“Well, of course.”

“I have not received an invitation yet,” Bertrand said. “But I daresay I will.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Viola said. “Matilda came with Louise to deliver ours in person this morning despite your father’s strict instruction to the butler that no one except one of our offspring was to be admitted today.”

“Servants are not what they used to be,” Bertrand’s father said with a sigh. “Insubordination runs rampant.”

“Matilda was excited,” Viola said. “She calls the party a reception in order to distinguish it from a children’s romp, I daresay. You will certainly be invited, Bertrand. Matilda mentioned you specifically.”

“Do you know if Winifred has been invited?” he asked. “And Nicholas?”

“Matilda did not say,” Viola said. “But possibly not. It is a fair distance from their village to London, and Winifred has made it clear she does not enjoy London, especially during the Season. You did know she is expecting a child? And that Nicholas has become very protective and would keep her wrapped in lambswool until after her confinement if he had his way. Or so she told us in a letter last week. Besides, she has Stephanie Ware staying with her. They must both be enjoying that. Nicholas too.”

“We must keep that particular piece of information from Matilda,” Bertrand’s father said. “Or Winifred will certainly be invited.”

“Marcel!” Viola said, clucking her tongue and then laughing. “But admittedly she was rather particular in her attempts to bring you and Stephanie together at Christmas, was she not, Bertrand? She can never resist an opportunity to do a bit of matchmaking when a family member in his late twenties is still single and therefore must undoubtedly be unhappy and lonely and unable to find someone for himself. One does wonder how Adrian has reached the age of thirty as a bachelor.”

“With an iron will, I would guess,” Bertrand’s father said.

Bertrand cleared his throat. “On the subject of Lady Stephanie Ware,” he said, and suddenly he had their full and interested attention. “I know you have invited a number of family members to spend a few weeks at Redcliffe during the summer. And a few from outside the family too. The Dowager Countess of Stratton and Matthew Taylor, for example. And Maria Wiley.” Maria was the sister of Justin, Estelle’s husband.

“We liked Clarissa and Matthew at Christmas and wish to become further acquainted with them,” Viola said. “They have agreed to come. Shall we invite Owen Ware too? Adrian will be coming with Matilda and Charles and Peter with Mildred and Thomas. I believe Boris has other plans. But the four of you have been friends since your university days, have you not?”

“I have been to Ravenswood a number of times with Owen,” Bertrand said. “I think he would appreciate an invitation to Redcliffe. Will you also invite Lady Stephanie?”

There was a moment of silence, during which his father raised his eyebrows and Viola tipped her head to one side, looking thoughtful.

“We will do so, of course,” she said. “We will be happy to have her. She will be company for Maria.”

And bless their hearts, they did not pry into his reason for asking something that must be quite unexpected to them. They never did. They were always interested in his life and his doings but never tried to exert any control. They respected his adult need for independence. Although they had expressed regret when he and Estelle decided to go back to Elm Court to live not long after he left Oxford, they had made no concerted effort to detain them. They had never voiced any objection to his taking bachelor rooms here in London rather than staying at his father’s town house though the offer had been made.

“A pretty, buxom country lass, to use Dirkson’s words,” his father said. “Like a Swiss shepherdess. Or would that more probably be a Swiss goatherd? Striding barefoot over snow-capped peaks in the Alps, I suppose?”

“It was an unfortunate comparison on Charles’s part,” Viola said, grimacing. “I do believe he meant it as a compliment to her wholesome prettiness, but I am not sure how many young ladies would be flattered. She was very gracious about it, however.”

“I believe there is far more to that young lady than herding goats and striding barefoot,” his father said. “I respect any lady who so firmly flouts fashion. Goodness me, try to say those three words five times over without spraying everyone who is standing within ten feet. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with Lady Stephanie during the summer. If she chooses to accept the invitation, of course.”

“I must remind you, though, Bertrand,” Viola said, “that the aunts will be coming too. I was very fond of them when I thought them to be my sisters-in-law, and they remained fiercely loyal to me and my children after Humphrey died and his villainy was revealed. I will always love them for that. But…Well, they do sometimes like to play matchmaker, as they did at Christmas.”

“Yes,” Bertrand said. “I did notice. Will you invite Lady Stephanie anyway?”

“Of course,” she said. “It will be wonderful to have young people staying with us. The neighborhood will be agog with excited anticipation.”

No more was said on the matter, and Bertrand, who had come specifically to make his request, changed the subject and took his leave not long after.

—

Winifred and Stephanie were relaxing together in the sitting room after a pleasant visit with a couple of Winifred’s friends from the village when they heard the sound of carriage wheels on the short driveway outside.

“Whoever can that be?” Winifred said. “And in a carriage?” In the village and immediately surrounding countryside, everyone walked. The arrival of a carriage was an event. “Grandmama, perhaps? She has promised that she and Grandpapa will come one day.”